Smart Town Revisited (Part Two)

By Baba Galleh Jallow

Our little town could most of even more worthy folks. There were our great 
and famous intelligentsia, or in simpler jargon, the most Dontelligent ones 
of our little town. These were really the cream of the crowd, the pride of 
the peacock. Most prominent among them were Liontalk Ratheart, Toughdo 
Littlemove, Tarpet Gaindegi, Gisyeb Gumbogi, Fumdem Yahafa, Reyjef Tuutihel, 
and last but not the least, Londitii Emptyhead. These our special folks were 
not only intellectually active, but also mental rustic. Often times, they 
could be seen in their favorite tails and ties, their hippo-hide boots, 
their expensive wooden pens tucked proudly in their breast pockets, marching 
proudly up and down the streets of our little town, or trading their 
intellectual wares at the bantaba, a permanent smile on their slightly 
parted lips, which gave them a rather frightening air of sophistication.

This most popular group in our little town had all it took to be what it 
was. Young and smart and more than a little educated, they were the dream of 
every rising youngster and the scourge of every arrogant boaster. Arrogant 
boasters and mental midgets who came to our little town trying to show off 
their intellectual prowess or trying to show that they were clever were 
abruptly put in their places by these our highly learned folks. One 
statement or question from any one of them and such boastful pseudo-scholars 
are left gaping and confused, gasping for breath and looking for an escape 
route this way and that, like frightened rats. They could make our little 
town as uncomfortable as a blazing oven for any conceited boaster who came 
there pretending to be master of some field of knowledge or the other. Such 
was the weight of their academic bazookas!!! Such was the awe they inspired 
in our little town!!

The favorite past times of these our gentle learned folks were matters of 
academic work
and debate, reading and writing, brainstorming, and complex analyses of 
subjects ranging from the advanced principles of whatyasay to such complex 
subjects as parrotry, chickenry, hostile teeth-gnashing and the principles 
of friendly cooing and angry rattling. Our common townsfolk never tired of 
hearing these sophisticated giants of our little town expound their juicy 
theories, propound strange new ones, or dismantle some seemingly difficult 
theorem or other. They particularly enjoyed seeing the likes of Tarpet 
Gaindegi whitewashing mouthy folks who came to our little town and pretended 
to be clever.

The most prominent among these endowed folks was Gisyeb Gumbogi. Homo 
Gumbogi, as our common townsfolk fondly referred to our pious Gisyeb, was a 
specialist in maata foof techniques, a skill that was so hard to master that 
only the most brilliant and fearless could come close to practicing it. Homo 
Gumbogi, however, practiced this special talent as easily as he smelled the 
air. Maata foof involved being at once a lion and a lamb, a lion when no 
danger is around and a lamb when the need arises. It demanded a nimble state 
of mind and was often used as a survival technique by the more gifted among 
our common townsfolk. The very few who could practice this ancient and 
dynamic art were greatly admired. Homo Gumbogi was among the very few 
bigwigs in our little town who knew that if you were a master of maata foof, 
there was no reason why you should not show the whole big wide world what 
you were capable of.

So it was that our pious Homo Gumbogi, alias Ratahal, his bright eyes 
sparkling with a knowing light, would don his favorite tails and ties and 
his hippo-hide boots, his unrivalled pen stuck to his breast pocket, and 
proudly strut in our little town, watching out for boastful dwarfs who 
pretended to be tall or just posing for all the eager cameras rooting to get 
a snap of the rare gem. And when his elegant picture came out, our common 
townsfolk were always amazed at how educated the wise guy looked. Even more 
than in real life! His face would shine like an oily moon, and there would 
be a grave and distant look in his eyes, not a hint of a smile on his 
serious lips, and more than a little air of pride and – no, not arrogance – 
in his generous nostrils. Homo Gumbogi would hang a copy of this special 
picture in all the major streets of our little town, and our common 
townsfolk would stop by and stare and marvel at the great spectacle. And 
then when Homo Gumbogi sailed proudly by and saw how our common townsfolk 
were staring at him, he would give them his maata foof smile, displaying a 
row of real brown teeth, and saying “yeah, that’s maata foof men. It’s all a 
matter of human lies and the rule of now. No yohal.”

Last but by no means the least, there were, in our little town, our 
sophisticated group of lesser smarties. There were Largehead Chickenbrain, 
Reyjef Tutiham, Lerrbot Ledemhel, Hamhami Mbedami, and the great Munwakh 
Nyaakahel who, to the most utter amazement of our common townsfolk, proved 
that he was conversant with each and every topic on the face of the earth, 
even those he had never been schooled in. Quick to learn and quick to 
assimilate, Munwakh Nyaakahel was quick to read and quick to write. Quick to 
see just what was wrong and what was right in every move and step, every 
word and sigh within the four corners of our little town. That was why Homo 
Nyaakahel was so greatly loved and honored and considered a special 
celebrity in our little town. That was why he and some of our lesser 
smarties were dubbed the ‘Proper Ones’, for truly speaking, no one could 
challenge them in the difficult art of telling right from wrong and in 
mapping out specific routes and patterns that must be strictly followed by 
the less endowed folks of our little town. To distinguish themselves from 
the less endowed among our common townsfolk, these our prominent word-bags 
and airy folks always wore their coats inside-out and would not run from 
either sun or rain. So that even if a mighty rainstorm found them walking at 
a certain pace, they would neither hasten their pace nor run for shelter. 
They dared the very heavenly elements themselves!  They were the 
never-say-nevers, the gallant mbokaharrs of our little town!!! And if you 
wondered why they would not take shelter, any one of them could tell you 
yeah, no yohal, no yohal, echoing our gallant Gisyeb Gumbogi of the oily 
face, alias Ratahal Sortisoof.

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