by Ezinne Ukoha

Come on a trip with me

So, Donald Trump is going to be your president, and for some of us it feels like the world is rotating on a shaky axis that was built for imminent crash landing — while others are skipping down the yellow brick road with the jubilee of a future that threatens to make them feel great. Again.

No, blondes don’t have all the fun, despite the general consensus and the incoming Commander-in-chief’s permanent head covering.

Make no mistake about it — there will be blood.

But, not in the literal sense with the gushing bubbles that spray bright red into and around the victim of circumstance. This mandated flow will stain us all without missing a mark.

We will re-convene into the streets that bear the marks of a language that none of us can translate without the aid of a dictator with a million dollars and a million reasons why he deserves to mock us — in public.

It’s going to be so rad you guys! I promise.

Actually, I sound delirious because I am delirious. I’m imagining stationed colonies that sport flexible foundations. The tower in the sky beams a light to signal when we prepare for the endgame. Okay, I am totally diagonal with The Hunger Games. I am seeking the heroine with really dark skin. She’s so black that the night’s torch is her breeze. She’s equipped with all that’s necessary to conquer the yellow species — with their crippled mind and diseased temperament.

Heroes can be samples of what society rejects with unreasonable fear and incomprehensible wit.

Now, back to why our survival will take some years to muster.

I will fight you and you will fight back. The agents of destruction will use delicious tactics to reignite those lightsabers. The media will restructure the violin strings to convince us that the good guys are hiding — when all the while they are keepers of the ledger that houses the code to the alarming facts.

We’ve been had. This isn’t good — in fact, it’s insanely bad.

You should be excited. It’s the perfect storm with bloated clouds that move around with restless fervour and yet not one single drop pellets the umbrella that is spread for receipt.

The next four years are meant to be heavenly so that at the end of this aching run — we will have the validation of a rookie marathon runner who trained for so long and finally embraced the finish line at a pace that was mocked — but inherently recognised.

We take the bow and arrow and shoot at will without missing the target. It’s large and the moving pieces are swift with judicial reckoning. When the strikes descend — the movement rotates again and the circle of knowledge takes all prisoners.

There will be no blood.

They go low and we hover above. Bolts of lightning will continue to uplift the sky and demean the ones who got away. For four whole years — they endorsed the haze over those jewelled eyeballs.

The celebration starts now. The music, the dancing, the stench of ethnicity, the walls that guard against injustice — and the solved puzzle that found the clues to the years of indictment.

We are working hard for our survival. It’s going to be so rad! We promised.

---

Op–ed pieces and contributions are the opinions of the writers only and do not represent the opinions of Y!/YNaija