By: Mustapha Maryam Boluwatife


This is purely a work fiction and any resemblance to any individual or situation is either coincidental or real. To be interpreted at the reader’s discretion.


In the laboratory of Anterica, the land of ants.

The king of the Antericans sauntered in, in his well pressed suit. His raccoon-like blonde hair shook slightly as he climbed the stairs (this particular ant has hair). “Why doesn’t this fucking lab have an elevator?” he cursed. Need I tell you that the king needs to work on his language?

“Where are these fucking men in ghost-white lab coats?” the king’s TV presenter voice boomed, disturbing the specialists working hard to find the cure to a novel virus. The king wasn’t smart, but he was the king anyway, so they left their work, and formed a semi-circle in front of him. “Took you long enough,” he said in that voice that hurt the ear.

“One of you is going to go out there and tell Antericans to start using Chloroquine.”

“But sir, it has not been tested and…,” a tiny black ant said on his left.

“…and she’s black…hahaha” his laughter, that belonged only in a children’s movie, interrupted her as he squeezed his too large face to look like a clown.

“One of you is going to do it because I ordered it, period!”


In the home of an Anterican.

An ant sat quietly in his house while he sipped a cup of coffee and awaited a copy of his favorite newspaper. This old-school ant still does things the old way. He believes if it isn’t in the paper, it isn’t the news.

His paper arrived a few minutes later after his coffee had gone cold, so he asked that it be re-heated. “Bianca, have you seen the news? This is crazy!”

“I have, Scott. What part?”

“The part where the King approved the use of Chloroquine, and the Anterican medical laboratory workers advised against it. This wouldn’t have happened when I was young.”

“Oh! Keep that, Scott, you’re no longer young, and King Trumpet is the king, so deal with it!”


In the Anterican palace.

“King Trumpet, people are angry about the murder of a black ant.”

“OK. What the fuck is the point?”

The pretty female ant who brought the news ran after the king as he kept walking without slowing down.

“…but sir, they are protesting.”

“Tell the ant in charge of the special squad to get them off my fucking streets!” he screamed while not slowing down.

“Sir, this might ruin your reputation. The media awareness is too high, everyone is trending #BlackAntsMatter.”

“Just make the fucking call. That’s an order,” he said in a sing-song voice from the entrance of the palace.

“Hard choice, Grace, hard choice. But it’s an order so I have to do it,” the pretty ant muttered to herself as she made the call.


In the house of an Anterican.

“Bianca, I told you this wouldn’t have happened when I was young.”

“What’s it again Scott?”

“In one month, Bianca, a black ant was killed, the king is planning Anterica’s exit from the World Ant Health Organization (WAHO), and now he is poking his nose in the affairs of a development bank in Antrica.”

“Don’t bother me with that, Scott,” Bianca said, as she waved dismissively.

“…but Anterica is your country, Bianca.”

“…and the king has gone mad again Scott, so deal with it!”

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