or a living.
As an art historian, I talk for a living.
Politicians, lawyers, teachers and other professionals also make a living from talking.
But many people actually have to make something to earn a living.
Life is simple yet complicated in the ReDoMi civilization.
How do you say ReDoMi?
The vowels and consonants of the RedoMi people are so simple that all you have to do is open or close your lips to pronounce their words.
The consonants are especially straightforward. They contain no strong or forces sounds, not even a threatening hiss of the ZZZZ is allowed. That is too much of a snake strike for a people of the infinite dimension. Only the gentle “s” and “sh” are allowed into this linguistic tone.
The secondary school rusticated me for being part of a riot that the students organized and carried out with meticulous sagacity.
Flabbergasted, I traveled to Ile Ife where we lived, from Oyo, where I schooled.
My father was amused that they rusticated me.
“Did you really participate in the riot?” my father asked.
“I did not,” I answered.
When I arrived the United States in 1992 to start a doctorate at UW, Madison, I had only $98 in my pocket.
My professor, Henry Drewal, quickly came to my assistance. He immediately paid my school fees for the first semester, and gave me $1,000 in cash to start me off. Then he provided me with free accommodation in the posh part of town for the first year of my studies, while I found my feet.
Obaseki, looked cornered. He certainly was not anticipating an encounter with me at the restaurant. His shrunken face looked collapsed with fatigue. The anxiety that he was feeling was palpable. His face began to twitch. It was bad enough when he saw me entering the restaurant. But the moment I informed him that Rufus was on his way to join us, his system could no longer handle the tension. He stood up. He patted his pockets.
“What is the matter?” I asked him. “Is everything fine?”
“Oh, I was-was-just checking my—my—my pocket. For my-my-my-house keys.”
“And is it in your pocket?”