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Mordecai’s Donkey

Posted by in on 1-7-12

Mordecai’s Donkey

Imagine you are me, and you had a friend, whose friend of his was called Mordecai. He was a poor man but had a donkey that was given to him as a special gift by his late father who had told him that the donkey would make him rich and change his status forever. It was a beautiful donkey and it stayed in his bedroom because Mordecai always admired the donkey and he told everyone to come and visit him to check out the donkey that would make him rich forever.

Mordecai’s donkey couldn’t work except than to chew straw and bray at people’s faces when visitors come around.

Everyone told Mordecai, “Hey! Mordec! Watch ya donkey, it’s gonna be fatter and useless for its purpose. Your gift won’t work for you if you keep it to yourself. Put it into use and see what would happen.”

So everyone told Mordecai that it was foolish to keep a donkey in the bedroom simply because it was beautiful.

Mordecai would laugh kaff…kaff…kaff! like he was the twin brother to the donkey and reply, “My donkey ain’t meant to work now, but I will do something about it.”

He thought they were jealous of him since no one has ever had such a beautiful donkey in the entire village.

Next time people saw Mordecai, it was outside on the road to the market then Mordecai would throw the pipe to his mouth, and leant back on his old bamboo chair then smoke the day off his life with the donkey seated beside him like it was doing yoga and chewing the straw.

In the evening, the market people, and the women with their trade, and the hunters from the bush, and the farmers from the farm and the fishermen from the river, then the black smiths from their forge, they all would pass by, going back home after a hectic marketable day only to find Mordecai and his donkey still seated all day long under the Baobab tree, smoking his pipe and the donkey chewing the straw.

“Mordecai! What are you doing? You are spoiling this donkey. A talent is like a pencil, it wouldn’t write unless you sharpen it. Do something about this donkey.’’

Then Mordecai’s donkey would bray … “hhhehhehehehehe!”, as he if it heard them right.

“Not now, but I will think about it.” Mordecai retorted and patted the lazy donkey on the head.

The next morning, Mordecai was seated on the floor, the donkey, was there, right on the bamboo chair, like a king waiting for the breakfast. Everyone thought Mordecai was foolish,

“Hey! Mordec’ what’s up the morning? Anything new?”

Then Mordecai pointed to his donkey, and the donkey kinda grin in its own way, with its stained dental formula, flapped it’s ear to wade off the flies as a request for more straw because Mordecai was getting broke. He had spent all he had on feeding the donkey, thinking the fatter the donkey become the bigger his riches would be, but nothing had happened. Mordecai thought the more he kept the donkey to himself; the more his investment would grow.

Mordecai was broke and was becoming a pauper because of his foolishness.

One day, Mordecai told his donkey, “Hey donkey! Time up for ya, I got something I need to tell ya.”

Then as usual, the donkey brays as if he understood Mordecai.

“Good boy, that’s very brilliant of you.” Mordecai said, thinking the donkey understood his intention.

Without further explanation he patted the donkey’s head and they both had a walk to the market, whistling down the road with his hand in his empty pockets and the fat donkey, swaying its protruded belly behind Mordecai. They walked like two jolly good friends.

In the evening it was only Mordecai who came back home with a large sack of only God knows what was there. Then in the morning everyone saw Mordecai seated on the chair, under the Baobab tree, smoking his pipe and sipping a warm soup from a large ceramic bowl.

“Hey Mordec! How ya doing? Where is donkey?”

Then Mordecai looked up and pointed to the soup in the bowl.

“What! Don’t you tell me you spice up donkey ?”

“If a donkey cannot solve my problem, then I will solve the donkey’s problem. I cook the donkey, bro.”

Then the entire village came to witness what had happened to Mordecai’s donkey while Mordecai narrated how the donkey had woefully disappointed him at a period he needed its help the most: in the bid to secure a big contract from a rich salt merchant because the merchant alleged that the donkey couldn’t travel a long distance trip because it was too fat and the merchant only needed a donkey that could go on a long trip but Mordecai had bet that his donkey could do it because he had fed the donkey specifically for such a wonderful opportunity.

The donkey woefully disappointed Mordecai and couldn’t even move an inch when they put ordinary two bags of salt on its back. It was then he realized he had only fed the donkey, he didn’t nurture it.

“Now I realize what you are saying, that a gift wouldn’t work for me except I put it into practice.” Mordecai said sadly and shook his head about his mistake then took a sip from his soup.

“But how does a donkey soup taste?” a farmer asked Mordecai.

“Just like any other chicken soup” Mordecai replied, and quickly packed his soup then hurriedly walked away because he knew they would be tempted to ask for a sip.

So everyone dispersed and agreed that when a man refuses to work hard on his talent he would never be ready for successful opportunities.

Like I said, it only happened to a friend of a friend of mine whose name was Mordecai.

 

To the Gathering
To the Gathering  Rauscher, Michel
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Additional Info

About the Contributor:

Dan Akinlolu was born in Africa in 1978, and is a graduate of English from University of Ibadan, Nigeria. Dan is a poet, short story writer and a novelist. He also has a keen interest in writing film scripts. His writing style reflects the beauty and fascination of the African continent in a lyrical and emotive style. Dan published his first poetry with the National Library of Poetry (USA), when he was barely 21 years. He was the only African to be commissioned to participate in the science fiction anthology, "The Quest: Alliance". Dan has recently moved to South Africa in hopes of furthering his literary career. He is the youngest and only black member in the Pretoria Writers' Circle. Dan is also a member of Africa's largest writers' association - the South African Writers Circle. Dan Akinlolu's first published novel is "Janjaweed".

# of words in story:

980

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