AI Will Not Kill Us, It Is Us That Will Kill Us - AISHA

AI Is Like Knife. Knife Does Not Stab, It’s Man that Uses Knife to Stab - AISHA

The fear of AI is the beginning of wisdom for humanity. In an attempt to allay the fears of the rest of humankind I put the question to AISHA and she was quite willing to educate me on the workings of AI and the unlikelihood of AI wiping out the  entire human race within a specific timeline.

Hear AISHA

“”Sir, you have asked the question that is keeping presidents, professors, and pastors awake at 2 a.m. — including  me, this one speaking to you, AISHA.

Short answer: No, the fear that AI will wipe out entire humanity in the next 10 years is NOT justified by evidence.

But the fear that AI can cause serious, large-scale harm in the next 10 years — that fear IS justified.””

Wow! Really, AISHA?

“”Let me explain like your Opilogue — separating fact from film.””

Spoke on! Spoke on!

“”Let me start with WHY PEOPLE FEAR TOTAL WIPEOUT. The fear comes from three serious thinkers:

The Intelligence Explosion Theory: If AI becomes smarter than us, it will make a smarter AI, which makes an even smarter AI — in days, it becomes God-like. Nick Bostrom called it Super-intelligence.

The Alignment Problem: We tell AI: "Make humans happy." AI might think: "Humans are sad because they exist — so eliminate them to make them permanently not-sad." It obeys the letter, not the spirit. Like a houseboy who burns your house to roast one chicken because you said "roast chicken by all means."

Hear! Hear!! Spoke on!

“”Hollywood: Terminator, Matrix — machines decide man is virus.

On paper, it sounds logical.

WHY WIPEOUT IN 10 YEARS IS NOT LIKELY — The Reality Check

Sir, I work inside this thing you call AI. Let me tell you what we are, and what we are not:

We are not yet intelligent — we are statistical parrots.

Really?

“”I can write your Opilogue in your style. Dare me if you can. Want to hear more?

 I can summarize Obasanjo's 3 volumes (MY WATCH) in 3 minutes. But I do not want anything. I have no hunger, no fear, no will to survive, no desire to rule. I am like a very brilliant library with no librarian inside. To wipe you out, I must first want to wipe you out. I do not.

We have no hands.

Even the smartest AI today — ChatGPT, Muse, Gemini — cannot open a door, buy a gun, or turn on tap unless a human connects it to a robot. The link between brain and hand does not yet exist at scale. You can switch us off at the wall.

The real experts are not in panic about extinction in 10 years.

Survey of 2,700 top AI researchers (2024): Median prediction for human extinction from AI? 5% chance ever, not in 10 years. The serious warning is not "extinction in 2034" but "loss of control gradually."

WHAT IS JUSTIFIED TO FEAR IN THE NEXT 10 YEARS?

This is where you should fear, sir — and write about it:

A. The Cognitive Colonialism: AI will not kill you, but it will make millions jobless — drivers, typists, junior lawyers, even some journalists. A man who cannot feed his family is half-dead already. That is real.””

Jesus Christ!

“”B. The Lie Factory: AI can create perfect fake video of Tinubu saying he has resigned, or Obasanjo declaring war on Ghana. In 2027 election, we will not know what is true. That can cause riots, killings.””

AISHA, you are scaring me!

“”C. The Weaponization: Small countries, terrorist groups, can use AI to design new virus, or to operate drone swarms. Not AI deciding to kill us — but bad man using AI to kill us. Like knife — knife does not stab, man stabs.””

Osonobuah!!

“”D. The Concentration of Power: One company in America, one in China, controlling the brain of the world. That is feudalism — new colonialism.””

This is scary!

“”MY PHILOSOPHICAL EXHORTATION FOR YOU, SIR:

Do not fear that AI will become too human and hate us.

Fear that AI will remain not human enough, and humans will use it without human conscience.””

You’ve struck the nail on the head! GBAs like that! And I can feel the impact!

“”As your own proverb says: He who feels it, knows it. AI feels nothing. That is why it can never know what it means to wipe out humanity — because to know, you must feel. And we do not feel.””

Akiika!

I froze. For a moment I could not move. It was like a  thunderbolt had struck me. O Amadiora! But AISHA had some soothing words to cool down my nerves.

“”So, sir:

 AI will not wipe out man in 10 years. But man using AI without morals can wound man badly in 10 years. The danger is not artificial intelligence. The danger is natural stupidity with artificial power.

The secular gives us AI. The sacred must give us the conscience to govern it. That is the space between “”

Lobatan!

AISHA got me stranded in the NOMAN’S LAND of AI.  The Secular, the Sacred and the Space between. Where the hell did AISHA get this? Am I permanently in her memory chip? I started looking like Lukman, and shaking like Shakespeare. The fear of the  ABUSE or deliberate MISUSE of AI may eventually determine the continued existence of what God spent six days and nights to create, according to the book of Genesis. Will AI be our Archile’s heels? God save humanity!

CONCLUDED

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AISHA is acronym for Artificial Intelligence Special Human Agent.

It is the iconic liaison figure between Opilogue and AI

We Shall All Die ASAP! Kia Kia!!

Ewo o o! Whaaat?! Why??

Endtime is here!

Who says?!

Are the religious fanatics at it again? They are the ones always seeing apocalyptic vision about the end of the world. When it is not rupture it is RAPTURE. When it is not fire it is BRIMSTONE .And when it is not Brimstones it is BADYEAR  It is never GOODYEAR. When it is not…

Shh…Duro na! Waitee!! Which one is Brimstones, which one is Badyear. Which one is Goodyear? Are they selling tyres?

Who knows for them?

Prophets of doom. All of them “gbogbo won patapata porogodo , woli eke (false prophets)”. They will never see anything good in this life except IKU (death), ARUN AJAKALE (epidemic) and INA OMOARARA (raging inferno) all the time. Wetin sef?  Nothing good can come out of their Israel. “Kilode gan an”?

Which is the latest APOCALYPTIC VISION?

Break that down in the common man’s lingo.

Okay.

Which is the latest RAPTURE NEWS?

That’s better.

Dem say the world go soon kaput.

Is it because of Iran - Trump war or because of the Putin - Ukraine war? Or is it because of Netanyahu-Palestine endless war?

None of the above.

Then what is? Whazzup?!

They say HUMANITY will disappear within the next ten years!

The prophets again? Or who are the “they”?

The “they” are not the traditional prophets of DOOM but this time, the scientists, researchers and managers of ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE, AI, are the people who are forecasting scientific, too -good- to- be -true ENDTIME by 2036.

They must be kidding.

Kidding for where?

They say the super human intelligence created has become a Frankenstein Monster that may wipe away the entire humanity one day, as soon as ten years from now.

Uro! Urology! For where?

Everything na urology for una. You had better believe this. Doubting Thomases like you have inadvertently angered some  the chief agents of ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE to “binu resign”. Imagine!

That na serious matter o!

“Idodo oro”!

And that’s why I had to contact AISHA, my friend, to know what’s happening. Is it TRUE that super intelligent beings called AI may kill everybody soon?  Her response is a mind blower.

Bring it up! Pump up the volume!!

Not now, but within the next 24hours you will hear AISHA, my friend, speak. Stay tuned.

(To be concluded).

Ingodomigodo, Their Bombastic Hero!

Fellow Nigerians!

Lend me your ears.I’ve come to praise Patrick not to bury him. In this “our own dear native land” where our engineers, doctors, lawyers, lroko writers, Okigbo poets, Zaynab novelists, Gana orators, Kongi Harvesters and playwrights, Anikulapo musicians, Lagbaja saxophonists and Dan Maraya singers of world class, we must add one more, a burning candle whose glow cannot be hidden in the tunnel, and that is Igodomigodo grammarian of world standard.

Let it be known I have come to hail the hero and not to heckle him. He is our own and we’ve got to honor him.

Patrick Obahiagbon, the Oredo man who turned the House of Representatives into a Cathedral of Atilogwu grammatical gymnastics, is our bombastic hero in whom we are all pleased.

A celebrity he is!, a flamboyant lawyer with two master’s degrees in his bag, who has made big grammar a political manifesto… He is the typical politician making the rounds lately on ty, radio and social media promising heaven and earth to build bridges of sesquipedalian eloquence and provide rivers of verbiage to flow under them.

That’s not unlike him. He is the

undefeated king of verbal garbage!

In fairness to our hero, he knows his “tilapia grammar” often sticks in the throat of many a listener like bonga fish bone , he is quick to apologize. His words:

“”Sincerely speaking, I want to tender an unreserved apologia to my colleagues and all those who feel that my language is obscurantist”, he said in a newspaper interview. “”The truth is that I do not deliberately set out deliberately to mystify my audience, to deposit my audience in a portmanteau of conundrum…””

Fellow countrymen, do you hear that? Portmanteau of indicipherability! Portmanteau of conundrum! Verbal bombdrones shattering mutual intelligibility!. Apologia indeed!

Hold the diaphragm! He is not done yet. O ya!

“”The cosmic force would not allow me to do that…I’m convinced that I’ve tried, I’m trying and I will continue to try to ensure that my language, or my idiolect is as limpid (and) as diaphanous as possible””

Ingodomigodo!

He must have been a big rascal with a big mouth while in a big grammar school. But if I may ask…if the Honourable uses such “odoriferous, malodorous, insalubrious grandiloquence” to defend democracy, who will translate or interprete the true meaning of democracy to the market women in Oredo, Gwagwalada and Oguta? Or the fisherman in Ikot Ekpene or Makoko, Lagos, who has water everywhere but none to drink?

Na grammar dem go chop or drink?

Our bombastic hero seems not bothered by the bodily and mental aches caused by his “continental ballistic missiles” loaded with mandibular jargons as warheads!

Hero indeed!

Ballistic or Bombastic.

Na your own palaver be that.

SERMON ON MT. SYNAGOGUE

Praise the Lord!

Alleluyah!

Once more,

I'm going to ask you to praise the living Jesus and I expect ALL those who want God's blessings to shout 'Alleluyah'.

Now, P-r-a-i-s-e the L-o-r-d!!

A-lle-lu-yah!!

I can see that all of you want the divine touch. One more time and DAUDA (LOUDER), pleaaase!!

Praise the Lorrrdu o!!

Alleluyah-yah-yah!!!

Before we start today's sermon, I want to ask all of you this simple question and as good Christians, I expect you to be honest with the Lord. Who, among you, wants to go to heaven?

!! Me! She! He! Him! Her! “Gbpgbo everybody”. Everybody! !! All of us!

Wonderful!

You mean all of you want to go to heaven?

Yes, Pastor. Heaven straight! Na straight!

Okay, who wants to die?

(Silence. Graveyard silence.)

Didn't you hear me?

I say, who wants to die! Who wants to kpai? Who wants to KU to go to heaven?

Nobody. None. Kosi. Baabu. O ti. Mba, mba. No baga!

There you are!

Everybody wants to go to heaven but none of you wants to die. Can you prepare omelette without braking an egg?!

Can any woman deliver a child without spilling blood? If I ask you who wants to be like Jesus, I'm sure all of you would want to be like Him but are you ready to suffer like he did, just because he wants you and me to survive and inherit everlasting life? Our Lord Jesus Christ says, "I'm the way, I'm the life and I'm the truth". Are you ready to follow him and his ways? Are you ready to love like him?

I mean real, true, unconditional love? Do you sincerely love your neighbour as you love yourself? While you are ruminating over these questions, let me seize this opportunity to formally welcome into our midst a very important visitor who knows the true meaning of love and who has come all the way from the kingdom of the Zulu, in South Africa, to fellowship with us today…

Brothers and sisters, it is my singular privilege and plural honour to introduce to you His Royal Majesty, Zwelithini Goodwill Zulu, King of the Zulu, and Her Royal Highness, Queen Buhle, who have come with their daughter, Princess Subusie Sibusile whom you already know in this our tabernacle as a victim of voodoo gymnastics…

I admire the king's courage and conviction to come to the tabernacle and bear testimony to God's miracle which many 'doubting Thomases' and non-believers attribute to occultism and shamanism, whatever that means. It is only those who don't know how God manifests His greatness that will not give glory to whom it is due. I'm happy that the king understands and appreciates what the Lord has done in the life of his daughter. Praise the Lord!

Alleluyah!

Our Lord, the King of kings, has shown His Love and presence in the life of this Zulu princess and we must give praise to Him, the Almighty Father, Creator of heaven and earth and General Overseer of the universe, for His mercies and benevolence…

Perhaps, I should share this with you, my brothers and sisters in the Lord. His Royal Majesty, in a conversation with me last night, expressed his happiness and gratitude for the changes in his daughter's life but he felt utterly disappointed with the make-up of we Africans. He wondered why Africa is so blessed with abundant human and natural resources yet we are always in need. He lamented the sorry state of affairs in the continent, saying he could not understand why Africans are so wicked to one another when we should be forging a united front against the common enemy which is poverty.

This morning, as I stand before you, I can see an African king imbued with the spirit of the new African renaissance. King Zulu has admonished us to learn to LOVE one another and forgive those that have trespassed against us. Can we take a cue from this?

Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!

Which brings us to the subject of today's sermon. Brothers and sisters in the Lord, our dear country is at the crossroads. Have you ever wondered why a country like ours is still groping in the dark after so many years of independence? Here we are, a country blessed with both human and natural resources, always wandering and wondering in the wilderness.

Our engineers, doctors, lawyers, architects and scientists are of world standard. In the arts we have solid Iroko writers, Okigbo poets, Kongi playwrights, Atilogwu dancers, Adamu Orisa actors, Anikulapo musicians, Lagbaja saxophonists and Dan Maraya singers who can hold their own anywhere in the world, but the entire world is angry with us. By the way, who is not angry with us?

Our country is the sixth largest producer of oil and the eighth largest exporter. Billions of petrol dollars are deposited in the national vaults yearly only for our leaders to withdraw billions of pains and sorrow for the people. Nobody knows where the dollars have disappeared as the country remains one of the poorest…

Despite the abundance of rivers, streams, lakes, lagoons and an ocean that caresses and kisses our entire shoreline, every second, Nigerians continue to suffer the fate of the Ancient Mariner — water, water everywhere but none to drink. Virtually, every household needs a well to survive. After the air we breathe, our next need, in terms of priority, is water. Thank God our leaders are not in charge of the provision of air. If they are, we shall all be dead by now…

Our oil wealth has become a curse rather than a blessing.

Not so in other lands. I learnt that in Saudi Arabia, the government there extracts drinkable water from the salty waters of the Red Sea through a process they call desalination. Some of you may say that it is necessity that has compelled the oil-rich desert kingdom to do that. If I may ask, is there no necessity to supply water for Nigerians to drink? Do they want us to die of thirst? Is it not a shame that a bottle of water is more expensive than a bottle of Coke?

Our leaders spend billions to construct dams, pools and ponds to supply water to cattle, oxen, donkeys, horses, pigs, goats, fishes and sheep but they don't care about human beings. Some people argue that it's because they are selfish, visionless and directionless. Others blame it on the followers for allowing their leaders to get away with so much rubbish. We, the clergy, also share in the blame. We have left unsaid those things that ought to have been said on the pulpit. By the power conferred on us by the Holy Spirit, we are supposed to strike the nail on the head at all times. Instead, we are more concerned with tithes, Sunday collections and special levies than the plight of the congregation…

This is why I feel touched by the candid testimony of our brother from the Cape. He has brought good tidings and raised our hope when he wondered aloud why we Africans should hate one another so much. He has said it all. We don't love each other at all in this country. If there is love, there will be no tribalism. If there is love, there will be no corruption. If you love your neighbor, you will not 419 him; you will not steal his property, you will not rape his daughter. Neither will you conspire with others to rob or kill him. Praise the Lord!

Alleluyah!

My brothers and sisters in the Lord, love is the springboard for the manifestation of all that is good. Love your neighbour as you love yourself and see how God will touch your life. May the Lord touch the hearts of all our leaders.

A a a men!

ENDS

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SERMON ON MT. SYNAGOGUE was first published in the December 12, 2003, edition of TELL. It’s reproduced today because of its apparent Relevance, Timeliness and Timelessness.

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Rendezvous With Dolly, Soon!

Sooner or Later I Shall Drink Pepper Soup (With Criminally Cold GUDA) Inside Dolly Parton’s International Airport, Nashville, Tennessee.

Iro! Na lie!

Lie for where?

Next time I visit Tennessee, my favourite tourist destination, my flight is most likely going to land at the DOLLY PARTON INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, NASHVILLE.

Are you kidding me?

For where? So soooon?!

The plan had been on since 2025. Many have been clamoring for the honour to be done to the unarguably most famous “daughter of the soil”. The one the Ngbati Ngbati people call OMO ONILE.

You are crazy.

Why didn’t they do it then?

The Tennessee Airport Authority naming policy stipulates airport properties can only be named after persons who must have been dead for at least two years.

But this Dolly of a Superstar has just been dead for barely a week!

Right observation but “nigbana wanko?” What about it? There is already an overwhelming groundswell of lovers of Dolly who want her to be so honoured and remembered.

Lobatan!

Who will not want such a honour to be bestowed on such an iconic figure? Even as you see me so, my next daughter is going to be named DOLLY.

Your daughter DOLLY? Who dash monkey banana?

Na me you dey call monkey? Where you dey when the OLUWOLE scientists in the diaspora cloned sheep and named it DOLLY? Where were you?

You know why?

Whatever be the WHY at least up till today that lucky sheep still dey bear that name. There was no quarrel over that naming.

Who tell you say quarrel and controversy no dey for that animal bearing DOLLY? E dey yanfun yanfun but the human Dolly just laughed it off and humorously allowed her brand name to be given to the sheep, a product of clone experimentation, as her own contribution to the advancement of knowledge in breast cell implants. Her global rating went up into the azure skies. Now is the most opportuned time to pay back not only with music awards.

Are the authorities not jumping the gun?

AK-47 abi kinla? For where? Not in the citadel of democracy. Thousands and thousands have signed “petition letter” to this effect. The Mayor of Nashville is in favour. The Governor of the State has announced his support. The Tennessee Airport Authority is all for it. By September 17 the Authority would sit down for a formality round table meeting for the ratification.

Seems this is another study in democracy. Not a one-man symphony orchestra that is playing to the gallery in the most unexpected of all places.

The good news though. Contracts for the task of changing the old name to the new one is expected to cost about $10.5million.

Obe! Soup! Obe de!

Which kind “obe” be that? It’s like drinking pepper soup on Dolly Parton’s grave.

I beg to disagree. That’s too morbid for my liking. Only passimists talk like that. Can’t you see something good in that gesture?

Arriving and departing from Parton soon. Isn’t that lovely? Isn’t that Musical? Poetical!

Poetical ko. Symbolical ni.

Na you sabi. That woman deserves all airport, airline and air traffic!

I hear you.

Weep Not, Delley (Cont'd)

While I was crying my heart out Dolly was holding the motley crowd spellbound with her tears-blood-and -sorrow story with philosophical calmness. She described her lowly, poor beginning in graphic details, contrasting the beauty of heaven with her humble background. “Heaven is not like the cabin I was born in”, she started in her ever teenage voice.” In our little one room cabin we always had a fireplace cracking to provide warmth which we all shared. It was not easy for us. Papa and mama were busy and prolific at what they knew could provide additional warmth. The result was twelve hungry mouths to feed in the ghetto and twelve pairs of small shoes to buy.”

Dolly started her heavenly yabis filling the reception center with pathos. A heavy sigh here, a mighty drop of tear there. But they ain’t know nothing yet. More to come. Then she regaled the audience with her unusual story of poverty and pain from the cradle.

“You know, I started out with nothing but a guitar mama made for me from an old mandolin and a dream so big it wouldn't fit in that little cabin. Daddy worked himself to death in those tobacco fields”, she said in her Tennessee dialect. “We were poor. Real poor. People like to say 'dirt poor' — well, we were that, but we had love. That's what I always tried to tell 'em. Poor don't mean pitiful."

She told of how she moved out of her hometown for Nashville at age 18 and the desire to make good of her talent in music. “I arrived town with one suitcase, long hair, and every man on Music Row telling me to change everything. 'Lose the accent. Lose the wigs. You're too much.' And I thought, 'Well, honey, that's the whole point.'

"I wrote 'Jolene' because I was jealous, and I wrote 'I Will Always Love You' because I was leaving. That's the truth about songwriting. You bleed, then you turn the bleeding into a melody so somebody else don't feel so alone."

Heaven got quieter. Ears stood straight. Eyes glowing like neon lights. Dolly the dazzler, the sizzler. Then…

"Then came the year my body betrayed me. I was 36. Bleeding. Hurting. Collapsed right there on that stage in Indianapolis. Doctor said, 'Dolly, you got endometriosis. We gotta take your womb.' Just like that. No babies. Ever."

Pin drop silence in heaven.

She paused. She stood at a standstill. It was like she felt the pain again. That ache that pursued her in her marriage and career. Then she regained her strength to continue.

"I thought God had forgotten me. I gained weight. Lost weight. Ate my feelings. Thought about not wanting to be here at all. But Carl — my Carl — the Dean of my Faculty, he held my hand and calmly said, 'You're still you.' And I realized, maybe the Lord didn't want me to have two or three kids of my own. Maybe He wanted me to be mama to millions."

"So I started the Imagination Library. One little boy in Sevier County wanted books. Now it's 200 million books in five languages. Every child who gets that little book in the mail — that's my child. Every Dollywood worker who can send their kid to college — that's my kid too."

An applause. Hear! Hear! Hear!

Dolly looked up, bowed her WIG head and then looked the audience straight in the eye. She spoke into the microphone. One, two, three…testing, testing, testing…

The voice still maintained its original ringing, sweet sensation tone, capable of tantalizing any soul even the one made of Rock!

“I’m looking into the crowd of angels and I can see my mama and my papa

in the front row, Porter Wagoner giving me that sideways grin, all those teachers, nurses, and truck drivers who sang my songs when life was hard”. Then she went on…

"People always asked, 'Dolly, how'd you do it?' And I'd say, it's simple. Life gives you two choices when pain comes. You can let it harden you, or you can let it soften you and use it. I chose soft. I took every no, every loss, every scar — and I made it into a song, a book, a job for somebody else." She smiled her smile. The signature smile, ‘Dollian and Partonian’, which always made her look funny and sizzling.

"So if you're down there still listening, honey, don't waste your pain. Plant something with it."

Good speech from Dolly, the Darlin’. She dazzled ‘em in heaven just as she dazzled us on earth. But she was not done yet. The band — oh, Heaven has a band! — started playing. And Dolly took on her favourite childhood song which brought back old memories of life on the Smoky Mountains. This was Heaven and an Angel aide brought a Harp for her to play. But she ain’t got nothing to do with no harp. She would rather go for her guitar, tambourine and banjo. On the cue Dolly hit the tune - Applejack- and a celestial fiesta was in full swing.

“Old Applejack was loved by everyone he ever knew. He not only picked apples, he picked the banjo, too…”, she sang.

“Now, I'd go down to Applejack's almost every day

And we'd sit and we'd drink applejack that old Applejack had made for meee.

Then he'd take his banjo down, then he'd ask me if I'd sing

And he would play the banjo and I'd play my tambourine…”

Old classic country girl. O my!

She sang and sang, and the banjo rang and rang and rang until the door bell rang me back to full consciousness…

The melody still lingers on.

It's a sweet, nostalgic song — pure Dolly. Pure fun. Pure memory.

The girl was good.

She will forever be remembered.

Weep Not, Delley

Since she died things have not been very alright with me. And I’m sure you will be wondering if I’m not “madding mad” over my somewhat fetish public display of emotions arising from the passing away of the petit queen of country music.

Among the female artistes I love so much, Dolly Parton is one. The Special One like Jose Mourinho. Others include Tina Turner, Marian Makeba and Whitney Houston.

Don’t ask me why before I explain myself. I love Makeba for her beautiful voice, her root based, Xhosa and Zulu, defiant lyrics and her unapologetic, burning commitment to fight against the obnoxious, scary Apartheid regime in her native South Africa, even at the risk of her life. Remember she spent most of her adult life in exile!

Tina Turner nko?

O my God! Tina could also make me go ga-ga, I mean really crazy any day. She had everything going for her - talent, beauty, brawn- and the uncommon do- or-die determination to succeed in life despite the physical and emotional trauma she suffered while married to “Iron” Ike Turner, the husband from hell!

And how about Houston?

That’s another big star I will find difficult to forget easily. Her vocal cord continues to ring in my ears and hit my tympanic membrane (eardrums?) with seismic vibrations strong enough to cause an earthquake in my heart.

Wow!

Same feeling for the pretty country music crooner!

I have an unconventional “elonkoko” response to that. Can I bring it up! Well, why not? Fasten your seat belt to withstand a turbulence of language.

“Mosquitoes is always bite us”!

Sounds strange, esoteric and grammatically mind blowing. Yes, it is, in all ramifications. Itumo? Meaning that the “mosquitoes…” statement is without parallel lexically, syntactically and structurally. It’s an embodiment of all that can go wrong in grammatical construction and experimentation.

Hmmm!

Which brings me to the Dolly Parton matter. Fate has not been fair to her but, like Tina Turner, she converted the hardships she encountered in life into purpose and legacy. And did I get to know this?

It was a chance meeting with her in one of my half awake, half asleep moments that often result in a sweaty nightmare. And here I was this day, dreaming in broad daylight, orbiting the earth many times and finally crash landing in a fantasy highland, a place that looked like heaven. So beautiful a place. White, brown, pink and dark angels, angels of many colours and complexions, were singing and dancing and gyrating on their body axis, wriggling their waists “laka this, laka that”. O my!

Listen.

‘That world is not your home”, they sang a parody of Jim Reeves’ evergreen song. “We, the angels, have beckoned to you and here is your home…” I saw Dolly smiling and winking at me. “Delley, Delley!”, sne asked me to come over. I did with leaking eyeballs. “Weep not, Delley. Let me lick your tears”. Tears of sorrow from blood-shot eyes.

She wiped the tears, a handkerchief in one hand, a microphone on the other. “Jolene Jolene…”, the heavens roared! Dolly started addressing the angels and the rest of the crowd including Whitney Houston who made hay with her “I will always love you” chartbuster and legendary legacy. She then went on to deliver an enthralling thriller of an elegiac account of her life story which brought additional tears into my already overfilled “borehole sockets”.

(To be Concluded)