Chapter 2: The Saga
At the crack of dawn, Michael stood at the window, and heard the call of Fajr— piercing the still air.
The metropolitan city, Nizzra, was calm and peaceful along the Independence Square.
It was not far from home, and the walls of the streets were covered up with lucid, colourful and caricatures— artistic inscriptions.
Dirt and debris rose to the air— been tossed about by the wind force. The early peculiar harmattan was harsh on the skin as it drops its cool mist upon the crowds.
Above the stretch of grass, the pragmatic "Akalia" lived far along the west, in the outskirts of the metropolitan city: secluded.
She was an incredible woman with an incredible mind. Although she was not a man, but Akalia possessed the strength of a great man— with lots of inner powers.
She was clearly cut out for the great things of life.
"We've loved our State as a people, sure, but we've never truly embraced our ourselves," these words rang intrusively in Michael's ears, as he puts his clothes on.
He'd heard of these words a thousand times— often been said by Akalia.
"So where do we go from here?" He asked rhetorically as he dresses up and preened over at himself to show off his posture in the front of the mirror.
"Five days of anxiety still tortures the city, huh! What a mental convolution!" In monologues, Michael muttered under his breath passionately and put down the white draperies in his hands along the wine section by the window, and he was up to the next arrangement of things.
"It stroke my heart with pain... Ahh!" He yelled out and paused. Next he went and poured himself a bottle of drink into a very tall glass cup, and gulped it down. The wine tasted good, he poured himself some for the second time, but drank just a little from it before dropping down the cup.
"Chakia State, we don't even know the shape of your heart anymore. If the people can't see results at this point... I am equally weary.
Ohh!... Ohh!..." Lamented Michael.
On and on and on— as he hurried his way out to another section and then quickly switched off, all his electrical appliances— before walking out behind all the shut doors.
He drove down miles to the west outskirts of the city as he rushed out of his house: still agitated.
He'd looked round the street of his neighborhood but there was nobody in sight to talk to, so he muttered again.
"Who else may understand our struggles, huh!?
But I know it will end even today; sure! Maybe in disasters! Come to think of it, who else cares, isn't liberation that we all are clamouring for?
I must therefore hurry to see A.A, before the protest begins."
Before the present hour, the wind had blew dirt and debris all night over the contiguous rooftops in Akalia's residence. And then it finally stopped just before the twilight.
At the last cock-crow just before Michael rendezvous, a group of dogs were heard across a distant landmark— yawning like a pack of wolves.
And with persistent barking, the animal's peculiar outcry had marked significantly the characteristics of the early sunrise. It was beautiful to behold!
Akalia awoke in her bed with a weary frown as she turned towards the flash of yellowish light on her pillow that had passed through the slits of her window frame and found it way directly on her face.
She could feel an intense warmness, all dawn the exact spot where she'd laid in her bed by the virtue of her body temperature— radiating heat as though she'd symptoms of highfever.
"Akalia" thoughts pulled her with an invisible wish, as she heard the unusual electronic sounds of her TV talking in the living room.
The television had automatically been set to switch–on— by mornings, and at prime-time intermittently, and then sleep's at nights.
Akalia stood up abruptly at the side of the bed in her red pajamas. There was an impression of her buttocks that appeared on the surface as she gazed at the side of the bed.
And without minding, she strolled out through the adjoining walls that extended to the living room and sat disgruntled in front of the TV, on the edge of a blue rectangular couch.
For the past three months or so, Akalia had routinely rose from her bed to listen to the headline news: every morning.
She could rarely skip any opening broadcast programs of the day— at that particular time— as she'd already conditioned herself to do it everyday.
As the ball of the sun unveiled its glory shining from the horizon; below the clouds.
More crowds of people had begun to increase in size as they flowed into the streets, revealing the oddly looking structures of the city metropolis, and different kinds of people living in Nizzra.
Akalia's television was tuned on a live broadcast. The rhythmic human voices from the television could be heard even at the second block of her apartment.
And even though she would've been deep in her sleeping state right now, Akalia would still have heard the disturbance, for good. The noise perhaps— she enjoys it, had even exceeded the perimeter walls of her brick fence that was securing her yard.
The speakers were fairly loud— as the volume was raised high enough to disturb even the immediate environment.
Noise over the speakers filled the entire house with an overlapping uproar of human souls in turmoils.
Down the corner of her leaving room was a huge receiver-set, through which she could follow debates in the parliament covertly.
She could see Michael Ajakison now walking into her yard as soon as she'd stood up and turned in observation towards the glass windows, the direction of her gate, and heard as the door creaked open on his entry into the foyer.
Akalia Ambikasaleh, in the wake of the protests in Chakia, knew that the land had produced a stunted growth far too long to be accepted. But not just a few were unhappy about these unfolding events that seems to be flourishing everywhere.
They were signals of tension; an awakenings that had sparked the minds of enthusiastic civil rights frontiers and her followers that had long desired to breed fresh ideologies that would rid the state of all the repugnant politics.
It was such reasons that had raised pertinent questions of repositioning things afresh. Like agitations, nepotism, hate speeches, intolerance, disunity, treachery, constant Political conflicts and rivalry.
All these repugnances had overgrown peace in many regions of the state. They were not new to the people!
Akalia paused irritated at the thought of all these created tensions in the land— crippling the peace of the state. She was filled with total dismay, and rage smeared on her face for the sake of the next generations— that might be left alone to fend for themselves as sheep— left without a shepherd.
Watching the early morning broadcast had become a daily ritual, most especially as tension increased and people had became too impatient with Lopadans controlling the system.
Akalia for her pride was prudent with time and dynamic and smart. Most things that she'd come to love in the contemporary settings were incorporated into her daily rituals to maintain her sanity and versatility of living in a modern world.
They were dozens of things that she had learned thoroughly and many that she'd thought herself privately.
"Will anything worth emulating of the state— ever come out of Chakia?" she stated, spotting Michael in his loom.
"Morning mam." Michael greeted, as he opened the door wide and entered into the living room.
"Welcome...son, please give me a moment first..." Akalia replied, still gazing at the television.
She didn't lashed out as normally as she would on Michael, but a sudden nervous jitters in her voice had tightened her vocal cord.
"Please get me a cup of coffee and some milk in the fridge, Michael. I need to hang in here for a while."
Michael moved quickly to a corner and did just as he'd been told.
Akalia moved in to the extreme right of the couch and made a tactile adjustments to mix her tea without even thanking Michael for his service.
The expressions on her face was a disgruntled one. This act, paralyzed by needless fear for the sake of Chakia's future had aroused some nasty ominous feelings and resentment against the enemies of the state.
They were strong unpleasant imaginations, triggered by hatred over what she was seeing and have heard on the TV programs.
Hatred that had made her to act in a certain weirdish ways. That moment was like a reverse flow of energy that only her would ordinarily discern.
The tingling sensation... aroused by irrational constraints had caused an insane visible distortions on her facial expressions.
Her personality traits, that object of veneration she'd once felt proud of, was no longer there. At least not in many ways, but Michael had figured out somehow, that they weren't her making.
Maybe it was as a result of her niece's death that had triggered some effects.
The thought had whiffed a tinkering schemes of deploying her early barbaric arsenals on the enemies of the state.
But those days were over now, she'd totally felt disconnected from such practices, after losing a total grasp of her past reality. She couldn't see herself actually doing it. But something was pressuring her to act otherwise.
Just then, the feelings of uncertainty had evoked and had been hovering a while on its own accord.
A gust of short imaginations, raising her inquisition. She did not expressed it, but it lay in grip of her memories.
It was an inspiration tapped from a deeper source of her subconscious mind... far reaching within the realm of impossibilities of her soul. Her yearnings— more for a better life, though not for herself, but for all and sundry.
"Some of our laws are even repugnant to our nature and morality in this regime," said Akalia, with a low voice and without looking at Michael's position.
"And it's raising my inquisition to remember certain annoying and nagging questions about who we really are."
"Hmm!..." Sighed Michael under his breath, with muse.
"But we have only ourselves to blame for that; because we lack the will power to use our own resources to advance our State.
Human capital is hardly cultivated, but we seek for it— in high prices elsewhere." Said Akalia.
Many years, during this periods, Akalia had a strong passion and had gave her best to inspire others for the sake of the patriotic service for Chakia, but she was not supported by many at this time.
It was her golden moment of life, to fulfill obligations toward a personal positive impact to raise her own followers. But she deed it anyway.
"It is glaring even if you don't say it, Kalians know it. All the answers to the questions that they all are seeking for: are all written deeper in their hearts. So don't panic!" Said Michael, encouragingly as he stood behind from a distance— staring at her. "We are strong and secured."
Added Michael, with sad overtone. There was no more anger that showed on her face. And in its place a sort of smile hovered, more terrible and more sinister than anger.
At this point, Akalia had suddenly went mute. It was as though something had seized upon her spirit, and had laid hold of her memories.
The imaginations had emanated from the previously broadcasts of many subjects, that contains series of vivid insidious events, trailing emails, and many other heartwarming programs that she'd watched some few weeks back. It kicked right into her skull like a bar of magnet— inducing a sense of pride and ego, instantly.
It was mind bugling to know all of these: pouring in like springs of visions.
It made her peeped at an angle of her past for a moment, and then she wondered off— into retrospection again. She pictorially stared at the imbedded heap of the monumental corruption; and dwelled in there for some times.
It was the most unfortunate societal ills he'd remembered more vividly than anything else that had befallen Chakia's past, its present, and its obvious effects in the oncoming future.
Corruption as she knew had stolen barely everything that life could've possibly offered to its citizens— stress-free... without giving a damn about living the shores of Chakia to foreign lands.
Almost with apparent sorrows and a broken heart felt, she had shade tears for the sake of the state, reflecting on its ancient days and the excellent culture of her peoples all over the regions.
It was the reflections on the past that she was seeing been carried further into the future: crystal clear. But the reality had completely been shattered through bad experiences that had forged who she is right now.
A shocking revelation hovered on her head that would've made her to opened her mouth wide— and cry out. And many would think it was for no reason.
At this level of limited resources, except for the strength of her population which was an impressive advantage for Chakia. But political leaders were grappled with the perilous tendencies of poor economic decisions and management issues.
It was a time when infrastructural deficit seemed to had been a major threat for the collapse of the state, and it had made the antecedents of her good employment status to fade into oblivion.
Bribery had risen like an epidemic— spreading wield even into the fabrics of the nobles like a virus. Both the small and the great... in all spheres of life, had been corrupted and fed fat with all kinds of greed and evil.
Akalia pondered on these manifold experiences as though she was directly seeing these visions pasted on a white wall. Visions— far into the great future of Chakia State, which many had believed that it will one day be a prosperous State, and would learn to subdue and to control many nations around her.
This was greatness promised by it founding fathers, and everyone had patiently been waiting for it to be revealed like a newborn baby— delivered to a barren woman that had beared no child for no one.
Ambikasaleh, her late father— had always blamed all of these ideas on neocolonialism.
But on the contrary, he had praised the scientific frontiers— for the rather development of the outer space colonisation programs, instead of the human exploitations wrought on the soil of Chakia's past.
He'd once said rebuking a man of his age, status and class. That, "these ideas had came not only with brutality, but often in many subtle forms: a sort of heightened human savageness, economic suffocation, slavery, selfishness and racial sentiments. It could be through a loan, food aid, blackmail, and a lot of that control...had washed off our sense of dignity, pride, and even shame as a people without respect— and whose behaviors are alien to our own culture."
In this tunnel of a rotten system and a corrupt strayed society, who drastically needed a redemption. Akalia had foreseen, rather a different star in a blue sky— carrying clouds of looming darkness. And she shivered at the thought of these things, and fretted with tingling hands.
Akalia was fighting inside her, to override it, and reverse these acursed life, and the perception that had allowed a handful of men in the state to rule the majority.
The two friends sip their tea in quietness and enjoyed the sliced toast bread and the "Kalian" green butter and cheese as a breakfast.
Let loosely on the frames of her frail shoulders.
Akalia stood without an iota of contempt and in her honest posture. Although her countenance had appeared so cold as she glanced over Michael and frowned. But Michael had looked shyly away.
Her profile no doubts possessed an attractive features. A lean physique, prominent knuckles, long distinctive fingers, round stressed puffy eyes, and a thick black weaved hair.
Yet she stood straight and strong— an attractive beautiful woman. Akalia turned her face on the front walls of her sitting room were the TV seats. She stood perplexed for seconds, gazing at the screen of her television.
Howbeit, some parts of the state of Chakia had remained relatively calm, peaceful and commercially successful, despite all it travails.
The Capital— Nizzra, had traversed an age long history of mass peaceful protests.
But yet, the walls of this city were intensely adorable; full of fun and freaky in the eyes of those who owned them, and had made profit from what they do— inside and outside of them.
But Akalia didn't feel profoundly privileged to be a proud progeny to any of the founders of the State. But she'd instead considered herself already an outcast, a freak for change.
Michael's uncle had been killed with a single shot by a masked serial snipers— who'd fled into another region wearing a black costume.
The bullet which had barely missed his heart had pierced his left chest and passed through his lungs, and came out through the back of his collar-bone.
On his dieing bed while enduring the pain of surgery in the hospital, he'd continued to encourage Michael to carry on with his legacy.
The doctors could not save his life. But that was several years ago, in the heat of a political crisis— that had rocked Nizzra for almost three decades.
Two aspirants were assassinated a week after Ajakison's death. But nobody protested. Some, whom obviously the government did not even care to mention or the media, were murdered in cold blood in many hotel conference rooms.
The others were attacked and killed individually in their private cars in major highways alone. Some beaten on the streets to death while it rains.
The rest of the murdered cases, as intelligence had revealed: were at the centre of a convention, after a dinner of about nine delegates who died of either of food poisoning or forceful ingestion of substances.
Those who got kidnapped were whisked away at midnights into the forest. Most of them, as the killers caught up with them suddenly, were wasted immediately on the round table, planning new strategies on how to move the agenda of the state to the next level.
These era of assassination events were prior to the wide spread of digital and satellites inventions— that now floods the State, in such a third world country: so wild and free.
And like a sacrificial lamb without protesting, Ajakison had died still bleeding and foaming in his mouth.
A year later, Michael had quickly adopted the family's name and then went all out like he's been chased, to join the state repugnant politics.
Although he had since remained lovely, without holding any grudge against anyone in the state.
Including a section of the sphere of government that his uncle had hated. It was believe the act alone had extended Michael's life by comparison to other of his pairs who'd gone after their enemies.
But he'd been suffocated unknowingly through many enemies of Ajakisons' preying on him every night and day.
The citizens of Chakia had lived a sort of hopeless and confused lives, with ill contempt about the wrong leadership style.
Agitating against the sharp corrupt practices that had often been associated to the profligacy of a faceless kind of popular name that had long been in an existence, known as the Lopadans. An inner secret caucus, of a social engineering— whose activities had been responsible for sponsoring many secret bills, and architecting the famous concrete walls of the most intricate political ideas of the state.
Akalia who foreknew that protests will reach the peak soonest, stood guard and increasingly felt defensive about the disparagements of the state's resources that were rationed only among these few elites.
Though she did not at the murky stage grieved over the sufferings of the masses— during the precarious years of economic turmoils. But she had been nursing a political ambition with a different sets of approach in her mind, to completely purge the government of it wrong deeds.
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