PART 1

Bill can rest. If he has the means, he can walk to the local watering hole and irrigate his throat. But he knows better to allow men’s misfortunes wane without expressing his schadenfreude to the world. Life has humbled a naturally effusive man of the great land in which the deep state has a single face. He keeps his joy to himself. “This day has been a long time coming, “ he mumbles to himself as he struggles with his rusty lock, and lets out a merited sigh when the rickety door finally opens, his celebratory hoarse glottis a rarity for an Arsenal fan.

The events of the last twelve hours have hewn a hyperostosis from his occipital protuberance. He cannot recall the last time he had longed for sunrise right at dusk. For five years, he has wished that a day would come when the sun stops in the middle of the sky and delays going down about a full day, till he avenges his enemies.

• For Bill, the fourth stanza of Coldplay’s Lost:
• “you might be a big fish in a little pond.
• Doesn’t mean you’ve won.
• ‘Cause along may come a bigger one”

has been been a memory verse. It has strengthened his belief and sustained his premonition. It has been his assurance. His Hail Mary. And for a reason.

Over the last half-decade, Sianyonje village has held on to a single “responsorial psalm,” proclaimed before ruminating over important matters: “God, if this plan fails, may our fall never be as humiliating as Bill’s.” His has been a tale that welcomes every guest to Sianyonje. No visitor to the village has spent more than an hour before being secretly prodded to bookmark a specific home or face for a story to follow. Bill’s story.

Bill had been the first man in Sianyonje to step into campus and walk out successfully with a degree. This was not a mean feat. Before him, there had been Libuoge. But Libuoge had over-celebrated his academic achievements on the eve of his graduation, forgetting that he hurt the deep state of his village. And so, the village admin had disconnected his life from the village Wi-Fi. His posthumous first-class degree remains a non-healing wound for his kin and village. It is against this backdrop and reality that Bill did not care about his “Pass”. He felt that holding his certificate was enough success, and only those with such papers knew his score was several ranks below the top.

As far as Bill knew, none of his village mates merited to hold useful opinions about his academics. He held a monopoly of understanding of epistemology. He belonged to a modernist vanguard that deserved to be consulted on matters of investment, education, and lifestyle. This success against all odds was just the beginning. He trained his eyes at shaking the foundation of the village’s thinking, and charting a futuristic way forward for his people…. Or so he thought.