A TALE THAT CANNOT BE TOLD

hmmm….where do i begin this my tall tale?

How do i tell you this tale that has no end?

Where do i start from?

Who do i tell it to? Should it be  told to Okoro the village mad man who never wear pants? Or should i tell it to Adisa the market woman whose mouth runs diarrhea? No , perhaps i should tell it to Baba the the village drunk or Abiba the husband snatcher.

How do i tell it? Should i whisper it slowly? Or shout it over the mountain top? Or perhaps sing it like the birds in the air?

How should i look when i tell it? Should i dress in my next year’s x’mas dress that has been recycled five times. Or should i borrow Fatima’s dress that has been wore by all the church choir girls?

How should i carry myself? Should i be coy like the Accra house girls that pretend they’re virgins but karate their madams husbands in the bedroom all night long? Should i be meek like the sheep that lie lazily on the path to village’s ‘so called powerful’ prophet who power impotent men’s wives day and night.

Please do let me know, it’s urgent!

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