THE PEOPLE'S WILL

THE BRAWLERS

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I stood there as an umpire. Unbiased in my choice, because they both stood an equal chance.

'Bastard son of a thousand father' cursed the fair lanky one, who looked like he has been sex starved for so long that he needed someone to climax his saliva upon.

'You are a demented fool' responded his opponent. He was a stout young man, who enjoyed close family ties with the earth. Or better still was forced to enjoy what nature made of him; an imp with a fierce fighting spirit.

The lanky fellow got provoked by his opponent's response, and like boxer, created his hands into a fist, and made choreographic movement of a dancer while dissecting every anatomy of his opponent.

He aimed a brutish blow against the stout man but missed, hurting one of the kind hearted umpires who came to separate the feud, while some like me came to enjoy every bit of the show.

He made the second attempt and swung at the air. The third was even more worse. Then he resigned in his attempts to hit his challenger, and blurted something that sounded like
"Cursed dwarf"
"Foolish fool"
"Idiot!" He took a long hiss and left angrily.

I put on a temporal smile at that instant. For amidst the chaos of the external environment, I found in this two individuals a thing of amusement for the first time that day.

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THE WAILING WOMEN

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Her eyes was almost has red as her menstrual cycle. If I had not been there when she started, I would have concluded she cried blood.
Her nose was running uncontrollably, and she was shuttling through the road of wide frenzy and sober sobs.

The clothes and the dirty handkerchief she held had drained enough water already. She needed a new handkerchief if she was to keep up with the rate of her tears. I thought.

The other women there, paid no attention to her. Not because they were insensitive to her plight, but because they were quite busy with their own share of the silent sobs and pathetic shaking of the head.

They all watched helplessly has their lives work came crumbling down in stones and dust.
It wasn't an act of God, that way it would have been easy to blame Him. It was the handi-work of a man who declared himself a god.

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SONS OF THE SOIL

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He had painted himself into a demi-goddess. The wig on his head was roughly worn and his make up was a little bit shabby. He wore a short sleeve female blouse that exposed the hairs on his dirty armpit. His biceps and arms was masculine, decorated with greenish veins.

He was putting on a tight ripped jeans which was stuck with clothes to increase his buttocks. He was definitely mad, or something in between the thin line of sanity and insanity.

I had came into the plaza to sought out the surviving items of the wreckage. That was when I saw this woman or man, walked right passed. He stopped a little distance away from where I stood and dipped his middle finger into his bloated ass and took a deep smell of it. Almost as if he savoured the inhalation.

I was awestruck and disgusted by such act. Then he turned and caught my stare.
"Why you dey look me this man as if say I be woman?
"Abi na me destroy your goods?
You no go concentrate and pack the one wey remain, you dey find woman to bang!"
He said with indifference, calling me a "Bloody Pervert" and left the area.

It was almost immediately that the hungry looking young boys came into the place to do justice to what they felt should be theirs.
One of them accosted me and demanded goods or its monetary equivalent with a pocket knife on his hand. I cooperatively gave him most of the items I had retrieved from the devastation.

They were the young men who tolled the traders and buses every evening after each sale. Now that the market they survive on is no more, they have all gone berserk.

They walked up to an unyielding lover of her goods and without the uneasiness of wrongdoing, one brought out a knife and cut her deep into the hands. I fled for dear life, without waiting to know what happened next.

It was later I heard that the young men went into various shops with the same approach of violence. In one, they carted away with major expensive stocks as brand new laptops and phones.

And deep down, a part of me wished I had stayed to witness the raid of the shop that had laptops. Maybe, just maybe, I might have been a beneficiary of the spoils of this war.

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THE INTIMIDATION

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Now the whole area have been cordoned with military men, police men, Airforce as well as any force one could think of.

It was said that there had been an open battle with the forces from those citizens who could no longer stand and watch their very destruction.

Lots of lives have been lost already. Five, Six, Seven persons, including a 10 year old boy, and varieties of numbers coming from every corner of reports to give the whole scenario the needed gloom it deserved.

I have beared much of my dismay from the inside and decided against my own will it was time to take my misfortunes to the confines of my home. Away from the preying eyes of those who took special joy from my own ruin.

Along the road back home were hands, all up as a show of totally surrender to this bestial act of destruction from these armed men.

Having nothing to eat since the morning of the incident and too tired to take cognizance of what was happening, I walked in listlessness, paying no attention if my hands were up or not.

Almost like the sting of a wasp, I felt spasm of shock run through my neck down to my spine. It crippled my movement momentarily and almost sending me to the ground.

The next words I heard was cold, filled will rage and satisfaction
"So you feel say you too dey big to raise your hands abi? Idiot!"

After some seconds or so the fog and pain began to die down a little. Then a thought came to my head.

You see, I have always had problem of violence in the past and definitely not in the habit of letting this go. I stood up and wanted to pick up the sand on the floor and pour it into his eyes, before I hit him with something that gave more shock than pleasure. >It is called application of reasonable force.

Then he said: "Na wetin you still stand here dey do, abi you want make I shoot you!" cocking the gun.

It was the second time my life has been threathened that day, and this one came with a lot more assurance.

Then I realized at that moment I needed to starve my violence into calmness. He was the man with the gun, the victor of the circumstance.

I picked battered pride for what it is worth. That was all i have left now and ran with my tails between my legs.

Just ahead of them the radio played back to the election promises of the governor:
"The will of the people is my will"

Then I thought, It is either the decision to take away the sole market place of citizens who lived below $1 a day is the will of the people or the government of the day is guilty of conspiring to defeat the will of the people. But with the events of this day, i am left with no choice than to accuse the government of falsification of the people's popular will.

When I got home, I climbed straight to the bed feeling worthless. If it was the destruction or the effect of the slap that broke me to tears I don't know.
But I cried finally that day, inconsolably, I cried until I slept off.

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