Our huminity [SIC] stood up once again. Stretching our divine destiny, we have come to shake them up.  Jean-Jacques Rousseau, in the Social Contract, declares, “Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains. One thinks himself the master of others, and still remains a greater slave than they.”

Belatedly, as his late father, Eyadema Gnassingbe, Faure Gnassingbe is also hardening himself to prove that, despite his repeated cathartic self-consciousness that he is the handmaiden of his father. Faure Gnassingbe is still thriving to prove to the people of Togo that he is a different, a breed from his doo-doo father. Perpetuating an image of a dictator- a foe. Oh! Oh! Behold those thousands of people you've killed. Oh! Oh! Decry those underage students your bullets crazed for the sake of your birth-minded criminal wrong-doing. Capo di tutti capi, be it the need to live up our faded-dreams under the ragtag of the hoops of the Gnassingbe.

Cunning! Your ruthless tug-mastermind to sign off -rubber stamp- our fate is not an option.  Your sulfur-coated crap is nothing more than a bungee -con game; an attempt to divert our attention from the fact that the regime RPT/UNIR is on life support. You are sure on your last legs. The clock is ticking! The “holy-cows” and “min-nows” are what you now think of, for you decide to salvage the people of Togo.

Dictators hate change. They hate to be challenged. They love the status-quo. They are good at one thing. And only one thing, creating fear.  In his book, The Prince, Niccolò Machiavelli echoes "I say at once there are fewer difficulties in holding hereditary states, and those long accustomed to the family of their prince, than new ones; for it is sufficient only not to transgress the customs of his ancestors, and to deal prudently with circumstances as they arise, for a prince of average powers to maintain himself in his state, unless he be deprived of it by some extraordinary and excessive force; and if he should be so deprived of it, whenever anything sinister happens to the usurper, he will regain it."

Power does corrupt. And absolute power absolutely hardens the heart of a dictator.

Robin Sharma, echoes "It's only when you mastered the art of loving yourself that you can truly love others. It's only when you have opened your own heart that you can touch the hearts of others. When you feel centered and alive, you are in a much better position to be a better person."

 Listening over and over to the lyrics of Pete Seeger and Lee Hays:

"If I had a hammer/…/ If I had a bell…/ If I had a song…/

I’d sing it in the morning/ I’d sing it in the evening/All over this land

I’d sing out danger/ I’d sing out a warning/I’d sing love between/

My brothers and my sisters ah-aaah/All over this land…

Look, I got a hammer/ and I got a bell

and I got a song to sing/all over this land

it’s the hammer of justice/a bell of freedom yeah

it’s a song about love/between my brothers and my sisters all over this land…"

I too have a beautiful song for Faure Gnassingbe and his crooks:

“TOGO” I get a song to sing,” DENYIGBA“.

"Even if I pass to die [SIC] todie [sic]

My Fore Fatherland [TOGO]

Hail be my honor

Yes, I thrive, yes the future to come thrives

Tomorrow, the brightest place on earth

Where dwell Humankind and Glory."

We have all eyed the result of a united front the first week of September 2017.  The regime was brought down to its knees when it faced the most power-glaring force on our forefather's land: a strong, united resistance spewed the cronies. The historical lesson we come to prescribe is straightforward, and it's the manifesto we may carry-on: whatever is good for the chronically-ill'd dictator is good; a dictator is a dictator. They like to be unchallenged. Seating on their fat butt noonering [SIC] day l-o-n-g is their master plan to ambush our freedom.

Our victory at hand is far greater than any victory obtained by the cronies. The bloodshed of the thousands of those who perished alongside our struggles is the mightiest spirit that drives us in. Offshoring our struggles is no longer the option. They know it.

Firmly, I do believe there is a future for Togo that is beyond the foes. Our call to kaput the gnassinbe is what we can lego [SIC], create, mold, and rebuild for ourselves and generations along the horizon. I speak of a land free of fear, full of justice, free of violence, hatred, blended with hope with no rooms for the mashruin [SIC] to stagnate.

The cronies of gnassingbe shall no longer ream my dream. My dream upon Aledjo is a future firmly founded on the consent of the people of Togo. My dream echoes the rule of law and vibrant democratic institutions that breed and unite Togolese. We must at all mustard vanquish the enemy.  We have come to meet the enemy, and it is us to have it. We must now offshore thy enemy.

If Faure Gnassingbe and his cronies vow for iron-seats to yank Togolese; if they think it is quite impossible for Togolese to dig up those armored-gun that are killing Togolese - therein, we have a solution; what cannot be dug up must be deeply buried in the ash heap of our struggles. We must fight on our knees till our last breaths. 

As we stand up as one and dig tightly as ONE, yes we are to clear away and pave bright rooms for our freedom. We shall fire-up the people of Togo in a nun-violent [SIC] mass movement for the forefathers' land belongs not to the Gnashing minorities, but to Togolese.  As love conquers us all, as the onus is on us all, as we hoop for love, our struggles apiece a joy.

I once stood on Himalaya. High as it is, my admired mountain I once climbed cannot grow any higher.  I once was oppressed, the painstaking strikes I once was a victim stone-hardens my soul. What do I fear again?

Today, another big mountain lines up like dead-heavy weight, when I see it, it is the sand that melts as Togolese stand tall. I have nothing to fear; rather my options are endless. We need the cronies to dance the velvet of our orchestra. As we persevere and work unceasingly, our struggles will become a history for God has the heart for Togo. FAURE GNASSINGBE MUST BE AUCTIONED.

Par Ben Djagba