An elder in the red cap and robes of a chieftaincy title, gold at both ears, gold-rimmed spectacles tinted the colour of his agbada. He holds every sign of respectability except one. The blood runs from his mouth, down through the white of his beard, and he is not troubled by it. This is wealth old enough to have a bloodline, and Azekwoh paints the bloodline where it finally shows, on the face of the man who inherited it. The cap is a title. The gold is a receipt. Somebody paid for all of this.
