The President’s Son

by Tearz Ayuen

Look,

You broke ass son of a hunter

Do you know who you’re messing with?

Do you have an idea who the fuck I am?

You seem to know nothing about me, uh?

Okay, listen

I am the son of the president

Did you hear that?

My dad is the president

Read my lips, preee-ssssi-denn-t

We run this country

We rule you, motherfucker

We own everything in it;

The airport, the police, the army, the rivers and mountains, the wildlife,

The oil, the banks, the hospitals, the media, the mountains,

The roads, the whole city

Everything

Even yourself!

We own you and your poor parents

We’ve got your lives in the palm of our hand

We decide who lives and who dies

That’s our responsibility,

Our mandate

It’s written

We can raise taxes,

Quadruple food prices,

Ban imports,

And hoard basic food items like flour,

Sugar, bread and milk

If we like,

Just to cleanse the country of roaches like you

I could call my dad right now to instruct his boys to do it

And believe me, by the end of six months,

You would have starved to death

As a wild fire consumes savannah grassland in summer,

So would hunger and diseases feast on your siblings

Or there are so many ways to kill a rat

We could just shut all the windows of survival,

With exception of only one

Guess what it is

It’s your sister, fool

We could mold her into something else,

An idol

Something monetary,

A sex trade commodity

We could turn her into a hawker,

A professional prostitute,

Who would satisfy my dad’s business friends’ sexual adventures

Imagine how much she would be getting in exchange of her body

With only one source of income, you people wouldn’t die quickly though

But slowly and painfully,

Both physically and emotionally

So, what makes you think I can’t enter this club with my Nine?

Like I told you earlier,

We own everything

This nightclub is also my dad’s

I have access to it,

Anytime,

Any day,

Whether I am carrying an RPG or 50 Cal

It’s none of your fucking business

Now get the fuck out of my way,

Before I put a bullet in your dumb head

And have your body dumped in the river

I said get the fuck out of my way!

Okay,

You have the guts to push me, uh?

I see

You are planning to commit a suicide, right?

Dude, I won’t let you do that

Coz you are already dead,

Half-dead

Poverty killed your other half

And it is about to take away the remaining half

In fact, you were born like that – half-dead,

Half-human being

Fully poor

A son of a pauper

Thanks to your uncle, Grinding Poverty!

The only blood brother of your father

And now you want me to stain my hands with your stinking blood?

Hell no

No way!

I am not going to waste my bullet on a worthless thing like you

I would rather shoot a dog or a baboon

Yes I am a drunkard and so what?

What do you expect of a big boy like me,

A big boy whose father is the most powerful man around here?

We got all the money, man

In my house, we do not use toilet rolls

Toilet paper is a symbol of poverty

It indicates how poor one is

I tell you,

In my place, we wipe our asses with dollar bills,

Hundreds, to be specific

So, what comes to your mind?

All I do is drink,

Smoke weed, shisha, cigars and cigarettes,

Fuck,

Eat,

And sleep

So, how does my drinking concern you?

Or are you jealous of the liquor brand I am drinking?

Dude, this is called Cognac

I believe you can’t pronounce that, Mister Never-Been-To-School

Now read my lips again, ko-ni-ak

Cognac is a French brandy, fool

You have never tasted it,

And never shall you taste it

It’s very expensive, dude

It would cost you one of your kidneys to buy a cognac,

You broke ass motherfucker

I don’t even know why I am talking to you,

You knucklehead

What?

What do you mean, get a life?

Do I look like I got no life?

Look me in the eye

Check me out,

From my toes to the head;

My designer jeans, my UGG boots, my Heuer Carrera,

My dreadlocks, my tattoos, my iPhone, my drawers

Now tell me,

What life are you talking about?

I ride a Chrysler 300 C

I own two mansions,

One in Kampala, one in Nairobi,

Another in Sydney

I got millions of dollars in the bank

Isn’t that life?

I have been to many places,

Cities you have never dreamt of

I have been to Havana, Dublin, Oslo, Rio de Janeiro,

Jamaica, Buenos Aires, Atlanta, Lagos and Antananarivo,

To mention but Just a few

If it is about school,

Forget it, man

Yes I discontinued my studies

Because I saw no reason of learning

In fact, I shouldn’t have enrolled in school in the first place

School is for poor dudes like you

A vehicle for escaping beggary,

A means of keeping wretchedness at bay

For me, my destiny is set

From day one,

The very day I was planted in my mum’s womb

Like father like son,

In few years coming, I will be the president

Yes, I am a prospective Commander-in-Chief of armed forces,

The would-be controller of everything in this country

The heir of my father’s business empire

The inheritor of this country

And remember I don’t need scholastic crap to rule you

The fact that my father was once the president is enough

It mandates my future presidency

Automatically, it gives me all the qualities of a leader

Even if I don’t succeed my father,

I will succeed one of his protégés

Shortly before the end of his tenure,

Dad’s protégé will visit us in our family house

He will explain to mum and my uncles his intentions,

That it is about time I am groomed for presidency

Shut the fuck up!

And put that fake phone away

Let me finish

Yes, we will all welcome the good news

Immediately, we won’t wait to celebrate,

To pop bottles of champagne

This would bring my drinking,

And my smoking to a pause,

As I concentrate on the campaign trails

With my father known as a hero,

The former president,

The man of the people

It would not take that long to win voters’ admirations

The paupers who take pride in names,

Things that are devoid of meaning

Folks who scramble to submit in their votes for my presidential candidacy

With the sole hope of being rewarded with the crumbs

That fall off the table,

Hope that never materializes

By the way, this is the only time you’re considered valuable

During elections, we value you

You become a valuable customer,

A political customer

All we require from you is a vote

Nothing else

After that, we forget your ass until another election season

That’s how we do it

We, the born to rule

Hey!

Who the hell are you people?

Let go of my arms

Stop pulling me

Shit!

What?

So you are cops, uh?

So, this filthy dude called cops on me?

I see

And you idiots got the balls to lay your hands on me?

Silly smelly cops

You little rats,

You just got your asses fired

That, I promise you

Wait till my dad learns of this……..

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