MR. KNOW-ALL COMES TO TOWN
By Baba Galleh Jallow



When the great Rhinehart Soberlook surfaced in our little town, apparently
from nowhere, we all jumped and danced and gave him a rousing welcome.
Unlike our prominent bigwigs, who claim to have smelt a rat in Rhinehart’s
handsome face which they claimed reminded them of a camel’s hump, our common
townsfolk were particularly excited at the great man’s outward appearance
which they thought was just fabs, and after just a little while, at the
professed depth of his extensive wisdom on all matters of the world.
Clearly, Rhinehart Soberlook was no common guy. This was amply manifested by
his immediate establishment of the mighty Jahasay Enterprises, which soon
became the wealthiest business concern in our little town. Tales of his
legendary business acumen made the rounds and soon surrounded Rhinehart
Soberlook with an aura of mystery and sophistication, which sent the heads
of our common townsfolk spinning and actually got our prominent bigwigs
gaping.
Our gentle Rhinehart Soberlook was even more famous for the bottomless depth
of his knowledge and the amazing quality of his curriculum vitae.  For in
addition to his Bachelor of Rats Degree in Prating, Rhinehart Soberlook was
the proud holder of a Master of Skins Degree in Bluffing, an Advanced
Diploma in Rattling Procedures and to top it all, an advanced Doctorate of
Heehawlogy in Sophisticated Cackology. In recognition of his amazing
academic achievements, our eminent Rhinehart Soberlook was conferred with an
Honorary Doctorate of Slipshody and named Professor Emeritus in Hot Air
Procedures by his reputable alma mater, the famous University of
No-Truth-Upon-Top.
With such a dazzling academic background, it was no wonder that our gentle
Rhinehart Soberlook soon came to be known as Mr. Know-All, a title he
immediately fell madly in love with and proceeded to prove he was worthy of
by delving into long expositions of any topic under the sun he felt inclined
to comment on.
Our gentle Rhinehart Soberlook professed intimacy with every single subject
on the face of the earth, from the fabled three Rs to science, geography,
physics and TD. He claimed to have read all the major works in the field of
chemistry and physics and was always quick to delve into expositions of the
atom and the molecule and give glowing analysis of Newton’s famous law of
motion. He would speak so intimately of the father of history that some of
our common townsfolk claimed that he was actually a close fried of the great
Herodotus. And when you came to the field of philosophy, our learned Mr.
Know-All would tell you that in fact at college, they used to call him
Plato, Aristotle and even Shakespeare and that in fact, there was this
blue-eyed girl who actually insisted that he was Socrates reborn. ‘I did not
know what to say to her,’ he would proudly admit, tilting his head,
squinting his eyes, and broadly grinning at his audience. ‘Then when I now
say that you guys have a lot to learn, some of you will wear frowning
faces,’ he would chide. ‘But let me tell you one thing,’ he would generally
add, ‘if wisdom was a fruit you could pick on a tree, most of you would be
losers.’ Whereas our common townsfolk would break into a rousing round of
applause that gave our famous Rhinehart Soberlook even more fire to preach
on.


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