The Metro’w Bird • An Inspirational Story • Part 2

“The gaunt raptor is immobilised,” quoth one of the fledgling pigeons. The Elder Pigeon, now bespectacled, cast his gaze upon Leosandra, who swiftly returned his glance. Thus, the venerable gentleman secured the cage to forestall any further scrutiny. “What course of action remains? It is evident to me, and perchance to any observer, that this is no genuine bird,” remarked the Old Pigeon, drawing Leosandra into its nest. “The mature pigeons have arrived, yet they remain oblivious.”

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“They do not usually come back at this time. Perhaps someone has alerted them.”

“No,” pondered the Old Pigeon for a moment, “Humans are setting fire to what appears to be the base of their mysterious vehicles, a clear sign of their anger. Meetings along the line cannot take place amidst such thick smoke.” In reality, the humans were protesting against government policies by burning tyres.

“So what do we do now wiseman?” Leosandra asked the Old Pigeon.

“Bring me the bird of prey to my hole if you can afford.”

“I can manage,” declared Leosandra as she re-entered the Old Pigeon’s nest through a passage she had secretly fashioned without his knowledge.

Leosandra had forged a bond with the Old Pigeon after saving his life. A fire had erupted at Mnondo, an abandoned site carved from a massive baobab tree. The origins of the site and the fire were unknown. Leosandra had carved a hole directly into the Old Pigeon’s chamber, rescuing him. Her actions went unnoticed, yet they saved numerous pigeons who used the Old Pigeon’s chamber as an emergency exit that day.

“You recall the day the fire erupted at Mnondo. I asked if I could reveal our hero to the other pigeons, but you refused, saying it wouldn’t matter.” The Old Pigeon sipped his creamy baobab juice from a cup carved from the hard shell of the baobab fruit, his eyes keenly fixed on Leosandra. “I’ve come to realise that doing good isn’t about receiving recognition; it’s about the act of doing good itself.”

“Your friend here may have committed what we consider a crime, but my sources—the two injured doves—told me he attempted to salvage the situation. He is much like you, Leo,” remarked the Old Pigeon, clearing his throat.

“Indeed, he never attempted to explain to the Line Council that, instead of fleeing, he returned to save the two birds from further peril,” Leosandra hinted, indicating she had also gathered the same information from the injured pigeons. “Only he truly understands the bird of prey within him. Now, he must focus on embodying that inner bird. It’s about living it, not explaining it.”

Ozi was enthralled by the conversation, his wings spread wide in excitement, a broad smile lighting up his face. However, he stood in the path of ants, whose mild stings and released chemicals had detoxifying and delousing effects. He then asked the Old Pigeon, “What must I do to live the best of my inner bird?”

“What?” The Old Pigeon was puzzled by the question’s intent. “We all make this mistake. We believe our peace, freedom, ability to learn, hope, and the treasures within us are found in things and places far from our humble beginnings. Leo already gave you the answer, but because she is your peer, you dismiss it. You think it must come from an elder, an Old Pigeon, right? Wrong!”

“I am sorry,” Ozi replied, recalling Leo’s words; it’s about living it, not explaining it.

“When you act foolishly, you should apologise to yourself, not to others,” the Old Pigeon said, shifting from a friendly to a furious tone. However, he quickly corrected himself: “We all have moments of foolishness. Life is a constant struggle between our inner wisdom and outward folly. The key is to recognize our foolishness and find ways to overcome it.”

“I see,” responded Ozi.

“Don’t just see. Discover,” retorted Leosandra. This prompted the Old Pigeon to use her response as an example to illustrate his earlier point about individuals expecting greater treasures from distant places rather than appreciating what they already have. The Old Pigeon chuckled, “Once again, Leosandra—not me—provides a better answer to your question about finding your inner self. She suggests that instead of merely seeing it, you should discover it.”

“What is your name, stranger?” inquired the Old Pigeon as he approached the exit of his nest, catching a limited view of the happenings in the tunnel.

“Ozi,” came the response.

“Alright, Ozi, listen. We’ll need to put you back in your cage at night, but we’ll let you out during the day when the Line Council is in session.”

“Agreed,” Ozi quickly accepted. He yearned for transformative words from these two. For the first time, he encountered individuals who understood him for who he was, not just as a bird of prey that couldn’t hunt. Feeling welcomed, he rested his forehead against the Old Pigeon’s in a gesture of agreement. “I am certain you truly understand me. I didn’t know who I was before, but now I realise I am simply myself. I am not defined by those who resemble me or who gave birth to me.”

Ozi departed with Leosandra to her tunnelet. Leosandra had a sharp-tipped porcupine quill affixed to her left wing, which she had integrated into herself. With this, she could write and draw. It was a fountain pen, not a weapon. Upon entering her tunnelet, she busied herself with inscribing ink onto wooden tablets.

“What? Is that art?”

“That’s a way of preserving memories. I am writing down the happenings of today so that they will not be easily forgotten except they are laid to waste.”

“Can you teach me that?” Ozi demanded.

“Why?” Leosandra gazed at Ozi momentarily with.

“I don’t know.”

“We learn so that we can get more means to discover where we were designed to only see.” Leosandra took away a tablet Ozi had in from of him though her beaks and began to write what Ozi could not get to read, him, like all other birds, being illiterate. “Rule number 1. You should have a stronger beak to mold your own tablets.”

“You know that I am Ozi, a disabled bird of prey who can’t even stand upright, let alone develop the strong muscles and beaks like other birds of prey. Ozi saw his reflection in the broken glass. His beak was curved and unsuitable for tasks like those of woodpeckers.”

“I do understand that,” Leosandra was composed as any inscriptionist would need to be, depositing her ink on the wooden board. “And I am here suggesting to that very same disabled Ozi that strength is not a matter of being like them. It is a matter of being ready and fearless to improve yourself, making yourself a better and better you with each minute passing. Strength is not in terms of competing against them and beating them. It is betting a you while ago in a bid to be a different you next time. It is not about them, you see? It is about you.”

“Then I learn the tablet moulding art on one condition,” Ozi voiced.

“That is?”

“I set out alone tomorrow,” Ozi looked again at his image in the mirror which made him doubt learning Leosandra’s craft.

“But one does not get to be what he needs to be all on his own. He must have ideas from others; whether through means of plunder or one of consensus.” Putting a signature on another tablet, she finally said: “Kidding, you can go alone.”

Ozi doubted again seeing his image in the mirror and then said, “I understand we all have our roles. If only the Line Council could understand that your skill is important. A skill can only become a role if the whole society values it and the one who has the skill is not afraid or disqualified from performing it and improving on it. In short, I will not go. I don’t want to learn this inscription art of yours.”

The day moved quick. By the night the statue was taken out of view. Ozi assumed his place in the cage. He could not sleep well not because of the discomfort of the cage but because he was brewing a plan to make the best of his day ahead. He had changed his mind again. Not long after he could see the darkness in the tunnel disappearing quick. The sun soon imposed itself. Leosandra was quick to play her trick, setting Ozi free for a while. “I know you changed your mind,” Leosandra said, cracking her beak open with a smile, “I know you still want to go.”

Ozi dashed through the same interlocking outcrops until he was out back to Metro’w.

<• Part 1