Book Review: Against Our Better Judgment: The hidden history of how the United States was used to create Israel
Dec 6, 2019, 12:40 PM
Greetings Deyda! Shall I bow, with your permission, in honour of your legacy? I write this letter gazing upon the distant horizon with the sting of simmering tears cascading down my cheeks. Eyes yet rheumy, tongues still wet and fingers forever wagging. Years of pent-up melancholia gracefully gurgling out beneath the chest of all journos. I know you are gazing down upon us from atop heaven, and smiling contentedly, knowing all has not failed. In fact, all you have ever worked for is almost at the zenith of maturity. It’s been one hundred and forty-four moons since the macabre thunder of cannonade upon your car, which sadly, eventually bereft you of breath. But, heroes are never truly gone, because their legends continue and eternally stood the test of time. Yours does too. However, the grisly and vampiric fangs of the potentate has sunken deep beneath our skins and the scars it left are indelible. The horrors of that night still haunts injustice and the ghost of justice shall never rest until justice is justified. We shall be waiting for that day a day into the not far distant future with bated breath. Oh justice, come sooner; For cometh thou must. How I yearn for that day; Savouring and gently embracing the fate the day shall bring. It shall be the day when your legend shall be eternally engraved in the heart of history.
Salam Deyda! Shall I gloat to you in whispers through this sappy piece the unprecedented metamorphosis of history? The day is finally growing grey and it’s hot after all the cold, dark even with the sunshine, and misery even with all this joy.
But, however the situation, we are as hopeful as a dimwit tyrant on the brink of political precipice. I hope you do understand my tongue for they wag in riddles of the old. I do hope this piece is read with the mind and not the heart, for I do write rather opaquely. Your dreams are not dreams anymore; rather they are but realities in their puberties.
The woes that betided your land are finally soothing. The chains that shackled freedom are but gently breaking. Journalism that you so much loved and adored is being liberated. What more could we ask for? Naught, but one thing: JUSTICE. Only then can you tranquilly rest in Eden and only then can your Edenic smile widened. I was twelve or thereabout when you had to leave and never to come back so I never had the chance to get to know you in person. Albeit, my senile but sage ‘grandfather’ history would narrate your bravery and untimely death to me as I grew up.
I too dug up the archives of history to learn more about your legendary career. I did and in my not so humble opinion I learned a lot. How I wish I could tell you in person without writing you words of boredom what I’ve learned!
Ciao Deyda! Shall I salute you in gesture of honour, respect and love? I have but remnants of the day left. Twilight is upon me. Shall I describe how its beauty is like? Visualise the sun slowly sinking underneath the heaven and the horizon bathed in a lighter auburn colour. The glow of the emitting beams of this twilight light is of mild rose colour gleaming from behind the horizon.
The sight is of pure soignée! Such sight is only but the glory of God! When the night seizes dusk, I shall embrace the tender touches of sleep and therein in my dreams I shall canoodle and caress the lingering hope of our land. When the alarm clock of emancipation chimes and the crack of dawn tap on my doorbell, thereupon I shall wake up and welcome it with open arms.
For the day of reckoning has arrived! This morning is docile, amiable, and serene; It beckons justice and victory. When all this is done and dusted, the clouds shall form, and the tides shall peak, and the heavens shall weep in cascading tears of joy.
The barren soil of our land shall burst open and from thereupon democracy and the rule of law shall blossom.
The aroma of the air of our land shall have the scent of peace, progress and prosperity. Gambians, in myriads, shall look up in the skies with ecstasy and contented smile and sing the Nation Anthem with YOU in verbatim. Besides, we shall remind those who thought they are immune from being washed away by the tides of history that time and history are the mortal enemy man. ONLY TIME!
A humble kin,
AUTHOR: SAPIENCIA SEEKER