A tall man strolled gaily through the motor park; oblivious of the stares he was provoking, his outlandish attire was the object of their stares. It was as if he had bought a variety of clothings both native and western and had decided to try them all on.

He had a denim hat perched on top a dog eared style native cap, the pointy dog ears sticking out like bat wings, a monkey jacket on a babariga robe, a pair of Jordan sneakers on a native hunters knee sized dogo shorts, he looked absolutely ridiculous in his bastardized outfit that the passerby’s concluded he was either at the early stage of lunacy or he had recently escaped from a mental home.

He boarded a bus heading into town and sat by the window, a plump elderly lady soon joined him, he greeted her cheerfully but rather loudly, she in turn ignored him with a hiss as she muttered about youths doing drugs and wasting their future. The man shrugged unperturbed, whistled happily to himself as the bus loaded with passengers, soon it was full.

“Boss, your transport fare abeg,” the bus conductor addressed him in Pidgin English, his teeth stained brown by kolanut, a cigarette hung from his swollen lips.

“My good fellow, I was unaware that this carriage was fare orchestrated, the paintings on your vehicle said otherwise,” the man replied in impeccable English.

The conductor stood with a confused look on his face as he tried to absorb the speech into a statement he could decipher, he then gave up with a shake of his head. He will not give this educated idiot the satisfaction that he did not understand a word of what he said, he didn’t kill anybody to deserve a headache early in the morning, he just wanted to collect his fare, and somebody should not come and frustrate him as the day was just beginning.

“Oga sir, is transport money I ask for, money for bus to carry you enter city,” the conductor tried to answer back with the little English he could conjure.

“Oh I beg your pardon sir; I see you are a layman with little or no knowledge of my diction so I will bring it down to your level, no offence intended my man.”

The conductor frowned at this, he felt he was being insulted but suppressed his growing irritation as the man continued his chatter, this will not be the first educated person he has encountered in his line of business, thinking they’re high above people like him, yet they could not afford a car of their own upon all their big big grammar.

“Before boarding your carriage I saw a lettered painting and I believe it says ‘No fare No problem’ which can only mean one thing, and I really appreciate the charity, if there were more good folks like you out there, the world will be a better place.”

“Mr man because my motor paint write say “No fare No problem” no mean that transport free.” the conductor roared crossly. “If you no get money to pay, abeg come down from my motor before I throw you comot from window.”

“I am Lanroye my good sir not Mr. Man, some call me Papa Legba and my close associates’ call me Eshu Láàlu Ogirioko a.k.a the stone wall and you sir cannot be among my inner circle for you are rude and obnoxious.”

“Lanny or whatever you call yourself abeg i no care, pay me my money, the grammar you blow since no fit pay for your transport, respect yourself and gerrout from my bus now.”

Lanroye’s dark eyes glowed, the jolly smile on his face morphed to a more feral one. “I could have had you killed on the spot for this insult but I can see you are not long for this world, poor fellow for you are already marked by the god of death, Iku the debt collector has already scheduled you for appointment, you will kick the bucket in two market days, if I were you my good lad, I will set my affairs in order and amend my ways with my wife and child, and oh! My oh my, the child isn’t yours by the way, women ha! I believe there’s this saying which goes; after God fear women, harsh lad, harsh.” He totted.

The conductor blanched at this as he paled visibly, he left him alone without bothering about the fare. Signing contently, the man called Lanroye looked out of the window as the bus roared into life and coughed its way out of the park.

The broken English spoken by the bus conductor fascinated him, shame he wasn’t long for the world, he might have learnt a thing or two from him, Lanroye unlike the Orisha travelled beyond all dominion with his duties as a messenger god knew all the tongues spoken by men, of all the foreign languages, the old Victorian English was his favorite after spending a few decades spreading mischief in jolly old England and the west.

The mortals hadn’t changed by a mile since he was gone in spite of their rapid advancement, they were as naïve as always, and their so called civility made them more susceptible to his influence, they were never contented, always running around like something was chasing them until their brief live-span expires like candle, It was good to be back.

He would have preferred staying back at the realm eternal but recent turn of events needed his very presence as his minions had drastically bottled a simple instruction, so so annoying and now here he was mingling with the irritating, restless mortals, a small sacrifice to bear.

Koso has escaped, but his plans were far from disruption, for the thunder god was just a single seed on his board game, he has fulfilled his usefulness. Now his offspring are a different matter.

He was Lanroye the gate keeper, Eshu Laalu the stone wall, unto which foolhardy mortals run smashing, the caretaker of the earth, if a gardener beheld a diseased tree in his garden, his duty was to have it destroyed before it affects the rest of his crops, the humans are killing the earth, the corrupted ones must be uprooted, and if the infection has gone deeper than he feared, he would clear them all and inhabit the earth with the children of the Orisha.

He chuckled to himself, “what was the first step in his plans? Yes, awaken the Orisha each at his/her place of solitude calling them by their true names, the gods have many names bestowed to them by their fawning worshipers over the centuries but few knew their secret names and he knows them all, all ten thousand of the irumole, from the chieftain deities down to the minor groove spirits, and the next step?

Corrupt the Orisha; feed them their Ewò; their taboos, to Olokun the sea king, a sacrilegious offering of seafood mixed with the earth garbage and spilled with oil, to Oko the sleeping earth, rotten food crops spoiled with sea water as sacrifice, oh the eternal rivalry, and to the ruler of them all.

Obatala the arch divinity, the king in white cloths, simply take away his white attires and cover him with one stained with palm wine and filth, and when the king of gods awaken in rage, from the offensive smell, seeking answers to this sacrilegious act he would tell him, tell them that the humans of earth sent him, he was just a messenger, and they shall demand justice, knowing that the mortals have forgotten them will make them furious, they would wake up corrupted and the WORLD WILL BURN!