Thansk Jabou, Haruna and Suntou for your encouragements. Glad you enjoyed the piece.

 

Baba> Date: Tue, 5 Feb 2008 12:53:42 -0500> From: [log in to unmask]> Subject: Re: A Prayer for the Hopeful - A short story> To: [log in to unmask]> > > Vintage Galleh. You have come through again. Perchance, this is my singular > affinity with Obama's potential. A value that stores enormous perspective to > all but cancel centuries of despondency, Eden's vicissitudes. I had wished > this value of Obama to become more apparent in his supporters. Like John Edwards > before him, it portends adoration and focus. Nay the intricacies of > untethered hope and erstwhile considerations threaten to retire it ever so > discretely. It is not too late however and I join in your sense of more tethered hope.> > Thank you for you. Such potential. Such moorings.> > Masoud. MQJGDT. Darbo. Al Khairawan.> > In a message dated 2/4/2008 10:44:02 P.M. Mountain Standard Time, > [log in to unmask] writes:> > A Prayer for the Hopeful> > By Baba Galleh Jallow> > He sat there, watching, listening, thinking, and the tears rose like a hot > fountain of grief from the depths of his heart and ran down the sides of his > cheeks as those three words, those words of hope and power, those words of > sense and sensibility, those words sang by men and women, adults and children > who have much to look for, who dare to hope, sank into the depths of his soul. > Yes we can, they sang, yes we can.> > The tears welled up in his eyes and ran down the hills of his face as he > thought how so different, how so very different this land, these people who can > sing so confidently of hope, of ability, of spirit, of freedom, and choice. > How so different from the land of political bullies and security thugs, so > different from the land where the people cannot sing of hope, where if they must > sing of hope, they must sing of hope under the weight of anger and a hot > determination to buck that bully, those bullies, with clenched teeth and burning > hearts, and the words can only come out of their mouths in a fit of rage, > and the passions can only flow from their hearts like poisoned arrows, like > molten lava, sizzling hot from rage at the monster that will not let them sing > of hope in peace and freedom.> > The tears welled up in his eyes. He wanted to stop them, but let them flow > like rivers down his cheeks as a sacrifice for his country, that beautiful > country now turned into a punching bag by monstrous political bullies who have > killed the people’s rights to hope, to humanity; he let the tears flow for > those millions of people who have been turned into milch cows and milch goats, > who have been turned to little more than donkeys to be ridden upon at every > moment of day, slaves to the wanton and unbridled greed of callous men and > women. Tears for that beautiful hope that, like a new born baby, is being > strangled by the corny hands of callous despots, that hope that has been microwaved > to death, baked in the blazing fires of men who are men but in shape and > form, who are the very devil himself in human skin, whose little minds can only > think of themselves and the satiation of their gross appetites, a gross lust > for power and glory they will never get, will never win. Soul-blind men that > can’t see that power and glory cannot be obtained through the shedding of > blood and tears, but through the free labors of the mind, through the generous > flowering of the senses, of hope and creativity, through the soaring of the > human imagination to the limitless heights of the distant skies, to the million > corners of the world. He shed tears for that beautiful land that is being > raped by the phallic hearts of mindless despots.> > How so terribly sad that in those lands of potential plenty, there is merely > want; that in those lands of innocent peaceful, there is only strife, that > in those lands of plentiful hope, hope so plenty that it could drench the > world, there only lurks a hopelessness that can only make you cry at the sight of > hope. How so tragic that in those lands of beautiful hearts and beautiful > minds, only the heartless ugly and the mindless tyrant can smile and eat their > fill and sleep in comfortable beds. How so very tragic that in those lands of > generosity, only the mean and the miserly are in positions to give or to > take liberty and freedom; how so sad that in those lands of neighborly love, > neighbor slays neighbor, brother hacks brother to bloody pieces, and sister > kills sister because a few greedy men will not let the people live out their > hope, sing out their hopes and wishes at the top of their voices without fear and > without a care in the world. They will not let the people say yes we can.> > Watching those hopeful souls sing, he cried for those souls that could not > sing of hope. He cried for those millions of hapless men, women, and children > who even at that very moment were shivering with fear and hunger in the > dusty, thirsty, thorny, and viper-infested sands of Sudan, in the cracked plains > of Chad, cradling the cold ridges of Mount Kenya; those poor souls who have > been driven from their homes, cruelly snatched from their loved ones and thrust > into the jaws of snake infested jungles of Congo, to become food for the > hungry hyena and gluttonous vulture, their flesh and blood and bones to be > strewn like so many evil trophies in the forests of Central Africa. He cried for > those poor souls waiting to be raped, waiting to die, waiting to be torn to > pieces by wild beasts of prey only because a few greedy and mindless tyrants > want to spend the rest of their empty lives wallowing in the lap of luxury. He > cried for those souls for whom the very sound of hope has become alien, yet > for whom hope is the only reason to hang on to live.> > As the beautiful song of those hopeful souls faded away into endless space > and the last notes of their musical voices trailed off into the wilderness of > his soul, flowing like a disappearing river into the heart of his spirit, > Mojo stood up, his face awash with the sacred tears of sacrifice, and raised his > hands to heaven, and said a prayer for those beloved lands so full of hope, > yet so lack of hope. And he prayed to the heavens saying, please Lord, please > make us too sing, YES WE CAN. And he felt the smile of the Lord upon his > tear-washed face, and he said: Yes We Can!> _________________________________________________________________> Express yourself instantly with MSN Messenger! Download today it's FREE!> http://messenger.msn.click-url.com/go/onm00200471ave/direct/01/> ¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤> To unsubscribe/subscribe or view archives of postings, go to the Gambia-L > Web interface> at: http://listserv.icors.org/archives/gambia-l.html> > To Search in the Gambia-L archives, go to: > http://listserv.icors.org/SCRIPTS/WA-ICORS.EXE?S1=gambia-l> To contact the List Management, please send an e-mail to:> [log in to unmask]> ¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤> > > > > > > > **************Biggest Grammy Award surprises of all time on AOL Music. > (http://music.aol.com/grammys/pictures/never-won-a-grammy?NCID=aolcmp003000000025> 48)> > ����������������������������������������������������������> To unsubscribe/subscribe or view archives of postings, go to the Gambia-L Web interface> at: http://listserv.icors.org/archives/gambia-l.html> > To Search in the Gambia-L archives, go to: http://listserv.icors.org/SCRIPTS/WA-ICORS.EXE?S1=gambia-l> To contact the List Management, please send an e-mail to:> [log in to unmask]> ����������������������������������������������������������> 

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