₦airaland Forum

26

and

Na

members

slavery,

THE COFFINS OF ERROR…. Part 1
.
The old and bad-tempered Pa Jimoh was
dead, to begin with, but he did not go to his
grave. And this deprivation of proper
interment prevented among mourners any
thought of planting over his head a mango
tree. The real cause of his demise, however,
if brought to focus, would result in an
esteem more mirth-inducing to any spectator
at the sight of the incident than to the actual
victim on whom such tragedy befell.
Pa Jimoh had already hoisted himself to the
apex of a rather lofty palm tree before he
met his end. His intention behind this ascent
was merely to tap in the early wine, but
instead, he found his own hand tapping on
the delicate nest of snoozing hornets. Not
many mortals, if placed behind a
judgemental desk, would put too much blame
on the piqued wasps for their collective
efforts in the attack on the feeble
curmudgeon. And it would be unfair if this
little but fatal brawl between insect and man
was not elucidated in full detail.
The kind of irritation this swarm fostered
could only be imagined after putting oneself
in their thorax. Just imagine yourself a wasp
making passionate insect love to your
spouse in your apartment erected feet high
on the branch of a palm, then suddenly
poof! your castle was demolished by the
single stroke of a hand. And this destruction
came not just from any hand but from the
hand of Man; that specie with whom you
have never been (and possibly will never be)
of benign companionship. In this instance,
the last thing a patriotic wasp would care
about was decency; no male wasp would
scramble to a wardrobe searching for a pair
of trousers to cover its privates, and neither
would a female scream for her pants and
bra. What would they do? They’d call on
immediate neighbours whose mansions had
also been reduced to rubble and launch
immediate attack on the human intruder.
Initiating the divide-and-conquer techniques,
some wasps made their own attack on the
human’s skull; thereby, in the process,
reshaping the dimension of the tapper’s
occiput into that which was totally different
from the Creator’s initial design. But this was
not what resulted to the old man’s demise; of
course, something more brutal sufficed.
While some wasps families were busy
assaulting the old man’s skull, others lodged
themselves into the dark comfort of his
rather oversized pair of trousers. The poor
man wouldn’t have launched into that
extraordinary wail even people far away had
sworn hearing if those bees had shown
kindness on their intruder. The offensive had
found it incubent to sting him on the delicate
tissue of the sac dangling between his
thighs, while some were satisfied by only
sticking their probosces on the flesh of that
tender rope that always come with the sac.
The agony could only be best described by
someone who’d experienced a nearly equal
attack. So, it could be deduced that the latter
attack was more brutal than the former, for it
was at this moment that the old man forgot
about the precarious position he was in; he’d
disremembered that he was still perched
against the stem of a tall tree. And because
the pain was getting unbearable, Pa Jimoh
let go. Witnessing the brutal event could
cause one to see only figuratively the morals
behind the anecdote that ‘the higher you fall
the higher you bounce’, and the old man
literally bounced when his slim body came in
contact with the earth. And these mean
insects returned to build another nest only
after accompanying their victim to his final
destination. A rather eccentric writer may be
inspired to coin a catchy title from this
tragedy: ‘Death by Sting’ would go the title.

.
Click on the link below to continue reading
.
www.naijanoisemakers.com.ng/2018/09/08/the-coffins-of-error-part-1/

to

THE COFFINS OF ERROR…. Part 1
.
The old and bad-tempered Pa Jimoh was
dead, to begin with, but he did not go to his
grave. And this deprivation of proper
interment prevented among mourners any
thought of planting over his head a mango
tree. The real cause of his demise, however,
if brought to focus, would result in an
esteem more mirth-inducing to any spectator
at the sight of the incident than to the actual
victim on whom such tragedy befell.
Pa Jimoh had already hoisted himself to the
apex of a rather lofty palm tree before he
met his end. His intention behind this ascent
was merely to tap in the early wine, but
instead, he found his own hand tapping on
the delicate nest of snoozing hornets. Not
many mortals, if placed behind a
judgemental desk, would put too much blame
on the piqued wasps for their collective
efforts in the attack on the feeble
curmudgeon. And it would be unfair if this
little but fatal brawl between insect and man
was not elucidated in full detail.
The kind of irritation this swarm fostered
could only be imagined after putting oneself
in their thorax. Just imagine yourself a wasp
making passionate insect love to your
spouse in your apartment erected feet high
on the branch of a palm, then suddenly
poof! your castle was demolished by the
single stroke of a hand. And this destruction
came not just from any hand but from the
hand of Man; that specie with whom you
have never been (and possibly will never be)
of benign companionship. In this instance,
the last thing a patriotic wasp would care
about was decency; no male wasp would
scramble to a wardrobe searching for a pair
of trousers to cover its privates, and neither
would a female scream for her pants and
bra. What would they do? They’d call on
immediate neighbours whose mansions had
also been reduced to rubble and launch
immediate attack on the human intruder.
Initiating the divide-and-conquer techniques,
some wasps made their own attack on the
human’s skull; thereby, in the process,
reshaping the dimension of the tapper’s
occiput into that which was totally different
from the Creator’s initial design. But this was
not what resulted to the old man’s demise; of
course, something more brutal sufficed.
While some wasps families were busy
assaulting the old man’s skull, others lodged
themselves into the dark comfort of his
rather oversized pair of trousers. The poor
man wouldn’t have launched into that
extraordinary wail even people far away had
sworn hearing if those bees had shown
kindness on their intruder. The offensive had
found it incubent to sting him on the delicate
tissue of the sac dangling between his
thighs, while some were satisfied by only
sticking their probosces on the flesh of that
tender rope that always come with the sac.
The agony could only be best described by
someone who’d experienced a nearly equal
attack. So, it could be deduced that the latter
attack was more brutal than the former, for it
was at this moment that the old man forgot
about the precarious position he was in; he’d
disremembered that he was still perched
against the stem of a tall tree. And because
the pain was getting unbearable, Pa Jimoh
let go. Witnessing the brutal event could
cause one to see only figuratively the morals
behind the anecdote that ‘the higher you fall
the higher you bounce’, and the old man
literally bounced when his slim body came in
contact with the earth. And these mean
insects returned to build another nest only
after accompanying their victim to his final
destination. A rather eccentric writer may be
inspired to coin a catchy title from this
tragedy: ‘Death by Sting’ would go the title.

.
Click on the link below to continue reading
.
www.naijanoisemakers.com.ng/2018/09/08/the-coffins-of-error-part-1/

mean.

you

same.

same.

of

of

matured