“Behold; I will do a new thing, now it shall spring forth, shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”
— Isaiah 43:19
A blustering breeze burgled the geriatric hooch through the wooden window (which creaked clangorously) left unclosed. Rested on its pane was one skeletal structure with sunken sockets, inexpugnable on the desolate palm tree. Its flying fronds, with airy cages, wriggled to the mystic rhythm set on the sail by the abrasive wind. Galadima crouched on the pane, thick palms planking his cheeks. Clamouring on the nether background were bizarre sounds: hoarse chirps made by the incessant chatter of orthopteran crickets as they rubbed their wings against the hind combs, segregating the atmospheric equanimity of the arenaceous bourg.
“Vision 2020,” he bowwowed.
It was pellucid that he was swimming to and fro in cogitation; he had been mulling over the inchoate scheme for almost a decade in his cavernous hinterland.