In Their Steps

I sit quietly, holding his tiny body in my arms. The fever that wracked his body last night has left him cold today. He hasn’t cried in days and I long to hear that sound that tells me my child is fighting, the sound that tells me he hasn’t given up, that like me, he is holding on for dear life.

I know some medicine will help him but Mataima won’t give him any. Even when I dared venture outside my uncle’s walls to go to the hut that serves as the health care centre, she turned me away.

Boko Haram Bride she spat but I didn’t care. The other women have called me worse. I clung to her shawl, begged for mercy, for the child I said, not for me but for the child.

She dragged me into the hut by my arm then, showed me the maimed, wounded men within, the stench of death and decay chocked me, brought fresh tears to my eyes.

They are the ones who deserve mercy she hissed. Your lot did this to them, to their families. I will not squander medicines on your bastard child.

I’d turned and left then. My little Boy did not do this I want to say but the words didn’t come.

As I returned to my uncle’s compound, I heard the whispers. I saw the fear in the averted faces.

They are afraid of me. That thought shocks me the most. Their disdain, repulsion and whispered Karuwa* I have somewhat come to expect, but the fear baffles me, how can anyone be afraid of me, I’m just seventeen, not much more than a little slip of a child.

You will bring them back here, you’re the ruin of us all.

Are we sure she doesn’t have a belt under her hijab?

You lay with a man who kills your people! How can you live with yourself?

I desperately want to tell them I didn’t create any of this, I didn’t ask for this, I don’t want to be damaged. I want to be fifteen again, dreaming of flying a plane in the open skies one day. I want my mother to hold me in her arms as I hold my son, but they tell me I killed her the day I left.

I feel it when my Baby takes his last laboured breath. I am too weak with anguish to take one of my own, so I sit still with his lifeless body in my arms, arms as empty as my heart.

I know the family will be relieved, jubilant even, that the blood of Boko Haram has gone from them. They will say it is God’s will, God’s way of exacting justice for the atrocities of Boko Haram, they will say it is atonement. I want to scream that I don’t believe God would punish a little child like they have, that the face of God can’t possible hold their self righteous sneers. But the words won’t come still.

Thoughts of the forest start to come to me. The longing for it is so strong in my empty heart that I think I will lose my mind. It both terrifies and draws me at once. I want to go back, go back to the rocky heights that make me feel like I’m flying, the leafy shea trees that provide respite from the sun. I want to hide from these people, from the family that has turned on me, from the friends that now hate and despise me. I can’t help but think that my son would still be alive had I stayed in the forest.

The thought of wearing a belt flits through my mind. The peacefulness of death would be better than this sham of a life I now live. Maybe then Boko Haram will hail me a hero, not the outcast I have become to my people. How ironic would it be if I followed in the steps of the ones who have stolen my life from me. By a twist of fate, I would also be following the steps of the ones who are stealing my future if I let my anger and pain take over, and I kill and maim them. Life sure is full of ironies.

Or maybe I should go like a coward, swallow some guba**. You never live beyond the day you become a captive. All you know is torment as you wait and hope for rescue. All you know is pain and shame if you survive and return. Same side of the same unfortunate coin.

One day, maybe I will forget. Maybe I will forget everything; the forest, the thoughts of dying, the hateful looks, the cruel words, the pull of my son’s lips on my breasts. Maybe. But today I am consumed by pain and anger and shame and confusion and this deep dark hole that seems impossible to fill.

*Whore  **Poison

Dreamscapes

Had a dream last night (or was it this morning?) that I was taking a shower. Then my alarm went off and I woke up and turned it off and went back to sleep so I could finish up my shower on time. So you can understand how really upset I was because I was still late to work.

        “What happened to you?” my colleague asked when I finally made it in.

What was I supposed to say? I overslept or over-eager killed me?

        “It was traffic.” I said lamely. Well, the traffic was definitely part of it.

        “Well, you can tell that to SB oh!” was the retort I got in reply.

        “What, you go to the Boss simply because I’m half an hour late!”

        “Forty-five minutes. And he asked for you.”

        “Just great!”

        “The earlier you speak with him, the better. You know how he hates to be kept waiting.”

I come in late once and I still manage to get in trouble with the man at the top himself. And to think he isn’t even around oh! It had to be the middle of the night in Bangkok where he was at the moment, did the man not sleep at all? Well, dumb question, the man is a machine!

As if to buttress her point, my phone started to blink like a demented doll. I stared at it in horror as several messages came in in rapid succession. From the time stamps, they had started to come in from about 7:30 this morning, only that my stupid network had somehow left them hovering somewhere, somehow! And of course they were all from SB himself.

Just in case you’re wondering, SB is short for Simon Bolarinwa and he is the Boss Man. Everyone refers to the guy reverently as SB and believe me, he is someone you don’t want to mess with.

        “Are you going to call him or what!” she asked.

Easy for you to say!

I took a deep breath and dialled his number, which he was roaming of course. God forbid that the world comes to a grinding halt simply because he is unreachable! It started to ring and just when I was about to heave a sigh of relief that he’d finally gone to bed and I would be able to postpone the moment when the shit hit the fan, he picked the call.

        “Good Morning Sir!” I said, trying to sound sharp and alert. He had that effect on people, even from thousands of miles away.

        “I am still awaiting your report on the Conocco deal.” He started without preamble. And he didn’t even have the decency to sound tired or sleepy.

        “Yes Sir, I still haven’t received their feedback yet.”

        “And you’re telling me this because?”

        “Well…I…I…”

        “Send me an official report now.”

        “Yes Sir, I…”

        “And why haven’t you replied any of my messages?”

        “I haven’t yet…”

        “Please read your messages and respond accordingly.”

        “Yes I…”

The phone went dead. kai, and he didn’t even mention the coming late thing. Of course now I have something to stew over for the next few days, knowing it would come but never knowing just when exactly.

Sha, sha, that’s how I started this Monday morning oh, God only knows how the rest of the week will pan out with such a start, and to think that it’s a new month tomorrow, I can’t start on a jinx abeg!

At some point, after talking my head off on the phone, trying to chase down the contact person at Conocco, I unglued my backside from my seat and went to the bathroom (somewhere at the back of my mind was the fact that I hadn’t read or replied to SB’s messages yet, God help me). The woman I saw staring back at me in the mirror had me cringing. I was having the equivalent of a bad-hair-day for bad hair days! I looked like a real mess and I felt worse.

Well, suck it up and grow some brass balls instead of complaining. That’s one of the more famous lines by the king of one liners himself. With that, I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders and went to plough through my day with my hair sticking all over the place and my unevenly drawn eyebrows that looked like they belonged on the cookie monster (yeah, it really was that kind of day today).

When I was finally leaving work, my phone rang (for the millionth time) and it was the Boss, again. I braced myself as I picked the call. He still hadn’t said anything about the late coming, plus there were like a million reasons he could find to give me a tongue scalding, or he could just do it because because.

        “Hello.”

        “Hi. Good job on Conocco today.”

Huh?! Did he just…

        “I’m pleased with how you handled it, well done.”

        “Wow…err…thank you!” I sputtered.

        “Now go on and make sure you enjoy the rest of your Birthday.” He said. “Many Happy Returns.”

Awwww bless, he remembered! No one else at work did. Well, in all fairness, he is my uncle so he had better remember. Wait, did I forget to mention that part? Well yeah, the crazy slave driver is my uncle. Lucky me, eh?

        “Just don’t party too hard and then turn up late for work again.”

Damn, I should have known I would never get away with that!

Oh well, Happy Birthday to Me!!!!!!! ;D

Giddi Commute: Navigator

This beautiful Saturday morning (aren’t they all beautiful!), I spent 45 minutes in Obàléndé waiting for the Bus to Berger to fill up. When it was finally full, the conductor sauntered over and proceeded to collect his money.

“Oga, you no fit collect money for road?” a man on the third row grumbled.

“Na for road I go pay Agbèrò?” The conductor retorted.

“So you knew that one since, you come just dey collect money?" Someone from the back row said, disgusted. At this point, I knew how the drama would go, probably ending in a I-no-get-change argument. I was about to plug in my ear phones to drown out the noise when one madam beside me upped the ante.

“Oníìranù, the time him suppose dey collect money, na that chingum geh him dey chase up and down! “ she said drawing out a long hiss.

“Na ya business?” Oga conductor challenged, stopping in his collection to face off the woman.

“Abeg dey collect your money dey go, this heat too much nah!” another passenger said.

“Abeg make I fire am! Abi you no hear the nonsense him dey talk?” Oga conductor asked.

“Ehn dey collect your money as you dey fire am nah!” the passenger said.

“Woman wrapper!” madam hissed.

“You dey jealous?” Oga conductor fired back.

“God forbid! Na your kind me I dey follow?!”

“Why you no talk nah, I for come toast you join.” Oga conductor said eliciting a few titters from other passengers.

        “You don dey crase! Olòshí! “

He finally finished collecting the money and we left the park, thank God!

The next sign of trouble was when the engine started to cough like a nicotine addict.

“Oga, this your moto go reach so?” someone asked.

“No worry.” Oga driver said. “Him dey kamkpe!”

“Abeg, if he no go reach, make we come down oh!”

“Come down for where? When I don pay for garage already!” Oga conductor retorted, ready for another fight.

“I say him dey alright, he just dey warm up!” Oga driver reassured.

That’s how we left Obàléndé and climbed on top 3rd Mainland Bridge with our kpa-ka kpu-ku bus. The thing would go kpa-ka kpù-kù, kpa-ka kpù-kù, ó-tó-gé  (I swear, the groans of that engine sounded like it was saying just that, true!), then we would go vroom vroom vroom and then kpa-ka kpù-kù over and over again. I reckoned sometime this century, we would sha get to Berger.

We were fine and dandy for a while. In fact, after you settled into the engine’s rhythm, it actually started to lull you like a child's lullaby. That was until it started to rain and we found out that our kpa-ka kpù-kù’s wipers didn't work. And oh, Oga driver was as blind as a mole too.

Unfortunately for me, I was in the first row, behind the driver, so I saw everything in HD.

“Oga, you no get wiper?” the lady in the passenger seat asked alarmed.

Oga driver ignored her.

“Abeg stop oh!” she said.

“Stop for where?!” Oga conductor who'd been spoiling for another fight demanded. “Abi you no see say nah for 3rd Mainland Bridge we dey?”

The fortunate souls in the back seats were still blissfully unaware of the wiper shebang and found something else to fight the conductor over.

“Oga, this your bus dey leak oh!”

“Abeg close your window jàre, rain get enter!”

“Na Sharatin you think say you dey? “ Oga conductor retorted forgetting madam in the front seat for the moment.

“Don’t mind them. They will be collecting money, they won’t use it to fix their vehicle. “ One woman said in disgust and other passengers agreed with her.

Ha, if they only knew! There were way bigger issues than leaky roofs on ground!

Consequently, the other passenger in the front seat became the Navigator and Oga Conductor the right side mirror.

“Small-small.” Navigator said, motioning with his hands.

“Your side.” Oga Conductor said.

“Peeeem-peeeem!” The Corolla to our left said.

With that brilliant plan in place, we made it to Ìyànà Òwòrò in one piece. Barely. Next issue was the line of tankers and trailers joining the Berger bound traffic from there. 

“We no fit stop for here?” madam in front asked hopefully.

“Madam, nothing do you. Your side!!” Oga conductor said.

By this time, the fighters in the back seats had found out about our precarious situation and had sobered up. Well, sort of.

“Oga, you no dey see? You wan jam trailer? “

“Oritse gbàmí!”

“Lord have mercy!”

“Kai, I don enter this one oh!”

“I for no enter road today oh!”

As if to add it’s own voice to the melee, the rain started to come down even harder.

“There's a tanker in front! Small-small. “ Navigator said and Oga driver stepped on the brakes.

“Not so hard!” Navigator gasped and we all screamed as we were thrown forwards like rag dolls.

In response, Oga driver stepped on the gas and we were all thrown backwards.  I cannot write the sort of colourful language that followed. Ah, I fear that I wee be corrupting the eyes of Nigerians of they had to read it on here!

In the midst of that drama, something let out a hoot that almost had me peeing my pants and all hell broke lose.

“Ah, trailer dey your right!”

“Your side! Your side!”

“Ah, Jesus I am dead!”

“Oga stop this bus oh I wan come down.”

“He dey your side!”

“Na tanker oh!”

“Blood of Jesus!”

“Yéè mo gbé! “

“Orí ìyámi òh!”

Next thing, we hit a massive puddle and the sounds of the water forcefully hitting the undersides of the bus and the avalanche of water that hit us on all sides were the final nails in the panic coffin. 

The type of mayhem that ensued was enough to cause even the sanest of drivers to lose control, not that ours was anywhere near sane to start with.

“Abeg please stop for Mobil oh, we cannot continue like this!” one passenger implored.

“Ah, we don pass Mobil since.” Someone else said.

“We don pass?! I think say we still dey toll gate oh!”

         “Ah, toll gate ke?!”

For all we knew, we were already in Ìbàdàn sef!

“Na Òtédolá gate be that in front!” someone exclaimed.

I doubted it seriously but the thought of a safe place to get off was too good to pass off.

“Abeg stop make I come down, I no go Berger again!”

“I go waka the rest biko!”

“Why you wan get down inside this rain?” Oga conductor asked.

“You no see the nonsense your driver dey drive?”

“How? The guy dey alright now!”

My head did a 360 and I stared at the conductor in utter disbelief, like really?! That was when it really hit home that we were in the hands of mad men and I joined the crazy clamour for the bus to stop.

In response, Oga driver swerved to the right towards the bus stop without first consulting his Navigator and Oga conductor and he had his right side mirror clipped off by the tanker on his right.

“Yeh, go your side! Go your side!” Oga conductor screamed, not that Oga driver could have heard him above the panicked screams in the bus.

Oga driver swerved left and stepped on the brakes.

“No stop, no stop oh! Another one dey your back!” someone from the last row screamed.

We stumbled on until Oga driver finally brought the bus to a stop beside a dilapidated filling station. As soon as the bus stopped, frantic passengers spilled out into the pouring rain. Mehn, it had never felt so good to have rain slap me in the face, I was so grateful to be alive and in one piece!

Fear Itself

Ah, and Mommie said we should not watch that movie oh!

It was the week of Mum and Dad’s wedding anniversary. It was special because it was the 15th and Daddy had been making plans for a long time. It fell on a Thursday, so they were going to go away on a romantic weekend getaway. Mum had asked her sister, Auntie Kenny to Baby-sit that weekend and me and my sisters were excited about that. We all loved Auntie Kenny because she’s never too fussy about brushing our teeth before bed and she lets us stay up a little bit later than we should. Auntie Kéhìndé is just four years older than Solápé, my oldest sister who is fourteen. Pèlúmi is eleven and I’m the man of the house at nine.

We all waved good-bye to my parents on the evening of Friday at about seven. Mommy had come home a bit early from work and had taken out time to get all dressed up. They were going for dinner at Four Points and then going to spend the rest of weekend at some resort on an island, Inagbe I think it’s called. Mommie had been raving on and on about it and I’d looked at all the glossy pictures in the Brochure.

As soon as daddy’s Peugeot 607 drove out of the gates, we all let out a whoop. It sure was going to be a night to remember, and not just for Mommie and Daddy! You know when you’re told not to touch something, it’s then that it starts to call out to you in Dija’s voice, Boy you’re all that I want, even if on a normal day, you wouldn’t be remotely interested in it? That Clash of The Titans DVD sure knew how to sing! Mommy had bought the DVD at Shoprite and had been excited about it. She said it was the original 1981 make of the movie and that she’d been dying to see it again after so many years. When we’d asked to watch it with her, she had refused and said it was one of the “touch not”s. She said we were too young to watch it, even Solápé who was a teen-ager already. So that DVD had sat on the shelf for all of two weeks while our curiosity just grew and grew. And of course it was the very first thing we asked Auntie Kenny to let us do that Friday night. So as soon as we had gobbled down our dinner of beans and fried plantain, and washed up the dishes, we all piled into the three-seater sofa with Auntie Kenny in the middle to operate the remote controls. Solápé made some dramatic drumming sounds as Auntie Kenny pressed the play button and the movie started.

The first sign of trouble came when Calibos appeared in his half human-half beast form, but since all the women in the room didn’t seem fazed, I had to chop small tushka and continued to watch. It didn’t help that I was at the edge of the sofa closest to the door into the dark corridor. By the time Perseus went to visit the three witches, the space on the couch had mysteriously increased and the four of us were huddled together in a tight ball in the middle. I was practically sitting in Pèlúmi’s laps but she didn’t seem to notice or mind one bit.

When you’re watching a horror movie late at night, especially one that you’re not meant to be watching, there’s only one thing that can happen at the very height of the horror. Picture this: Medusa makes her grand entry in all her horrific glory, eyes blazing and snaky hair waving in a million directions. Your heart is thudding in your bony little chest and you’re strangely quiet, not because you’re cool, calm and collected or even forming man of the house, but because your scream is frozen in your throat. Then on cue NEPA takes light.

There was a split moment of calm before Pèlúmi let out a scream, which of course led to utter chaos.

       “Something touched my leg!” she sobbed when we’d calmed down a bit.

Instinctively, six feet snapped up and onto the sofa.

       “What was it!” Solápé demanded.

       “I don’t know!” Pèlúmi snapped. “If I did, would I have screamed?”

       “Well, if you did know and it was Medusa’s tail, you would have done more than scream.” I pointed out and was rewarded with an elbow in my side.

       “Owwwwww!”

       “Everybody quiet!” Auntie Kenny snapped. “We have to go figure out why the inverter didn’t come on.” She said.

That got us all quiet. The inverter was located under the stairs, all the way outside the house, plus there was that dark corridor with all the unknowns lurking in the shadows between the sitting room and the front door.

       “So, who is coming with me?” Auntie Kenny asked and we all stayed silent. “Two of us will go to the inverter and two people will stay here.” She declared when no one said anything.

I started to do the maths in my head. I’d heard the neighbors’ Gen come on, which meant if I decided to go to the inverter, I only had to worry about the monsters hiding in the dark stretch of the corridor. The security lights outside would have come on.  Meanwhile, there were so many possibilities with staying in the house. Suddenly, the house started to feel very large indeed.

       “Okay, I’ll go.” I said and I heard Solápé and Pèlúmi heave a joint sigh of relief.

Auntie Kenny turned on her phone’s flashlight and we headed for the door.

       “Wait!” Solápé called out at the last moment.

       “What?” Auntie Kenny snapped. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought her voice had a tremor to it.

       “We won’t have any light in here when you go.” Solápé said.

       “Well, there’s just one phone.” Auntie Kenny said. “You might as well go and get the torchlight from the kitchen.”

       “But it’s dark in the kitchen.” Pèlúmi wailed.

       “You can either go and get the torchlight or sit here and wait.” Auntie Kenny said.

On the long run, all four of us huddled around the light from Auntie Kenny’s Nokia 101 and made our way into the corridor with all its dark cavernous doorways leering at us like monsters’ mouths. I tried not to imagine the Kraken jumping out at me from those dark doorways but men, it was hard!

We were almost at the front door when we heard the scraping sounds from the other side of the door. I don’t even know who screamed first. It was probably the lot of us taking up the chorus at the same time. We’d all somehow found our way to Mommie and Daddy’s room before we remembered that they weren’t home and couldn’t save us from the legion of Titans at the front door. Sometime during the commotion, Auntie Kenny’s phone must have fallen or died because the room was plunged in darkness.

       “Lock the door!” Solápé panted.

       “You lock it!” I retorted.

       “But you came in last!” Solápé snapped.

       “No I didn’t!”

       “Auntie Kenny, tell him to lock the door before they get in here.” Solápé demanded.

       “Auntie Kenny?” I called out when she didn’t reply.

       “They got Auntie Kennie!” Pèlúmi wailed and started to cry.

The three of us found our way in the dark to the king size bed and huddled together in the center of it. I looked out into the dark in the general direction of the door, expecting it to burst open at any moment.

       “What have they done to her?” Pèlúmi sobbed against my back, her tears mixing with the sweat that was soaking through my tee shirt like a river.

       “How am I supposed to know!” Solápé snapped, her voice wobbling.

I knew she was fighting hard not to cry and that she didn’t mean to be short with Pèlúmi. The terror was doing crazy things to all of us.

       “Whhhhat is tttthat?” Pèlúmi asked shakilly, pausing her sobbing.

       “What?!” Solápé snapped.

       “Ttthat ssssound?”

We all listened and sure enough, there was some eerie noise coming from the direction of the door that we were reminded was still very unlocked. It sounded like a low hissing interspersed with some nerve racking clacking. It sounded familiar, in fact, I didn’t even have to think too deeply about it before recognizing the sound for what it was. It was the very last thing we’d heard just before NEPA took light and this horrible nightmare started: it was the sound of Medusa’s hiss and her rattling tail. And it was getting louder and closer. Pèlúmi and Solápé seemed to join the dots at the same time as me and for probably the umpteenth time that night, all hell broke loose and we did the mad dash in the dark for Mommie and Daddy’s en-suite bathroom. I slammed my shin into the corner of the bedpost and someone scratched out half of my face but I didn’t even notice a thing. All that mattered in that moment was making it through the five feet or so to the bathroom and safety. We fought our way to the bathroom and locked the door this time. We crowded into the bathtub and pulled the shower curtains for extra protection. Both girls started to wail and the only reason I didn’t join in was because I was probably shutting down from all the terror.

Next thing I knew was that Medusa started to push against the bathroom door. She rattled the doorknob a few times and then thumped on the door. My sisters shrieked and went crazy and used me as a human shield. The last thought that flickered across my mind as the lock gave way on the door and it burst open, flooding the bathroom with light (most definitely from Medusa’s blazing eyes) was I wished Mommie were here…

       “Akínkúnlé…” Medusa shrieked in Mommie’s sweet, sweet voice. I braced myself, wondering what it felt like to turn to stone.

Then someone paused the horror movie and pressed fast-forward to about thirty odd minutes later in the horror movie that our evening had become. Picture all four of us standing with our hands clasped behind our backs and staring intently at our toes while Mommie and Daddy gave us a serious tongue scalding. Yeah, Mommie and Daddy. There had been a storm (the reason for the black out) and their boat couldn’t leave for the island that night, so after dinner, they had returned home. Well, you can piece the rest of the story together. Titans at the door? Yours truly. Medusa starting to sing? Well, Daddy put on the generator on their way in and the movie started to play again (see how the thing just koba’ed us! Ain’t no way we can deny watching the forbidden movie now). Medusa at the bathroom door? Mommie trying to figure out why we were hiding out in the bathroom. Auntie Kenny being eaten by the Titans? Well, when we all freaked out at the front door, she’d heard Mommie’s voice behind the door and had opened the door instead of making a run for it like the rest of us.

Now you can bet your last penny that if anyone says “don’t touch that thing”, I’m running a million miles away from it!

Super Human: Kurt Wagner

The cabman nodded in silent greeting to the guard and popped his boot open. Another guard checked the boot and then went round the cab with an under-vehicle mirror, as the first one checked my pass and Id. In a few minutes, the cab drove down the driveway to the taxi drop off and I made my way to the entrance of the UN headquarters.

         “Good Morning Sir.” One of the security personnel greeted me with a smile. She had a subtle accent, which I couldn’t really place at that moment, probably East African.

         “Good Morning.” I replied.

         “Please place your personal belongings in the plastic bowls provided, then step through” She said.

I did as she asked and walked through the scanner. She smiled apologetically at me when it started to beep.

         “You’ll have to take off your belt and wrist watch Sir.” She said and I obliged. She was a breath of fresh air from her colleagues at Nnamdi Azikiwe Airport. Bloody numpties had received a tongue scalding from me. Infuriating part was that the insults were lost on them since they didn’t even understand a thing I said. Imbeciles.

When I finally made it through the scanners, she directed me to the registration area where I picked up my tag and schedule for the day.

         “Welcome Simon. The convention is holding in the first level Auditorium. The signs will guide you.” The receptionist said to me. “The Plenary sessions start in about 15 minutes. There’s a waiting area upstairs.”

         “Thank you very much.”

In the waiting area, I quickly scanned through the convention schedule. The convention had been organized by the United Nations Information Technology Service and I was giving a talk during the afternoon session.  My talk was scheduled for 3 pm and if everything went according to plan, I would be on the 7 o’clock flight back to Lagos that evening. My daughter was in town and I had a date with her the next morning which I had no intentions of missing. I had spoken with the co-ordinator, Nngoyomo Endiete, on my way in from the airport. I tried to call her again, to check in but the chatty lady seated on the sofa beside me had other ideas.

Are you from around here?

Oh, what’s Lagos like? I’ve only been there on a few occasions.

What do you do?

How long are you in Abuja for?

What are your plans for after the convention? I’ve lived here all my life, I can show you around.

That said with that little smile that I’ve seen more times than I care to talk about. She put a hand on my arm and started to say something else and it was in that instant that the deafening sound filled the air and the tremor shook the floor through my feet. Time seemed to slow down and I saw her eyes widen in fear as the realization of what was happening hit us both. We were going to die. The bay windows facing the front of the building blew out in a shower of glass shards and flying debris, and my ears started to ring and then went into the monotone beep. I felt like I’d been sucker punched as the sofa was lifted clear off the crumbling floor, throwing me back against the lady. Her grip on my arm tightened and I felt a sickening sensation that started from my stomach and spread into the core of me, like my insides were being sucked out into a vacuum. Just when I thought my eyes were going to pop from that all consuming force, everything went dark and I succumbed gratefully to oblivion.

*

I came to as we hit the ground in front of the US Embassy. The aftershock of the explosion was just hitting and the crowd of visa-hopefuls in front of the embassy was thrown into a panic. I’m not sure how long I was out for but it wasn’t long enough for the slip of a woman to have carried me all the way from the UN building. It didn’t even make sense that we had escaped the blast. I would later find out that we had been sitting directly above the spot where the car bearing the bomb had crashed into the reception area and the bomb had gone off. 

I sat up on the hard tarmac and looked into the seemingly ordinary face of the lady whose name I didn’t even know. It was bleeding from several glass cuts. Her eyes looked dazed, like she wasn’t quite sure of what was going on, and her hand, which was still gripping my arm, was trembling violently, most likely from shock.

         “What happened?” I croaked. My throat hurt from the effort it took to speak. “How did we get here?”

         “I don’t know!” she gasped, her eyes still giving off that glazed, unfocused look. “I… I was just so… I just didn’t want to die…”

It all didn't make any sense at all. I have never given much thought to the issue of my mortality. I know everyone will die one day but the how and when is not something I have thought about too deeply. Yes, I might have been somewhat vaguely aware of my mortality. Yes I do believe in there being something beyond death, the afterlife, some call it. Yes, I might even fancy the idea of extra-terrestrials and the notion of another planet out there with a life-form of some sort. I however do not believe in Super humans, or Super powers or mutants or magic and all that hogwash. I’m a practical man and I believe in absolutes, so the fact that the pretty lady who propositioned me actually teleported me away from certain death is something I still want to chalk up to some debris from the explosion whacking me hard on the head.

Conquering The Wench

I don’t like fizzy water. I never have. I thought I never would. It’s like drinking tasteless soda, which to me is pointless. Very pointless. The only reason I would subject my teeth and my body to soda’s assault is to enjoy that short-lived pleasure of sweetness on my taste buds. I don’t even like carbonated drinks to start with, so why on earth would I drink fizzy water!

Every time I saw someone take fizzy water, I would shudder, imagining that tasteless taste on my tongue and I would gag. Like seriously, It’s like paddling a boat on sand and wondering why you’re not getting anywhere. It’s like running on a treadmill to catch the bus. Basically, pointless!

Then one day, I was having a meal and started to choke and all there was within my reach was a bottle of fizzy water so I gulped it down. Then some other time, I drank it, just for the sake of it, just to prove to every crazy person out there who thought the idea of fizzy water was a great one, that they were crazy. And before I knew it, it didn’t seem so bad. From not so bad, it started to have a character of its own, the way the gas effervesces in your mouth, filling it up temporarily before the bubbles all pop, that tasteless taste that was full of abstract flavors, each one unique and telling your taste buds a different exotic secret of its own, the way it goes down your throat, still bubbling and popping…sigh. Now I’ve become the one who asks for fizzy water at restaurants or eateries and sighs long-sufferingly when she’s given the blank, uncomprehending stares.

And you know the very worst part of it all? Now that I have finally admitted how much in love I am with the infuriating thing, it is nowhere to be found! I think I have checked every single Supermarket in Lagos and the very best I have got is “Sorry, we just ran out.” It’s as if the silly thing is trying to make me pay for all the years of snobbery and turning up my nose at it and doing my mouth like they put ewúro in it. Sometimes, I wonder if it didn’t just come after me relentlessly, stopping at absolutely nothing to woo me just for the satisfaction of dumping me and stomping on my heart when it finally had it.

And you know how these things work, the more it eludes me, the more I want it. Even knowing as I do right now that this whole romance of ours was just a farce and it was all just a ploy at payback, doesn’t stop me from wanting it and craving it. I can just imagine it standing with its fellow carbonated drinks on a hidden shelf somewhere in Shoprite (probably in Portharcourt or Kano or Pluto), bragging with pride “I broke the Ice Queen, I climbed the tree no one else can, brought the Wench to her knees!” >:(

I hate and love the annoying thing in almost equal measure! Someone please, please get me a bottle of fizzy water… :’(

This Post has previously been published on Breakpoint.