THE OLYMPIC ROLL CALL
Truth be told, I actually did not start this article because I wanted to write an article.
I was just curious.
You know how it is when you stumble upon a thing; maybe it’s an event, a word, a place that you know absolutely nothing about. You get that itch to investigate the said thing and before you know it, you are busy leafing through books and dictionaries trying to conquer the dilemma. In this case it was the Olympics.
As I watched Mr. Bean astound us with his hilarious construction of music and comedy, it suddenly dawned on me that I was a complete novice as regards the Olympics.
I suddenly realized that I knew next to nothing about it. Wait! I know now that I mentioned it, a few of you will want to regale us with all the history of the games (most probably inaccurate) that you have acquired in recent times but that’s not where I am headed.
My interest is simply in the names. By names, I mean the unique factor that gives every geographical enclave its identity. What the particular country is called. I really didn’t know that the Olympics encouraged a vast display of countries with names that would otherwise never have seen the light of day.
Ok, some of you are already grinning because you now know where I am headed abi? Cool.
I saw and heard many strange names in this year’s Olympics march-past at the prestigious stadium in London that my brain was threatening to overheat.
See me, see country name sha!
In my unscientific analysis, a few countries were named using a cooking theme, for example Cook islands, Turkmenistan, Malta while others sounded like they had run out of vowels; Leichtenstein, Krygastan, Kiribati and Uzbekistan
Some countries however, sounded like they were named by a complete idiot- Palau, Oman, Suriname, Seychelles and my personal favorites were the ones that were structured like goofy sentences e.g. Federated state of Micronesia, Saint Vincent and Grenadines, Saotome and principe and Lao’s people democratic republic.
My question is simple. Who gets the contract to name a country? And do the citizens get to vote on the name chosen or are they just forced to accept it regardless of how it sounds? (In some cases, how it looks).
Because I profoundly sympathize with the poor citizens who are forced to accept weird and wacky country names like Timor leste, Tuvalu and Tonga!
Up Nigeria!
www.witnesslounge.blogspot.com, @witness¬_MV, deblaqsheep@gmail.com
Monday, July 30, 2012
TARGET PRACTICE
TARGET PRACTICE
Jos town, Plateau State.
The white Jetta car parked a few meters from the Islamic school, the engine left idling. It was still early morning with the sun barely caressing the horizon in a subtle wakeup call to the inhabitants around.
Haram reached to the back seat from the passenger side where he was seated and picked up the RPG rifle. He carefully lifted it above his friend, Sura’s head who was furtively scanning the surroundings, a gun clutched in his sweaty hand in a lame attempt to provide security.
Haram giggled at his friend Sura who tried not to appear nervous. Who were they kidding? They were as nervous as a teenager in love and as high as a well-flown kite. The latter was as a result of their stopover at a local bar to drown a few shots of the local brew that burned the throat and stung the eyes.
They needed steady nerves for this assignment.
It was easy tossing a dynamite or two into a few churches and making a quick getaway or even the greatest sacrifice for the Jihad was admissible as long as the project involved infidels and unbelievers who hated Allah and his servants. However, taking a shot at the intellectual sanctum of a Muslim school was taking it a bit too far. Even if the said Muslim was a sympathizer of the infidels.
There were no virgin rewards for this one. Haram mused as he got out of the car the RPG rifle hidden by his side as he quickly scanned the area.
Clear.
He had received a short training on the RPG rifle just days ago. The rocket-propelled grenade was a shoulder anti aircraft rifle that released a hell of a shell that disintegrated at approximately 10 meters. At this distance the Islamic school had no chance, Haram reasoned.
He steadied the rifle on his shoulder with the butt balancing lightly on the top of the car and the open passenger side door and aimed. Haram squinted into the telescopic sight, breathed out softly and slowly squeezed the trigger.
A sudden scream rent the quiet morning air and startled both men.
They reacted differently. Sura still on the driver’s seat with the car engine still running stepped on the accelerator out of reflex. The car lurched forward dragging Haram forward with it as he pulled the trigger.
The 7 kg rifle jerked sideways and discharged its deadly content into the air. The rifle recoil hit the passenger door like a hammer and the windscreen shattered. Haram panicked, dropped the smoking rifle, ducked into the car and shouted for Sura to drive off.
The grenade shell sailed through the air, missing the Islamic school completely and disappearing beneath the town roofline.
The car sped away as the village came alive with noise. Women began to scream as the grenade exploded somewhere. Some young men gave chase to the car but got nowhere near it before it disappeared into the distance.
A mother wailed carrying the gory remains of a half burned child. Blood and flesh hung loosely from the bleeding child as he hung lifeless.
He was only 10 years old.
www.witnesslounge.blogspot.com, @witness¬_MV, deblaqsheep@gmail.com
Jos town, Plateau State.
The white Jetta car parked a few meters from the Islamic school, the engine left idling. It was still early morning with the sun barely caressing the horizon in a subtle wakeup call to the inhabitants around.
Haram reached to the back seat from the passenger side where he was seated and picked up the RPG rifle. He carefully lifted it above his friend, Sura’s head who was furtively scanning the surroundings, a gun clutched in his sweaty hand in a lame attempt to provide security.
Haram giggled at his friend Sura who tried not to appear nervous. Who were they kidding? They were as nervous as a teenager in love and as high as a well-flown kite. The latter was as a result of their stopover at a local bar to drown a few shots of the local brew that burned the throat and stung the eyes.
They needed steady nerves for this assignment.
It was easy tossing a dynamite or two into a few churches and making a quick getaway or even the greatest sacrifice for the Jihad was admissible as long as the project involved infidels and unbelievers who hated Allah and his servants. However, taking a shot at the intellectual sanctum of a Muslim school was taking it a bit too far. Even if the said Muslim was a sympathizer of the infidels.
There were no virgin rewards for this one. Haram mused as he got out of the car the RPG rifle hidden by his side as he quickly scanned the area.
Clear.
He had received a short training on the RPG rifle just days ago. The rocket-propelled grenade was a shoulder anti aircraft rifle that released a hell of a shell that disintegrated at approximately 10 meters. At this distance the Islamic school had no chance, Haram reasoned.
He steadied the rifle on his shoulder with the butt balancing lightly on the top of the car and the open passenger side door and aimed. Haram squinted into the telescopic sight, breathed out softly and slowly squeezed the trigger.
A sudden scream rent the quiet morning air and startled both men.
They reacted differently. Sura still on the driver’s seat with the car engine still running stepped on the accelerator out of reflex. The car lurched forward dragging Haram forward with it as he pulled the trigger.
The 7 kg rifle jerked sideways and discharged its deadly content into the air. The rifle recoil hit the passenger door like a hammer and the windscreen shattered. Haram panicked, dropped the smoking rifle, ducked into the car and shouted for Sura to drive off.
The grenade shell sailed through the air, missing the Islamic school completely and disappearing beneath the town roofline.
The car sped away as the village came alive with noise. Women began to scream as the grenade exploded somewhere. Some young men gave chase to the car but got nowhere near it before it disappeared into the distance.
A mother wailed carrying the gory remains of a half burned child. Blood and flesh hung loosely from the bleeding child as he hung lifeless.
He was only 10 years old.
www.witnesslounge.blogspot.com, @witness¬_MV, deblaqsheep@gmail.com
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