Griffin-like Piece with the Moves between Stories - Essay Example

The sounds of children playing were interrupted by the noise of shouting that occasionally erupted from one place or another. He swallowed before stepping out into the dirt of the street, the scents and the crust of the poor part of the city having no affect on him as he had lived within it his whole life. The growl in his belly, on the other hand, is a pain one can never get used to feeling. He began the search for food, for a resource from which to gain his meal for the day.The result of colonialism within Nigeria has displaced the cultural sense of survival, creating urban centers where once the natural order of society provided for itself.

Urbanization has taken shelter and food from cultures that once knew how to work their land and use their resources in order to provide for themselves. Now, the cities are filled with generations who struggle still to adapt and to pull themselves out of poverty.He closed his eyes for a moment before moving through the city. He thought about a woman he knew who might give him a meal if he talked nicely to her. He hadn’t gone to her in a long time, but she had given him food before when he had happened by when she was cooking.

He had to cross the city a bit to get near her home, but it was worth it if he got a cooked meal. He moved quickly from place to place, waving at those he knew until he was stopped dead in his tracks for a moment. He looked up and saw the office of a lawyer that he knew, a man who had bought his way into the graces of the mayor of the town. He saw the son of the mayor going into that office, with his clean white shirt and black trousers, not to mention the shiny black automobile from which he had emerged.

“Lagos, the current capital city and perhaps the most important urban settlement in Nigeria, if not on the West African coast, typifies a case of urban development in a rural context. 

The settlement has grown from a 19th century fishing and agricultural settlement to become a late 20th century metropolitan centre” (Baker184). The mayor’s son walked into the office, the whirring of the fan creating a small breeze through the open door. He ran his hand down his neck, bothered that his father had sent him on this errand, his life interrupted by this chore. He grinned for a moment thinking of the women from the night before, their lithe bodies undulating to the music, his throat filled with the drink that made his eyes glassy and filled him with a wildness that he could not express without it.

He blew out a small bit of air and focused on the office door in front of him. “I have it, I have it” he said, knowing that his position in the city was dependant upon giving this tribute to the mayor, the power of that man enough to give him access to what he needed to sustain his business. He fumbled around with a key to a drawer for a minute until it popped open. He pulled out a big envelope and surreptitiously filled it until it was full. He locked the metal clasp on it had and handed it to the mayor’s son, his sweating fingers leaving a mark upon the paper.

The mayor’s son sneered then turned and left the office, still annoyed that his sleep and his day had been interrupted for such a task. “In today’s Nigeria corruption has become a problem with implications for development planning, power positions, and balances, the constitution of civil society and the future 0 democracy. Today, virtually no Nigerian believes in hard work or that hard work pays” (Ojo 167). He walked up to the shining black automobile, his fingers reaching out to touch the hard finish.

He was transfixed by the beauty and power that the automobile held, his hand running over the finish now in order to drink in the wealth that it represented. The boy, in his poverty, had no way to comply to the needs of those in power, to give to them what they desired in order to rise above his place in this life. He knew that no matter what he did, without resources that shiny black automobile might as well be a rock on the moon, desired but unreachable. The dull ache in his belly was indistinguishable from the hunger he felt, the desire to have the things he could see, even touch, but never own.

The mayor’s son didn’t care much for anything that stood in his way, the standards of his life measured only by the extent to which he experienced pleasure. He looked at the paper envelope, bulging with cash and knew he could not steal it without raising the anger of his father who indulged his life and would most likely give him a good handful for having collected the gift. He hit the accelerator with a punch, not seeing the boy who stood so clearly in front of him as he roared forward.

He thought about the smooth belly of the woman that he currently desired most and knew he would see her soon, her skin, silken and glowing in the lights of the club where he would find her. Politics in Nigeria, as in many cultures, is defined by the amount of money that one has in order to afford to run for office. In each region, if you move into the district you will always be a stranger. Even in a city such as Lagos, one is considered a migrant until the day they die, no matter how many years one has spent living there.

However, with enough money, anything can be bought. The mayor’s son walked into his father’s office, his jacket pouching out where he held close the envelope under his arm. He stopped and looked at his father, a bit of disdain clearly crossing his lips. He had grown up with the corruption, seen things that no child should see and heard things that no child should ever hear. His reaction had been to shield himself, to envelope himself in drink and women. His anger frothed at the surface, his money buying forgiveness and taming anyone who would oppose his deeds in the search for pleasure.

Where his father had sought power, he had sought delight, distraction, and forgetfulness.