I’m a Drug Lord: The “Baddest” Do-gooder.
(A Prose Poem) by Amusa Afeez Onireke.
Hey you! Leave that lad. Let him run; let him run mad. Seeing that happen will make me glad. So, you government man, let go—let go of him. Counterfeit medicines are lucrative. Substance abuse is a hit. Hard drugs beget hard currency. The end product is a jackpot. All; all the “ings” are ours to gain: snuffing, puffing, sniffing, smoking, drinking, injecting, sipping, slurping, gurgling and “highing”. All these “ings” levitate the money in our bank account. Their reward is gratifying. So, you government man, lower your weapons; calm your nerves, re-arrange your senses and let him be…let him enjoy the friendly danger in that codeine; let him feel the high spirit in that nicotine; let him receive the heavenly blessing in that caffeine; let him betroth the sensational flavour in that cocaine; let him. Let him savour the tasteful recipe in that Tramadol; let him. No! It isn’t lethal; it’s harmless. The satisfaction is worth it; the repercussion is worthless. So, I’m a fan of the former, leave him now, for he has the latter to handle in due course.
All your laws are archaic and primitive. Your legislations are barbaric and outdated. Tell yourselves to be lax and not strict. Be coquettish, not unfriendly. We bent and pent and still denting; you banned and banned and still banning. Don’t you know you’re killing our business? Do you want to take food from our tables? Do you want us to run bankrupt? No. Your laws are yours; not ours. Your codes are tyrannical—old repugnant laws like the Gipsy’s. No, we aren’t kowtowing to your acts. We remain dissents to your enactments. We strongly abhor your constitutions. No you must make it free! Legalise all these “sweets”—the sweets from our sweats, our sleepless nights—the rigorous researches from our hideous labs. Legalise it and procreate a global society, a society of pro-drug people. Drug is “humane” It’s their source of inspiration. It’s the origin of motivation. It is anti-depressant, anti-dulling, antidote, antibiotic. All the “antis” it encompasses them. Legalise this freedom you badmouthed destruction. If you don’t change these laws, we shall make ours. And ours shall be binding; prevail.
This venture must not die. Death? Not! That’s a fallacy. It must thrive. It must grow—grow exponentially. My fortune must outgrow the world’s richest, Jeff Bezos’s. Bill Gates will have to bow. Warren Buffet must queue behind me. I want to rule the cover page of Forbes this time around. They have had enough all these years. Those beautiful fools who became billionaires by helping humanity. Humanity my foot! Bunch of rich idiots they are. They are short-sighted. Don’t they know that there’s maximum profit it the underworld? Are they blind to the fact that the tree whose leaves bear dollars can only be wet with ruthlessness? Oh! Cruelty is a better word. Cruelty from producing more mentally deranged people. Cruelty birthed by increasing death rates among the youth population. Cruelty fuelled by multiplying victimisations and vulnerabilities. Cruelty by stimulating the propensity to rape. Fools—Bunch of foolish old men! Don’t they think that the more the crime rates, the more their pockets would swell up? Don’t they? Keep on spreading GOODNESS; we keep on spreading MADNESS. To us, it’s a win-win phenomenon. You can give your own definition. Your “ness” isn’t ours. The “MAD” that precedes ours is an acronym—Making A Difference. And as you can see, the difference we are making is very clear in the menace plaguing your society.
Regardless of the government restrictions and prohibitions, we always have our ways. We sabotage efforts. We override security apparatus. We manoeuvre standards. We dodge checkpoints. We feign measures. Yes. We can also infiltrate; we can penetrate your ranks and files. We are desperate! We shall keep smuggling; we shall keep meandering; we shall keep pelting—no matter what you do to stop us. We will bribe; we will implicate; we will kill; we will maim; we will wreck havoc. Desperation is our emblem, our culture. Admittedly but proudly, we are the instruments of destruction—the offspring of Lucifer. Demons lives inside us. We are the kinsmen of Pablo Escobar. We are. Yes we are: the cruellest business magnates of all histories. For our gain is your pain. Yes, your pain is our gain.
May I tell you again how we remain richer? We remain richer by increasing the crime rates. We remain richer by producing more graveyards. We remain richer by populating your psychiatric hospitals. We remain richer by multiplying inmates in your prisons. We, yes we embellish your streets with lunatics whom some of you myopically ascribed to the work of “village-people”. No! Everything is not about juju; many are of our makings. Don’t mix things up! Our stimulants will bring us more (dirty?) money, but to you, more agonies. So, leave the youth; our science is in their DNAs. They can’t resist the urge of our substances. They are ready to sell your property to satisfy their acute addiction. No. Don’t tag them prodigious, they are the pillars erecting our sustenance. Yes, your youth (and some of the old), their drug addiction is a major determinant of our economic prosperity. You can never separate us. We shall never divorce them. We shall make them go more beastly, more demonic, and more monstrous—for, in their dreadfulness, lies our happiness.
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