Sometime in the distant past, in an untamed life park in the mountain-belt of WondaWondaLand, carried on a Lion. A major, old, statesmanly Lion. One day, exhausted solid of living in imprisonment, it chose to venture out and see the outside world. It was the greatest misstep of its life. Also, the last one.
The Ogas-At-The-Top whose occupation it was to guarantee that the Lion spent its designated days in its distributed space, put out a "Needed: Dead or Alive" notification upon the Lion's head.
It didn't take too long. The Lion, new to opportunity, was quickly cornered. The Lion incidentally overlooked this was WondaWondaLand, where escapee lions are gathered together, not with sedative weapons but rather with rusting Kalashnikovs.
The shots dropped like larger than usual full-stops on the open page of the Lion's life. The end. The talk plants of WondaWondaLand – the main industrial facilities in the area that don't oblige power to work at full limit – squeaked into life. Somebody recommended that there was without a doubt a sedative weapon, however it was secured up in the "not-on-seat" Park Director's Office. A few individuals swore that no sooner had the Lion fallen than wild-peered toward local people plummeted upon the remains, resolved to transform a fearsome mammoth into a wonderful dining experience.
A few individuals had photographs to move down this hypothesis, however at the season of going to press nobody had affirmed that the photograph was not swiped off Google Images' reserve of "20 Weirdest Photos You've Never Seen!" Still, other individuals demanded the Lion had been in imprisonment since the 1970s, despite the fact that experience shows that Lions as him don't live beyond fifteen.
It's sufficiently tragic that we may never know the genuine truth about the Lion. However, there's considerably sadder stuff. Not once, in the greater part of the news that ventured to every part of the area, was the Lion credited with a real, appropriate name. Everybody alluded to him as "the lion" or "the Jos lion". On the other hand – shiver! – "the got away lion". Murmur. Indeed, even in Zimbabwe, the lions have names.
There are the individuals who say it was the Lion's deficiency. Why did he succumb to the allurement of leaving the recreation center? Why did it leave the total wellbeing of imprisonment for the supreme rebellion of opportunity? Maybe they are correct. Be that as it may, how about we recall what happened to the WondaWondaLand Lion who stayed put. It happened in the Wild Western city of Ibadan, numerous years back. That Lion stayed put. Acted sensibly and mindfully. Sat tight for its sustenance to come to it, all the live long day, entertained the visitors who walked around.
And after that the Prophet chose to appear. The Prophet was not precisely the most typical of persons. His was one book shy of a complete Bible; one vision shy of an intelligible Revelation.
The Prophet entered the Lion's cave, maybe fancying himself a cutting edge Daniel. Maybe he heard voices. Whatever it was, he climbed the wire-fence and dropped into the lair. The bewildered Lion rubbed his eyes to make certain it wasn't the contact lens upsetting him. Long story short, in the scene that took after, Preacher Man lay dead in the dust. He was no Daniel, it turned out. Be that as it may, in any event the Lion had rushed his rejoining with the first Dan.
Things being what they are to be the Lion's last demonstration. For taking the life of a man who offered it to him, his own was requested, and taken, despite the fact that he had not offered it. The Lion kicked the bucket.
There was a third Lion. Possibly not. We truly don't have the foggiest idea. One May Day in 2014, the talk processes again hurled something around a got away Lion. This time in the south-eastern WondaWondaLand city of Owerri. Not any customary Lion, but rather an "eager" one. The town went crazy: workplaces and shops shut quickly, folks fell more than each other to whisk their children out of school. The police swung enthusiastically. When they rose, they had in their feared guardianship somebody they called a "doomsayer" – the man affirmed to have begun the talk.
We don't know whether there was truly a Lion, or in the event that it had surely considered escaping the Zoo (the story doesn't say). What we do know is that a whole town came to trust that a Hungry Lion had destroyed their whole day. You can wager that just a modest bunch of individuals ever heard whatever remains of the story – this was an instance of a guiltless Lion dishonestly blamed.
Lesson of the story: a deplorable destiny anticipates WondaWondaLand's lions, in or out of bondage. Stay put and you're doomed, get out regardless you're cursed. What's more, that is just a large portion of the story. Some place in WondaWondaLand it struck somebody with a philosophical bowed that those lions were the ideal analogy for the lives of WondaWondaLandas.
Life, for these bugged masses, is the same than for the hapless manes. Stay put and you're doomed, escape abroad (to Poundland or Trumpland or the Zumalopolis, or anyplace else), regardless you're cursed, a worthless outcast in the first world, achy to go home for a nation that can't differentiate between AK-47s and sedative firearms.
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| Tolu Ogunlesi for Naij.com |
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