As I watch my village struggle with this new identity, I cannot but wonder how to stir the ship back to shore, how to recover lost grounds. The villages were almost run over by lawlessness and brute disregard to any stated hierarchy. The youths are now the new sheriffs— flaunting all norms, brandishing brazen banditry, exhibiting awful and vile behaviors, nothing more is hidden under the sun, the palm wine tapper had seen it all but cannot utter a word for fear of reprisal, the village head is mute, the crown has once more moved to become ceremonious.

In all honesty, it would take those punishments as grave as burning the head in the aftermath to bring us back, else we would be long gone.

The ways of the old has to be brought back.

Ezekwemba came back to earth through me, this time, he came without the mustache and a set of teeth that might pass for a slip. I was told by many that I had taken to his brilliance. A few more had told me that his sharp mien and attitude were slightly similar to mine. A majority still reminded me of that one time he slept in a lady’s lap while having a hair-cut, they already bobble their heads when they see women around me, stating that Ezekwemba was truly back in our today’s world, swearing to high heavens that my chi was aligned in same spheres, in some agreements that seemingly fuel a valid reason for my genuine love for the opposite sex.

You would think that the influx of foreign exchange from Vietnam, Cambodia, Myanmar in my village would have served as a catalyst to a cottage industry boom. You would think that by now, a new economic outlook would have been visible. You would think an obvious refinement in culture would be in place given the constant exchanges amongst our youths and foreigners. You would think a visible direct impact would be felt by now given the everyday stories of illicit monies flowing into my community.

Accounting and money matters were the bedrock of most town unions and meetings. The sole aim and target had moved away from fostering communal relationships and welfare and had delved deeply into retiring accounts and strengthening the books.

Guzoro as the name implied stood for sustained erectile stiffness. The youthful strengths in the villages in the east were now measured by who lasted longer, who shifted more “wombs”. Rape had become a common accomplice, it had become common aftermath, as they must plug and play after ingestion.

All I continue to see were a bunch of multi-colored motorcycles, a parade of fake designer slide-slippers, and slacked jeans. I have not seen a renewed push to improve the fortunes or welfare of the community. I have only seen wealth that had no attraction whatsoever to attract more nor improve on, I had only seen wealth that was centered on a lifestyle that revolved around quicksand. I had only seen wealth that danced around “chop today, die today” -wealth that did not consider where the next tranche came from.

Times have changed. The white hair was a common sight. The white hair no longer bestowed wisdom. I have observed that a lot of my peers now adorned the white hairs. A lot more wear white mustaches and beards like beauty accessories sold in “Nkwo-Orodo”. I have seen an increase in positions occupied by a majority of my youths, spots that were meant for only those with selective wisdom. I have seen a large number of youths who have formed congregations and alliances that have not hitherto moved the needle an inch forward. I have paid attention to an anticipated mass movement, one that was to spur this generation to some greater beyond and above since a lot of white-bearded beings were now in the saddle. I had watched moribund groups, who constituted groups and think tanks- age, and white hair being amongst qualifying criteria for membership. I had looked with dismay how unintelligently these new crop of wise men have become mere pawns. I have watched with some anger why we had not made any considerable progress in my village since the old and the few wise men were all gone.

None was like my Ughalakaji-till date but they adorned the white hair

I see a lot of protruded bellies and sunken eyes if the goal of the palliative is not shifted from mere having “shit” in the belly to nutritional replenishment no matter how small. The government should look across the board to identify the vulnerable ones who need prompt attention as regards body needs and requirements. They should learn from Caritas who knew that malnutrition or starvation was not the lack of food but the lack of adequate food. They should start making provisions for some sort of protein-salt and fish just like in the war days.