The Tale of the Dark-skinned Man

The tale of the dark-skinned man

The soul gravitates towards his vanquisher, such is the tale of the dark-skinned man. The air of inferiority complex that fills his ambiance is so foul that one with anosmia does not fail to detect it. He partakes in culturicide every day with scruples so little that you do not stop questioning yourself if he really was arboreal. However, let me recount some of his deeds in no order of grievousness.

How evil it is to be dark

It is evil to be dark, the man thought. Hence, he devoted himself, and his wealth to cream, then soap. This time around, unlike before, he did not neglect his knees, and knuckles. I can’t say much about his behind. God forbid, the blind must not be aware of his plight. People with no civility as much as his must not hear that he does not look like his masters. That, you must not hear, never.

What is in a name?

What is in a name? Countless humans had asked countless times. The dark man knows better. No wonder he walked, however hurriedly, to change his names. They do not resemble his masters’ at all. The nose does not assist in the pronunciation of his names. No sworn affidavits were needed. He bore his first son, and named him: “Aladetoyinbo.” The second came later but not too early, he named him “Oguntoyinbo.” Then, the third, “Fatoyinbo.” In the march towards indignity, he didn’t spare his gods. He didn’t fail to equate the second in command to his deities, Alade to his masters. They are all essentially equal to “Oyinbo.” He did this to be proud of who he is, but the result came out otherwise.

The measure of his children’s intellect…

Meanwhile, his gods are not to be blamed for maintaining decorum. He still acknowledges Ogun whenever he graces the forest to hunt. Ifa’s relevance in consultation has not waned especially when things seem rough. However, he did another deed. He beseeched that the intellect of his children be measured based on their mastery of his masters’ language. He even banned them from speaking his mother’s. And in the schools he founded, he said, his mother’s tongue is a strange man’s language. Moreover, the sons of others who grew up speaking the tongue of their mother are inferior also.

He is too proud of borrowed stuffs

Further, a kin of his said, he is too proud of borrowed stuffs. Too proud of them. The dark-skinned man had mentioned a few decades ago, and we unanimously concurred that the attires of his masters are the standards of formal settings. May he be utterly unimportant without these clothes. His ancestors’ attires don’t go along with his masters’. Not even the caps. How does a cloth from an inferior culture go along with one that is superior? He mutters always. I am quite disappointed. The dark-skinned man is yet to learn from his travels.

A way to compare sanity

Penultimately, he suddenly changed the epistemology of his morals. What happened to the moral codices of his ancestors? Discarded! Anything that comes from his masters is the best. Nothing, and no thing is better. He refers to the homeland of his masters as saner climes. What a way to compare sanity? His people are not as sane as his masters whose moral bankruptcy is puke-inducing. He debases himself to reach them. After all, he still remains the barbarian they civilized. One who must follow their dictates.

It’s natural for one to gravitate towards his vanquisher

Ultimately, while it is natural for a soul to gravitate towards his vanquisher, the dark-skinned man took it too far. He discarded everything of his, in favour of nothing of his. There is nothing bad in blind following, in so far it doesn’t include falling into a fox hole. I hope the dark-skinned can be proud of what is his, again. And, may his sons be proud of the good in them.

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