Happy Birthday, Paramole 2

As we move along in Ariana Trench. The water world feels like home. Here in the deep blue sea, I am always at peace with myself. The life here is cool in every sense but sexual. Who wants mermaid offspring? I guess some do. Not me. Lapotidunity would make the experience current more ethereal though concrete. I’ll have a long ice-cold drink of goscolene when I get to the Locker.

“Woe unto those who hate our guts,” I say aloud.

“Almost Okolowe be honest with me, do you miss being on deck?”

“Jimmy, to be honest, no. Three decades of sailing gave me certain habits.”

“When I was alive in the world you never called me Jimmy. Now you call me that often.”

“It is a more worldly name than Paramole.”

“I see.”

Paramole smiles. The faraway focus in his eyes tells me something preoccupies him. He’s been silent for a while drinking nothing but icy soda water and. Paramole always looked like a hybrid between Fela and Miles Davis. He also has Miles’ stature and posture. Maybe a similar mind too. The poetry he wrote had a jazzy nonconformist tone and feel to it. I often wonder how Miles, Fela, James Baldwin or Jack Kerouac would read his pieces of thought scribbled on paper. I must say his math equations are not so accessible.

Paramole the paradox of a man remains a mystery.

We arrive Davy Jones Locker in near darkness. The time says 12:00 hours. A group of Forgone Living Men pack the entrance hall of the rendezvous like men eager to enter a hip nightclub. Dressed in white shirts, black trousers, white socks and black shoes, only five of them have red berets on. They have been waiting for longer than is usual in my absence. Captain Blood is too busy with relevance issues to enforce discipline in the Locker. I do as I like. What would you do in my place?

The place is chillier than usual. Braving countless winters never prepares anyone for the cold. We can hear the ocean flow rough and noisy above. I had set up dried ocean vines ready for a bonfire before I left. The vines are as thick as my arms and burn as well as hardwoods. Starting a fire in the cool damp is not easy but Paramole’s lighter will do the trick.

The men are awaiting transition according to the works of their hands and the direction of their wills. It’s now too late to regret or reconsider their words and deeds. The edict “Every Man Shall Receive… Measure for Measure, Blood for Blood,” is no longer an empty oath as many Pyrates once thought. Oaths are oaths and judgement time is inescapable. It’s either milk and honey or red-hot pepper.

The striking thing is the men are young not blasted and worsted old sailors. Why? The brief question has never been more necessary than it is now? Do you want me to answer the question? I dey come.

Around eleven men rush to hug Paramole with reverence. It is good to be good. Men revere Paramole in the Forgone world as he was feted in life. The mix of wisdom, courage, discipline, generosity, and a good heart are hard attributes to dismiss. The others have heard a lot about him but are too young to know him.

I light the bonfire as there is no attention on me. The place brightens to the flames. Davy Jones Locker is not a beautiful place but it exotic cave structure is both haunting and scary when dark. The place never gets any light direct from the sun. I get my vitamin D from fatty fish and breaking the rules to leave the Locker. My body needs the sun no matter what Captain Blood thinks. Here, he has no power over me and is sampleable.If he steps his feet here…

After the men have their fill with Paramole then they turn to me like a second thought.

“Ahoy, O Wrong Someone,” the men say in an uneven chorus.

“An Awee! Men, you are all not welcome.”

“Ahoy,” the men say.

“Let it be known to you all that I am now known as Almost Okolowe, Mascot on board Davy Jones Locker.”

“Omi Almost Okolowe, An Ahoy!”

“Some of you will part here and others will sail alongside each other to your final destinations. The worst amongst you shall line the belly of the sharks. That is not my duty. Ahoy According 2 D Law will handle that. Since he is not here, none of you will face that option.”

An Ahoy! the men roar in relief smoothing their initial downward drawn faces. There is optimism in the air.

“Some of you will go to Fiddler’s Green if you achieved the highest merit of sailing as a Pyrate. Others will go to Lyonesse and join Paramole here if your work of sailing was sterling and selfless. Most will cross the Great Gangway and remain in Davy Jones Locker here. That will be for those who just sailed along for the ride or for personal benefit. Few of you will go to Mercy Atoll. Pyrates who suffered much or died amidst gross neglect by the Confraternity will go there as a compensation.  You men are all too young for Akosombo Trench. I do not decide where you go after here. Your handwork decided for you. No Friend No Foe,” I say.

“One more thing. If you qualify for Fiddler’s Green, Lyonesse or Akosombo you will have a half day tour of the Doesis Locker. There you can loot the finest babes to paralysis, be them Agriculture, Deckhand, Brine Coat, Ash Coat, Weather Beaten or Tsunami. Take your pick. Tortugan babes are the reserve of Captain Blood even though he may loot from any cadre of babes he likes. Those who will stay in Davy Jones Locker can loot fellow men if you agree. Other than that loot away!”

Anxiety returns to the faces of the Forgone Sailors. No one wants to be left out from the babes slots. Ahoy Melaye D’ Impostor is scratching his crotch. Man to man will not be pleasant to men before me. There is always a first time though. Only if Fleece Johnson the “Booty Warrior” were here to re-groom them.

“O Almost Okolowe, I am not stepping on your rod. How can a Ultra Violet Spotted Sailor be guiding Forgone sailors to their Final Destination?” Sir Louis says.

“Mutiny!” I say.

“Are you the first to dwell in Davy Jones Locker?” Sir Louis says.

“Puncho Dekato, Pinto Sizo, Scorpio Ramis, SP II, Bad Prayer and others dwelled here and left. Evil Fixito and Misty Dawn are here now but they refused to get involved.”

“Are you more rugged than the men you mention?”

“Never. I was always a deckhand, Just Another Deckhand. Have you forgotten?”

“Just Another Deckhand was a gyp. You were a super seadog and you know it.”

“Sir Louis, you mean a super seadog who was so easy to punish and banish. What is so super about that?”

“Die that conversation,”Paramole interjects.

Paramole looks a little irritated. I am willing to continued our chat but Sir Louis will obey and keep silent. Sir Louis or Louis Ossai or I knew as a jolly good fellow.

“On any given day I can only process one destination. Since we have three destinations it will take three days. Forgone Sailors.”

“Before we start, were any of you men involved in modika?”

“No,” they say, their faces nonplussed.

“O Paramole, I told you. Countless men joined witchcraft without knowing it.”

“Die that nonsense. Are you mad or something?”

“Is truth-telling madness too.”

“Die it permanently and flat!”

I lie down flat on the ground my chin in the sand. I am grinning though. A punishment from Paramole is like a highly valued gift to me. Not that that I am a masochist.

Still lying flat I choose the three men I must process first.

“First on the list we have Black Pyrate aka Peter Igbenedion to Mercy Atoll. You were denied your cadre because of circumstances. Yet, they say Be Your Brother’s Keeper. From here on we fully recognise you as a Weather Beaten Sea Dog.”

“Next we have Capoon Glorious Mast aka Victor Ikiriko to Mercy Atoll. Sometimes I felt you were too handsome to be a Pyrate. Once a Capoon always a Capoon.”

“And then we come to Gaza Strip aka Godson Ato to Mercy Atoll. It is not often we see a Brine Coat Sea dog come to the Forgone.”

My eyes turn misty wet. Not even thirty years Gaza Strip is transitioning. A little help from fellow brothers and he would not be here.

These three sailors are not looking happy. How could they be?

The struggling Pyrates still alive are horrified to witness the neglect they see when a brother is down and dying. When they become Forgone you see brothers saying crocodile words; Why? and Derio on social media. So much for brotherhood. They fear what will happen when they become Foregone. Men who a few hundred thousand naira would have saved their got nothing in support. On their deaths spouses and children get a couple or more million naira. The Confraternity celebrates death better than life. Liberated minds are supposed to celebrate life more than death. Against Convention.

I stand up without permission to address the three men.

“Do any of you men have anything to say.”

Black Pyrate raises his hand.

I have some quotes

“Go on.”

“The surest way to work up a crusade in favour of some good cause is to promise people that they will have the chance of maltreating someone. This is known as the ‘cruelty of moral indignation,” says Black Pyrate.

“Who said that?” Paramole asks him.

“Aldous Huxley,” he replies.

“There will always be some people in the background of a community who will take great pleasure in some insatiable outburst of violence, all in the name of some holy or justifiable revenge. they will seethe at some imagined offense and take great pleasure in harming other people, because they will see it as a kind of justice,” says Black Pyrate.

“An Ahoy, ” I yell.

“Wow! Who said that,” Paramole asks again.

“Fred Nietzsche”

“An Ahoy to you rugged bones. It’s good to have an intellectual on board rather than those given to drunkenness, sex, song and cruelty,” I say

Black Pyrate smiles and claws me in a tight handshake.

“O PM if I had made these quotes won’t you say too much of book is my nemesis.”

“It is part of your nemesis.”

“Shuoh.”

“How many sea dogs read Huxley and Nietzsche for fun or with zeal? Keep it simple.”

“I do.”

“Keep it polite”

“I do.”

“Okay keep it acceptable.”

“I shall.”

“Good, very good.”

Paramole claps. I doubt he is mocking me.

“Ahoy Seadogs.”

“An Ahoy O Almost Okolowe.”

“Today is Ahoy Paramole’s birthday. Won’t all you men sally with me.”

“Over there in the rendezvous there is excess rums; goscolene, salty Bloody Mary and seaweed beer. For flesh in the stockade there is sufficient squid, crab, shrimp and barracuda to roast or make into pepper soup. You will find okombo, shekere, agogo, drum sticks and other samba instrument under the blue tarpaulin sheet,” I say.

The men cheer and the drinking begins. One thing the men did reminded me of old time Pyrates. They lighted a cooking fire and put half of all the flesh into the cauldron with available ingredients. Not knowing how it will turn out when cooked. Rugged! The Spirit of Gbogborima must have descended into our midst. Look at the men’s faces and eyes, pyratical to the soul.

Right now I am searching for lapotidunity courtesy of goscolene. The roasting will happen later.

Lethal Pencil is spontaneous in raising a song.

Paramole don come for birthday

Cheren che (chorus)

Paramole don come for birthday

Cheren che (chorus)

By the third repetition some men skilled in playing the samba pick up their instruments. For some unknown reason, an energetic sally starts within the Locker. All thirty men present are singing and shuffling in a circle around the blazing bonfire. In a matter of minutes, the place transforms from a place of the Forgone to one of merry. The Spirit of Gbogborima is here for sure, it abhors sadness, anger, distress, vengeance and confusion. Not even the confusion goscolene in excess can unleash.

That’s how it’s supposed to be for those who deserve it for their good works. To evil Pyrates Ahoy According 2 D Law awaits them with justice. No Friend No Foe!

“See how you are enjoying with your brothers, Almost Okolowe. It’s in your blood. Swallow your pride and let go of your hurts. Now’s the time to return to the fold,” says Paramole.

I am enjoying myself so much I hear his words, not listen to them. Later I will. Let me enjoy the birthday sally first.

Be good, not lucky.