Dreams are a repository of the paintings of things often times unthinkable. Dreams stretch our sense of imagination. They also remind us about the direct consequences of our actions in real time. But dreams give us a second chance, a second limb if you will after having lost a leg in a dream. In this way dreams test our resolve, our convictions and they try our fears. If you cannot defeat the monster in a dream, you cannot kill it in real life.
I child wakes up from a “scary” dream perhaps because his convictions about what is scary, or fearsome are not yet fully-formed. He is not convinced he can resist the clasp of a crocodiles jaws in a terrifying dream, so he awakes from a “scary” dream, dives and plunges himself betwixt his mum and dad for safety.
In ancient times, a prophet operating within one of the most revered Temples in Ada, for instance in Korgbor proper, not far from Kewunor, would test the conscience of mortals, who have become an existential threat to the stability of all Ada. In fact, the priests called this the first test of the enemy. They conducted a para-normal military drill through a dream and tested the resolve of the enemy at the gates. They sent this dream to the enemy. They tested the will power of the attackers in a full-fledged combat before they had actually confronted them.
This first part of warfare was called “Tetekpor,” which in the Gbe language usually meant “to test the enemy,” or to “try the enemy,” before you have initiated your first move, often by sending the enemy a terrifying dream, a plot in which a petrifying combat occurred.
Dreams placed this way tested the prowess, abilities, strengths and limitations of the enemy. More, the war generals of Ada gathered Intel from the enemy in this manner.
Now, imagine for a second that we still had the power of our ancient priests and war generals in Ada to send our enemies dreams of terror. How do we deal with the new enemy at the gates? Ian Morris, a CEO of the real estate firm, Tresacco from “Nothing Village,” England, together with Hilton Hotels of the United States of America (buoyed forth by USAFRICOM presence in Ghana), have gathered their armies outside the gates of Kewunor, a small community in Ada, and are plotting to unleash their well-known violence of displacing the people and forcibly grabbing their lands for use in building mass tourism destinations for white people from abroad.
We could send a dream to Ian Morris of Tresacco and the board members of Hilton Hotels. That dream will unravel a terrifying combat that looks like this: Imagine a special force within a special force – of four hundred women armed, descending on the camp of Ian Morris & Co. each handling gleaming three-foot-long razors, each wielded two-handed and capable of slicing a man clean in two.
Imagine you are Ian Morris, the CEO of Tresacco, who is hanging out in your barracks, right outside Ada’s gates to finally enter and loot it, but you saw Korgbor women led by the Asafoanye, suddenly charge in your direction, screaming the war chants of their Mothers, with their muskets barking fire and their signature double-edged three-foot-long machetes gleaming light in your direction.
Imagine you are Ian Morris, you have one fleeting moment to overcome your crippling panic, defend yourself or set pace and run back to your “Nothing Village,” England. Because if you didn’t, and I mean if you failed to run away, these women would club you unconscious with a musket butt, drag you back to Korgbor, chop off your head in one swing, boil the skin off of your decapitated face, and then use your skull as ritual cup for their newborn nieces.
Then imagine, Ian Morris awakes from his dream. Petrified. Is he going back to Kewunor with his usual drivel about how he has come to help Kewunor save the turtles? Is he capable of going back to convince the chiefs around Ada to sell him ancestral lands at Kewunor so he can displace the whole town of Kewunor, and build a funky hotel for his heroin-addicted cousins, the Yankees? With that dream, and that picture of Ada’s warriors in mind, would Ian Morris finally budge and return to his “Nothing Village,” England, as a failed pirate? Or would he still insist on attacking an independent marvel of nature, Kewunor, where he could in all likelihood meet his actual match?
Perhaps Ian Morris will think carefully through his second chance—what are dreams for after all? What do you think?