Author: Scribe of the Tword

Wahala in Valhalla – Part Six

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Disclaimer: This is not intended to be faithful to the myth or canon of any of the deities described in this series. If you are a stickler for the traditional origins and lore, this would be a good point to close the webpage.

With Shango and Thor gone, a semblance of calm returned to the Great Hall. Loki stood beside Odin, as they finally welcomed the einherjar individually to the feast. “I think we are going to see Shango again, and soon. Sooner than you think,” Odin said to Loki.

—

Meanwhile, Shango could not believe that Thor had found the oshe so easily. “You had something to do with this!” he accused.

“Calm yourself, outsider. A few hours ago I didn’t even know you existed.”

“You will not call me ‘outsider’ in my domain, Asgardian. And you will hand me my axe.”

“If it’s yours, it should come to you when you call it.” Thor taunted.

“So Mjolnir is mine, then?” Shango sneered back.

“Brothers!” Eshu interjected, afraid that they would start to fight again. “All is well that ends well – Shango can complete the coronation now. And Thor can return to Asgard.”

Thor turned to look at Eshu. “Except it hasn’t quite ended has it?”

—

“Why do you think Shango will return, Father?” Loki asked.

“Because it was you who took who took his axe, wasn’t it?” Odin snapped his fingers and Loki’s body began to change to change shape. ‘Loki’ wasn’t Loki. It was Eshu.

—

Shango looked at Thor, confused. “How do you mean, Asgardian?” Thor grabbed Eshu firmly by the wrist and Eshu squirmed, trying to wrest himself free. Shango thought to demand that Thor unhand Eshu but something made him pause.

“Here is your axe, Shango,” Thor said. “Go and bless your people’s king. I will return to Asgard with my brother Loki and I will hold your mischief god until your return.”

“Loki? This is Eshu.”

“No, it isn’t. And I’ve known since we left Asgard that he and my brother exchanged places. I don’t know what they have planned but I intend to find out. When you are ready to to return, come back to this place and call out to Heimdall – he will bring you back on the Bilrost. More suitable for godly travel. Heimdall!!”

Loki changed back into his real form, as Heimdall sent down the bridge for Thor. “I like the double axe. I will have one made. Much larger, obviously. It will be a breaker of storms. I will see you soon, Shango.” And with that, Thor and Loki were gone.

—

The Oluwo knew he was out of time. The Alaafin had to be crowned. He did not know why Shango had withdrawn from them and made a note to seek guidance on what to do to bring back the orisha’s graces. The other priests sighed with relief when they saw him emerge from the shrine but the worry on his face meant it was short-lived.

Suddenly the Oluwo’s demeanour changed completely and his face lit up. The orisha was with them again. The crown was placed on the new Alaafin’s head and in that moment, like nearly all his predecessors on the throne, the royal father felt the faintest of touches on his forehead and power coursing through his body. And then it was gone.

“Kabiyesi!!!” The people proclaimed. “May the crown endure on your head and shoes on your feet! Long live the king!!”

THE END

Wahala in Valhalla – Part Five

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Disclaimer: This is not intended to be faithful to the myth or canon of any of the deities described in this series. If you are a stickler for the traditional origins and lore, this would be a good point to close the webpage.

Thor charged at Shango, looking to knock him off balance, but Shango was light of foot and side-stepped Thor. Thor opened his hand, calling for Mjolnir, but Shango would not let go of the hammer. So he was lifted off his feet towards Thor, who drove his fist into Shango’s face with his other hand. Shango fell backwards, slightly dazed, the hammer a few metres out of his reach.

The einherjar cheered loudly. Odin moved as if to intervene. Loki saw and quickly intercepted. “Thor will never forgive you, if you end this now, Father.” He reasoned. Odin heaved a sigh of resignation and remained where he was.

Shango got up to his feet, rubbing his jaw. It was a long time since he had felt pain, perhaps not since he was human. Thor saw that he had rocked Shango.

“The audacity to invade my kingdom, outsider, my domain, and demand my hammer. What do you think the enemies of Asgard will do when they hear of it?”

Thor called Mjolnir and the hammer leapt into his grip. He swung the hammer on its leather handle a few times and flung it at Shango.

Feel me, Shango heard Mjolnir whisper. He was back on his feet, and just before the hammer hit him, in a sweeping motion, he shifted his body weight, grabbed the leather handle and threw the hammer back at Thor. Thor did not see it coming and Mjolnir hit him square in the chest, throwing him back several metres in the courtyard.

“Unless your kingdom is riddled with spies,” panted  Shango, “I would be back with your hammer before any enemies could muster an attack. And why do you still fight wars and come under attack, like mortals? Is your domain not a celestial one, Asgardian?”

Thor was back on his feet. He did not know if it was the blow from the hammer hitting his chest that shook him, or the realisation that it could be wielded against him. He decided not to throw Mjolnir at Shango any longer.

Thor raised his hammer up high and the skies darkened. I know what’s coming, Shango thought. With a loud cry, Thor summoned lightning into his hammer and threw the lightning bolts at Shango. Shango, with an equally ferocious cry, eyes sparking and fire flaming out of his mouth, absorbed the lightning into his body with his left arm and shot it back at Thor with his right. DAPADA!!! Thor parried with his hammer and the bolts deflected onto a section of the palace, blasting it to smithereens. Shango immediately spread both arms out wide and slapped his palms together with a ferocious thunder clap.

The sequence had taken a chunk out of Shango and he flagged, momentarily. Thor sensed this and moved to strike him. Thor punched Shango in the ribs and swung the hammer in an uppercut like motion. Shango ducked with a backflip, kicking Thor in the face, before landing on one knee, clutching his side. The hammer flew off into the parapets of the palace, breaking another wall.

Shango opened his palms out to the heavens and swung down, throwing lightning bolts at Thor. Thor too caught the lightning and sent it back into the skies. It began to rain, lightly at first, and then heavily. “You shall not have my hammer, outsider.”

“I swear you will say my name before we are done here!”

“Never!!”

Eshu looked up, shaking his head. “Do you not have rain in Yoruba?” Loki asked.

“We have rain,” Eshu responded drily. “And it is our people called Yoruba, not our domain.”

“I would like to hear more about your domain, once all the thunder and lightning has abated.” Loki said. Eshu nodded.

The fighting raged between the lightning gods. Both realised quickly that neither would be subdued by lightning or fire and only physical blows seemed to do any damage. Shango feinted a punch with his left fist and followed on with his right. The blow grazed Thor’s temple and he swung the hammer again, aiming for Shango’s chin. He missed and lost his grip on Mjolnir, sending it flying into the sky.

Call me!!

Thor and Shango both stretched out their hands to call the hammer and zipped one way and then the other, not reaching either of them. Thor strained and Shango strained harder, the two summoning the hammer with all their strength. The hammer was now simply rotating in the same place, with equal pull from the clashing deities.

The hammer suddenly stopped spinning as a hand held it in place. It was Odin. “Enough of that now, you two,” he admonished. “Nothing to be gained by this contest or the demise of either of you.”

Both wanted to continue but the authority with which Odin spoke compelled them to pause.

“Thor, my son, my shining star, you will go with Shango to his coronation and let him use Mjolnir for his benediction. Then you will return to us and we shall put this matter behind us. No, no, no, do not protest. I have spoken.”

Shortly afterwards, Thor was on the path back to their realm, with Eshu and Shango. It was a quiet journey with no words said by any of them. They leapt of the cart into the domain of Shango and as their feet touched the ground, Thor at last spoke up.

“My hand tingles. I sense something. It feels like Mjolnir but different. I feel… I feel…” and he stretched out his hand as he would to call his hammer.

There was a whoosh and a thud. And in Thor’s hand was Shango’s oshe.

*** TO BE CONTINUED – ONE MORE PART TO GO ***

Wahala in Valhalla – Part Four

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Disclaimer: This is not intended to be faithful to the myth or canon of any of the deities described in this series. If you are a stickler for the traditional origins and lore, this would be a good point to close the webpage.

“His name is Shango and he is trespassing. He does not belong here.” It was Heimdall, son of Odin and nine mothers, watcher of the Bifrost – the rainbow bridge connecting Midgard (the world of men) and Asgard.

“I would pronounce it differently myself,” Shango replied, “but, yes, I am Shango, son of Oranmiyan, the orisha of thunder, lighting and justice. And what are your names?”

Gasps echoed through the Great Hall, everyone shocked at Shango’s unknowingness and his impudence.

“You will bow to the All-Fathers, outsiders!” Thor thundered.

“We will not!” Shango thundered back. Not quickly enough though, for Eshu had already taken a knee in genuflection.

Odin smiled patiently. “Perhaps we should let him answer my questions, and the one Heimdall is undoubtedly bursting to ask. Where have you come from, Shango, what are you doing here and how did you arrive undetected even by Heimdall?”

“I am an orisha from the Yoruba pantheon. Orishas are not ‘gods’ but you may think of me as the god of thunder and lightning. In my pantheon, anyway,” he said returning Thor’s glare.

“Eshu, my companion, is our orisha of chance and mischief and he cloaked us with the likeness of your homeward souls on our journey.”

“He is the Loki to your Thor,” said Odin.

“I don’t know what you mean, apart from him over there being Thor. I am here to borrow his hammer, Mjolnir.”

Again, the gasps rang through the great hall.

“Outsider…”, began Thor.

“ – Shango,” interjected Shango.

“…how dare you utter that name and by what dark design have you come upon its knowledge?” demanded Thor.

“Mjolnir has been speaking to me since we arrived. I think it considers me a friend.”

“Do not vex me, outsider.” Thor warned.

“Again, it is Shango. I do not mean to antagonise you, especially as it is your favour in particular that I have come to seek.”

“Hear him out, brother,” encouraged Loki, who had heard the commotion and come eagerly to see what had so unsettled Thor.

“Thor,” continued Shango, “you see, I began my existence as a human man, of royal birth, and reigned over the largest empire in the land of my people.”

“You want me to lend my hammer to a mortal?” laughed Thor. “You’re not even a god, you’re an ‘orisha’ – is that akin to a demigod?” he teased.

Eshu rubbed his chest, signalling to Shango to reign his temper in. Shango took a deep breath and continued to make his case.

“All the kings who have taken the throne since me have been crowned in my name and at each coronation, I have imbued them with my virtues and power by touching my oshe – my double axe – on their heads in benediction. There is such another coronation today, happening right now, but my oshe is missing. Someone has stolen it. I only need Mjolnir for a few hours and will return it afterwards, on my honour. Eshu can remain here until I return, as a show of good faith.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, outsider. Anyone can wield your hammer, or axe, whatever, and you think you’re worthy of Mjolnir?” This time, all the Asgardians laughed with Thor.

Shango felt his palms tingling once more. He heard Eshu whisper again about containing his rage, but a louder voice was drowning out Eshu’s.

Call me. Mjolnir was whispering to him again.

Summon me!  The whisper grew louder.

HOLD OUT YOUR HAND!! Mjolnir commanded with urgency, and Shango complied.

As Shango reached out, to the amazement of Thor, Loki, Heimdall and all the Asgardians, Thor’s hammer detached from its belt and flew right into Shango’s grasp. Red lightning rent the air, searing through the skies and coursing through Mjolnir into Shango.

“OUTSIDER, YOU WILL PUT MY HAMMER DOWN NOW!!!”

“My… name… is… SHANGO!!!” Shango raised Mjolnir in the air and lightning flew once more.

Thor advanced towards Shango and Shango stood ready to defend himself.

*** TO BE CONTINUED ***

Wahala in Valhalla – Part Three

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Disclaimer: This is not intended to be faithful to the myth or canon of any of the deities described in this series. If you are a stickler for the traditional origins and lore, this would be a good point to close the webpage.

The edge of the ethereum was every bit as fantastic as Eshu had described to Shango, and the other world was indeed as heavenly as theirs, yet different. It shimmered but with a hue that varied somewhat from that of the orisha plane.

Shango eyed the chasm nervously. It seemed to be changing in size all the time, expanding and contracting in time with the vibrations of the cosmic energy in the atmosphere.

“What now?” he asked Eshu.

“We wait. Or we leap, if you think we can do it in one bound.” Eshu chuckled.

“We don’t have time.”

“Your precious Alaafin might not, but we do. I can’t cross in a single bound but perhaps the mighty Shango might, with me on his back.”

“Be careful with your mockery, Eshu. I may have misplaced my oshe but you still do not want to make me angry.”

“Our earthly followers have a saying.  ‘Anger is the father of hopelessness’ … your Alaafin has 3 hours until he is crowned. We can either go back to look for your oshe, which we may not find in time, or press forward to Thor, whose hammer may not retain its sacredness in our plane, even if he agrees to lend it to you. Either way, your rage, legendary as it is, solves nothing for now.”

Shango’s eyes flashed momentarily but he pulled back. Eshu was right. Besides, he needed Eshu’s stealth to get him close enough to this Thor fellow. He heaved a sigh and stamped with his right foot, rattling his ankle amulets, and settled into waiting.

It was fortunately a very short wait as just then, a path materialised in the void beneath the chasm. On the road, being drawn by two of the largest bulls Shango had ever seen, was the cart filled with the souls of men and women, on the way to the Great Hall. They seemed battle-weary but happy, many brandishing swords. They were also of different physical appearance to the men and woman that worshipped Shango, with straight hair and coloured eyes

Eshu reached out to touch Shango’s hand, and Shango drew it back sharply. Eshu smiled.

“It’s fine if you want to get into a fight on the way to Valhalla in your coronation raiment. Or you could let me sort out our appearance.”

Eshu put his hand on his own head and was instantly transformed. His skin and hair grew paler, his eyes turned blue, and his body markings changed, as did his apparel. “Your turn?”, he said to Shango.

They jumped into the rear of the cart and apart from a few questioning eyes, none of the dead souls questioned their presence. One eventually tried to ask Eshu what battle he lost his life but Eshu only grunted a gruff whisper.

The bulls came up to what looked like palace gates and a guard led the cart the remainder of the way. “Welcome to the courts of Odin, einherjar!” he greeted them. “Come and be received by the All-Father, and his son Thor!!”

“Einherjar?” Shango asked Eshu.

“How is it you understand everything else they’re saying and not einherjar?” Eshu responded, confused.

There was no time for Shango to answer, as the souls processed out of the cart towards the Great Hall. The doors of the Great Hall opened and out of the piercing lights emerged two figures, who could only be gods. Their auras were radiant, they emanated cosmic power and the younger looking one had a hammer hanging from his belt.

Shango’s right hand tingled as he felt the power of the hammer… the power of mjolnir. The hammer had a voice and the voice was inside Shango’s head. A whisper at first, but persistently louder. “My name is mjolnir. Who are you and where have you come from?” over and over again.

Thor and Odin heard it too. “Do you hear that, Father?” Thor queried, beginning to panic.

“You two!!” Odin bellowed, looking directly at Shango and Eshu. “Come forth!”

Shango and Eshu felt themselves being pulled towards Odin, unable to stand to firm. As they got to his feet, Eshu’s masking fell away and both stood there in their usual form.

Eshu cowered slightly but he was emboldened by Shango’s fearless gaze. Shango stood upright and looked straight at Odin.

“You dare look the All-Father in the eye?” Thor sparked.

“Who are you and where have you come from?” Odin asked.

******** TO BE CONTINUED ********

Wahala in Valhalla – Part 2

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Disclaimer: This is not intended to be faithful to the myth or canon of any of the deities described in this series. If you are a stickler for the traditional origins and lore, this would be a good point to close the webpage.

“What troubles you, Father?” Thor asked Odin, in the Great Hall. “You sip your mead with uncustomary caution, and your brows furrow as they are wont to do when you are uneasy.”

Odin smiled, wearily. “I had a strange dream,” he began. “We were welcoming new warriors into the Great Hall, you and I, and in their midst stood a man who shone as brilliantly as a god. He spoke with the voice of thunder and his eyes flamed as yours do. He had black braided hair and his skin was the hue of cedars. All of a sudden he was stood beside me and he and I were welcoming you. And then it was you and I welcoming him again. Very curious.”

“Another god of thunder, Father? Surely the all the sky in all the world is not wide enough to contain two gods of thunder! It’s barely big enough for me!” he laughed.

“Humility was never one of your virtues, was it, son?” the All-Father replied.

“Let your heart not be troubled father, it was only a dream. And if indeed there are other gods as fearsome as I, then I must be the strongest and most fearsome of all, for I am the son of Odin! I cannot be supplanted Father, surely it is impossible?”

“Let us hope we never have to find out. It was only a dream anyway.”

—

“So, now, you’d like to hear about my multi-pantheon fantasies? All it took was for Oshe to go missing on coronation day?”

“I have no time for games, Eshu. I need a divine axe to perform my benediction today. If mine is missing and another exists, then I must have it. Or borrow it.”

“Would you lend another orisha your Oshe?”

“Are you mad? Of course not. And when I find out who has taken my Oshe, only the word of Eledumare will preserve their breath and…”

“So why do you think my fantasy thunder deity would lend you his?”

“Look – does he exist and how do we get to where him and his pantheon are?”

“WE???”

“Yes, you’re taking me to him. And If you lie to me I will strike you down and make a new Oshe out of your ashes.”

Left with no choice, Eshu agreed to take Shango to this other world.

“Just how exactly did you discover other pantheons?” Shango asked.

It turned out that most of the orishas only journeyed ‘vertically’ between the Ethereal Plane and their shrines in the world of men. But Eshu was the messenger of the orishas, and he liked to take the more scenic, lateral route. One such occasion, he came right up to the edge of the Plane and saw, just beyond the chasm, as clear as Shango was standing beside him, a world that was also ethereal but not theirs.

And to cross the chasm was not difficult. Every day, there was a bull-drawn cart ferrying souls from the world of men to this other word. It came up through the chasm and one only needed to leap onto the cart and be carried towards a huge hall, which he had learnt was called the Great Hall of Valhalla. As the deity of mischief and trickery, taking on the appearance of the earthly souls was easy enough to do. This was how he had come to learn of this other thunder god called Thor.

“What happens if we miss the cart when we leap?” Shango asked. “Can an orisha get lost in the void?”

Eshu chuckled. “You know we have to leap off as well on the way back, right?”

Meanwhile, back at the coronation, the Oluwo was concerned. He could not feel his master’s presence and this was most unexpected. He’d led the rituals all week personally and had seen the omens that Shango was pleased. He was reluctant to proceed without the presence of Shango, for how would the benediction be done if he was absent? The benediction was the most important, most sacred part of the ceremony. But he could not delay the coronation – the privy council would have his head. He therefore decided to do the only thing he knew he could in the circumstances.

“Brothers, the master calls me to say an extra prayer. Fear not, I will be there with you for the final rites” he said to the other priests.

******** TO BE CONTINUED ********

Wahala in Valhalla – Part One

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Disclaimer: This is not intended to be faithful to the myth or canon of any of the deities described in this series. If you are a stickler for the traditional origins and lore, this would be a good point to close the webpage.

It was a lovely night in the Ethereal Plane. Not “night” as mortals might describe it, for the deities had no need for the demarcation of time by the physical rotation of the ephemeral on its axis. And, indeed, what was time to those who lived outside of it?

Nevertheless, in a world that fed off the worship and adoration of men, there needed to be a semblance of order. Day, for when the supplications and sacrifices of the devoted rose up by faith to the orishas, and night for the tasks they needed to undertake to preserve, from the Ethereal, the things that kept the balance of the cosmos.

On this night though, Shango was preparing for the coronation of the new Alaafin of Oyo. He had been watching his priests making their preparations all week, efforts which would culminate in their proclamation of his blessings on the new Alaafin the next day.

No one else would see it except the Oluwo, but after the crown was placed on the Alaafin’s head, Shango would touch his Oshe – his famous battle axe – onto the new Alaafin’s forehead and imbue the new ruler with his graces, wisdom, justice and power.

His fellow Orisha never said anything, but he could tell a few were jealous. Yes, they received sacrifices from their devoted but these gestures were invariably for fleeting things. Money, favour, fertility and the like. Not a tradition that had endured for centuries.

He drank from his gourd, picked up his Oshe and started to head back to his chambers. He saw Eshu in the distance with the child-orishas at his feet, listening intently to every word that fell off his lips.

“Stop boring them with your multi-pantheon fantasies, storyteller!” he called out, laughing. “I keep telling you they are not fantasies,” Eshu retorted. “Little ones, do you know that Shango here is not the only axe-wielding thunder deity?” Shango felt the hair begin to rise at the back of neck. Not tonight, Eshu. Not tonight, he thought to himself and retired for the night.

A surge of prayers and incantations spiked Shango’s consciousness not too long afterwards and he realised the coronation was about to begin. He went into his vestiary to select his raiment for the day, settling on what men (more likely, women) might describe as burgundy robes with flashing white trimming and chartreuse hemming.

Feeling resplendent, Shango returned to his chambers for his Oshe but it was not hanging where he usually kept it. Thinking he might have absentmindedly taken it with him to the vestiary, he returned to retrieve it, but it was not there either. The deity of thunder was not known for being of measured temperament and started to bristle visibly.

He tried to feel the presence of the Oshe and have the Oshe call out to him and when that did not work either, he let out a cry of frustration, smoke beginning to pour from his nostrils. “WHERE IS MY OSHE???” he bellowed, shaking the ethereum to its core.

He could not perform the benediction without his axe. And a coronation without the benediction of Shango would be dire not just for him, but all the Orishas in the Ethereal Plane. Why? Because an Alaafin that was not imbued would be completely incapable of manifesting the mystery and divinity of and behind the throne. Without that, the devoted would begin to doubt. With doubt would come the fading away of the sacrifices and supplications. And if those went away, of what use would the orishas be?

Shango quickly summoned Eshu.

“I don’t have your Oshe,” Eshu protested. Shango ignored the protestations and looked Eshu squarely in the eyes.

“Did you say I was not the only thunder deity with a hammer? Is this the truth or one of your tricks?”

******** TO BE CONTINUED ********

Shiwajun & the Halfa Better Balablues Brothers Band

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Brethren, it had been only one year with King Shiwajun on the throne but, by Gahd, there was no gaddem chill in the land! Everything was in a state of Kaos, from the fields of petrolatum in Rivissinia to the forests of agbadonium in Iragbijishire. Not a gaddem thing functioned as it ought. And the meander in Bedrock rippled and jerked in tumultuous frenzy.

Shiwajun could not understand it, for he had put the Halfa Better Balablues Brothers Band back together, when he was crowned in Boo Jar. There was Edunidas, his greatest numerical general, who he had appointed as Warden of the Coin, as well as Cardibyssius, who he had appointed Warden of the Iron Bank of Boo Jar.

Back in their prime in Gideria, the Hala Better Balablues Brothers Band were a liberation band, liberating coinage from the pouches of the citizenry into the troughs of the King of Gideria. Yea, twas said of the Halfa Better Balablues Brothers Brand that they were the alpha, beta and omega of neo kingdom coinage. Lo, other Kings of Jirria tried to copy Shiwajun and the Halfa Betters, but they all looh-lehhed, woefully.

Yet, in his greatest our of need, sitting on the Iron Throne of the Thirty-Seven Kingdoms in Boo Jar, Edunidas and Cardibyssius seemed to no longer know how to give shekels their independence into the protectorate of the King’s purse. They played fiscal symphonies and monetary rhapsodies, and tried to orchestrate a crescendo of coinage but the coin was unmoved.

Wherefore, Shiwajun sought the counsel of Sheyercules, his son, who had ears and friends in places high and low, in Twillistia and Social Mediana. Friends like Lawless the Jester of Ondonia and the unlettered matchmaker of Instagrammia, who daily sent him advice on how the coin might be liberated to dance to the tune of the Halfa Betters.

“Father, they say tis the price of imported petrolatum that causeth our misfortunes. Lawless the Jester says if only we couldst nail the price down, our lot would improve.”

“Aye, sire,” said JarJar Beer Miller, his Chief Warden at Bedrock, and fellow member of APINTIB (Association of Previously In Trouble in Bidenistan), “let us summon Ser Go-Tay, to commission his fractional distillerium forthwith, that we might have petrolatum in Jirria.”

“You mean it’s not my brand new winged chariot or pleasure boat or frequent vacations in Jandinia and Frankia and appointing my most favoured agbadoniums into public office regardless of their incompetence and our general cornucopia (Chronicler Wink) of haplessness?”

“Father, let us listen to Lawless the Jester, please!”

Thus it was that Go-Tay’s fractional distillerium was commissioned with great fanfare and promises to the people of Jirria. However, the National Nonces for Petrolatum Curation were not best pleased with the turn of affairs and declared themselves sole buyers of Go-Tay’s wares.

“If ye shalt be my sole buyers, then shall I be thy sole seller? Shall we consummate this marriage of one distiller and one nonce to the exclusion of all others,” asked Go-Tay.

“Why tee eff wouldst we do that,” the National Nonces retorted bemusedly, “National Nonces are free to curate from anywhere.”

Behold, in his despair, the spirit of the famous bard Michel de Beauxlton descended upon Go-Tay, and daily did he sing to the people “I wanna be your sole provider”, for by myself did I raise my distillerium and by the hand of the nonces did the King’s distilleries in Harr Court, Dunamis, and Worry become scrap heaps.”

And the price of Petrolatum continued to soar. So Shiwajun directed the Nonces to relent, and they did. Yet, the price of Petrolatum continued to soar. And there was no gaddem chill in the land. And the price of the tuber and sativas and fowl and livestock also gallop high but Edunidas and Cardibyssius were powerless against it all. Again, there was nary a speck of chill in the land!

And in all the unchill in Jirria, nowhere was more lacking in chill than the Kingdom of Rivissinia, where Fearsome Wee-Kay, the Padipicurean (he had the voice of Padipalia but the hand of Apicuria or vice versa) Warden of Boo Jar had sought to simulate a simulation in Foo Barr his successor.

Foo Barr woke up every for one year thinking, what is this gaddem guano? Am I king or not, he often confronted himself. One day, he woke up and moved against Ser Fearsome Wee-Kay and his men. Wherefore Wee-Kay entered Social Mediana with his backing orchestra and sang a new song, “You cannot abducture my structure, not at this juncture, else I puncture, rupture and injucture your gaddem denture.” And there was Kaos in Rivissinia and Padipalia.

And the unchill in the land grew, metastatising into pain. It was only a mental pain at first but Kaos mixed with unchill can be deadly. And the pain was so much that Shiwajun’s name began to be whispered in Twillistia anew, not as Shiwajun but Shi-pain. It was a loud whisper but the nobles of the land pretended to be unaware of the moniker. Shiwajun heard it in Bedrock however, and was incensed.

“Cardibyssius! Edunidas!! For goodness sake, get off your gaddem assess and fix this gaddem contraption. Make the econominix work. Or shall I go and look for Lady Kem-Shun to replace ye?”

“Your Majesty, the problem is the damentals. They are no longer fun,” said Edunidas.

“Tis true, Sire,” agreed Cardibyssius. “We need to Make Damentals Fun Again (MADAFA).”

“MADAFA?” asked Shiwajun.

“MADAFA cos acronyms add gravitas.”

“What???”

The conversation came to Arty Kool in his permanent residence at Doo-Bahee and he remarked loudly and was heard all over Twilistia, saying, “Shi-Pain and the Halfa Better Balablues Brothers Band are giving all Jirrians a MADAFA class in unlooking the people’s hardships.”

Shi-Pain, I mean, Shiwajun heard it, Jirrians heard it, Twillistians heard it and there was no gaddem chill in all the land!

The Simulation of Fearsome Wee Kay

/ Scribe of the Tword / 2 Comments

Thus it was, that the proceedings of the magisterium of Shytown came to nought. The Jirrian High Magistratum considered the tenderment by the advocates of Arty Kool that Shiwajun’s certificato was fugazious. But the Magistrators would neither see nor hear any evil of Shiwajun, and declared Arty Kool’s tenderment to be out of time.

“And even if it were not out of time, this tenderment beareth not the mark of certification of the magisterium at Shytown. Hence, this magisterium hast no way of knowing if it be authentic or not.”

“My Lords, do ye make this pronouncement unaware of the immense irony here?” asked Arty Kool, dumbfounded by it all.

Lo, the people heard it and, you know what? There was chill in the gaddem land. None was moved outside of the host encamped around Shiwajun at Bedrock. “My JuryInGalilee, thy job is now safe for a quadrannium,” Shiwajun was said to have remarked to his new scribe.

JarJar Beer Miller had yielded his rubberstampia in excelsis to become King Shiwajun’s personal Chief Warden at Bedrock and rejoiced at the news from the High Magisterium. His colleague in Shiwajun’s APINTIB (Association of Previously In Trouble in Bidenistan), the ThisOne of Ohgunsoppotamia also hailed the reprieve for Shiwajun.

Fearsome Wee Kay, the former King of Rivissinia also welcomed the good news. For though he was Padipalian, Shiwajun (an Apicurean, remember) had appointed him as Prefect of Boo-Jar. This was in recognitation of Fearsome’s exploits and exploitation of the Yakurbian Necomongers in Rivissinia during electoralis. Fearsome was the most prominent member of the Fatal Five, the Padipalian Kings who openly conspired against their own champion at electoralis, Arty Kool.

Wee Kay had ruled over Rivissinia for 2 quadrannia and was bound to yield the throne, by the laws of the land. He could have followed his brother Kings to become a Nasshole but he was far too machiavellian to join a host of rubberstamping teapots in their glorious incompetence. No, he had grander designs. He would be Prefect over Boo-Jar and he would remain overlord of the Rivissinians.

“How shalt thou accomplish this?” his orchestra asked.

“Simple. I will employ the spectactular science of, erh what? Simulation.”

“Simulation?”

“Yes. To simply it for you, I will station a similarity to myself to sit on the throne. Not a simpleton, though I would effectively expect a simp, such that I will simultaneously administer Boo-Jar and Rivissinia by means of a simulator. He will speak but people will hear my voice. He will act but their eyes will see only me.”

Thus, Fearsome anointed the Head of the Rivissinian Abacus, Foo Bar Truman, to succeed him. And electoralis was foregone conclusion, returning Shiwajun and Foo Bar as the selections of the Rivissinians.

And when Foo Bar Truman went to seek Fearsome’s advice on the new Rivissinian ruling council, Fearsome assured him that there was no need to worry. ” Look, I love you so much, that I have made your burden as light as possible. I have installed your councillors, wardens, prefects and even your personal scribe. All your wants and needs will be met before you can say ‘Oh dilly!”

“Ah, King Fearsome, I had hoped to bring a few friends along with me.”

“Don’t worry, my son. I have also appointed some new friends for you. I’ve taken care of everything you need.”

For Fearsome, everything worked according to plan at first. The Rivissinian winged chariot remained in his custody, and all the Rivissinian nobles still sought his graces. Foo Bar Truman enjoyed the show at first but soon realised what was happening. For when he dined with people not sent to him by Fearsome, Fearsome would mention it to him. And if he relieved himself in a chamberpot outside of the inns approved by Fearsome, Fearsome would make it known to him in no unclear terms where he was expected to defecate. And as for ruling, Truman did not feel very much in charge even though he felt so much power coursing through his veins.

So he threw down the gauntlet and tried to shake things up.

Wee Kay then invoked the Etiaban Protocol, convening the Rivissinian Sassholes to depose Foor Bar. That night, Foo Bar prayed hard to the gods in emeffemic manner that fire would consume all his enemies and their plans. Behold, the gods answered, and a mysterious fire erupted in the Sassholes’ chamber.

The Sassholes loyal to Fearsome moved a deposement motion against Truman but his loyalists quickly countered by electing a new Warden to preside over their affairs. Foo Bar then moved again to suspend the Rivissinian High Magistratum and all the mayors of the Rivissinian mayorates, attempting to stifle the simulator.

Foo Bar then marched into Harr Courts to try to speak to the people but the constabulary deployed waters and onion gasses at high velocities, to impede him.

All of Jirria saw it. Lo, it was beheld in all of Twilistia and Social Mediana.

And there was no gaddem chill in the land!

The Magisterium of Shytown

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Long before Shiwajun unlocked the deployment of Wahala Morghulis, he knew he was destined for greatness. Like a wrestler in the great arena of the 2 double u’s and f, he came from parts unknown, and like Ra and Horus, was born by immaculate conception. There was a moda for sure, otherwise this tale might have begun of him as an immortal instead.

When he left his home and family for Shytown in Bidenistan, he was no more than a boy or girl. Armed with nothing but ambition, he arrived at the Academy of the Southwest with a certficato from the future. You see, Shiwajun had long since mastered the art of bending space and time, forging matter at his command.

“Kingdom Academy Gideria existeth not,” he was challenged, at the time.

“Aye,” he responded, “but in four years it will, and in the fulness of time, the world will be as confused as ye, as to how I went both to the Kingdom Academy in Gideria and the Kingdom Academy in Baddan-Badden, and yet truly went to neither. Do you gerrit? Schroedinger’s humdinger of a certificate!”

The regsitrator was mystified and enchanted, and waved Shiwajun through the academy’s gates. Shiwajun was to later graduate fugazi cum laude from both the Shytown Universitariat and the Universitariat of Shytown, the highest honours ever, and was the most recruited graduand in his cohort.

“Behold, I am he who knocks”, declared Shiwajun, as he went from bank to bank, knocking on their doors and performing pecuniary miracles. For though he earned but 20 Bidenistani shekkels, yet did he deposit over 100 shekkels with each banker. And how did he manage to deposit several times more money than he made in a year with the banks? The Bidenistani superconstabulary also asked him the same question.

“Ozarks!” he exclaimed, “dost thou not know that I am greatly embonused by employers, Delight. At Delight, I have worked my abacus so mightily, that my embonusments suffuse the regular emoluments of Messrs Delight and Push the owners themselves!”

And then Shiwajun returned to Jirria, to join the Bachalian Senatii. He left a parting gift of 400 shekkels to the good people of Bidenistan, in recognition of how well they had  looked after him during his sojourn.

Shiwajun would become King of Gideria for a season, and then its permanent overlord. By the power of Babasopecus Oparithicus, he would enthrone Kings Flashoslas, Ambsalom and Shangolulu. Together with Arty Cool, Abushola and other nobles of the land, he would unseat King Gejoshaphat and hand the throne of the 37 Kingdoms to King Gambrach. And when the two quadrannia of Gambrach were passed, he invoked the ghost of Emil Ocon, the great conquistador, and assumed the Iron Throne himself.

[Here, the Chronicler pauseth to drink water, drops cup.]

 Arty Cool and Pitobi Wan Kenobi appealed electoralis to the magistratum. They pleaded, amongst other things, that Shiwajun’s parting gift to the Bidestanis disqualified him. They also said that even though he graduated fugazi cum laude, the certificato he presented to the Necomongers was fugaziception – fugazi inside fugazi.

The magistratum waved away their pleas and dismissed their appeal, with a special word for the unchill in social mediana.

“Ye have brought evidence of nothing, not of the machination of by Fearsome Weekay in Rivissinia, nor the fugaziception from Shytown. Unchill in social mediana proveth nothing!”

Wherefore, Arty Cool dusted his tunic, boarded his winged chariot and went to the magisterium of Shytown to compel proof that Shiwajun, like Gambrach, was magnificato sans certificato.

Shiwajun immediately sent emissaries to the magistrate, saying “compel not the universitariat, lest irreparable damage be done to my swag.” But in the end, the magistrate issued an edicto compellario, mandating disclosure to Arty Cool, as well as testamento depositario from the Registrator of Shytown Universitariat.

Behold, the advocate of Arty Cool demanded of the Registrator if he knew who Shiwajun was.

“He is King of the Jirrians” the Registrator replied.

“And did he study at the Shytown Universitariat?”

“Well, we have a record of a Shiwajun el Nubus studying here at the time the Shiwajun el Nubus who is now King of Jirria said he studied here, so we added two and two together and believe both are one and the same.”

“But how can you tell, for sure?”

“Because their names are the same.”

“So two different people cannot have the same name?”

“They can, but we just know deep down inside our bones that the King was our student”, as he touched his finger to his tongue and pointed to the sky.

“And the application from the Academy of the South West where it says he is female?”

“Oh, easy question. That’s from another timeline. Like in Loki. Sometimes, timelines do used to converge and variants encounter each other.”

“So, this certificato that was sent to the Necomongers ahead of electoralis, did you issue it?”

“No. We did not. It hath not come from this universitariat.”

“Can you explain further?”

“Well,” said the Registrator, “in Bidenistan, certificatos are for vibes and insha Allah, the real proof of attendance is the recordia transcriptica. Perhaps it is a Jirrian thing to attach importance to the certificato. And, between us, Shiwajun has an authentic certificato in the records room which he has yet to collect. Instead, in the words of the ancient bard Ololademicus Ashakethicus, he went for a work of art.”

All of Jirria, Twillistia and social mediana heard it, and there was no gaddem chill in the land.

Nigerian Elections & the Dual Citizenship Question

/ Scribe of the Tword / 2 Comments

This piece examines the questions around dual citizenship and eligibility for elective office in Nigeria. I am aware of a judgement of the Court of Appeal that reaches a different conclusion from mine. Hopefully, after reading this, the issues with that ruling become clear.

  1. First of all, the question of Eligibility.

Already, a significant difference should be evident – citizenship by birth is mandatory for executive office but not for election into the National Assembly (or State Houses of Assembly).

2. Second issue – Citizenship.

There are 3 ways to be conferred with Nigerian citizenship in the constitution – by birth, by registration and, by naturalisation. See sections 25-27 of the Constitution.

3. Third issue – Disqualification.

Virtually identical provisions and all fairly straightforward still. Subject to section 28 of the constitution, if you have voluntarily acquired the citizenship of another country or made a declaration of allegiance to that country, you are disqualified from being elected to the offices in question.

“Subject to” here effectively means, unless section 28 gives you relief or says otherwise, you are disqualified.

4. So, what does section 28 say and who does it give relief?

The first paragraph applies to people who became Nigerian citizens by registration or naturalisation. If, having become a registered or naturalised Nigerian, they acquire or retain new citizenship, of a country of which they are not citizens by birth, they immediately forfeit their Nigerian citizenship.

So, for example, my name is Hassan Yassim. I am Iraqi by birth but became a naturalised Nigerian in 2017. I then japaed to Canada and acquired Canadian citizenship in 2023. By virtue of section 28(1), upon becoming a Canadian citizen, I forfeit my Nigerian one.

Alternatively, if I discovered I was entitled to Canadian citizenship by birth through a parent or grandparent, I would not forfeit my Nigerian citizenship.

The second paragraph says that registration or grant of naturalisation, if the applicant has already acquired another country’s citizenship (one not entitled to by birth), is dependent on renouncing that citizenship or nationality.

We go back to me hypothetically being Hassan Yassim again. If at the point of applying for Nigerian citizenship, I was already a naturalised British citizen, then my Nigerian citizenship will lapse if I don’t renounce my British citizenship within 5 months of being granted Nigerian citizenship.

5. Section 28 and Disqualifications

From the foregoing, it is evident that section 28 is irrelevant to people who are Nigerian citizens by birth. Both paragraphs sit wholly within the context of registration or naturalisation.

As a result, the conclusion has to be that section 28 has no bearing on those who, by voluntarily acquiring dual citizenship, have been disqualified from running for the offices of President, Governor, or their deputies.

Section 28 only applies to people who became Nigerian citizens by registration or naturalisation. Such people are entitled to contest for seats at the National and State Assemblies. The question is, what impact does section 28 have on the eligibility of naturalised Nigerians who subsequently acquire another nationality? What does section 28 permit them to do?

The answer, in my view, is that it only allows them to retain their Nigerian citizenship if the new nationality they subsequently acquire is one to which they are entitled by birth. If they are not entitled to this other citizenship by birth, they would not be eligible to contest for legislative office.

Conclusions.

  1. Dual citizenship disqualifies someone who is a Nigerian citizenship by birth if the second nationality was voluntarily acquired i.e. the second nationality is not one they have by birth.
  2. Dual citizenship disqualifies someone who is Nigerian by registration or naturalisation if the second nationality is not one they have by birth.
  3. You are only eligible for elective office in Nigeria as a dual (or multiple) citizen if you are entitled to your non-Nigerian citizenship(s) by birth.

Post-Script – Renunciation of Citizenship