Dear Former Dictator

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B.K. Taoana
Tags: Fiction

My missives had been piling up on the presidential desk for eons.


Missives that were initially clothed in diplomacy, polite innuendo and carefully crafted sentences.


As time marched inexorably on, as my plaintive pleas were shrugged off like yesterday’s clothes,


my tone changed.


Where allusions and word-mincing failed previously, I hoped that some scathing remarks would finally shake you into urgent action.


They did not.


It would seem what they say about pens and swords does not hold true in Africa


because here, the sword is the main attraction, the pen is just a sideshow.


When I had had quite enough of not being listened to, I galvanised the starving masses.


We stormed your offices, bombarded your mansion and disbanded your conclave of rapacious ministers.


I championed the revolution, and became the new hope for the people.


So why am I writing to you this time?


To tell you: “You may have political asylum in Europe, but we can still get you”?


To moan about how you left our country in tatters, and how it will be a gargantuan task sewing it back together?


No.


I wrote to tell you that you should have warned me about how intoxicating power is:


Now I AM YOU, and I love it.


One hell has been replaced by another, Brother,


but I will make sure I am a hell with more permanence.


Yours in power


Dictator X, President for Life