Tope Sadiq- The Prophet Of The Spoken Word

Culled from

Written by Joseph Edgar
This art form is very strange to the youths of today. Although it has evolved over the centuries, it is a dying art form and only the very cultured have access to its fluid and melodious coinage of sweet words. These people are usually very old and steeped in traditional ethos hence their belief in the spoken word and the culture that is woven around it.

Tope is an enigma. He comes with a load of contradiction. He is a young man with the indulgences of a young person. Likes to dress like his peers and also looks to me like he has an eye for the babes. This his worldly and ‘guyish’ outlook serves to me as a basic contradiction as I find it very difficult to comprehend his dying love for this disappearing art form.

Tall and charismatic, overtly friendly and a charmer. Tope comes to you with the softness of a sheep although with an intimidating tummy and stature, this gentle giant greets you with the humility of a Newyork fireman while taking over his immediate environment with the ease of hot knife slicing through warm butter. Nice looking, tall and cutely bearded, you immediately feel like giving him a hug and wishing he was your baby despite his tall manly look. He reminds you of a very tender helpless baby.

Tope is imbued with two personalities, a kind of positive and sweet Jekyll and Hyde personalities. The warm and sweet person I just described and the character that emerges as he goes into the liturgy that is his art form. Did I just say he had a split personality, wrong. Tope is made up of a thousand characters each representing whatever role he was playing as he spewed those sweet sounding words touching your soul and forcefully pushing out tired goose pimples from your old tired skin.

Tope is a mystic. I love him, I love what he does as he smoothly glides in and out of a hundred characters in one performance. In one instant he is a tired old man looking forward to imminent death and the next he is a sweet young virgin waiting to be deflowered. Tope takes you into an exciting journey in and out of a morass of characters, showing you their world and in the same instant keeping you firm in your seat not asking you to share the joy he is experiencing as he recounts the story of the moment.

It is almost orgasmic for him as I look into his eyes. All I see is the joy of a young man drilling into the core of his beautiful damsel after a hard fought chase. Tope dives into character, loosing himself to the world and surrendering his soul to the flight of either passion or sorrow what ever story he was regaling the audience with at this very performance.

Yes, I love Tope and I admire his courage. He has shown that he is not driven by material things as he moves around the audience collecting their pittance in his ever present bowler hat, he shows the world just how worthless material life is.

He looks at the world and laughs at its falsehood, he decides to fight reality with disdain and ducking into his fictitious world of the spoken word daring the realities of life to come near him. This world is his and no on else. He will brook no companionship, he loves his solitary life as he plays with his friends, the suicidal young virgin, the old man filled with fart, his tortured soul slapping him with hateful thoughts wondering why he is not letting himself kill him. This philosopher hovers around VI in search for only what he alone can decipher.

I fear he just may not recognize this goal. His eventual Golden Fleece for in his haze of victory, He simply loves the surreal effect of floating in an abyss of fictional eldorado while refusing to acknowledge the continous knock of reality.

Tope Sadiq I love your art form and only wish I could be bestowed by the gods with just half of your talent. I’ll be walking around Lagos naked but clothed with the passion of the spoken word as I spread the gospel of Tope Sadiq who is now my philosopher King.


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