THE ANTI CO BIOTICS STORY OF BO

Once upon a time, in the strife torn continent of Africa, there was born a baby boy called Bechu. He was born of loving parents bearing the family name of Analand, which name originated from the tribes from Angola and the then Nyasaland, now Malawi. The family was not well endowed materially and as a result Bechu grew up sparsely provided for surviving mainly on what the family could gather from the milieu of the savannah land they lived in. Nonetheless, the boy grew, thanks to his scrounging skills acquired through years of foraging in the forest chasing after sheep, goats and cows. Soon the boy was of school going age and the parents registered him.


It was a proud Bechu Analand who carried his clay slate to school on his first day and spent quality time drawing beetles and learning the alphabet. Time passed with the swiftness of wind and with each passage of time Bechu Analand became more and more assertive, desiring independence of mind. Observing the remarkable transformation of their son, the Analand family agreed that Bechu could expand his horizons and get to see the world. They were committed parents, not only well versed in survival skills but also astute when it came to profiling their son for the bigger world outside. The boy needed a name that was not only easy to remember but would also be attractive to the scented pronunciations of the new world order.


They renamed him Bo! It was a catchy name. Then the parents thought and thought until they concluded that Analand not only sounded foreign but was also a tongue twister. It would work against the worldly interests of their son. The Analands decided to pick an ethnic name from somewhere down their genealogy. Eureka! They found the right name. ‘Tswana’, sounded truly indigenous. The boy, Bo, was hence named for the new world, Bo Tswana. He completed his studies, left the village for the city and a life full of promise.


Bo graduated from university by obtaining a degree and started work. Soon he was working and earning good money. He shared his newly found wealth with his parents and still had enough left to save. Bo became a disciplined saver. Soon his bank account was impressive but Bo continued putting more money in the bank than he took out, which was good. He ate well and grew to be a tall, strong lad. With a two syllable name, it was a striking coincidence that Bo soon met a beautiful young lady simply called Co. Bo and Co loved each other very much and decided to get married. Co was the daughter of a mixed marriage between a former District Commissioner from Europe and an indigenous citizen. Her family were the Rruptions, a name that amused Bo to no end and he teased his newly found wife, saying the name was a perfect reproduction of a sound made by a tractor engine. ‘Rrrrruption!’ Co paid him no mind because she loved him very much and knew he meant no harm.


After a blissful honeymoon followed by growing wealth, Co and Bo, started feeling cracks in their marriage. They fought long and hard for months with no reconciliation in sight. It soon became clear that the two had very little in common. Being both determined, strong personalities, Bo and Co held on to the tottering marriage. The tension led to them being afraid to be home together. They started seeing other people behind each other’s back. One of them contracted a terminal disease from the promiscuous lifestyle and it was Bo who caught the deadly virus. He may not have caught it from Co, although it was Co who bore the brunt of the wrath of Bo’s family and friends. Bo became sickly. Doctors could not cure him completely but they kept him stable hoping that he would live long enough for the medical profession to discover a cure for his rare type of ailment. There were promising studies into the type of condition Bo had. Co did not grant Bo divorce although he begged her for it, hoping that his only pain ought to be from the disease and not the irreparably damaged relationship with his wife. As Bo delved more and more into his coffers to pay his huge medical bills, Co did her part to spend his money. She had the virus, but she was not sick.


Meanwhile, Bo’s parents were continuously praying for their son’s recovery. As luck would have it, Bo’s doctors broke the good news to him one day. A new drug, an antibiotic, had been discovered and although not yet available on the market, they would perform trials on him. Bo received the medication and the drug worked. He recovered fully and was soon the strong, strapping young man that he used to be. He built enough courage to confront his wife and demand a divorce. She refused and their case went to the highest court in the land. The High Court granted them a separation but not a divorce. The two gained mutual court rulings, restricting access to each other. Their marriage was on parole.


The medical profession named the new drug after one of them and soon it was available on the market and many lives were saved. The drug was called ‘Anti Co Rruption’.






*** *** ***


By Andrew Sesinyi


12th February, 2010.


Readers of this short story are asked to make own interpretations and conclusions. This is an unending story because we don’t know if the divorce will ever be granted. Readers will no doubt see the name references and what they mean to what land!!!

EGYPTIAN LESSONS

Hark now hear the vociferous egoism of an embattled deluded dictator
Hear how the havoc voice of  Hosni spews as a human violence escalator
Oh, Africa, how shame sounds so loud when false prophets preside!
Hosni has it in him that only him and none else in millions can decide
Aged in dyed hairs of desperate clings to foregone youth he stands
Claiming rights to might and raving to rule against miles of mightier hands
Transfixed by power fixation he stands like a sphinx bereft of its magnificence
As he decrees himself indispensable when multitudes decry his malfeasance


As millions mount on millions in a moving millieu of monumental protestations
Mubarak rakes in revolting remains of his past glory in enraging manifestations
To say only him born him can be the power and might of the groaning masses
Ignoring piles of plundered grain storages spelling abject poverty and stagnation
Hosni huffs and puffs as he expectorates porous piety in pitiful indignation
That only him Mubarak broke the camel that carried the enemy of mighty Egypt
Uttering stuttering tales of how the hungry hands of protests make him feel gypped


Oh Africa, this is the lowest of the low in the ladders of your history of fake heroes
A tortuous testimony of a continent that is a factory of frauds worse than the pharaohs
That one man matches his sole ego against the torrential tides of the enraged multitude
Mimicks the colossal strides of legendary gods masquerading as virtue over servile servitude
And sees himself as his own best choice for the destiny of all in a travesty of patriotism
Oh Africa, the freakish font of fortunes written in hieroglyphic deception and pessimism
Painful it is that such poverty of passion persists to violate the voices of dissent pittifully
Everywhere in Africa, everyday, the clone of Mubarak mutates to dissect liberties willfully


Down the base of Africa lies my land in mirages of indifference and indolent nonchalance
That Egypt is gypped by an ogre of ego is seemingly unregistered in its postulation of chance
All believe their sun rises in Botswana and their sun sets in their prestine virginal horizons
Yet the mutants of Hosni breed and multiply sending others to and never themselves to prisons
Will they soon sap the resources of  over cultivated zones and descend on the ripe and prime?
Tyranny like a virus travels on carriers of various forms and flight paths of undefined, unknown time
That explains the thirst to retain my starry eyed watch over my ruddy but untainted sunrise
Hoping that not ever shall the colour of sunset match the blood of those that object and rise




By Andrew Sesinyi
Written at 23:45hrs, Thursday, 10th February, 2011, after watching the unlovely images of fury and disappointment in the land of Egypt.

Democracy and the Media in Botswana

http://www.national-flags.com/flags/Botswana_Flag.html

EGYPT OF THE PHARAOS

Proud pyramids bear testimony to the pride of origins
History repeats itself because it lies not about beginnings
Today that ancient seat of civilisation bleeds in torment
Torched by irrationality and a greed that flows in a torrent
Making the Nile miles away from its tranquil temperament
Far from flowing with milk and honey the Nile carries bereavement

The waters of the Nile quench not the thirst but reflect the blood
Ruddy is the flow that witnessed the hand that precipitated the flood
The banks of Egypt and not just the Nile burst forth in fiery passions
One more prophet of falsehood has sat the throne beyond his sessions
Fear stalks the halls of history freaking the ghostly tombs into terror
Even the silent residents stir in sleep as one man breeds bold horror

Ancient Egypt stirs like a sleeping giant casting off his bed apparel
Soon he shall be up resplendent in armor fighting off forces of peril
For it was in Egypt that it began and it is in Egypt that it begins
For the might of Africa to overwhelm as it did the foreign legions
Cry not the weepers and weep not the bereaved over this moment
The cradle of history is now the pioneering pen to write off torment

By Andrew Sesinyi
(23:59hrs 2nd December, 2010). [ To be posted after midnight]