The Dance of Memory

Calmly, he sat.
Eyes locked, not on them
Though they thought otherwise.
All waited for the words
That will incriminate, shame, and contemn others
As the nation's bastards!

Months, weeks, days, and minutes languidly passed on
Like a stream sure of its destination.
Still they waited for the oracular truth.
Before them he sat
Eyes piercing menacingly beyond the horizon
Indifferent to these patient waiters.

Then, suddenly,
He shifted and made as if ready at last 
To make the long-awaited declamation.
Sudden too was the ecstasy among the votaries
Necks elongated, eyes strained, lips pursed, and ears primed.
They waited for this motherfucker!

He sat opened-mouthed as if lost in transit.
Was he searching for the words that'll  dignify or shame?
Was he mocking their patience?
None could tell.

At last a cackle blasted the serenity of the hall
Like an indignant thunderbolt.
And the effluvium eclipsed all.
Was he mad?
A troubled or vengeful cadaver?

None moved away.
Still hoping for the story.
Then, he thrust forward again, conspiratorially,
As if to touch lips with the millions
Who waited in the enclosure and on the screen for the epiphany.
Again, utterance eluded him.

At last the votaries began to disappear.
How was he to tell them 
That they were all guilty,
That scapegoating is a terrible disease,
That History is the commingling of the shameful and the dignifying,
That the art of dusting is a violent act, sometimes?

He knew he'll hit the headlines the next day.
The nature of the headlines he refused to contemplate.
As the guard led him out of the colossal, empty hall
Deep in his mind he could hear the thunderous cackle again
He caught the whiff of the stench.
The nation stinks!
The fragrance of the nation is a laborious work.
 
How will the nation remember him? 




University of Cape Coast, Ghana.