‘What’s the matter? Why are you sad? Isn’t this the opportunity you’ve always wanted? Write man! Scribble something, or do you want him to take you for a quack?’
The voice in my head kept preventing the rhythms from coming into my mind. I stared and stammered inside my mind, yet no lyrics. I sighed. Two minutes gone. A songwriting audition with Don Jazzy was a dream come true, now would that dream just slip away from my reality’s grasp? ‘Oh Lord! Please help, I muttered.
I watched and watched as the crowd lit up in glee with their eyes down the whole auditorium. Was this really me? I didn’t even know. ‘Obeezy’ they yelled. Was this really me? I didn’t truly know.
Few years ago, I never thought myself bold or talented enough to mount this stage. I had frequently toured the streets of my life with my degree of low esteem in search of an opportunity, but now I’ve gone back to the classroom and learned now that I am all I believe I am: talented or quack.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked him as a tear dropped out of my sore eye. ‘What do you mean, Obee?’
‘Didn’t you see the way they all yelled my name out there? Do you think that was really me they love that much?’ I pressed further.
He laughed. Perhaps he sensed my shock. Perhaps it was my immaturity in this lifestyle.
‘Obee, that was never really you on that stage. The you I know you know is a shy, lazy, cowardly, untalented quack truly incapable of wowing even himself – the you you always thought yourself to be, before now. Now, you know that is a lie you’ve told yourself all along. Obee you’re the lie you tell yourself you are, or the truth you believe you are.
‘Now, are you ready to mount the next stage of your life, or are you ready to remain a invincible talent never to shine in the sky among the stars of your kind?’
I was just about to say yes when he tapped me. I had slept off after writing a verse. Don Jazzy had entered the studio and was sitting there looking at me.
‘Hey, na so you wan write your song abi na what?’ He said.
‘No sir! I’m ready!’