Emergency Red Alert!
By Baba Galleh Jallow
 
His Dofcillency the Windbag was angry, really angry. The notice he had received from these people hit his eyes like pepper spray and sent him weeping and sniffing into his private restroom. As soon as he was able to speak without sounding tearful, he dispatched a message to call an emergency red alert cabinet meeting. All ministers must be present even if they were absent; those on foreign missions were to abort immediately and report back to base. Failure to do so will result in drastic consequences. And so it was that all his Dofcillency’s personal ministers scrambled from wherever they were around the world to attend the emergency red alert cabinet meeting. They all came running, some still wearing their sleepy faces, some with noses, and some with only one shoe on their feet or their heads party shaved. They had never heard such an urgent call to meet and they knew that they had to be there in order to avoid His Dofcillency’s red rage.
 
One O’clock sharp on the dot and His Angry Dofcillency the Windbag came charging like an angry bull into the meeting room. The ministers all scrambled to their feet as the raging bull rushed to his throne at the head of the long table and angrily sank in. The ministers dropped automatically back into their seats, taking care not to make the slightest noise and fixing their somber gazes on His Dofcillency the Windbag. They saw that his eyes were red as pepper and that his face was much thicker and darker than usual. They did not fail to notice that he wore his angry cow hat, the one he wore only on very serious occasions. Whatever this emergency red alert meeting was about, the ministers knew that it was serious. The last time he wore it was when he ventured forth to fight those greedy spirit witches that ate his aunt. The ministers all tried to look as dark faced and red eyed as His Dofcillency so as not to attract his furious wrath. 
 
His Dofcillency foamed at the mouth and angry gusts of fury bellowed from his nostrils as he addressed the meeting. “They come here and enslave us and then they come and say they are giving us deadlines. No one gives me deadlines! I would be dead before they do and they will never colonize us again. Over my dead body! Even if I am dead I will not allow it. It will never happen here dead or alive in ten million years!
“Who the hell do they think they are to come here and give me this stupid notice saying I must do this in one month or six months or whatever stupid months, ha? They think that I am a child and they talk to me about so-called human right and rule of law. What do they mean human right and freedom? What freedom? If they want freedom they should go to hell because no one will talk to me about so-called freedom or human right. They come here and enslave us and then they come back and say media this media that. What media? Ha? What media? Do they think I am afraid of them? If they think that I am afraid of them then they should go to hell! I am afraid of no one but myself and if they don’t like it they can go to hell. And then they give me deadlines. Why should they give me deadlines . . . uhu uhu uhu . . .”
His Dofcillency could no longer hold back the tears and loudly wept and whimpered and loudly sniffed and blew his nose. The ministers all shook in their seats and quaked in their boots. No one dared to say a word lest His Dofcillency the Windbag thought they were mocking him. And so they just wept along and loudly sniffed and shook their heads and angrily ground their teeth. Some bit their lower lips so hard blood came out. Some closed their eyes and silently groaned, wishing that the meeting was over and they were someplace else where they could lift their heads and say a heavy word. Then they were brought back into the hot and unpleasant present as His Dofcillency resumed his angry squeals.
 
“They send me a notice and say I must show the dead bodies,” His Dofcillency wept. “They say I must not beat my children, that I must not ride my horse or bring my chickens home to roost. They say I must not sell my goods or pull my teeth. They say that my country is not a sovereign country and that we do not have a flag. They dare to say that I am bad and that I must not rule my land. They dare to give me a deadline and say I am a fool. Why do they call me fool? Ha? Why do they call me fool? Why or why, uhu uhu uhu . . .”
 
“I must tell you all that deal or no deal,’ His Dofcillency said. “I say this is deal or no deal and they can go to hell. If you go to their country they lock you up. Even before you go to their country you have to pay the rent and you have to buy oranges and you must wear your badge. And then they come here and tell me I must not take bath and that I must be shy. No one will tell me shy and no one can give me deadline. Even if I am dead I will not take the deal and they can go to hell.”
 
As he spoke the petrified ministers religious nodded their heads, looking much like a crowd of air peckers calmly enjoying their windy meal. Some stayed transfixed to their seats, afraid to make the slightest move lest they attract His Dofcillency’s angry stare. Some pretended to scribble busily away even when they did not hear what His Dofcillency was saying . . . His Dofcillency reminded some of a mad wrestler of long ago who claimed he knew the language of crocodiles and that he could defeat the wind in a wrestling contest.  As the ministers listened, His Dofcillency loudly sniffed and blew his noise, eliciting involuntary wails from his most loyal stooges in the cabinet, including ministers Joke Hibarr, Lamb Mbaleh and Sated Seadeep. Some ministers like Magmu Nyaw, Boppi Harr and Kai Ngagis stayed transfixed to their seats as if they were statues, making sure that His Dofcillency noticed just how intently they listened and how seriously they heard and took what he was saying. It was indeed emergency red alert for the whole wide world!
 
                                          

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