Garrison Metropolis: Volume 2

By Metuge Ekane

When it comes to the discourse of military intervention, the market is saturated with all sorts of books of war. Such books, for the most part, tend to be narrative accounts of heroic militarism which often do not address the aspect of [societal] rehabilitation. Scores of these books do not highlight the relevance of “interactive socialization” as regards politically embattled nations that harbour [sociologically] shattered societies. So, there is a gap in the market when it comes to the rehabilitation of battle-scarred societies with psychologically distressed masses. Garrison Metropolis explores the adaptive rehabilitation of this embattled universe through a regenerative doctrine of military intervention called “Pure militarism”.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Books on Demand
• Release date: Jan 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9789180572354

Metuge Ekane

Metuge Ekane is a political science researcher who is keenly passionate about the [comprehensive] remediation of politically embattled and sociologically shattered societies. He is also the author of Garrulous Ego Trip Gang.

Book preview

Synopsis

When it comes to the discourse of military intervention, the market is saturated with all sorts of books of war. Such books, for the most part, tend to be narrative accounts of heroic militarism which often do not address the aspect of [societal] rehabilitation. Scores of these books do not highlight the relevance of interactive socialization as regards politically embattled nations that harbour [sociologically] shattered societies. So, there is a gap in the market when it comes to the rehabilitation of battle-scarred societies with psychologically distressed masses.

In essence, the idea is neither to write a classic novel, nor to produce a chef d’oeuvre that would be accused of staleness. Rather, I am motivated by the urgent necessity to address the burning issue of armed insurrection in a shattered and bleeding universe which is plagued by extreme levels of fratricidal bloodletting. The gravity and oddity of this state of affairs necessitates what I term a [regenerative military intervention as an emergency measure] that would aptly stem the tide of bloodletting.

Garrison Metropolis is an allegory of Pure militarism in a dystopian universe. This is a bloodstained universe which is incapacitated by devious opportunism as political saboteurs weirdly line their pockets with [black] money, whilst the powerless masses get cruelly mowed down with impunity that beggars belief. This dystopia is a hellish and bleak social space, although it remains a particularly coveted universe which, for all practical purposes, harbours a fiercely contested political arena.

This allegory is essentially a back-to-basics campaign to restore sanity in a fabulous metropolis wherein reformed Soldiers are enlisted to stop a [perennial] state of war in a society which is plagued by gratuitous barbarism. The protracted war of attrition imposes the most pernicious repercussions in this embattled metropolis, as political intrigue is potently employed to keep the remarkably distressed masses in check [in or against the backdrop of a stupefying scramble for abundant resources]!

The purveyors of passionate violence; the masters of self-serving sabotage know all too well that once [political] violence is introduced, impunity would become a norm.

The cardinal concern is that this profoundly ungovernable state of affairs is powered by the inflated egos of mercenary politicians. Reformed soldiers must stem the surge in bellicosity which breeds fratricidal bloodletting and apocalyptic visions of ruin. In effect, everybody knows that something ought to be done with urgency in a measure to address these untenably grievous public embarrassments.

These distressing ignominies are constitutive elements of the perverted metropolitan ethos. They are inspired by bureaucratic hassle, weaponized entrapment, intellectual posturing and [political] opportunism, just to name a few. This cluster of misfortunes merely get more stupendously critical with an unofficial news that the political elites are struggling to conceal invaluable information about recent findings that would be crucial to the nation’s economic survival.

Rumours have surfaced across the Metropolis that immeasurable amounts of diverse mineral deposits have been discovered amidst the unforgiving haze of heat and dust. Armed insurrections quickly erupt as oppression, incomplete socialization, and vile opportunism plunge the Metropolis into a quagmire of callousness and lawlessness. In effect, the Metropolis is going to rack and ruin amid escalating levels of impunity and ungovernable political opportunism.

Like the wind, the situation degenerates into a fratricidal conflict as affective bonds are severed across society. It is a race against the restless clock to save the poor and the oppressed lest they get snuffed out amid the spiralling escalation of bloodletting.

Powerless youths are entrapped by [exploitative] saboteurs to enlist in amoral extra-legal polities as they undertake a perennially virulent series of armed insurrections which have permeated the moral fibre of society.

Garrison Metropolis explores the adaptive rehabilitation of this embattled universe through a regenerative doctrine of military intervention called Pure militarism. In essence, this noble mission will be under the auspices of the reformed Soldier.

Armed with novel precepts, ‘the reformed Soldier’ is enlisted to champion the noble mission of instituting a regime of [mutual] compliance with his gamely and urbanely politic art of command. This officer aptly replaces ‘the cavalier Commander’ whose impulsive and impolitic actions are governed by an outmoded normative ethos. ‘The reformed Soldier’ is a fervent adherent of militaristic utility; a prodigious combatant with an inordinately vested interest in Pure militarism.

The whole idea of ‘purity’ as regards military intervention in a metropolitan dystopia is to render citizens responsive to the common precepts of decency as typified by the notion of comprehensive remediation. Therefore, the discussions cast light on the solicitation of a titillating notion of Pure militarism in effectuating the redemptive rehabilitation of an ego-induced dystopia. This is a dystopia that is tightly enmeshed in a tangle of unsurpassed Schadenfreude.

Garrison Metropolis conveys a rather profound sense of interventionist devotion in a utilitarian sense which portrays the regenerative dimension of military operations. Whilst it is noteworthy to underline that armed insurrection is integral to extra-legal military intervention, the interventionist military doctrine in question is enabled by a noble regime of both civic and virtue maximization.

Soulless universe

Chapter 1

The Beastly Metropolis

How is it logically plausible for Almighty God’s divinely epic Universe to be so grotesquely soulless, disorderly, and strangely uninviting? The wise elderly fellow saw his own daughter walking under the rain, under the sun and the scorching heat; carrying a heavy load on her head on her way to the marketplace. Then, he admonishes not to wish this misfortune on anyone.

The divine metropolis is inconsolably pregnant and she looks grotesquely enormous. This is simply the worst of soulless pregnancies across the length and breadth of a remotely situated universe where epoutet is prevalent. Given the grotesque and degrading sight of this metropolitan dystopia, scores of specially trained metropolitan soldiers are plainly vanishing into thin air as a cluster of rat-arsed local drunkards sway uncertainly in the middle of the sizzling hot avenue. There is a sense of foreboding across the metropolis, as if all hell might soon break loose.

A soulless universe is what this Beastly Metropolis has become. The local citizens are merely scraping to survive in a wild space where the rivers are almost turgid. It is a society wherein the locals are precluded from dreaming unusual dreams that would permit them to devise alternative methods to responsively address their plight.

The stupefying state of affairs across this [disorientated] metropolis is having dire consequences for the local metropolitan folk. Over the years, the metropolis has only morphed into a land of unparalleled political opportunism, wherein political intrigue is viewed as a weaponized vogue for tearing down the very core of the nation’s soul. Blackmail, entrapment and larceny are among the tactics that are potently employed by all and sundry to ensure survival in this beastly metropolis. Whenever these weird tactics fail, the locals simply resort to gratuitous barbarism to make a political point.

If you are either in a position of self-sufficiency, or eating just one meal a day, you become vulnerable to blackmail and entrapment, especially if you expressly indicate to the world that you are not among the masses that have to go to bed with an angrily grumbling belly. A wrathful belly is emblematic of ineluctable violence!

After numerous centuries of self-sufficiency, any form of provocation leaves you open to passionate violence. The armed crusaders would visit your premises just to prove to you that self-sufficiency is a very serious offence in this day and age. In this bleeding metropolis, the bloodstained villains aspire to enforce the rules. They try to run a tight ship in a measure to squeeze everything out from the belly of their selected targets. In effect, these targets are methodically blacklisted and tagged with the highly odious designation: blacklegs. This is an extra-legal designation which could imply instant death for whoever is found guilty in the vile court of jungle justice.

Soulless universe of hustling hustlers

Life is infernal and absurd in this tumultuous universe wherein people forsake white collar jobs for [hustling]. University lecturers hustle students to buy their plagiarized pamphlets, just as remorseless female students hustle scheming lecturers to buy sex for grades. Conniving policemen hustle taxi drivers for bribes; politicians hustle the disenfranchised masses for votes. On Sundays, heartless preachers hustle despondent females on the pulpits; whilst hunters hustle passers-by to buy meat that smells stale. Meanwhile, in the local hospitals, medicos hustle helpless patients for bribe amid the stupendous heat and dust which are plaguing the [battered] atmosphere in a shattered and severely scorned metropolis.

The issue of professional ethics seems to have been thrown to the dogs as medicos deliberately violate these sacrosanct moral standards with impunity; just as a cluster of cavalier Commanders evince vapid disregard for human life. With hustling, there is no room for cultural pluralism.

There is really no soul in this beastly universe, wherein the distressed folks merely get themselves tightly trapped in a hellish quandary over decency and baseness! As a matter of fact, people profess not to be inspired by the devil, yet they would infiltrate an alien locality which is predominantly populated by folks with a different culture and carry out the most shameless of massacres on innocent hustlers on a sizzling hot day! Dying by "ebeng [or hot death"] in a sizzling hot day is not uncommon in this soulless universe of hustling hustlers where violence is more potently humbling than stunningly crushing.

The heat is just as stupefying as the dust is suffocating amid an extreme sense of turmoil that beggars belief. Just one vehicle roaring past would raise a serious cloud of reddish dust in the air that would leave an indelible mark on a red shirt of the red-blooded hustler who hovers around to pick up the red-hot woman of the dark market. In this dusty hustle and bustle, these metropolitan hustlers hustle these females after spending long wearying hours in the mines, struggling to eke out a livelihood. It is an open marketplace for hustling streetwalkers amid this stupefying turmoil of dust and the shimmering heat haze.

The red-blooded hustlers are here to stay. Their numbers merely seem to be rising each blessed day and they manhandle the hustling streetwalkers in the bordellos with dismaying cruelty. In general, these streetwalkers are battered females who routinely get oppressed and brutalized by a cold universe; only to find some type of solace on the dusty streets. The streets award them a sense of belonging which is celebrated whenever rumours circulate that immeasurable amounts of diverse mineral deposits have been unearthed amid the unforgiving haze of heat and dust.

Armed insurrections would quickly erupt, thereby dampening the gladness of such news, as opportunism and impunity would plunge the Metropolis into a quagmire of callousness and lawlessness with vile scavengers tearing each other apart.

Such rumours have surfaced yet again across the coveted Metropolis. The nation is bustling with tension, although the unofficial news about immeasurable amounts of diverse mineral deposits is still to be confirmed by the local authorities. However, this would not stop frantic agitation as the nation teeters dangerously on the brink of an unforgiving war of attrition: a biting sociological calamity.

As a matter of fact, the divine metropolis is in one hell of a sociological calamity as rampant kidnappings have plunged the universe into an anarchical quagmire.

I shall be found to refer to this ungovernable universe as ‘epoutopia’. In a society that is harassed by a grievous state of anarchy, therein passionate hatred [ekoyi] and anarchistic obstinacy are singularly manifest, the incidence of war only worsens the inequitable provision of healthcare, among other salient aspects. Therefore, when I speak of the notion of epoutopia, I am alluding to a contested social space which is void of nchintan. This is a singularly minimized universe with markedly diminished levels of both mutual compliance and contemplative interdependence. In this strict sense, it may only be justifiably said that this is not an interdependent space which is constitutive of what I shall be found to describe as a metaphysical realm.

An epoutopia is a grievously anarchistic universe wherein the disconsolate masses are subjected to degrading disorientation owing to the void which is left by the lack of interdependence. This void, for all practical purposes, may also be spoken of in terms of the lack of a close-knit fraternity. An epoutopia is also to be aptly conceptualized as a vapid nation of perversity, wherein unashamed amorality remains a highly celebrated social norm. In essence, this is the quintessence of life in obscurity. I am referring to life in the notorious odd box.

From epoutopia to the sane state

The divine metropolis has simply morphed into an [inconsolable] epoutopia. This epoutopia harbours sundry disaffected masses [the poor and the dispossessed] who have all been systematically robbed of the admirable benefits of nchintan [which is our contemplatively interdependent code of conduct]. In effect, this very notion of nchintan is exclusively geared towards stimulating an encompassing socialization which would contribute in consolidating comprehensive remediation as we pursue the establishment of a vibrant society of potency in the sane state.

Not a single angel has ever seen a metropolis so endowed with ecological beauty, wherein sociological ignominies are in such monumental profusion.

The vastly degrading sight of this divine metropolis spotlights a significant extent of desolation. In fact, this extreme desolation merely constitutes a major setback for the prospect of success in achieving self-actualization and societal regeneration. This is a universe wherein the damned and the well-off mourn the passing of an orderly, principled and bygone era. It is a metropolis with ungodly disparities between the wealthy and the poor; a dysfunctional universe wherein every single aspect seems to be inequitable and unjust. This inequitable era will haunt the metropolitan people for years to come, given that these misfortunes are to be expected in a glacial epoutopia.

A raging armed insurrection has just cut a swathe through the metropolis, resulting in uncontrollable episodes of public drunkenness, interminable rampages, crime and retributive massacres that beggar belief. The scenes of calculated subservience and weaponized desolation are unspeakable as fratricidal bloodletting is bleeding the metropolis totally dry of sanity.

Anarchistic obstinacy, passionate hatred [ekoyi], and senseless barbarism have all singularly become the order of the day in this contested social space and besieged universe, wherein social decay has permeated the moral fibre of people’s lives. The battered drunkards, the scorned women, the humiliated masses, the devious groups of metropolitan opportunists are all part and parcel of this morally degrading state of affairs which is replete with sundry distressed citizens.

As the elderly and venerable evergreen bushes sway gracefully in the wind across the besieged metropolis, public embarrassments are only causing significant concern in the medical circles. The metropolis is an overly decadent society as it is trapped in unspeakable social decay whose vile implications are unprecedented.

The sociological predicaments are plentiful, yet there is paucity of both inspiration and enthusiasm to deal with such misfortunes. As a matter of fact, the series of social drawbacks have mainly put the largely disconsolate medicos on a collision course with state lawmakers, policy practitioners, and republican soldiers over intervention policy. The broad cluster of properly trained metropolitan medicos around the divine metropolis remain in a state of anguishing agitation, sterility abound. This sterility, in effect, merely spotlights the prevailing level of cynical opportunism.

Countless medical officers are escaping in frenzy whilst obstinately opting not to contribute in terminating such a public display of confusion, ekoyi, and anguishing terror. The level of desperation is mind-boggling, to say the least.

The intellectual sterility of properly trained medicos is in itself, perhaps the most troubling incongruity in the medical circles!

"Epoutet" has cut a swathe through the embattled metropolis, as subversive ideas continue to permeate every section of the singularly embattled society.

For all intents and purposes, the somewhat spooky conduct of the local medicos is quintessential to life in the shadows, that is to say obscurity. In fact, this conduct is diametrically opposed to what may be expected from their highly intricate academic training. This conduct merely breeds cynicism about the world of medicine. It is an epicene conduct which is manifested in both males and females in exactly the same way. Without contention therefore, this epicene conduct only bespeaks the complex interplay between immodesty and self-abasement. While the masses are subject to a life of degradation and abasement, the plutocratic elites resign themselves to odd schemes of domination and oppression as they bask in the glory of the omnipotent oppressor. Meanwhile, the omnipotent oppressor simply bathes in the reflected glory of his meticulously weaponized agents: the plutocratic and patronizing elites who tend to regard the idea of absolution as a complete anathema.

So, we are deep within the markedly dark, gritty and creepy belly of the Beastly Metropolis. This is a contested social space that is replete with white elephants, as opposed to the latest technology that works a treat. I am alluding to an anarchistic and modified universe which I have christened epou-topia.

The divine metropolis, for all practical purposes, is pregnant with a profusion of white elephants that are merely suffocating the prospect of redemptive rehabilitation.

The dark and gritty belly of the Beastly Metropolis is the modified fabric of our erstwhile unspoiled universe. It is an ecological social space that has been severely tampered with by predatory influence. Our metropolitan instruction made of us unpleasant strangers to ourselves; and sterile aliens to our own ecology. We merely became modified and highly complaisant creatures. The instruction has been absolutist through and through. Hence, it is not exclusively designed for our contemplatively desired regeneration.

Across our modified universe, which used to be an unspoiled social space, coercive control is now often conceptualized as an inherent ethical norm.

Without contention, the modified fabric of our erstwhile unspoiled universe is an apt reflection of the disorientation and obstinacy that permeate our sociological order. So in effect this modified fabric is the grievous ‘obscurity’ wherein confusion has primarily become a self-perpetuating spiral of cynicism, intellectual posturing, political opportunism, Schadenfreude and retributive massacre, to name just these few. As a matter of fact, it is noteworthy to state that ekoyi breeds Schadenfreude and retributive massacres. These sociological misfortunes will be spotlighted in these highly pertinent discussions.

In a disconsolate way, there is no fairy tale happy ending to an odd pregnancy as grotesquely soulless as this particularly notorious one.

In what has just been mentioned, it could tentatively be postulated, and with good justification that the effects of confusion merely contribute in potently repressing and modifying local consciences even further, thereby impacting negatively on the cognitive processes of the local metropolitan folk.

The trained metropolitan medicos have the control of the day-to-day running of the medical business across the metropolis. Absurdly nonetheless, the medicos are merely escaping for dear life which is not the general run of medical practice. Scores of these unscrupulous and confused medicos are taking advantage of this dodgy state of affairs, thereby gravitating frantically towards the untamed wilderness of outer space mainly in search of due respite. This frantic escape is just an odd portrayal of our metropolitan state of confusion, so to speak.

In some ways, and to a considerable extent, we could basically argue that a trained metropolitan medico, in a singularly typical sense may purely and simply be likened to a white elephant. There are justified reasons to support this rather thought-provoking assertion which may sound like a piercing criticism in a sharply-worded letter of complaint.

Yes, the critique may sound somewhat piercing but we may still have to presume it to be falsifiable. It is a well grounded criticism all the same.

The unspoiled universe has simply morphed into a beastly metropolis; and this Beastly Metropolis is distinctly soulless.

Without question, the beastly social space is an oddly incomprehensible realm of fascinating bio-social incongruities which I will quickly sketch out in a manner that will duly permit introspection, that is to say purposive in-trapersonal reflection, and general oversight to this exploratory endeavour going forward.

To begin with, a young and helpless metropolitan woman is rushed into the teeming district hospital, gasping for breath as she bleeds profusely from a deep gash on her neck. From every indication, the vile laceration has severed a major jugular vein and it is a race against time to save the young woman’s life.

The medico, a similarly youthful female and surgeon with a vibrant personality is downcast, and visibly shaken. She is a real peach of a woman and a highly esteemed technician who is probably in her mid-twenties. She is shaken by the sight of horror as she watches the patient moaning in grievous agony until the patient quietly loses consciousness.

The door of the dimly lit hospital room squeaks, the injured woman moves her right hand surprisingly as if to ask for a hug, the medico grabs the hand amid the eeriness of death. Then, in complete medical solemnity, the young medico gradually lowers the lifeless hand on the patient’s cold chest as she struggles to breathe her last. In seconds, the agony is officially over.

The medico could not redeem the badly injured woman despite her expert efforts, and she tries not to shed tears as she breaks the sad news to a few relatives who accompanied the injured woman. The level of unspeakable barbarism simply renders her speechless, in all truthfulness.

Before much longer, a young extra-legal combatant, moaning in a ghostly voice, is rushed in on a stretcher with a very massive bullet wound on his dangling leg, and a nasty cut on this head.

A few moments later, the headless body of a big woman is brought to the hospital. The thing is, the grisly sight is so horrific that the medico snaps in seething frustration with her soulful eyes full of painfully biting tears.

The medico [just like her escapist colleagues], is panic-stricken not necessarily because of the haunting sight of blood; but mainly due to the soulless sight of shattered human fortresses which the Almighty Creator meticulously conceived in His own image.

The medico is petrified of being confined in this exceptionally gruesome scene of massacre; looking narrowly into half-closed eyes of sadly dying patients; dying eyes that merely stare at emptiness. Her training consisted in saving lives, just as her professional responsibilities consisted in healing and rehabilitating the sick, or so she thought. Never in a million times did she imagine that she would be in charge of addressing issues pertaining to self-induced entrapment and political intrigue in a sodomised social space.

It is a dreadfully haunting social space whose horror is exacerbated by the dim light of a few miserable lamps. For the medico, happiness consisted in rescuing the sick, but she could not take it any more in this new era of the most hideous indifference and opportunistic callousness. The chaos is just too much to bear as life is now practically without a sense of value. She could be brutally murdered at any given instant; yet she hangs on, hoping to be able to make some type of difference amid extreme hopelessness and powerlessness that transcend the boundaries of human rationality.

This is a society wherein the damned and the well-off mourn the passing of an orderly, principled and bygone era.

This remotely situated metropolitan district has just been hit by yet another massive power outage which is routinely experienced in this dystopian metropolis. Alongside the recurrent power outages which seem unending across this metropolitan dystopia, there is interminable water scarcity amid an abundance of water. This metropolis is oddly sitting on the water table. So, to be plagued by water scarcity is a serious incongruity, just as oceans of human blood is an unspeakable calamity.

For goodness’ sake stop the savagery and do something imaginative!

The Great Slaughter is ongoing at an exceptionally frenetic pace. The hospitals are grisly, and the trained metropolitan medicos are barely clinging on for dear life as they watch the shattered human fortresses in abject powerlessness. There is no electricity, no water… but there are gruesome oceans of glacial human blood.

There is hope for betterment in this bleeding metropolis. As a matter of fact, there is always room for improvement as long as agonizing despair is totally eliminated from the collective metropolitan psyche. I am only alluding to the giving birth of the sane state of mind, which will potently contribute in shaping the new metropolitan frame of reference. When citizens have an unswerving devotion to a well-defined purpose, their aspiration for national prosperity would only be adequately fortified.

Crestfallen medicos under unrelenting siege

In a slow and disconsolate manner, the medico ponders her next move and she grows overly wistful. The sheer relentlessness of humiliation seems to impose a deep sense of shame upon her conscience. As a matter of fact, the medico’s voice possesses the frail expression of complete defeat as typified by her frustrating lamentation. This is the type of lamentation that is completely void of moral authority. As a person with a high level of medical knowledge, the medico would be expected to stand firm in the face of such unmanageable misfortune at a moment when the average person opts to look away. This, without contention, is a policy that the medical experts are bound to pursue with the utmost relentlessness.

Nonetheless, the scale and relentlessness of grievous savagery amid ungovernable bloodletting are purely and simply unparalleled. The medico bows her head in guilt as she braces herself against her lifeless patient’s bed. The severely injured female is currently as dead as a doornail, regrettably. Given the weirdness of these particularly ungovernable circumstances, the word "medico" seems to be merely proving to have connotations of incapacity and exceptional ineptitude which some medical personnel find rather irritating. The door squeaks again, but this time, the patient is completely lifeless in this dimly lit and politically charged room.

Professional ethics seems to be on life support as the medico deliberately violates a sacrosanct moral standard: she is caught looking teary-eyed.

The dead woman is powerless now; the medico is powerless and she feels vastly exposed and spayed, just like an emasculated man. Death has once again exercised total power over mankind, and there is nowhere to escape the threat, which is in fact, the only route towards regeneration that has aptly been designed by the giver of life. It cannot be said that the medico is too young to understand these things. This is her job, and she is a trained medical doctor.

Lost in contemplation, the medico is visibly shaken as she struggles to conceal her negative self-evaluation which is a little unnerving, to say the least.

I can’t take it any more… I can’t pursue this rescue any further. I can’t take it…I just can’t take it… This is too much… I can’t take it… I’m human! I’m only human, she soulfully screams out in the most exasperating agony.

Please, calm down, doctor… we need you here, a female voice tries to comfort the young and distraught medico.

Shaking her head, the medico responds, I don’t think I can do this any further.

This is really nothing else but an exceptionally gritty portrayal of our oddly grievous metropolitan obscurity: from an unspoiled universe to a beastly metropolis with a bloodstained soul.

With her head tilted to one side, the metropolitan medico looks at the poor young woman whom she had frantically struggled to revive just minutes ago. Those folks who hurriedly brought the badly injured young female here claimed that she had been attacked by an incensed older woman who had accused the younger female of being an emboldened and nauseating "deuxième bureau’’ to her husband [otherwise known as an immoral and ruthless concubine]. It is noteworthy to mention that even as concubinage is a metropolitan vogue for tearing down the family polity, it is not officially designated as a criminal offence, and perhaps never will be classed as such.

Concubinage is just not serious enough to be considered as a public offence; and nobody gets convicted of concubinage across the length and breadth of the dystopian metropolis which is plagued by extreme levels of opportunism. In brief, concubinage is not part and parcel of an unashamed scheme of amorality and baseness.

We shall return to the issue of ‘deuxième bureau’ a little more critically, and even interpretatively when we progressively discuss the notional idea of metropolitan concubinage in the chapter on Spiritual Odyssey.

If anything, concubinage, even in its crudest form is still justifiably perceived as a popular metropolitan way of life. It is an enormous revenue-generating business venture, if you like. Concubinage is simply enjoying expansive currency, especially among metropolitan females with a wretched childhood. In sum, concubinage is not to be viewed as a rinky-dink business as far as this coveted metropolitan dystopia is concerned since it is an extremely serious sexual business; a survivalist operation, to say the least.

Many young and covetous metropolitan females are involved in the concubinage business in one way or the other. They engage concubinage mainly as a reliable way of escaping from the hideously humiliating contraints of poverty and destitution. In fact, these oddly wide-eyed females even enter the hermetic world of prostitution as a means of survival in a biting and unforgiving universe. So the question of morality never arises when the young females engage their business with abject ruthlessness.

Nevertheless, even as the delicate pattern of family life has gradually witnessed some significant alterations with the coming of so-called ‘modernity’ to this rather gritty metropolitan enclave, there is still an unspoken moral code which may not be transgressed under no circumstance whatsoever.

In a sad manner, this lifeless woman had alledgedly transgressed that sacrosanct code. She has done so by sadly rendering the husband of her assailant uncontrollably insane in a profoundly aggressive and an amatory adventure that beggars description. It is nonetheless unfortunate that the poor woman is not alive to defend herself, by telling her own version of the odd story which is being spiritedly narrated on her helpless behalf. This particular practice is what the metropolitan folk duly refer to as ‘kongossa’. This too, is purely and simply part and parcel of our metropolitan human nature, regrettably.

The exceptionally frantic sexual escapade, or should I euphemistically simply say sensual misadventure has sadly ruined the family economy of the alledged assailant; leaving her helpless children in a state of complete devastation.

The assailant’s four starving young children can barely have a decent meal because of her husband’s illicit and ill-advised sexual escapades. It is a grievous situation, dear reader. It is a situation which is not to be made fun of in any manner. Nevertherless, someone is bound to pay in one way or the other. That is just how things work across this rather biting metropolis!

We ought to admit that the slain young woman must have been doing something really frenetic, for a grown family man to clutch so tightly at her with all his hard-earned resources. To clutch at a female with this type of intense confusion which can be interpreted as devouring passion is critically grave, and perhaps even extremely lethal. For a sensible man to act as such; with such recklessness even at the expense of his own existence, simply implies that the murdered female must have been doing something exquisitely special, to say the least. At least, we may be sure about that.

Or, perhaps there is something that the irate assailant may not have been doing correctly. We may also consider this idea with some seriousness.

Who knows about these types of amorous insanities? Who really wants to know about these types of inanities? The thing is, there are more people who love to speak passionately of such grave inanities than there are people who want to settle down in patient contemplation to listen in the absence of free alcohol.

This extremely fatal misfortune which has resulted in the untimely demise of this youthful metropolitan female is a classic consequence of jealousy-inspired Schadenfreude; a grievous form of ego-induced insanity.

What remains an unquestioned secret is that the average metropolitan wife gets too complascent with herself over time. With this absurd comfort, she tends to neglect her uxorial duties with impunity under the guise of ‘taking care of the children’. Often, this ‘average metropolitan wife’ really has no time to even groom herself properly! Eventually, she pushes the neglected man to seek solace elsewhere; in the arms of the vibrant younger females who have nothing to lose, as the idiom goes. Without contention, these vibrant females are always willing to assist the man in frittering away his precious time and money in a measure to soothe his anger and repressed sexuality.

Nobody makes excuses for the average metropolitan man’s reputation of drinking and lechery, with too many hot bordellos around. Not even the most wide-eyed folks would make excuses for the concupiscence of the man-eating metropolitan broads, many of whom escape from poverty-stricken and gritty metropolitan enclaves with amour propre, just to wallow in four-star hotels for just a meager fee. In fact, nobody should be surprised that the metropolitan population is skyrocketing; with over one billion people! The honesty of the metropolitan man in acknowledging his excessive drinking and lechery may be interpreted as immodesty. Similarly, the honesty of the metropolitan broad to boldly embrace her oddly transactional blend of carnality and seductiveness often tends to be misconstrued as immodesty.

What the highly lecherous and exceptionally concupiscent metropolitan folk must be rightfully concerned about is how to constructively manage the impending demographic explosion which promises not only great benefits; but also enormous societal burdens as well.

When the average metropolitan man is in the proper mood to fritter away his hard-earned resources on a talented metropolitan female, he would simply indulge his manhood with just the same amour propre as the man-eating broads. But there are consequences to this (mis)adventure; consequences which may not be overlooked.

As it is popularly upheld in the unspoken Metropolitan Lover’s Code, ‘between man and woman no put your mop dey’. This simply means, when a man has a dispute with a [his] woman, do not get involved, as chances are, you who gets involved in a measure to assist in addressing the dispute would easily become an enemy to both the man and the woman. This phrase was aptly popularized by a local metropolitan musician called Prince Ndedi Eyango in his eighties hit song ‘Soul botingo’.

At this crucial point in time, it really does not matter if this lifeless body of a slain human being belonged to a man-eating broad who has simply met her adventurous nemesis on this fateful day. In the metropolitan court of public opinion as it is often the case, we can merely record a verdict of death by misadventure, and there is no more to be said or done. The locals succinctly call it "lossis"!

As the distraught and overwhelmed medico gazes in pity at what has suddenly become the helpless carcass of her erstwhile patient, she remains sadly stricken with disconsolate grief… in a state of abject powerlessness. This lifeless Metropolitan female is not any different from the carcass of a burned-out Land Rover Defender that has stood sentinel at the entrance of the yard ever since the hospital premise was attacked by gunmen two weeks ago. The vile assailants came looking for a wounded metropolitan commander who was accused of leading a campaign which resulted in the massacre of scores of extra-legal combatants. The attack was brutally repelled by forces loyal to the metropolis, and twelve of the assailants lost their lives right there, within the hospital premises.

The dead never get any befitting funeral; the number of people who get murdered each day across this bleeding metropolis is just so overwhelming.

At this juncture, it is impossible to say if the lifeless female will get any form of a befitting funeral. The idea of a befitting funeral appears to have completely lost its appeal as retaliatory violence and retributive massacres are becoming increasingly popular. In fact, mass graves have become the metropolitan vogue for tearing down the moral code of society. Amid such ungovernable nothingness, the number of mass graves are simply innumerable, as it is not really uncommon to find shallow graves wherein helpless corpses are merely dumped into after a series of unspeakable mass exterminations. Needless to say, the level of brutality is just unimaginable. These are neighbours murdering neighbours; school mates slaughtering school mates; wives poisoning their husbands; sons brutalizing their mothers; girlfriends amputating the penises of their boyfriends; students oddly stabbing their teachers to death; subaltern elements gunning down their commanders, and things of this highly grievous nature.

The degree of fratricidal bloodletting is hideously mortifying, to put it mildly; just as the level of powerlessness is extensive in nothingness. Passionate hatred primarily breeds cynicism and powerlessness as regards retaliatory acts of hideous and unspeakable violence.

For the poor metropolitan medico, this feeling of powerlessness is merely a hint of her very own self-pity. She is inconsolably assailed by doubts about her personal aptitudes; her organizational ability; her professional training; as well as the fear for her own safety. In a nutshell, the severely distraught medico is in fear of political emasculation amid this rampaging spree of domestic bloodletting. All of these rather poignant aspects merely make her feel extremely frail, exhausted, aggravated and vulnerable, as she stands in the middle of corpses whose stiff outline she could see underneath the rather ragged hospital sheets.

The trained medico is humiliated, and feeling as though she has no clothes on. In sorrowful absurdity, the medico could feel her firm nipples frantically stretching out in a terrifying protest, sending cold shivers up and down her cold spine. The medico quickly notices the obscenity of this rather macabre oddity and she tries to hide her face in shame.

These folks are so freaking scandalous… scandalous people, she whispers with exasperating agony, We’ve got some insane freaking zombies in this damn place!

Seeing the distraught medico struggling to get her bearings in the dimly lit room, a female voice utters gently, Calm down, my sister, calm down I beg. We need you here doctor. Who would’ve imagined that we would get to this point?

Feeling her firm nipples stretching out yet again in protest, the medico responds as she struggles to conceal her loss of face, These slaughtered people are being brought in from freaking everywhere like dead flies. This metropolis is an embarrassment to humanity!

Almost instantly, a somewhat dejected male voice utters in a rather scornful tone, You these big book people… you big book doctors love to lament about every freaking thing, and all you want is money!

What?! the medico reacts with a startling squeak, and then continues, You must be out of your mind!

You heard what I said, the male voice insists, You’re no better than the corrupt police officers! You’re paid to sleep here, no?

Noblesse oblige, another male voice echoes amid the shimmering ghostliness of the dim lights, Don’t fuck up here, madam… You ought to bravely answer the call of duty lest you may face the consequences!

The combative statements of the two males bespeak a premonition of what the future might bring, but the young medico seems unconcerned at this point in time. These types of crude intimidatory tactics are routinely employed by the damned to force a certain type of compliance from the supposedly well-off. This is not the first time this medico is confronted by this misfortune; as a matter of fact, scores of her rather petrified colleagues are fleeing for safety thanks to this type of habitual bellicosity. This particular medico has a habit of scrambling her words when faced with this type of intimidation, but she is also versed in ways through which she can manage these types of ungovernable individuals. This bellicose universe is like a hideous jungle which is packed with heinous zombies.

As she gets sucked into this weird situation, the medico simply makes it her duty to fight back in a measure to preserve her dignity amid the indignity of nothingness.

Somewhat infuriated, hyped up, sucked into the oddity of this situation, and bogged down with individual insolence, the medico reacts with a popular string of the most coarse of expletives as she struggles to stand up for herself, Fuck off! Screw you all! I say screw you all, you hear me?!

Although the pre-eminence of the metropolitan intellectual fraternity is undisputed by the laymen, the use of expletives is commonplace across society. Nonetheless, the medico is somewhat uneasy to find herself in this rather odd situation where she has to employ an offensive expression that is mainly reserved for the damned of society. So, the medico appears to feel a little uneasy about her own circumstances in this rather odd space.

Too late, the medico is under some type of unspoken cross-examination. The oddly searching eyes of the lecherous male nurse standing nearby has already caught a somewhat tantalizing glimpse of those hard nipples as he engages in relentless cross-examination of the medico’s non-verbal communication. With a nod of his head amid the shimmering ghostliness of the dim lights, the male nurse cues the distraught medico to move away from the slain woman. By the courtesy of himself, the male nurse purposefully indulges his keenly searching eyes in a little cat and mouse play.

In the innocent eyes of the passive observer, this largely bothersome intrigue of political concupiscence is rather odd in such a grievous circumstance. The thing is, political intrigue takes place even in the biting gloom of the graveyard.

This is a weirdly sexualized universe; "a vapid nation of perversity" wherein the earthshaking idea of tenacious relentlessness is routinely invoked to enable the crude pursuit of self-interested gains in the midst of nothingness.

The Beastly Metropolis is a hideously hypersensitive realm which harbours an exceptionally aggressive public sphere. In an odd way, it could be submitted that this metropolis is a soulless universe; a sodomised social space. So, nothing really ought to surprise anybody for an extended amount of time. What may appear as a benign smile would often turn out to be a deeply politicized ploy to gain some type of odd advantage. This explains why this tropical paradise which used to be an unspoiled universe has progressively morphed into an unmanageable epoutopia. It is the type of lame society wherein the damned are expected to go licking the arse of the well-off as they struggle to scrape together a little money just to survive.

To expect a cluster of hotly hostile laymen to give a trained medico some type of acclamation is akin to expecting pearls from relentless zombies.

The Soulless Universe is a distinctly sodomized social space that beggars belief. This is the story of our haunted metropolitan dystopia that is trapped in a grievous tangle of political deception, occultic proclivity, and fratricidal massacre [retributive massacre, to be precise]. Without an iota of contention, this very notion of a soulless universe bespeaks the extreme level of moral degradation in nothingness, that is to say the degradation of life in obscurity. It is an existential peril to collective survival.

Although it may sound disagreeably mortifying, people have met some otherworldly broads at funerals; occultic folks have enjoyed their first dates in graveyards while sucking on the bones of dead humans; men have met their wives during incidents of shipwrecks along the dangerous stretch of coastline; women have been hotly romanced and penetrated deep down the glacial depths of the bleeding River Mekossan. These women are the "mamiwata": the spiritual enchantresses of the bloodstained river.

Feeling herself losing balance, the metropolitan medico quickly clutches at the bed of her lifeless patient in humiliating guilt. The medico is purely and simply trapped in the middle of grievous soullessness. She feels partially undressed and exposed by self-pity amid the shimmering ghostliness of the dim lights. The young medico bows her head in guilt as she braces herself against her lifeless patient’s bed. The severely injured female is currently as dead as a doornail!

Even in the dim lights, you could plainly see nostalgic soulfulness in the eyes of this youthful and irresistible medico by simply looking at her distraught face. In the rather haunting impulsiveness of her conduct nonetheless, is a distinct sense of utter hopelessness; an obvious symptom of grave metropolitan depression. This is simply an irksome portrayal of our rather complex metropolitan confusion in nothingness, to put it mildly.

In an ungodly situation of armed insurrection nonetheless, barbaric opportunism is never exclusively geared towards treating people with the most befitting courtesy. This is due to the fact that this type of nauseating opportunism is inspired by nothing else but extreme levels of baseness in human cognition and conduct. This baseness afflicts men and women alike as people get cornered in a serious quandary about the interplay between good intentions or thoughts and evil or devious actions.

As far as this overly endearing metropolitan medico is concerned, I ought to regrettably say, this is just her moral solecism; that unenviable feeling of exasperating ineptitude with regard to her incapacity to accomplish her task of saving the life of a badly injured person who is probably as old as herself. Well, reader, notwithstanding that incapacity, and despite the poor medical circumstances, the young medico has tried her utmost to bring this patient around to no avail. The thing is, the frightfully injured woman has essentially been sacrificed courtesy of a grievous political intrigue which beggars belief. The medico’s own moral defect renders her speechless as she looks toward the squeaking old door of the eerily dark room.

Given their frantic year in and year out effort to escape from constant taunting, the medicos simply abandon the pregnant metropolis to fend for herself.

In pitiful absurdity thus, the pregnant metropolis is left to sink or swim amid this completely untenable situation. The metropolis has learned to keep her head above water with the help of devouring passion despite the usual bleakness of a dystopian social space. Without one iota of contention, the way the confused medicos, political opportunists, including insensate academics behave towards this supposedly divine metropolis is highly grotesque, just as much as the metropolis is distinctly grotesque in ways that are quite explicable, devouring incongruities abound.

The stupefying realm of bio-social incongruities

Across the Beastly Metropolis, the [greatly] celebrated local preacher delivers a very passionate sermon about salvation in his local congregation on Sunday morning. At nightfall, the very irrepressible preacher is frantically communing with the local soothsayer, in a dire need of his own salvation. The government minister satirically berates the idea of eating his own politically incorrect traditional dish with his hands in the name of some type of modernity. Meanwhile, the very same government elite would pose as the noble guarantor of his ancestral patrimony; a patrimony which he is unable to reinvent without recourse to impulses from the oppressive outside. The veteran educator gives an exquisite lecture against domination and oppression, only to spiritedly renege on his own promise to confront the oppressor with authority and purposive gallantry.

Courtesy of himself, the highly esteemed educator is simply caught begging the very oppressor for funds to sponsor his academic research on self-abasement. This is not really a surprise, as both vapid dishonesty and immoral imagination remain the celebrated metropolitan vogues.

The acclaimed local politician openly declares his personal animosity against the political intrigues of the predatory agency amid the thunderous applause of some sixty thousand supporters in an overcrowded stadium. The next day nonetheless, this very politician is spotted pleading for mercy from the very predatory agency. He is pleading for mercy on his freaking knees, I am telling you, reader… on his freaking knees, and with not an iota of remorse or shame. This total lack of remorse would only render the sane observer markedly speechless. In effect, the degradation of life in the confines of obscurity is simply unspeakable.

As if these mortifying misfortunes are not enough, the decent wife simply morphs overnight into a grossly impenitent man-eating broad.

The decent wife, a female who unabashedly professes her loyalty to her supposed husband in a flamboyant wedding ceremony gets unabashedly impregnated just a few weeks later by a complete stranger who scrapes a living selling cheap liquor in the rural backwater.

In all what has been meticulously depicted above, all of these confused individuals, as duly discussed, epitomize what I shall be found to describe as the "jackleg Samaritans". This very comprehensive catalogue of fascinating incongruities is a gritty portrayal of our metropolitan confusion, if not even insanity. The thing is, these incongruities would simply take the passive observer unawares. These are misfortunes that are to be expected in the hermetic world of obscurity, that is to say the world of abject nothingness.

Without contention therefore, the beastly social space is indeed a terrifying realm of fascinating bio-social incongruities as rightfully stated already. In this intriguing social space, the idea of moral imagination has merely taken its deserved leave. As a matter of fact, the idea of survival in this modified universe is all about calculated subservience and weaponized dependence. This is what I call the ungodly seed of political opportunism and intellectual posturing. That seed which is so bitter, and yet so sweet to devour. Our metropolitan folk are devouring the seed with passion; like young cubs hungrily devouring a wildebeest with unbridled enthusiasm.

As regards our own misfortune, we are simply left with nothing else but the rather misleading interpretation of our own circumstances. It is an absurd interpretation that is intricately enmeshed in a type of immoral imagination. As Bob Marley incisively sings in his powerfully evocative song ‘Stiff-necked fools’:

‘Yes, you have got the wrong interpretation; mixed up with vain imagination… So take Jah Sun, and Jah Moon, and Jah Rain, and Jah Stars, and forever; yes, erase your fantasy’.

From the depths of obscurity, the young female medico soulfully screams out again, I can’t take it any more… I can’t take it… I’m only human! she screams out for her own rescue, and for deliverance from the fangs of this ungodly beast which is weirdly tormenting this world of nothingness. It is, without question, a world that is packed with vain imagination.

In the meantime, out across the dark, dusty and biting metropolitan streets, there is frenzied activity amidst the shimmering metropolitan heat haze. The medico’s desperate plea for help is almost submerged by the celebratory unison singing of a devoted group of exceptionally talented local drunkards. These loyal drunkards chant spiritedly every blessed night amid the relentless heat; as they consume their locally brewed liquor with devouring passion. In a strangely odd way, these drunkards seem to be among the most sane folks across the length and breadth of this sadly dystopian social space which is replete with scores of delusional people. In effect, these people are the marginalized masses who have become disenchanted in politics.

If sanity of spirit is honestly about amour propre then the metropolitan drunkards would be said to have a purposive approach to life. Perhaps this is why the drunkards joyously celebrate. Perhaps they joyfully celebrate their very own baseness amid this hypocritically cynical state of affairs: nothingness. It is not so easy to tell, but one thing that is clear with these drunkards is that they operate with a heightened spirit of true-blue connectedness around the bottle of liquor.

Deep loyalty among the local drunkards bespeaks a tightly knit community whose bonds are simply emblematic of the sociological power of liquor. Their obedience to the bottle of liquor is an unparalleled portrayal of a kind of faithful allegiance which does not tolerate any breach of trust even in the biting depths of obscurity.

The Metropolitan obscurity is a twilight zone between life and death, just as it remains a glacial space of cognitive dissonance. This vague invocation of cognitive audacity which is founded upon escapist alcoholism remains a constitutive aspect of our grievous metropolitan schizophrenia about how to suitably deal with the issue of disorientation in the twilight zone. Before much longer these drunkards too will be gone but this raging armed insurrection is the least of their worries. So, with spirited motivation, the brotherhood of metropolitan drunkards chant themselves to sleep:

"In my cup, in my cup, I want to drink ‘mimbo’ in my cup!"

The drunkards chant with the utmost joy in this state of disorientation which typifies life in obscurity.

The spirited drunkards can be heard chanting joyously even as people are being brutalized, maimed and murdered with abject impunity. Absurdly enough, this is yet another fascinating opportunity for the drunkards to celebrate their past glories in the area of strong liquor consumption. This particular song that is being chanted by the local drunkards is an improvised version of a popular religious song that is often sang by the local metropolitan folk in the local congregations. Although this may sound like a corrupted version of the original song, the drunkards seem to own their own version with the utmost pride even as the religious folks may find this version somewhat despicable and outlandish.

Nonetheless, amid this drunken chant which goes on and on through the desolate and boisterous night; as well as the sadly wailing plea for rescue from the young and distraught female medico, one can hear the rattling of machine gunfire from several miles away. The sound, smell, and sight of death is singularly unmistakable.

Reader, this is plainly the quintessence of our Beastly Metropolis, as typified by the grotesque metropolitan pregnancy:

Masses of unlucky ones are pitifully dying in agony; several clueless ones are sorrowfully chasing shadows in the shadows; scores of delusional ones are unusually worshipping intoxicating fables; hordes of talented ones are shamelessly drinking themselves to sleep; a plethora of inspired ones are stupendously running on the spot; whilst the myriads of the most damned ones are actively running on empty and drugging themselves to death amid a raging insurrection which is fuelled by "ego-induced insanity".

For the purpose of clarity, I will conscientiously attempt an explication of this absurd state of affairs. That is to say, I will dissect this grotesque metropolitan pregnancy in a manner that would hopefully be more helpful than tiresome in the omnipotent eyes of Almighty God.

This rather distinctive pregnancy is a highly elaborate state of affairs whereby an impactful system of devouring passion is potently brought to light. The thing is, this devouring system is so preponderant that it leads away even good citizens from their own grotesquely scarred consciences, as devouring emotion ramifies throughout the coveted, congested, and contested metropolitan social space.

With no metropolitan medicos to purposefully intervene, the sadly distressed and disorderly metropolis is left to her own devices, and a grievous epoutopia eventually arises, and with ample justification.

As duly mentioned already, the medicos are simply escaping for dear life which is not the general run of medical practice. That is, scores of these unscrupulous and confused medicos are taking advantage of this oddly dodgy state of affairs, thereby gravitating frantically towards the untamed wilderness of outer space mainly in search of due respite. This rather ill-advised attempt to escape from obscurity transcends the boundaries, not just of medical thinking; but of objective rationality as a whole, thereby undermining the regime of public health. When medical thinking is not subsumed under the general notion of an instructive sociological regime of public health, social injustice arises and sociological atrocity prevails within a given society that becomes stripped of ecological sanity (Ekane, 2019: 437). That is to say, our grievous metropolitan dystopia is stripped of a moral soul; and it has no moral imagination, for all that we can observe is sociological atrocity.

For those of us who have opted to stay behind in spirit and in good conscience, we can merely observe that our Beastly Metropolis is right here. The metropolis is confined before our own eyes, tossing her chaotic baby into the air, and showering the tearful creature with glacial kisses amidst the shimmering heat haze. We might perceive this rather odd scene as somewhat abominable but this teary dystopia is the product of that grotesquely enormous pregnancy.

The grotesque and enormously repellent pregnancy is void of every single trace of moral imagination. Hence, lamentation has gripped the metropolis in a severely tight and choking stranglehold.

Although it may sound particularly unsettling, this highly teeming, fascinating, coveted, contested, and divine universe of ours is replete with vastly inflated egos. This is somewhat of an extremely grave dystopian oddity. This our priceless and vibrant metropolitan social space is pregnant with vastly inflated egos, insofar as overpowering bellicosity is manifestly in vogue.

Incidentally, this godlike universe is a stagnating epoutopia even as a dystopia cannot be anything else but a stagnating and chaotic social space. Therefore, only through potent schemes that actively promote methodically orchestrated orderliness can this distressed and shattered universe be seen as salvageable.

What we are observing is the frenzied manifestation of obscurity; that banal sense of powerlessness and dissatisfaction amid a state of confusion.

The local metropolitan citizens are frantically escaping in droves amidst this gruesomely gruelling scene of frenzied activity. Nevertheless, the only reliable way to transition from obscurity is to establish a purposive mission. Without such a mission, escapees from obscurity would merely be running on the spot. They will be exhausting themselves in their futile attempt to run away from themselves amid a severely constrained state of confusion. As far as obscurity is concerned, when I speak of running for dear life, I mean discovering a mission before anything else.

Once again, I will have to presume that it is for the purpose of finding that mission that we emerge from obscurity because the more suffering we experience as living creatures generally, the more likely we become inspired at devising ways to address our predicament, beginning with