The Otuka (a.k.a. Akanda Eniyan) is born into this world very lonely, living on his terms, mostly. He misunderstands everyone else; he is someone everyone else misunderstands. For those he encounters, everyone else is his challenge, and he is everyone else’s challenge. Trouble? His life is never easy even if gifted, successful, influential or content and is harder when this is not the case. He, as the intersection of misunderstandings, cannot find a like mind as others naturally, e.g. as thieves and drunkards do. What frustration! Yet he thrives.
He seems to enjoy strife and misfortune; sometimes it is all he has got in his face or on his plate. Where angels fear to tread is his safest footpath. What the mighty dread to say is his morning hymn. What men of ability will not do for big rewards he will gladly do for free. “Who the hell is this man, who does he thinks he is?”, his peers ask about him. The Otuka does not know the answer and most hardly ever escape the wrath of those who question his existence and his habits. Life crushes him daily and unrelentingly, but he remains uncrushed. What a life! Yet his resolve is undaunted.
Only if he could find someone with whom he could shares a mutual understanding of self. Unfortunately, he does not know precisely how. Then in his many encounters with adversity, persecution, in particular, he and a like mind finally identify each other, by merely being caged together and recognising each others odonperity. Such recognition we cannot identify by shows of strength, skill, daring or cunning; any man can exhibit such dramas when cornered or desperate. Odonperity is an almost naïve bearing of witness to the human spirit in its sheer nakedness. What sentience! Somehow it is all that matters.
The joy of the meeting of two or more Otukas in one place [if it endures] rapidly expresses itself as the face of misery on the heads and skulls of wicked and evil men. When Otukas get together, as rarely as it ever happens, years and decades of misunderstanding swiftly transform into moments of constructive understanding many cannot even comprehend, to match it with comparison is just too difficult. The wickedness and evil, sometimes monumental sometimes heinous that had persistently sought the Otuka’s expiry soon unravel when he is no longer alone in spirit. To the Otuka, it feels like destiny, and to the bad men, it feels like pervasive misfortune. What a reversal! It happens like that sometimes.
Odonperity even in small teams of men [just two is sufficient] is a formidable force and naturally annihilating to evil. It is the raw human spirit that has mastered metier of survival in the face of transience and destructive forces. The human spirit is at one with nature, and just as the tumult of Mother Earth produces volcanoes, hurricanes, tsunamis, earthquakes and ice ages, odonperity devastates the hearts and consciences of unclean men through many entry points and with many variations in impact. The emerging misunderstandings create the most considerable uncertainty, and the trailing powerlessness offers enormous pain for the filthy spirited goons. What retribution! It is something the fittingly deserve.
Odonperity is never a problem for the good-hearted; at worst it merely awes them.
Let us toast to the pure human spirit that is often found only by the results of the lynch-mobbing of the chosen by those who bear it in its highly diminished and thoroughly debased forms. Take one shot of ogogoro, take two or three.