It is the day that has been froth with anticipation
There is a confluence of kings and queens from every nook and cranny
The powers that be were gathered like clouds
The lords who own our lands and houses came visiting.
They gathered like bees attacking an unlucky prey for the Opoto festival
An event for which every performer from far and wide wanted to give their best
They gathered with their timbre and harp some nearing the size of an Iroko
They came together with the intention of stealing the show
Playing those tunes that dispels the heart of Saul.
Performance after performance were greeted with a loud applause
Then enters a feeble looking lad
He climbs up the stage with a wooden object resembling a pot
He was not greeted with a standing or clapping ovation like others
He takes the stage to graveyard silence.
He was dressed in a tattered seamless robe like the type the soldiers casted lots upon
His face covered with a multi-colored mask like a masquerade
He took the stage speaking no word
We could only hear the synchronous ‘Gbudum! Gbudum! Gbudum!’ From the wooden pot
That synchronous sound that echoed all through the arena, and created a frenzy.
This frenzy was not created by the rancorous elites who filled the place
It was not emanating from the front, but from the back of behind
It was not produced from the sofa, chairs or stool but from the floor
I saw the occupants of the floor—
Haggard men and women of varying age brackets.
Every belting of ‘Gbudum! Gbudum! Gbudum!’ by that wooden pot created more frenzy
As the occupants of the floor began to climb up
Those who dwelt at the back of behind began to take center stage
The frenzy was growing from strength to strength
But it was cut short as hefty men carrying long metals with one open end took the lad away
The festival went on without grieving as the lad was ‘Nobody in Particular’.