I was enjoying the Saturday's sleep-grove, with a mild snooring, I guess, when my better half gave me a tap that cut short a funny dream of mine. That touch only comes up when I have an urgent business to attend to. It's a reminder-touch, like an alarm clock. Those who can't keep to time in sleep can relate. "E be like your Aunty pikin dey faint o", were the words.



Immediately, I left the sweet bed, tied my towel, and majestically moved to the scene. I saw a group of women attending to a juvenile. Some were busy pressing her, and others, rubbing her with what looks like a crude oil. "What's happening?" I asked. "She is suffering from convulsion," someone replied. Trust Africans they are all specialists. So, different remedies were applied. Everyone became trained doctors overnight. As for me, I started a communication with my Creator. I was speaking without words. Ehn, like the wind that waves and goes. But then, there were some prayer warriors already making some fierce declarations. Only the extra violent folks understand the physics of spiritual force, and can take it by force. If you know what I mean. The Incorporated Trustees of Spiricoco fellas, can relate. Demons Sha, them never see somechin!

For me, God has already taken the wheels. But, trust the Dark Prince, the Minister of the Ministry of Holy Darkness, he never gives up. He raised his ugly head again -- and by this time, the pikin's body was going stiff. All our Africans mothers were out, still giving their remedies. The ambassadors of everything that is bitter, may have given some prescription. "Cut that bitter leaf, mix am with dogorayo, join small bitter kola. Hah, two cups of small stout too. Na small pikin ooo, so make am three spoonful"

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