The entire world is in dire straits right now. The uncertainty is palpable and we are almost at the point of resignation to the possibility of darker days ahead. Like a meteorite, a hitherto unknown virus struck with the vengeance of a serial killer. From one country, the Coronavirus has spread its raging tentacles to more than 150. Asia, Europe, and Africa have felt the wrath of the unwanted guest and its unrelenting in its efforts to bring humanity to its knees.
One time, a fellow conducted a Twitter poll. He asked whom people would go for if they were given the chance to decide the winner between their less-talented friend and a stranger whose competence and expertise isn’t in doubt in a contest.
More than eighty percent of respondents indicated that they would vote for their friend. They would rather see their ally win. It was a matter of loyalty. They know their friend and would love to see them succeed despite their glaring shortcomings and the fact that the other person deserves it more.
A first-class king is dethroned unceremoniously. To make matters worse, he is banished from his homeland; the land of his forefathers and a place where he once reigned supreme as paramount ruler. It was jolting news for the majority. The prospect of seeing a revered figure in the person of the Emir of Kano being subjected to such a treatment was not an event many envisaged, but it is no rumour. It happened.
The silence lingered. The park had a sparse human presence. It was Saturday morning, families and picnickers were yet to arrive.
“Hello ma’am, are you Mrs Johnson?”
“Please take a seat, Beatrice.”
“Have we met before?” She asked.
Banke’s lips curved into a smirk. She had prepared for this.
“I have seen you, I know what you look like. Take a seat.”
Beatrice wrapped her dress across her slim frame and sat on the edge of the park bench. She took in the dark-skinned woman who was now only a few inches away from her. She looked to be in her mid to late thirties. Her face was unfamiliar, this stranger regarding her.