The spirit came to me and took me back to the times of our fathers.
I saw Ogunbiyi; her big bright eyes like little moon lights, sat in her dark complexion face. Her well plaited hair was like fine rows of African ridges. Two neatly carved tribal marks sat on her jolly cheeks divided by her large oily nose.
When she walked, her sandal-less feet killed no ants caressing the stony paths, her arms swung swiftly in the air like two turtles doves. Her curves were well defined like the gourds of the elders. Her milky tender breasts danced with pointed adoration, navigating the village paths before her. Her buttocks were round and heavy; stained with mud from the red earth where she sat to weave corn ears for the children to laugh and play. Her pubic hair could not be seen; hidden perfectly behind the patch of animal skin that covered her private part.
To my amazement, the young men ignored her, they were busy to the farms as the hunters headed to the forests for games. Even Kilani who admired her and had proposed to her parents, stood at a distance with glaring eyes at her beauty, but he had no erection on his manhood that was barely hid behind his small patch of hides.
When I returned, I was ashamed when the news welcomed me to the rape of Hajara who despite her hijab and Islamic covering (from head to toes) was raped and dumped by the road side. I was embarrassed at the bus station by a young man who fell into a gutter when a woman with a big behind crossed the road. Another man had missed his bus station because he was so erect between his feet to alight from the bus.
Our ladies can't wait to make public, their privates. Unashamed, they walk their own streets with gentlemen taking account (without a dowry) at how many times they have crashed into them with empty toasts and worthless coins. The young girls have become like a prey before our ferocious lion-like men who ought to protect them; rather they eat them. They (young girls) no longer carry water pots on their heads down the river sides, now they walk with them in their stomachs down to schools.
Where are the days when men's strength was not in the thighs of women, when a lady's pride was in virginity, when men laboured rather than beg for bread or take a bribe. When the elders had a say, homes were homes and morality thrived without religion?
There is a problem with my generation, we are a shame! Yet, we are not Ashamed! Even with our religious backgrounds, educational drive and intellectual claims; we are worse than our fathers, whose bones now shiver in their graves at the level of decay we've experienced alive than their bodies in old graves. As the trends increases, I fear that the problem of my generation is not a lack of jobs, finance, opportunities, talent, gifts.... but a total state of moral degradation, sheer lust and lost history.
This is the Challenge to my generation - Jesus is the way, the truth and the life.
- (C) Melchizedek, son of Michael 2015 #Share and speak to Your generation#
