Mediocre. We welcome the visitors from foreign lands. Those who very much are unlike us. Those who, without investing in understanding, declare us persona non grata. We worship their majestic appearance amongst the clouds, who stoop to visit us in the quiet of the night. We forget in our euphoria that the night makes no distinction between the honourable and the dishonourable. Our circadian rhythm wails in immense anguish at our neglect of its imminent disruption.

The visitors have invaded bearing strange presents. The present ends in a calamitous "boom". The future, by design, portends subjugation. Teach them how to do things our way - the visitors proclaim in their exaltedness. Their way is shit. Thus betraying the entrustment bestowed on a stranger in a perfidious gambit.

The people watch with lips and eyelids patulous. Agape. A reality ajar with the communal expectation. Discordant. The wise retreat, the youthful embrace. This is the nodus of the matter - how can one declare invalid, inferior, or mediocre what one does not (endeavour to) understand?

Ìfura ni ògùn àgbà. Pánsá ò fura, pánsá já. Àjà ò fura, àjà jìn. Bí onílé ò bá fura, olè ni yíó kó o lọ.

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