Dream Stories – Obama is President and Other Stories

Dream Stories – Obama is President and Other Stories

It was early morning in a highly sophisticated urban setting. My house was located in a mountainous region near a sea. I sat on a rock by the seaside with a peculiar palmtop in my hand. I was to email an essay titled, Family Life, as an entry to an essay competition organized by a literary site. I was not comfortable with my conclusion. I read it over again: “I wonder why some people are more inclined towards the killing of their fellow beings. I wonder why life was designed to suit the survival of the fittest syndrome.” I found my brain dry of something to add. I scrolled through my address book to insert address of the literary site. A short antenna from the top of the palmtop automatically initialized and hummed round 290 degrees in search of the destination to dispatch. Meanwhile, on display in the screen was the geographical location the antenna covered. In a few seconds, it logged into my mail’s destination. I saw a building in a suburb with pyramidal set of red roofing. When I tapped the send button, I appeared there in person instead. I found myself by the gate of a seminary with six other entrants. A nun was our seventh. She stood by the gate. Each of the six, I noticed, had the peculiar palmtops in their hands. It was early morning. The streets of the inexplicably neat city were deserted. As we waited, a tall charismatic old man fully in shape, ambled along. He wore a long black coat atop a crystal white shirt. He said nothing at first. But later, he addressed us thus: “Those who are unable to bring their entries today, it will be the day after tomorrow. Much money will be for those whose phones have large inbuilt memory capacity and power storage. Harlem, right there by the gate, has small memory capacity and power retention mechanism. This is why she depends on the Source to function properly,” he said in low and heavily accented voice. I awoke.

Obama Is President
It was morning. I was asleep on my settee. I heard a voice say: “Obama is US President.” I also saw the alphabets: “UMS (University of Metaphysical Sciences.).” I awoke. By my watch: 9:56 am, Nigerian time.

Devinci Junior
It was towards dawn Nigerian time. My cell phone began to ring while I relaxed at home with my family. I ignored it. When I became irritated, I picked up. “Hello, who is it? Who gave you my number?” I asked. “Devinci Junior! I want you to do me a favor. I want you to say my regards to my family at home, in the US. I own a large sparse of land there. We are loosing the battle. I need reinforcement.” He shook my hand and turned to go with the three elderly people that accompanied him. They all wore white clothes. I tarried a while, in thought about the information he gave. Is he sick? Maybe he is and it did not show. The three smiled and disappeared. I found myself in the midst of workers at a construction site. A magnificent edifice was in construction. Three youths carried a large iron pyramid. The one near me lost his grip. The large maze of iron came down. I quickly stepped in and lent support. We hoisted and rested it on a tall brown wall. Some youths that stood by watched with mouths agape. I awoke.

A Perfect Story
A National Daily gave the story of a childhood fried front page prominence. I watched him jubilate and praised himself over his achievement. “This is a perfect story,” he said and shoved the paper to me. I said: “Abdulazeez, you undoubtedly wrote a marvelous piece, but I think it is most appropriate to let your readers be the judge. You are not to praise yourself,” I said. “You’re right! I appreciate the way you edited the story. I remember having used the word Attachment for Attaché in an error that would have ruined the flow and essence of the story,” he said. I awoke.

Last Supper
It was a strange land. I visited an elder to spend some days. He attached me with an aid that followed me everywhere I went. I had a bicycle. I rode us towards a muddy region. On our way back, I said to him: “Look, let me tell you. I know you are with me for the sole purpose of reporting my activity back to your boss. He is watching us right now. He thinks he brought me here by force. But he knows that I am here on my own volition. He thinks too that my humility is my greatest weakness but I tell you, it is my greatest strength. He thinks he’s entrapped me. Today, I will show him by breaking free. Let anyone dares to stop me!” His face turned purple. I caught him unawares. We reached the gate. He was so rattled he could not stand properly. I went in. The elder paced up and down by the gate. I left the gate open and went to him: “Do you wish that I go back and lock the gate lest others not come to find your secret?” I said. “That would have been most insensitive. You have no idea how many people come here daily. 99% of my creatures come here daily for their meals. Some come in the day time while others follow the night. I have no secret. On the contrary, I think it is wise that you left the gate wide open. I have enough. My wish is that everyone come and feed as they want.” He said. I saw multitude of people come through the white-painted gate. Where we stood turned into a spacious dinning hall. The Elder and his guests were whites of European coloration. I was the only one from Africa. I sat on the Elder’s table, which was set on a stage. There was a youth, bearded like Karl Max on my right. There was not a single female, if not for a two veiled from people’s sight. They served African cuisine. I ate Tuwo and Miyan Kubewa (okra Soup). My two friends stood by my table. One of the bold one poked a finger in the soup and licked up. Hmm, she seemed to like the taste. When she came back to lick again, I had finished the Tuwo and Miyan Kubewa. What remained was a liver soup, which I reserved for the last. She looked undecided. I pushed the bowl of liver soup to her. “What? He sees?!” She exclaimed, and whisked the liver soup back to her partner. I awoke.

Two Faces of the World
I was with an old lady who posed as my mum. I saw my sister with her boyfriend. She told him the story of a medium who asked her for a peculiar perfume before she could initiate her Jennies to bring money. There was a heavy down pour. I went into my room and rested. When I came out, a whirlwind rose and covered me. I stood comfortably in the middle. The old lady said: “You are so much in love with the wind.” I said “Yes I am.” Then I saw myself in a wilderness. I saw a young lady seated on a chair with a newspaper in her hand. The wilderness was so sophisticated, way out of time. We took a lift that stopped at the second floor. We went into a room where we met the old lady and my wife. I went into my bedroom and my wife followed and told me society’s expectations. My wife stood between the old lady and me. The old lady too stood between the world and me. “We have arrived,” my wife said. Now we need each other more than before.” I woke up for a few minutes and went back. I was in the presence of Moses and Hussein, the grandson of the Prophet of Islam. They admonished me thus: “The world has two faces: Success and Failure – Poverty and Wealth. Destiny of the poor could change for the better. Destiny of the rich could plummet and hit the rocks.” They bid me farewell. “Bye Hussein,” I said and awoke

The Chinese Leader
We cruised in a turbulent terrain. At the highest climb, the waves calmed and we were ushered onto a solid ground. I witnessed a negotiation between Chinese and American government officials. The negation soon ended. I came out with a young Chinese ruler and headed for his palace. “You know that the Americans had cheated,” he said to me as we sat for a feast in his palace. I said nothing. A servant announced the arrival of an important guest. He had permission to show him in. When the guest came in, the young ruler vacated his throne and embraced him. “There he is,” he excitedly said and pointed to me. “He can guide you in all matters,” he said to his guest. I awoke.

Land Of Lepers
It was a strange land whose inhabitants were born lepers. We orbited round and round the planet. Later we landed and explored the more on foot. We got tired. My female partner and I took refuge under the shadow of a large tree. We ate, drank and relaxed our nerves. Then we heard a voice from atop the tree say: “They can be healed!” I awoke.

Mikhail Gorbachev
I wrote a book. A close friend suggested a publisher in Russia. We went to Michael Gorbachev with our script. We sat with him in his compound by a space he parked his posh Mercedes Benz. I sat where I directly faced the car’s peculiar plate number: “2000.” Michael browsed through the content of the book. The back cover directly faced me. I watched the portrait of the author, a handsome youth in black corporate suite. “I wish I can afford to buy a copy when it hits market,” he said. Michael was not that poor. The large bungalow; the posh car and poverty do not mix, I thought. My friend said: “Russian economy is in a very bad shape right now. What he meant is that one needs do away with lots of habituations to be able to buy the content of a book like yours.” I awoke.

King Fahad
I was at the prophet’s Mosque in Medina. We were pupils of King Fahad. He was the eldest in our midst. I gave him my exam result and he perused through my performance, from where I scored 41, to my highest; 48. I showed him a Shia literature. I thought he will praise its content. He browsed through and when finished said: “What is this rubbish?” I felt slight, which immediately metamorphosed into shame. “What do you mean?” I uncomfortably asked. He was silent for a moment then said. “It is propaganda. Don’t you feel the pain in the wrongs inflicted on the Prophet?” He queried. “I do!” I said and awoke.

Three of us were in room at a grave yard. Jesus sat on a mat spread on the ground. Mary had a male child in her arms whose name was Abraham. Mary began a discourse on reincarnation. She questioned its basis at length. Her rendition touched me. I itched for her to land that I may have a shot. When she landed, I said: “Your doubt is not surprising, but the reality is that reincarnation is true. All of us here are its product. You make me speak of an issue that meant to be a secret. I know who I am. I know the places I stayed in my previous lives. I had lived in India, China and America before I settled in Africa. America was my root. There I shall be made to rise again,” I flared up. There was silence. All of us somehow regretted our outbursts. I had Abraham in my arms after the outburst. I gave him back to her. The cold sensation in the room made Jesus stood up and wanted to go. He turned away from us engrossed in deep contemplation. I went out of the room and met Joseph whom together we made towards home. “Adam is there at the top of the hill with his mechanics. He leaves today if they are able to fix his car,” he said. I awoke.

Mother’s Call
Some family members vandalized the roofing of our home. I accessed the damage and effected repairs. It was around noon, time when school children come back home. I accessed the ceiling in the rooms. They were ripped and damaged too and needed replacement. I was before a crowd, which asked me thus: “Do you have a mother?” I was silent for a while before I mustered the courage to say: “Yes.” “Then come along, she wants you,” they said and dispersed. I followed their trail, quite certain that it was her call and not that of my biological mother. I awoke.

I was in deep sleep when I heard a voice say: “Mary loves you.” I awoke.
Same voice said: “Rudolph Keppler.” I awoke.

Prophet Muhammad (S.A.W.A.)
I was a beautiful woman. The twilight had set in. I wore a long white sleeping gown and flew westward in a cool morning breeze. Soon it was fully morning. I watched the early morning rush by commuters in their myriad colored vehicles below. I was onto a roundabout and an ultramodern arena to witness an occasion. I landed at a VIP pavilion where my mind began to crave for someone dear. I came before myself in the person of a handsome young man about my age. He also wore a long white sleeping gown. “Ya Muhammad,” we simultaneously said to ourselves. Then we locked in a memorable embrace. I awoke.

I spiritually led some warriors to war. The warriors were in a boat that sailed across a turbulent sea. Their leader was the legendary Omar who had a large stick in his hand. The warriors sailed and praised Allah. When they neared the battle front, their excitement increased. They repeatedly sang aloud: “There is no god but Allah!” I said: “Muhammad is His Messenger!” They heard me. They all began to chant: “Peace and blessing of Allah be upon Muhammad and his progeny.” They chanted and looked round to see who the speaker was. I awoke.

3 thoughts on “Dream Stories – Obama is President and Other Stories” by Ahmad Abdullahi (@danjummai)

  1. Bola (@basittjamiu)

    This dream…

  2. @basittjamiu, to continue where u left off, ‘…ain’t Shit’

  3. Bros! U can dream o.. Ha!

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