One’s newly acquired predilection for “one” baffles one but one cannot dwell long on such bafflements; else, one’ll be stuck on “bafflements” and one has a bit to chomp through.
Since one has found fulfilment in championing equal rights for women, one will now attempt to expand the ministry. One’ll be very upfront with you: one has a private jet in one’s crosshairs and one has to expand if one will ever pull the trigger to fell one.
There is a very marginalized strata of human beings in Nigeria and the world, and this dastardly marginalization did not begin today. Remember when people had to touch an ear by bending the opposite hand over the head to be allowed into school? Many social atrocities have been committed against short people.
Now, one isn’t usually so magnanimous as to campaign for equality of opportunity in spite of height willy nilly. In fact, this campaign has originated by mistake. One was changing buses when one sighted a man who was shorter than one, pay attention, even with huge custom designed stilts. This man was bald, like CIA information extraction experts had gone through the middle of his head with a hot iron, and looked all his 65 years (from which he would have no doubt chalked off 10-15 years), which might not be fair to him considering a certain Dutchman called Arjen Robben.
Most bafflingly (it’s quite a mouthful, one knows), this man wore the black of the Nigeria Police. Horror! Now, you’ll remember one told you one struggles to reach six feet even with both hands piled on top of each other. One cannot get into the Police nor any other military organization because of a height bias; one therefore sat in a cashew tree in one’s abode where one began to ruminate on how this man may have gotten into the Police.
One still remains in the cashew tree, although one can presently see a long branch wriggling with care. Wait, one does not think branches can wrig…IT’S A FORNICATING SNAKE! One must mention, as one dusts black humus off, that one did not crash from the cashew tree, just in case anyone had thought to think along those lines.
But why must there be a height bias. Does a short person possess less policing skills than a tall person? Can he not wield a gun and blast people off from planet Earth? Who came up with this most ridiculous barrier, disavowing qualified men of their right to a job? And this age-long bias has had consequences: frolicking with the female species is a bit of a chore. Now, one and some other vertically challenged denizens of the world have evolved certain evolutionary traits to survive in the cruel world of everything from woman baiting to having a voice. Some of our kindred brethren, infinitely unlucky however, have neither looks nor intelligence, and worse, these evolutionary pariahs don’t even have money! Jump off a 25-storey building, one tells ya! Jump!
What’s a jump but futile
struggle against sure allure
of gravity’s seduction?
What’s death but final
humus offering back
to she who we fed off?
One has pinpointed the problem with short people: short people don’t want to be seen as short when the world and his meowing cat can clearly see that that is what short people are. One can get in a time machine, travel thousands of years back and wager that if we had accepted our lot and pooled forces to form a pressure group, we would not live in a world where some organization will very boldly tell you to fornicate off if you are below a prescribed height. If we were more like the women, who have been fighting (and with stunning success) institutionalized injustices perceived and actual, we would have been free; free, I tells ya, free! But we hide short people we hide, behind ideas that dwarf us, exploits that exalt our be-ing, we hide.
One invites you to imagine an association of short people. Naturally, midgets and dwarfs are excluded from this agitation as one reckons that they are the extreme end of the butt of an extreme joke by God or the Big Bang (whichever one you serve). One suggests, because one is rather sagely lately, that if dwarfs and midgets want equal access to Tonto Dikeh as Iyanya has, that they had better form a pressure group for themselves: Association of Extremely Unlucky Inhabitants of Earth (AOEUIOE). The abbreviation quite rightly doesn’t sound normal; dwarfism and midgetism actually isn’t any normal. Par for the course, one submits. Sue one. Of course, one would imagine that Tyrion Lannister would be granted honorary life presidency of this consortium of the dwarfish.
Because one trailed off course and smashed wham into the side hoardings, one now re-invites you to imagine an association of short people. Matter of fact, don’t. Only imagine, one invites, the giant strides (incredulous, one agrees) that would have been made: we would not consciously automatically rule ourselves out of the running whenever a tall girl is up for grabs; we would not need to go extra lengths to ensure we are not cheated, even when we are not being cheated; we would not buy monster cars when meek ones would do; no one would hide keys from us by putting them out of the reach of our searching fingers clutching air and dust; finding clothes that fit wouldn’t be such a chore; and for eternity, we would have been able to snatch our friends’ girlfriends, or if one has any say in the matter, just have coitus with them (the friends’ girlfriends, mind), repeatedly, and whistle the latest mindless pop song when you’re done. Tom Cruise wouldn’t have to perform a ballroom dance move in public just to get intimate with his latest wife in public. Oh and, one will open short people boutiques, short people bars, short people strip clubs, short people NGOs, all at a handsome price, one must add. Short people are not cheap people. Amen? And if short womenpeople think they have it better than short menpeople, one challenges Eva Longoria to contest for Miss Universe.
One didn’t think so either.
And since one is entirely serious about this latest equality business, one will employ reggae music, once the world’s most potent weapon of mass subversion, to sow irate ginjah inna your subjugated minds. Let the liberating rhythms of an imaginary reggae beat flush over you; slow-march those short legs inna de air; one and one say slice through de air with your short arms as you sing the Rastafarian song:
Sing with one shorties, this
Emancipation song. It’s all
One ever heard, every
Night and every day
Dance with one shorties,
this Freedom jig. It’s all
One ever had, to
Revitalize your minds
And if you’re familiar with one’s equalitical (only thing one could throw up that had shades of “equal” and “evangelical”) ministry, you’ll already know that one’s emancipation song is a special Yoruba number. However, one shall tweak it slightly, with you all backing up, for this new titanic (incredulous, one agrees) struggle. Lift your voices high, taller than your blithe selves. Lift them! Ah-one, ah-two, ah-three!
Ó tì ò
It must stop
Ó ti tó
Ngh ngh ngh