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Letter to Snr. Opupulepu (12)-The Anger of the Political Infantry Grasscutters

botchway June 14, 2018

Dear Snr. Opupulepu, I hope that you and your family are do well, fine; as for me and my house we do fine.

Snr. Opupulepu, I do not want to speculate, but I have to. You see, ever since the Great Leopard became very angry with Sheikh Alhaji Imam One-Touches, anger seems to have pitched its tent over the land. The other day, it was Togbe Peace-Perfect-Peace who broke the Peace by angering no other Person, but the Great I AM, YHWH, when he lied about Nsakrapapawura Nana Dewuhene Yaw Agyei Kumi Kungfu I and Nana Ontiaobia I. It is speculated that once the King baths there is no more water for people to bath, so once YHWH’s anger came and went; anger will no longer be on the land.

But, Snr. Opupulepu, I lied big time to my very self. You see, trust mankind, when one is for peace others are for war, and in politicus, Togbe Peace-Perfect-Peace used to describe his political competitors as personal and public enemies, and always addressed them as such.

So, therefore, all the politicus concert parties, as a matter of urgency, formed legions of human grasscutters into political infantry or what can best be described as pedestrian-sojess. Senior, these guys and gals are very efficient, especially when they cut through the elephant grass from one hamlet to another, through to tree tops and caves, and everywhere that humans lay their heads.

These human grasscutters or pedestrian-sojess go to places far and near to spread the gospel according to their flag-holder and their concert party. When their candidates are fast asleep, these grasscutters move in the dark at the mercy of wild and dangerous animals, and, of course, evil spirits and demons as well.

They are always fired-up and will drum the message in by fire by force before leaving the people, who are mostly not interested in what had been said, but more interested in what would exchange hands in the form of cash and kind, to compensate for their sleep that had been truncated.

The days are most busy, as these dedicated sojess travel into market squares, lotto kiosks, blue kiosks, abattoirs, lorry parks, hospitals, fetish groves, schools, mosques, churches and town centers. They can be found going into brothels as well, converting the prostitutes without sampling their services.

On the night before the lot-casting day, these sojess will not sleep. They would go over all what they did and get in touch with those they need to see again. On the lot-casting day, while some stand guard at the lot-casting pots, others would go around locating and shepherding kingmakers to come and cast their lots.

In fact, some weeks earlier, these sojess will start revising the 1,2,3. Usually, most of them get stuck at 10, and this is where the worries begin. As for those who cut lotto, they remember only far up to 90, and the witches and wizards in town get their unfair share of insults and curses for allegedly removing knowledge from the minds of such people. It is important to know how to count, so not to lose lots.

After two weeks or so, some of these grasscutters will suddenly remember what 120 looks like, and they will struggle on to 500, hoping against hope that no candidate would secure more than 500 lots.

After the lots have been cast at the cleromancy center and the counting begins, these dedicated pedestrian sojess will secure positions around the lot casting baskets, and with their heads nodding like agama lizards, they will follow the rhythm of the cacophony coming out from the throat of the presidential officer. When the counting ends, they will jump and rejoice, congratulating each other for going through that ordeal.

When their concert party loses the lot-casting, they quietly recoil into their skins and pray YHWH gives them life for them to fight again in forty-eight moons’ time.

When their concert party wins, there is jubilation and all look at the sergeant-majors in the constituency, who also look at the colonels in the region, who also look at the major-generals in the national level, who will also turn to the commander-in-chief at the palace, desiring nothing but manna, even if it will be some small crumbs falling from the feasting tables in high places.

It is when the crumbs do not come, let alone the menu to even know what will be served, that anger and disappointment sets in. At this stage, the pedestrian sojess will start making plans and rehearsing what to do or say to the chiefs of their own party in forty-eight moons’ time. In such a stage, if one cannot deliver, then one must just shut up, and the wise elders always forever hold their peace.

But, Senior, just as in Chinese films where those in white-belts will be the first to dash out to challenge the killer, knowing what will happen to them, so are some homo sapiens in the lower end of the ladder who act and talk as if they are they.

Senior, some time ago, the Paga-na’s daughter, Abawaa Short Sue Manner, working in the Omanhene’s palace as a staff bearer, got angry after breaking her fast because of Hajia Fati’s kooko, and warned that from 2018 forward on to go, no one should be nonsensical enough to give her application letters or…hmmmm.

Of course, the political grasscutters got angry and called the obrafo to cut off her head or remove her permanently from the Omanhene’s palace to go and sell fula at the market. After pleas from Nana Owubiayeowu’s office, the pedestrian sojess swallowed their anger, but kept pondering everything in their hearts.

Snr Opupulepu, within these stormy nights, another staff bearer at the Omanhene’s palace, this time Carl Lewis’ sister, also known as Sister Sir-What, decided it was her turn to test the nerves of the pedestrian sojess. She went far to say that she could never stand in their midst, because they were unkempt, have smelling armpits and their brains do not function properly; they cannot think far.

All hell broke loose as the pedestrian sojess swore that Abawaa Sir-What should be put in a jute sack and dumped far away from the Omanhene’s palace.

In fact, Senior Opupulepu, I am not understand what is wrong with these palace maids, to attack those who made victory possible. Could they go from grassland to grassland, bush to bush, forest to forest, drinking brown water offered by the inhabitants, of which refusal would mean they were not coming in friendship?

Could they drink concoctions of alcoholic liquor from dirty receptacles long past best-before dates as a sign of friendship and in accord with the gods? Could they stand up all day talking about the same thing over and over again?

As for me and my house, we only say hmmmm…but, tomorrow, such maids should leave the palace and trek those untrekable places, and there they will respect these political infantry grasscutters, also known as the pedestrian sojess.

Senior, I am Dan, sorry I am Done.

It is Me.


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