Odaudu Joel Minister II : As The Dear Panted for Water, So we longed After "IGBELE EKPUKPU" piece

Odaudu Joel Minister II is a prolific writer of Igala extraction,  a strategic political analyst, author, and of course a novelist in pipeline. Among his notable piece (yt to be released) is the one entitled  IGBELE ÉKPUKPU (Igala language) meaning Unripe Beauty. It exposes the life of a 

human being moving with airs of pomposity, undaunted beauty posing with a feeling of a highbrow class but inadequate in the real sense of life financially or otherwise. The questions is what is the essence of such enervating package. 

"I wish u could come up with a full fledged novel. Yours is juicy in the class of Achebe sir. I used to tell my students both  secondary and advance level that no writer writes in a vacuum.

 U cannot be an Igala person , produce a piece reflecting Russian , Chinese of Caribbean island . Your piece must be a product of real life experience of your environment. Your writing especially creative work should be a product of your milieu.

 As one of Odaudu fb friends I couldn't hold my piece but key in some words and note of motivation 

" Igala is seriously behind , if not barren of such productive literary piece. We look up to you specially gifted writers, living witness of the people's modern and perhaps acient history imbued with intellectual prowes to shift the paradigm. The time is now sir." 

 

"I have been pleading with him on dat too. Pray he made us proud one day" : Yusuf Mikail quiped in immediately which sounds exacerbating and worrisome

 The idiosyncracy of the well celebrated piece on Facebook truly represents the flora and fauna of modern Igalaland literary and social life  expression.

 Here is an excerpt which is a sharp contrast of Okolobia Ekpukpu (Unripe handsomeness) you wouldn't want to let go, 

"She walked quickly, sauntered majestically as the staccato beat of her brand new high heels echoed or rather click-clack on the marble floor of the banking hall announcing her arrival ample seconds before she could be seen.

She wore and looked strikingly stunning in a sparkling pink attire, an outfit quintessential of the Queen of Sheba. Strictu sensu, she looked so gorgeous in a way that could convince you that heaven is actually missing an angel.

The aroma of her perfume would easily finish a gargantuan bowl of "ójé abacha kpai óró ijagada" for its sweetness.

Moreover, the phone which she gingerly held to her ear not minding the bank security operative who was gesticulating frenetically at her that calls are not allowed in banking hall would indubitably cost a fortune.

She stepped forward, picked a deposit slip, and requested a pen with her dulcet sounding voice so balmy to the ears.

A few young men including me offered her pens but she took mine, perhaps because I was the closest to her on the queue.

After a long while, she stood up and inched closer to me. My heartbeat increased with a speed symmetrical with that of a car on gear five motion as I was sweating like a Sallah ram waiting to be slaughtered by the Khalifa on arrival from the Eid prayer ground. To be candid, her striking beauty and sweet sounding voice made me huffed and puffed like an athlete who just completed a 200 metres race.

She then whispered, "Please can you spell 'thirty' for me?"

I picked up the pen to assist her and while looked at her deposit slip, I almost fainted consequent upon utter surprise!

She had written,

 "Tarty Tausan"! Subahanallahi!

IGEBELE ÉKPUKPU... Beauty is not everything!