Sometimes you try to laugh in an effort to push the
despair eating at you a long way from you. My mother used to say what can’t
talk should not be able to defeat you. I sit for hours staring at the blank
screen. Not because I don’t have anything to say but simply swamped by what I
need to say and ask myself why bother saying it? It is just another twenty four
hours anyway. Another day to live through . The vendor calls and you shrug, not
because the news is nothing but because you are scared to learn you have ceased
to exist as Nigerian, never mind the fact that you are not even sure of your
chances to live as a human being. I am like every person I know, we want an
identity, a country, a home and a love.
It is not too much
to ask you ask yourself angrily and then sigh as depression like some stone
settles at the pit of your stomach. You are reviled from without from countries
that wonder what you think you are being who you are and from that place of the
earth that has been damned and condemned. Anger slowly boils like a cauldron
and you feebly attempt to pour ice into it. You count ten before you speak so
that the pain should not spill out from your guts. You are done being angry. It
has fed you for so long only you find you are still very hungry so you reluctantly
accept that the anger has not done much and then you listen… the painful thud
of your heart as it hides itself away from you.
Three hundred and sixty five days of watching for an
opportunity to make good. You are desperate as first anger from the children
and then you shrivel as you see the anger slowly turn to contempt. It is the
worst indictment you could possibly endure. Love like some measly cancer has
settled on your soul and wouldn’t let go even as you feel the rejection from hungry
puzzled faces and their question.
“You lost as a
parent’ the voice cackles at you and you feel the lash as you grit your teeth
and plod the streets looking for that opportunity to earn bread for another
wasted twenty four hours. The door opens and the children look up , your wife
turns over and faces the door. The expectant faces drop to boredom and your
heart sinks. “Oh it’s you” they say with the least interest in what you have to
offer.
The other day you had stared for long hours at the ocean
wondering if the fishes in it might find your body acceptable as meal.” It will
be too bony and not rich enough” the infernal taunting voice says close to your
ears and you feel your heart crying. A sob escapes you and you are alarmed,
checking if anyone heard the miserly sob. Someone is playing ‘I am black and
proud” and you snort.
It is the first
hint of healthy anger you have heard or felt in a long while. The landlord has
a letter for you.. “Sir, my nephew will be returning from his studies abroad
and we would need your room for him to stay while he starts on his job with the
Apex bank” hmmm, the shark is even willing to forgo his eighteen months rent
arrears…hmmmm.. but where are you going? No place, not even hell since the
voice said you do not even have a vacant room there. Not even standing space. “You
see we have so many applicants , those egg heads who have stolen the country
blind, oil subsidy thieves, the one who collected thousands of dollars to catch
another thief and said he only collected money and not bribes. Honestly the Devil
holds you guys in deep admiration. There are some escapades he never could have
dreamed of . We are planning a royal reception for them”.
“ Then there is the new fashion of religion by death ,
you know a few bombs here and there and our colleague is laughing. He has so
much frightened you all into a stupor. When I told the Boss about your request
about jumping into the ocean he snorted and said you ought to have your head
examined. I did that and found nothing there”.
He sighed and
collapsed on the torn mattress. A rat scurried away from his feet and he made
an attempt to kill it as a fierce meat hunger grabbed him. He was so weak from
all the walking and hunger that he fell and the rat escaped snorting. A man
should not be this hopeless and helpless. Even he was beginning to hold himself
in contempt. The door opened and his wife came in and stood arms akimbo watching
him. He stared back helpless and suddenly he broke down and wept. Helplessly
and hopelessly asking her to please take the children and leave. She said
nothing and left.
He closed his eyes, and he dreamt of food. He even smelt
the aroma. Someone was shaking him trying to make him open his eyes and he
struggled to open them. She looked at him and smiled. He blinked. Okay he must
have died, he thought to himself. Devil changed his mind and gave him a room.
Then the children came in and lined themselves against the wall.
“What?” You died too he asked pointing his fingers at
them and he started trembling.
“Oh Lord, not them too. I am sorry”
“Really”?
“Yes please, just me should be enough”
“They are coming along with us and stop sniveling” a
sharp voice retorted
What?
He became conscious of his real state and the packed
bags.
“We are leaving for the village, I got you a job as the
headmaster of your old school. You will resume next week. You can still teach
can’t you?. Remember all those fiery speeches, the applause as the students
came back to thank you for showing them how to be a man. Well one of your
students met me in the street and we talked about you. He did not think it was
right for you to stop teaching. He said it was destiny, that is what Paul said.
Remember him, the skinny one who always never had enough to eat and he would
come to our living room and you will sneak him money, paid his final exam fees?
Well he is a minister now , his convoy almost knocked me down . He recognized me
and asked after you. You are going back to teaching and giving back dreams to
young minds like him. You are not going to say no are you?”
As he packed the papers on his table, the memories came
and he slowly sat back. The cackling voice had stopped and he still had hunger
in his soul. The door opened and his driver asked him if it was time to go
home.
Biola,
ReplyDeleteThis is beautiful writing. You have made the words come alive. The emotions and moods of your characters resounds. Well done.
Thank you so much Keith. Trying my hand now at short fiction or flash fiction as I hear it is called.
ReplyDeleteWhat a very moving piece. Each time you write something like this, Biola, you connect with the heart of me. I strive do to that in my own writing.
ReplyDeleteHope you are well, my friend.