THE BIG CITY VERSUS MY SMALL CITY

Don’t get it twisted, my small city is a land filled with milk and honey. But for a man who yearns for bread and butter, a land with milk and honey cannot do much to satisfy that craving. That’s where the big city comes in. However, the bridge between the big and small city is like the wall that gave Humpty Dumpty up to shattering; like the line between heaven and hell. But then, if I must have a fair share of bread and butter, crossing that bridge is a chance I must take.

Here’s what you should know about a few who took the chance. Some never made it there, neither did they return. The last time they bade us farewell was the last we saw them. Some made it there and became wanderers, while some came back empty-handed like biblical Naomi. Thankfully, some arrived, conquered, and returned as heroes. These ones are the reason a couple of us down here are positive about the big city; there must be something there for us.

But a piece of advice from them got us thinking. The big city is not a bed of roses. It is like a jungle: you eat or get eaten. Everyone is on the fast lane. No one looks out for the other, and there are thousands of immigrants with larger appetites for bread and butter. With that, what chance do we stand, especially with our seemingly small appetites? Relax and grow your appetites beyond this small city. Be ready for what’s up there, then move! That was the advice.

Growing the appetite is a 2-way traffic: an individual task as well as a cooperate affair. Sadly, we have different appetites and had to pitch our tents in groups with fellows of like-appetites just like the builders of the tower of Babel after being cursed with diverse tongues. As it turned out, we became too few per group to grow our appetites corporately, though the individual growth was no challenge. We needed recruits. Now, this is where the story begins.

You see, scouting for fellows of like-appetite to form a formidable team in my small city became mission impossible. I had expected folks to jump at the chance like a couple of us did back then when a departed master threw open the chance to us. Fellows who claim to hunger for bread and butter would lackadaisically turn down an offer to join the team of appetite growers. They’d dismiss the proposition with a wave of the left hand and go about feeding on dust.

Many seem to have purposelessly embraced fashion by towing the path of slay kings and queens, neither desiring ‘milk and honey’ nor ‘bread and butter’ but gaining immense satisfaction from amassing Facebook likes and getting social media validation. I won’t fail to mention the category of gifted spectators and talented sluggards who derive great pleasure from exchanging cheap compliments but loath commitment to a team of purposeful growers.

One minute they’re in, the next minute they snap and take a quick rewind to an infamous status quo. Yet, they have a great expectancy of being lavished with unmerited adoration in a greater measure than was ever showered on our heroes who conquered the big city. Woe betide me if I fail to point the cursor on some pitiable ignoramuses who opted in and made many failed attempts to outshine the masters but kept making further attempts using the same tactics.

Can I take a moment to talk about the girls? You see, the female eagle’s principle of putting the male eagle to tests before yielding to him was to serve as a model to the ladies when making marital decisions. But in my small city, this principle is inculcated into virtually every work of life and taken to the extreme. Unlike the female eagle who yields when the male has proven himself enough, what we see here is an endless process, even when it isn’t marriage-related.

It doesn’t matter the works you’ve done, stunts you’ve pulled, records you’ve set, or any freaking feat you have to your name, these nameless superstars don’t give a damn! Consumed by an inflated idea of self-importance, all they require from you is to feed their vanity. “We are queen mothers. Chase us! Beg us! Give us attention! When you’re tired, leave us! We don’t want your appetite, or your bread and butter, or your milk and honey, or your big city. We die here!!!”

Don’t get it twisted, those vibes aren’t mostly relayed via word of mouth. They are relayed via body language. These things turn my small city into a somewhat barren land. But our heroes who conquered the big city maintain that my small city is a virgin land; a perfect breeding ground for creative thinkers. They say a small city conqueror is bound to be a big city survivor and eventual conqueror. But stepping into the big city under-equipped could be disastrous.

Howbeit, there are those who don’t quite agree with our heroes; the very proactive fellows who’ll gladly risk anything to take their chances with the big city, and if they perish, they perish! I feel tempted to join this category. But like they say, what an old man sees clearly while sitting, a little boy on a tree can’t even catch a glimpse of it. So I’m just stuck to my small city. Of course, I know that a diverseness in approach towards appetite growing could see many good things coming out of this seeming Nazareth. I really know. I guess I just had to do some CALLING-OUT. Wheeew!!!