Subsea Retreat Extended

Subsea Retreat Extended

There is something that makes you jazz into my island, O my Cap’n

Another visit to Davy Jones Locker, you are welcome

There is something that makes you jazz into my island, O Tortuga

I am surely still piping onboard a rough Island, with my samba

There is something that makes you jazz into my island, Paramole

I am evermore sailing alongside matelots; I do no less

Is it singing or piping, my mind refuses to distinguish, but embraces them as one. My soul needs something. Gbogborima gives me everything.  Though I have nothing. He is enough for me. He is the spirit of life many know by other names. Gbogborima! By the creed He does all for those who strive for accordance in his spirit. Perfection is not the requirement but sincere commitment. With my voice and samba He is never far away. He is always with me but I never see him but I trust in him. O Gbogborima!

Davy Jones Locker is ever solemn and spartan but I love it here. You cannot get spots or punishment here for doing good by the 4-7 Creed. The Creed is for our purification and the humanity of our deeds. And by the Creed we hold ourselves to account in truth.  3-4-7 is not the Creed of Gbogborima, it’s a mufugbenous innovation, fakufia! Measure for measure is justice but overmeasure for measure is dispunkious. Gyp!

Captain Blood and Paramole come out of the Secret Cove, the backdoor out of Davy Jones Locker. It holds quite a body of water with an arch of an opening large enough to let in both lots of daylight and small boats. Circling the cove’s still waters are white sands, beach chairs and tables. I never enter that area, well, only on my first day here. I did not come to Davy Jones Locker to enjoy life or natter. It is a serious matter over here.

“Is that the mutinous someone piping?” Captain Blood asks.

“No, it is the dangerous someone,” I say.

Captain Blood laughs. The smile on his face another bemuse.

“CB this laughter is gbinikakuous.”

“Let me laugh. I really thought you were a fractious troublemaker until I saw your lighter side. You are just a roughhousing quipster.”

“CB the names when you dey give me don too plenty O.”

“Speak properly! You deserve any name I give you. You do not deserve the name Ice Water.”

“If you can rename me Ice Water, I will change for the better.”

CB laughs again.

“Young man, if I name you Ice Water, I think you will agree you will become much worse.”

“O CB don’t mind him. I think roughhousing quipster suits him well,” says Paramole.

“O Paramole, how did the conciliatory talks go?” I ask.

“I could secure a binding treaty and assurances by the Ikes and Agbaras that there will be peace within the fold. Peace within the fold may mean peace for Nigeria,” Paramole says.

“You reckon? I…” asks CB.

“I am sure of it,” says Paramole.

“How about the non-Ike and non-Agbara men? Were any in attendance?” I ask.

“They were there in force as witnesses but not signatories,” Paramole says.

“Well, I had no signatories or witnesses to talk to. I am retired,” says CB.

“Not yet O CB, you retire when you cross the Great Door,” I say.

“Paramole is still here,” CB says.

“And you are still here, O CB,” I say.

“Are you doing a one-upmanship on me?” CB asks.

“Never. How can I? I sniff a Microwave Spot coming my way,” I say.

“O don’t be silly,” says CB.

“Wrong Someone, I hereby inform you that henceforth, you are to sail onboard Tortuga, but not as a Tortuguarde. But there are rules,” says Paramole.

“Is that not the same as being in this place?” I ask.

“No! As you said you only retire when you cross the Great Door but someone like you and I never have the privilege to retire through all eternity. Okay?” says Paramole.

“No. I made a complaint that congi is hooking me. Instead of CB or yourself to jazz orders to the NAS Cap’n to initiate a doe sister then UV her a minute later so she can come rescue me here, you laugh at me.”

“O my, you do have an incorrigible imagination, don’t you? So, you are a Tsunami onlyer. Where did you learn that?” asks CB.

“Etc-Etc, out of kindness showed me the sea route to Tsunamis and I am forever grateful to him. O CB, jazz the order first and see what will happen,” I say.

CB and Paramole laugh their ribs sore.

“What will happen?” CB asks.

“It’s a secret,” I say.

“I am writing a new play. I should remodel the lead character on your weirdness,” CB says.

“I hope I do not die in the play,” I say.

“Well, is that not a great idea?” CB says.

“O CB, you are more than that. I have strong medicine, madarikan, odeishi, misiughwu and hirs. And I have completed my Awon Meridiloggun training,” I say.

“O so you do Ifa. No wonder. I now understand how you operate. But you are not Yoruba,” CB says.

“I am Urhobo. We call Ifa, Epha. The same root all the way back to Ife,” I say.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” CB asks.

“I usually keep it secret. But in life and death matters or jokes, I talk about it,” I say.

“Good you know I was joking,” CB says.

“You see Igbo, Yoruba, and the South-South ethnicities. We are all the same people. If we know that, Against Tribalism will be real,” I say.

“So, what’s preventing that knowledge from reigning in the lives of our people?” CB asks.

“The Narcissism of Minor Differences is our ethnic problem,” I say.

“You have a point. The confraternity was a kernel creation of unity to bring all our peoples together but men let us down,” CB says shaking his head.

“Please, forgive me my manners. A Totally Eternal Joy Happy Birthday to you, O Paramole. May your eons be short,” I say.

“An Ahoy to you, O Wrong Something,” Paramole says.

I produce two bottles of Chivas Regal and one packet of Silk Cut Silver. To get the bottles blessed, I take them to CB then Paramole to tap blessings into the bottles. I open the first bottle and pour drinks. CB spills a libation with an incantation then raises his glass and we follow suit.

“From Everlasting to Everlasting, you shall be my brother, it is always a great pleasure sailing with you. Another Birthday Ahoy to you, O Paramole,” CB says.

The toast is complete and the rumming begins. It is a solemn moment but gearing up to be merry. I pour some goscolene from the Fanta bottle into my whisky – “Sapele Regal” cocktail. Both men try it and like it. Paramole shows much surprise in his eyes when I offer him four bottles of ice-cold soda water from my submarine’s fridge to mix his whiskey. He claws me. Joy is blowing on us like a high-power standing fan. Brotherly love sweet O!

“Were you joking about Jakarta initiating a doe sister,” CB asks after a long silence by all of us.

“Not at all. I need it O!” I complain.

“As I told you, I am retired. Talk to NAS Cap’n or T-i-C chairman, they are jolly good fellows,” CB says.

Imagine breastologists refusing to help me. If I talk now… Bianimikaley!

“Okay. If I come to Tortuga, will I be spots free for good?” I ask.

“Yes,” CB and Paramole say in chorus.

“You have to pipe you special first though,” says Paramole.

I pipe away.

You no fit take am cook

You no fit take am bath

You no fit take am take wash you motor

But it is water

Wetin e be O

Chorus:

Paripari Po

Poripori Pa

You no fit take am do better thing O

But it is water.

“O CB, pray for me,” I say.

As the prayer starts, I feel the spirits of CB and Paramole engulfing me with intense humane love. But it is one spirit, it is Gbogborima!

Yet, the congi remains.

 

Be good, not Lucky.