To kill a fly is careless, cripple it, then the thing would suffer and repay in tiny measure your suffering. A deft, half-unconscious twist of the left wrist and a fly fell to the ground, maimed. I used my bamboo fly-swat, a gift from a Nikai engagement while on peripatetics in Michika-Adamawa state. Two green flies flew around the peripheral arc of my vision. Of course, it arguably tried its best among many contending options on one hand and on the other, a pressing global economic crisis and consequent dwindling revenue. It promises to be a bright day and the iridescence under the bowl of the Abuja tropical skies lost its beauties, for its inhabitants and even for first-time visitors, long before the International communities intelligence reports and the subsequent evacuations of their nationals from the FCT, and has become what it is – an obscene forbidding prison and the fading matinée of a government (used here as a continue) that has promised a whole panoply of social and economic improvements for sixty-two years. I choose to be a disinterested guide in this piece so that I can be fair in judging all that I see or feel because I am not involved in it and do not expect to gain anything from it personally.
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