The President surveys his bright gown. Its white still glows, assaulting the lazy eyes of Hamat, defeating the artificials of Isatou Touray’s face tastelessly gaudy with makeup, and molesting the expectations of journalists waiting outside the State House lobby. A superfluity of requests from the international community galore! Press secretary Amie Bojang could barely eat a morsel.

HAMAT BAH: (Carrying his elongated neck like a thirsty camel) Barrow! Be obstinate, swift like an Arabian steed. With dense venom, assault like a bruised Assyrian!

ISATOU TOURAY: Be stallion-mettled, and charge like a pegasus at the ranks of enemies of our pockets—my children’s Gucci bags, gems of rare bracelets, coveted cars and abodes. Doth greed ever bid farewell to a venal woman? Doth lucrative chance bid abrupt adieu to one that waited this long, O Gamcotrap—my trap and decoit for ascension and imposing affluence? Perish be 3YRS Jotna—enemies of this realization!

HAMAT BAH: (Continuing for Touray) Enemies of my acquisitions in Dakar and the loot for those issuing from my loins, yet sprung of piercing poverty aforetime. Reminders of such destitution are but an anaphylactic reaction down my spine. When ‘tis said ‘Never again,’ the veritable thought sermons to my mentation that anything that is Hamat shall see no poverty anymore.

AMIE BOJANG: The press is waiting outside, my liege!

HAMAT BAH: The dead have been waiting longer! Let it perish that calls itself journalism in my Gambia! Brutal was Yahya, more brutally shall we tarry in his stead. The breath in this president has an appointment with the preternatural—seers and sages that can stretch the lease of our fair fare in sweet offices—high dwellings of prestige and surreptitious profit.

ISATOU TOURAY: Let he who fathoms like I do grow ribs of steel and a heart of metal, O internecine Gambia, gory Banjul! Weep yet not, O preys of our cult and cabal. Touray isn’t started yet! Barrow isn’t brutal yet. 3 YRS Jotna hasn’t bled yet!

HAMAT BAH: Gambia we shall drink like raw eggs. Any that gnaws at our gains shall end like the barons of 3yrs Jotna that are but chumps we commend to shackles.

BARROW: (Clears his throat) I’m Gambia! O Amie, prithee remind me not! Seize journalists outside if they find not any landlords in hell! But ask those questions they would if granted admission. Be the journalist this hour, but cleverly practice through shepherded inhibition. Thus forth, quiz, but only with fettered rhetoricals.

HAMAT BAH: I shall bloom in that service, my liege. Restful Amie shall be while we proceed.

BARROW: (With angry countenance) The woman’s toil and trade wears her out. I shall take a question as it whizzes its way.

HAMAT BAH: What is thy name, Mr. President?

BARROW: (With a grin) Adama!

HAMAT BAH: And thy last name?

BARROW: (With an unusual flow of confidence) Barrow!

HAMAT BAH:  See? Our president is the most intelligent!

ISATOU TOURAY: Let that fade not on thy lips. He’s too sharp a thought-processor for the global press, Gambia’s legislature, or any that traffics witty inquiries. All hail this President that is subtle with power, yet vehement with its discharge. Rise the druid of Mankaman Kunda! Be furtive, yet apparent! And be mild yet tremendous!

BARROW: Pronounce sententious journalaise. Whetted is the president’s wit! And much keener is his stimulus! Tonight, we shall delight in the awkward to scorn the reasonable!

HAMAT BAH: Name the capital city of Gambia.

BARROW: Dakar!

FIRST LADY: (Cutting in) He meant to say Bakau.

ISATOU TOURAY: They both meant to say Banjul.

AMIE BOJANG: (Soliloquy) Glad it wasn’t the journalists outside or the  international press asking those questions this hour. Gambia would have been doomed!

BARROW: (Angrily to Amie Bojang) What sayeth thou? Thou getting too close to termination! I’m Gambia. And the country, all its wealth is a dildo I use to masturbate!

HAMAT BAH: Indeed, look at its shape on the map, penile like a goose’s. It doth look like a dildo.

BARROW: My dildo! I paid for it at Argos through layaway!

(Enter Soothsayer with attendants)

SOOTHSAYER: Gambia isn’t any dildo, except for a tyrant that hopes to imitate Jammeh and his propensity.

BARROW: Is that what thou secured from thy session with great votaries of prognostication?

SOOTHSAYER: For twenty-two years did Yahya choke Gambia. And thou shall part ways with us if his footprints punctuate thy troubled path.

HAMAT BAH: Why?

SOOTHSAYER: Because I shall not end in Equatorial Guinea! I supplicate against it!

FIRST LADY: I have a question. Isn’t a dildo for females?

To be continued insha Allaah!

“That these thoughts might inspire some a reader. And from thenceforth rise those to change Africa. If not, Gambia. Or if not, one of its muddy streets.” Ebrima Papa Colley (Gambiano)

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