Bobo-Tunde was fished out of the lagoon yester-night

And Mama-Tunde wept and wept and wept

Here, she pointed, why did he not use this? At least the fishes would have spared his body

But Baba-Tunde was also staring at the looped rope, hanging un-used from the ceiling fan hook

And wondering why Bobo-Tunde opted instead for the lagoon death-dive.

Not only they: every other hands-on-the-head-in-disbelief wondered why Bobo-Tunde did it

And why he chose the lagoon flight path

Only Sista-Tunde, already reduced to tributaries of salt-water,

 had the answer

In the black box, his brother’s suicide note

Tell, us, tell us, they ask her, tell us why he did it:

why this promising young man blew out the flames of his own sun before his day could call itself dawn.

 Sista-Tunde harvested remnant words from her tongue

like grandma from her herder-ravaged farm

then cleared her throat:

It is not the cost of application forms

for government jobs already given out to the favoured…

O it is the plot, then..

What plot?

The plot that kills faster than suicide:

the plot of the graph of the rise in the price of garri?

No, not the plot!

What is it then? the mourners demanded

Bobo-Tunde is not asking for heaven on earth

His note says simply



(If you can!)

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