My Un-Prodigal Brother

I hate travelling by mule. Grumpy, onerous creatures that I suspect want more than anything to tip you over at the first opportunity. And that waddling up and down motion that makes me feel sick, urrgh! Well, I am at least grateful to be travelling atop said mule, rather than trudging alongside it. There was just enough room for me to perch alongside the load it was carrying.

Dawn was still at least an hour away when our mule train reached the outskirts of the Galilean town of Sepphoris. My brother, Yaʿqob was waiting for me like he’d promised. It was on account of him that I’d had the long ride on the querulous mule. In fact, if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t even have any business in Galilee, not to talk of making my way there on foot with my meager possessions on my back. He had found some work for me with one of the merchants he did business with and had arranged for my transportation down to Galilee as well. I would have been able to afford to ride in a proper waggon if I hadn’t had to use some of the money to buy the threadbare cloak I was now presently wearing, as well as my shearing knife.

How did I come to this? How did I become this man?

Better not to think about that. At least, I have a cloak and some decent work. Just two sabbaths ago, I was not only tending swine, I was stealing their feed. Somethings are best left unthought of.

Yaʿqob embraced me as always, despite the unmistakable stench of swine on me.

          “How are you, Brother?” he asked, kissing my cheeks.

          “I’m well.” I replied, returning his kisses. “And yourself?”

          “God be praised. Hadassah sends her love and raisin cakes. She has not stopped weeping for you, Brother.”

My heart ached for our little sister and how she was still too young to understand my leaving.  Her innocent heart still could not fathom how complicated things had gotten between Father and I. She had been unable to bear our frequent disagreements and it had broken her heart to see our family torn apart.

I was never good enough and could never hope to be. Me leaving was best for everyone.

Despite all of that, my empty stomach growled at the thought of Hadassah’s cakes. It had been more than a full day since my last stolen pig-feed.

          “Tell her I long for her too.” I said to Yaʿqob, and he sighed in resignation. We’d had this conversation countless times before and we both knew how it would go.

          “Eliyahu….” He started, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder.

          “Brother, please don’t.” I said wearily. I was suddenly bone-tired, and not from the long journey and starvation. My heart felt hollowed out.

          “Just come back home to Nazareth.”

          “But how can I? after all that has happened?”

          “None of that matters!”

          “But it does!”

There are just somethings you don’t come back from. There are some things you can’t undo or un-say.

          “Father…”

          “…hates me! That is why he turned his back on me!”

Yaʿqob recoiled from me like I’d raised a fist to him.

“How can you even think that?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“He was never there in the times that I needed him!”

“That's not true!”

“Well, that's how it looked from where I was standing!”

“He would never shut you out, not even now...”

Yes, he shut me out of his heart, long before I did the unthinkable.

Yaʿqob had always been the better son. Older, wiser, more grounded, the responsible one, the loved one. There was no doubt that he was the very apple of Father’s eye, his pride and joy. As a little boy, all I ever wanted was to be like my golden older Brother whom I loved with my whole heart. I longed for his excellent spirit, and I hoped to win Father’s love like he had. Instead, it seemed like the older I got and the harder I tried, the more I messed up and the farther apart Father and I grew. I started to realize I could never get it right with him. I came to realize there was something wrong with us and there was nothing I could do to fix it. I started to wonder if he would ever love me like he loved Yaʿqob, if he even loved me at all. I felt the distance between us grow, and I could feel him judging me every time he looked at me, measuring me up against Yaʿqob, and finding me lacking.

All I ever wanted was to earn his love, be good enough.

I turned away from him, not wanting him to see how deeply it still hurt. Not even the months and months of partying and wild living had been able to dull that pain.

Leaving had been the only option. I couldn’t bear to stay another day knowing I was a failure. Shaming Father had been my payback for the anger and hurt.

          “We should go. The shearing will begin soon.” I said, grabbing my tiny pack from the ground. I thought Yaʿqob would protest and try to reason with me some more, but he didn’t.

We mounted the fresh mules my brother had acquired from his inn keeper, and rode through the empty streets in silence, each one lost in his own thoughts. Soon, we saw the flickering lights of the shearing shed in the distance. I hoped that Yaʿqob’s friend had at least half as many sheep as Father did. That would mean I would earn about two days’ wages, three if I was lucky. Hopefully, enough to tide me over until I could find some more work. Maybe I would strike gold, and other shepherds would bring their sheep to be sheared and I would have work for up to a fortnight.

At the gates, we embraced, Yaʿqob holding on to me one moment longer.

          “I will see you again soon, Brother.” He said.

          “Thank you Yaʿqob. For everything.”

          “Phineas knows to expect you. He will treat you fairly.”

          “God’s blessings, Brother.” I kissed his hand, and he rode on towards Ginosar.

I tethered my mule to a post, and then made my way into the shed. A few other shearers had arrived before me, and I was approaching one of them to ask about Phineas when I saw him. Even in the dim light, there was no way I could have missed that distinct plane of his shoulders, the graceful way he moved among the men. My heart leapt in my chest and then froze.

Dear God, what is he doing here! How can he be here?

I turned around and stumbled out of the shed. How can this be? What was Father doing all the way in Galilee, so far from our pasture lands? He was wealthy enough to hire the best shearers in all of Israel, yet he decides to come to a small town in Galilee? And he didn’t even send the shepherds, he came himself!

You meddling fool, Ya’qob, what have you done?

I should have known he would do something like this! I should have known. Did Father put him up to it? Did he want me to come begging for mercy?

I’d do it in a heartbeat if it would mean he would love me just a tiny bit. I would grovel just to get his acceptance.  But how do I ever face him again?

Blindly, I groped at the knots on the rope tethering my mule.

The things I said, the horrible, hateful things I said to him. How do I ever look him in the face again?

My pack slipped from my trembling fingers as I struggle with the knots and crumpled to the ground. At the back of my mind was the thought that Hadassah’s raisin cakes would be crushed.

It’s too late for us. The damage is irreparable.

I gave up on the knots and grabbed my pack from the ground. I stumbled away from the shed, not caring which direction I was going in. I desperately needed to run, to hide, to get as far away as I could.

I’m sorry Father. I’ve failed you yet again. I’m doing what I do best, I’m running away.

I heard the gate creak open behind me. I kept walking, breathing fast and hard.

I’ve sinned against heaven and against you. I’m not worthy to be your son. I never was.

The tears came hard and fast, and I didn’t bother to wipe them away.

          “Eliyahu?”

Even from the distance, I could hear the tremble in the voice. I froze for a moment. I was probably imagining things. For starters, why would he come after me? And then, what was that emotion I thought I heard in the voice?

          “Eliyahu!”

His voice was stronger, and I dared to entertain the thought that that was hope I heard in it. And love. And desperation. And a myriad of emotions I never thought anyone would ever show towards me. I stopped my rambling walk, still breathing hard.

I can’t do this. I’m not ready to face him. Oh, the shame!

          “My son!”

Was that a sob I heard?

Take a chance on him, he loves you… Ya’qob’s voice floated through my mind.

Shaking uncontrollably, I turned towards the voice of my Father, and what I saw nearly brought me to my knees. My Father was running towards me…

*

I have sometimes wondered about the un-prodigal son. I wonder if, just if, instead of being the pissed-off brother, he’d been the one to go after his brother to bring him home because he saw just how much his absence was killing their father. I wondered how that story would have panned out if he’d been the instrument of reconciliation.

In a round-about way, you were that version of the un-prodigal son. Even though I doubt you ever realized it, you helped bring me back home at a time that I was so desperately lost, and you forced me into a place of confrontation with my Father. Thank you! Thank you for being an important part of my story. I’m so sorry I never told you that. I can’t possibly say how bloody much I’m going to miss you.

Justice According To Vengeance: Simon's Story

Simon Bólárìnwá seems to have it all; wholesome good looks, a thriving business, his pick of Lagos’ most beautiful and intelligent women, and a luck that seems far from running out. Best of all, he has the love and adoration of Rèmí, his 10-year-old daughter, who is the nucleus of his entire world.

His perfect life is turned wrong-side-down when one chance encounter leaves him living his worst nightmares and embarking on a quest that is nothing short of crazy. It’s left to Ese, his best friend, to put a stop to the madness that ensues before it’s too late.

As the final showdown begins between Simon and the man who took everything from him, Ese is faced with some terrifying demons of her own. Will she be in time to save Simon before his crazy brand of justice destroys him?

Now available on Amazon in Paperback and Kindle format, OkadaBooks, Book Depository, and other online stores.

Princess Diaries: New Papa

Dear Mr. AJ, 

Hey SB,

First and foremost, I think congratulations are in order so from one Princess-Daddy to another, welcome to the club of the Elite! 

Thank you so much. This is indeed an elite club (this I’ve found out in the past weeks) not for the weak hearted!

I’m sure you know by now that this changes everything. From that first amazing moment you hold a Princess in your arms and look into that beautiful and seemingly helpless face, the power-shift happens and a new Boss takes over. 

Things have not only changed, I vaguely remember my life before the first beautiful Wednesday in November ’16. I wonder what I’d been doing and what my life even comprised of! Yep! That’s how much Oluwamayomikun took over! She was brought out immediately after delivery and handed to me. It took a lot to hold the tears, my eyeballs were just floating in tears. She was so tiny and big at the same time. Like, human beings come this tiny and don’t break?! And, wait! All of this was in The Mrs' womb? I’ve always said babies are not born beautiful, this one was an exception. I literally felt a tug and a squeeze on my heart, I ran out of breath just standing and looking at her and saying a prayer of gratitude to the Most High.

She will bring sunshine and colour and texture and flavour into your life and only then will you become aware of all the grey, flat plains that were in it before now (especially if you were a self-absorbed wuss like I was). You’ll be amazed at all you’ll learn from your tiny little tot, about life, about yourself, about mundane things you didn’t even know existed. Best of all, you’ll learn a new kind of loving, giving and receiving it. 

Colour and sunshine she did bring. Colour first though, never imagined a room could be so full or colours and not hurt the eyes, but The Mrs worked her magic and I absolutely love her room. It’s even comforting in itself. I’m sure you know how even watching a baby cry can be a beautiful experience! Sleeping, playing, crying, smiling, laughing, whatever she’s doing, she's just captivating. You know, saying I love her so much doesn’t even convey the feelings. I’m not sure anything I can say or do can fully express the depth of love I have for her. I’m just always in a state of 'what else can I do for her?', and how? Or when? Gosh! Someone said I’ve been softened. I scoffed to form macho, but me I know, I’ve become butter.

You’ll learn anew the meaning of vulnerability and how utterly beautiful and fulfilling it can be. You’ll discover the hero in you, not just for your Princess but for yourself. You’ll get more than just a few grey hairs (oh yes you will!) and come to see each one as a badge of honour that you’re immensely proud of.

Grey hairs! I have ‘em. I know exactly how many more strands I’ve gotten in my beard since November 2, ’16, and I’m immensely proud of every mm (if you guys do imperial, read: inches) of them.

Each day will bring its own little treasure and I wish I could possibly put to words all the wonder and adventures that await you but I couldn’t possibly do it if I tried. And even if I could, nothing, absolutely nothing can compare to actually unwrapping each precious treasure for yourself. You are in for a great ride my friend, congratulations! 

"Treasures in earthen vessels" has just been redefined for me. Each moment is a treasure in itself. Sometimes, I think I will pass out from being full of joy at the littlest things she does.  I’ve had my sleep cut drastically, I should be upset, yeah? Hell no! I wake up and wait for her to wake up so I can ‘rush’ to her room and bring her to The Mrs to nurse. Sometimes, I think I mentally wake her up sef :D This has to be the best ride life has to offer!

I know as the days roll into years, you’ll start to collect your own Princess-Diary memories. They will become some of your most prized possessions so treasure them, savour them, luxuriate in them. I hope that we can get to share our treasures with each other and I hope our precious Princesses get to know each other as well. 

I’ll confess this right now, I’ve never taken as many pictures of anyone as I have taken of Oluwamayomikun. Mostly solos of her, sometimes with dad selfie :D, or the whole (that sounds awesome) family ussie :D. Opened an email for her, I plan to leave emails now and then and milestones of her life. I’m like gathering every info and moments I can of her and trying to store them. Sometimes, I feel silly, but the good kind – not like there’s any other kind :D Absolutely looking forward to another ‘run in’ and sharing more of these moments, while watching our treasures play and probably do girl stuff.

Here’s Mayomikun in her car seat. I love that she loves being in the car seat, so we can easily hit town.

Till we meet again, probably in another dressing room with your little girl in tow, I remain yours’ Knightedly,

SB

I do have to run and get outta the office and head home to this awesome lil lady.

New Papa 

Death And The King's Horse

The air was thick with the smell of manure and the distinctive scent of horseflesh. In the stall at the far end of the stable, a thorough bred neighed and stamped his hoofs. It was getting dark and the crickets were starting up their special rendition of the night’s symphony. With the setting sun came a light breeze, which lifted the heat and humidity that had settled like a smothering blanket during the day.

I stood very still, my eyes adjusting to the dimming light, taking in the sounds, breathing in deeply. I didn’t pay the mosquitoes buzzing around my head any mind. I loved this place with the last drop of blood in my veins. I had been born here, had played in the open fields that sprawled for miles and miles as far as I could see with my siblings and numerous cousins until I grew too old for frolicking. When I was old enough, I’d started my lessons right here, going lap after lap around the tracks that circled the property. This place was all I’d known and all I cared to know.

I heard a familiar neighing in the distance and I stilled my breathing, straining to hear, listening with more than my ears. I recognized his voice immediately, he had returned! In contrast to my stilled breathing, my heart started a gallop that matched that of the fastest and strongest of the horses. My galloping heart pounded in my chest, just as it had done that day when I’d first set my eyes on him, and every single time since then. I finally let out the breath I’d been holding and took another deep, long one, a feeling of contentment and serenity settling over me. I let my eyes drift shut as I listened intently to the sounds of his footsteps as they approached. The air seemed to tingle with a charged sense of electricity as he drew closer. He had that kind of effect. He only had to walk into a space to set it a-buzz and everyone, both man and beast, couldn’t help paying attention. He was like a breed set apart from mere mortals, majestic and terrifying all at once, like royalty itself.

I imagined his deep brown eyes on my face, intent like they always were, like he could see right through me, straight into my very soul. I shook my head slightly, letting my beautiful mane of hair cascade and ripple down my long, beautiful neck. He’d sought me out in the dark, not needing any guidance or beacons to light the way, one heart calling silently to another, their thudding synchronizing like ukulele strings in resonance.

My lover was home!

He blew through his nose and circled around me, prancing in the dominant strut of the alpha male. I was his and he was mine as surely as there was night and day.

The Horseman came in after him with a hurricane lamp, which he placed on a stoop. He watched us for a few moments with reflective eyes. If I hadn’t been so excited, I would have noticed the air of foreboding the Horseman had brought in with him. I would have noticed that he didn’t speak to us in that affectionate way that was characteristic of him. In fact, he didn’t speak at all, he just watched us with unseeing eyes. Even the stable boys seemed subdued and stood afar off, like they were giving the Horseman a sacred moment alone with us.

In the distance, I could hear the beating of drums and a horn belting out a mournful song. It sounded like a dirge and a celebration all at once, mournful yet jubilant. The sound was the one that planted the seed of unrest in my belly and it grew with the sound.

         “Oba waja.” Elésin finally said, in an almost reverent whisper.

Esin Oba whinnied against my neck and stamped his hoofs. I could feel the pent up energy within him. It poured out on me in waves and waves, increasing my feeling of foreboding.

         “My friend, this is the moment we were both born for, the moment we have lived for.” Elésin said, running a hand through Esin Oba’s mane. Esin Oba threw back his head and neighed loudly, stirring up the other horses in the barn.

I looked at him, trying to catch his eyes. I knew something was afoot, but I had no idea what it was.

Quietly, Elésin took off Esin Oba’s bridle and harness and handed it to one of the stable boys. He ran a gentle hand down his leg and lifted his foot to pick his hoof and remove his horseshoe. One by one, he lifted and un-shoed all four hooves and then proceeded to brush Esin Oba down while I just looked on. As Elésin wiped Esin Oba's beautiful, magnificent face with a damp cloth, man and horse locked eyes on each other and something passed between them, an understanding that knotted their destinies together. I couldn’t have felt more afraid and alone than I felt in that moment, standing in that crowded barn while Elésin combed Esin Oba’s mane and tail. The stable hands stood reverently around us in the eerie glow of the hurricane lamp, hands clasped in front of them and eyes down. Someone struck up a dirge, humming gently under their breath while Elésin finished up his little ritual. It was after that that Esin Oba finally looked at me.

This is how it must be my Love.

No it isn’t!

This is destiny, mine and his. We must make haste to join our king.

Says who? We didn’t ask for this!

It is a gift, the highest honour bestowed by the gods. I shall journey on with my king and we shall conquer in the afterlife as we did in this one.

What about me? Where does all this leave me? Who finishes my journey with me?

You my Love will remain always, the Bride of the Conquering One, the Mother of my children. You will be the envy of all, the pride of our clan.

But I don’t want to be envied, I don’t want to be a hero. I just want you…

With the dirge swelling up to fill the barn, bursting my head and shattering my heart, Elésin led Esin Oba out of the barn into the dusk.

-->

Ojúróngbé Àrèmú

Commander of the King’s horses

 Akínkanjú, Esin Oba

You, between whose ears the wind of heaven blows

Today you shall soar with him

And trot the air

With you his companions, he shall ride the sky

The earth shall sing no more at the touch of your hoofs

Àjànàkú lo, ó dìgbère. 

                      

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.

Cougar Town

“Hey Babes, can you pass me a fiver?” Noah called out to me. We were at a KFC Drive-Through and he had his head stuck out his window to place our order.

I love KFC chicken and I think it is the Holy Grail of chicken and if anyone dares disagree with me on that, I’ll be bringing out the claws. So, this beautifully freezing Saturday morning, I made him drive through Clapham Common despite the traffic we were bound to face, all so I could get my chicken-fix.

            “I haven’t got a fiver.” I said as Beyonce’s Smash Into You came on the radio. The moment couldn’t have been anymore perfect. I had my favorite person in the world, Robb Howard seemed to be reading my mind and I was two minutes away from chicken-heaven, Ah-mean, what more could a girl ask for?

 “Will a twenty do?” I asked.

“Nah, can you check the cubbyhole?” he replied.

I reached into the cubbyhole and made a face at the junk inside of it. I was crazy about the guy and he ranked up there along with my beloved KFC chicken (which really is saying something) but mehn, his car was the stuff of nightmares.

I met Noah about two years ago at a friend’s party. It had been one of those Naija parties where there was no Jollof rice (someone once said that a party without Jollof is like a Funeral and I totally agree) and the chicken they served had been fried to a crisp (why oh why can’t everyone learn from KFC and save a girl unnecessary heart ache?!), so you can imagine how very miserable I was at the party. He’d been the only non-black person (for lack of a better expression) at the party and he automatically qualified as the listening ear to my elaborate moaning and gripping about the state of the food. Don’t judge me so quick, he also couldn’t identify with the food, seeing as he’d never had fried plantain before in his life and hadn’t even realized that the gizzard of a bird was edible.

We’d hit if off from there and became fast friends. It’s a wonder we hadn’t met before then because we seemed to have the same circle of friends. We became a couple a little over three months ago and his Iranian-German-Celtic ancestry hadn’t bothered me one bit. My mother always did say I was a rebel and that I would be the one to send her to an early grave with my wahala (so she’s been saying for the last few decades and I wonder if she realizes she’s no spring chicken anymore).

“You’ve got just pennies in here…oh found it!” I exclaimed, fishing out the five-pound note.

“Thanks Babes.” He said taking it from me.

“What’s your licence doing in all this junk?” I asked, bring it out of the cubbyhole as well.

“I leave it in there because I almost always forget my wallet at home.” He said driving, to the pick-up window.

“Like seriously!” That was so, so typical of him. If it was possible, he would forget himself at home sef.

“Yup.”

“You look like someone stole your bread!” I said, laughing at the picture on the licence.

“Haha!” he retorted dryly.  He was quite used to my Naija ways by now. The laughter died on my lips when I spied the D.O.B on the licence.

“Wait, is this for real?!” I asked, incredulous.

“What?”

I looked from the piece of plastic to his face in utter disbelief.

“Your date of birth!” I replied, breathless.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” he asked looking at me in that open, unassuming way of his. How could he be so calm when me I was mentally running down the street screaming and tearing out my hair!

“Did you know that I’m older?!”

Five years older! Oh Lord!!! He’d thrown me a surprise party for the big 3-0 last month, so of course he knew!

            “Why, yes I do.” He said simply, still giving me that look and I wanted to scream for real this time.

            “And???!!!”

            “And what?”

He collected our order and the smell of deep-fried chicken filled the insides of the car but I almost didn’t notice.

            “And that doesn’t bother you?!”

He looked at me like I was crazy.

            “Why would it?” He said. “I love you Babes and that’s all that matters. Who cares if you’re from Mars?”

What?!!!!! He didn’t just drop a bombshell and then slap me with the “L” word!!!

He pulled out of the drive-through, humming along with Bey like all was well with the world and the sky was blue.

This Post has previously been published on Breakpoint.

My Portrait Of You

The shrill sound of my phone roused me from a deep, dreamless sleep. For a moment, I felt dazed and disoriented and couldn't for the life of me figure out where I was or why. My head felt heavy and woozy and I imagined this was how an over-ripe water melon felt. I reached for the phone, or at least attempted to. The dull ache in my neck and my rubbery arms confirmed my suspicions that I'd fallen asleep at my desk.

"Hello!" I croaked into the phone just as the person at the other end rang off. In that split moment before the line went dead, I thought I'd caught the sound of a voice. I didn't know if it had all been my imagination or the ripe fruit waiting to burst out of my head, but I couldn't help feeling that if only I'd been a fraction of a second earlier, I would have just caught the voice and somewhere just out of reach of my subconscious was the speaker's identity. I was going to return the call but the caller had withheld the number. Just great!

I got up from my desk feeling stiff in the clothes I'd had on yesterday. I decided to take a bath and get on with the day even though it was just a few minutes shy of 4 am but of course there was no running water yet again. Knowing it was still too early for the meruwa to be pushing their water charts about, I resigned myself to starting the day with the sickly sweet smell of stale sweat. I pushed the windows open all the way and the netting too, ignoring the mosquitoes that immediately swarmed around my head, their love songs buzzing in my ears. I pulled myself up onto the window seat and stared down at the streets of Igbosere. In the darkness, it all looked peaceful, beautiful even. It was hard to believe that in just a couple of hours, these same streets would be transformed into the chaotic entity the world thought it knew. At that moment, it was all quite, shrouded in the seeming solemnity that bellies the madness that is Lagos. It brought back memories of another morning like this one, me, up well before dawn and having absolute no idea what the day would bring: another dull day of lectures and papers to hand in, or news that would change your life forever. Somewhere in the darkness, someone started to belt out some drunken tune, fracturing the serene picture. I sighed. So much for my little daydream, or rather dawn-dream. My drunk companion seemed to be weaving his way towards my building because his voice started to get loud enough for me to hear. Or should I say her. I really am not sure but what I'd taken as a drunk's voice actually turned out to be probably the most hauntingly beautiful sound I've ever heard. I had no idea what song it was, I couldn't even make out the words but the voice was soothing and for a few seconds, I was able to forget everything, past and present, and I let it wrap me up in its cocoon. As slowly as it had drawn close to me, it faded into the pre-dawn gloom and the world was silent again for a moment or two before a bus conductor's voice shattered it. Lagos had come to life.

When I finally got my act together and set out for work, I felt a tad better. At least, my neck didn’t ache so bad if I was mindful not to move it and I’d managed to cover up the mosquito bites on my arms with a long sleeved shirt despite the temperature being somewhere in the forties. Just the way random and totally unrelated thoughts can sometimes interfere with your thought process, I remembered the sun beating down fiercely on me that Wednesday morning a million years ago and how numb and ethereal I’d felt. While waiting at the bus stop, my phone rang and the call that woke me up came to mind. I fished the phone out of my bag, my fingers starting to tingle, not with pins and needles this time but with anticipation, you know, that feeling you get when you’re so sure you’re close to unravelling some mystery. My bus rocked up just then and I made a dash for it along with what seemed like half of Lagos. I snagged a seat by the window and hit the green button desperately hoping I wasn’t too late again this time.

            “Hello!” I gasped as the woman who’d wrestled her way onto the bus after me squashed me into the side of the bus.

            “Hey, you there?!” And just like that, my bubble burst and I felt the crushing weight of disappointment even though I’d really had no idea what I’d been hoping for.

            “Mr Ahmed?!” I said as the very generously proportioned woman beside me forced what little air I had left in my lungs out.

            “Are you on your way in yet?” He asked.

            “Yes…” I choked.

            “Something’s come up on site. You need to head there now.”

            “What? Why?! I’ve got a meeting with…”

            “I’ll take care of the meeting. Head straight to site and sort out whatever the issue is.” He replied curtly.

            “But…”

The line went dead and it was all I could do not to scream in frustration. In all fairness, I really didn’t have any air left in my lungs for a scream, but a girl is allowed her theatrics right? Trust my colleague-from-hell to pull rank on me and dump me in the deep end. Never mind that the only “rank” he had on me was a six month head start at the company and maybe six odd years in age. That was his style and I didn’t expect any better from him, but still, it  made me spitting mad that he always made me do all the dirty work and he took all the credit. I imagined my generously proportioned neighbour wrapping her beefy hands around his scrawny neck and giving him a good shake!

Typical of Lagos weather, the temperature that had been threatening to boil us all alive less than twenty minutes before, dropped suddenly and it actually started to rain. I sighed in resignation. On top of everything else, I was going to get drenched as well. I heaved my biggest poor-me-everything-is-so-unfair sigh and stared out the window absently as the bus crawled through rush-hour traffic. Across the road from me were two little kids, no more than about three or four years old. They had probably slipped out of home when their mum wasn’t looking, and they ran out into the rain with their arms flung out and screaming in glee. I watched them jump and splash in rain puddles like it was the very best thing in the entire world. One of them raised his face to the sky like he wanted to kiss the rain and I could see the sheer delight on his little face. I could almost feel each individual rain drop hit his face, feel the exciting shock of cold water-balls on soft skin, feel the rivulets they formed as they charted their course down his face, slipping into the cracks between his eyelids, streaming down the slopes of his cheeks, into the hollows of his ears, falling onto his little pink tongue. I felt suspended in time even as the boy disappeared from my line of sight and in that moment, I forgot all about my anger and frustration and self-pity and the fight went out of me. There really is nothing as humbling as a three year old raining on your pity party, pun intended, and that gave me quite a bit to chew on.

At my stop, I got off the bus using my hand bag as a make-shift umbrella. Literarily two seconds later, a jeep zoomed by and covered me from head to toe in muddy rain water. That definitely wiped every last image of magical rain drops from my mind! I gasped in shock and disbelief and then quickly spat out as some of the filthy water got in my mouth. Then another vehicle passed by and I got a second, more thorough dousing. I had absolutely no idea whether to laugh or cry or scream or tear my hair out. If there had been anything child-like about me right then, it definitely had nothing to do with the simplicity and innocence I’d seen no more than ten minutes earlier, I desperately wanted to stamp my feet and throw a mighty tantrum! I angrily wiped the muddy water from my face, gritting my teeth, and it was then that I saw it. Just pushing its way out of the dark, angry clouds was the faint outline of a rainbow. I stood there on the side of the road, shivering and dripping from head to toe like a drowned chicken, staring in wonder at the rainbow and all I could think was that life had never felt as beautiful as it did right then. 

Looking back now on the events of today, I realize it doesn’t always matter how bleak and dreary life might seem. All it takes is a voice at the other end of the line or a beautiful song at dawn, dancing in the rain or a rainbow after a storm to bring out the beauty and to turn those shades of grey into splashes of vibrant colours. And that was how you lived, in full colour, no matter what. You always saw the cup as full, regardless of what filled it, whether it was air,  water, a little bit of both, or even coke (I remember you always did love coke!) and that is how I remember you, always seeing the silver lining, not just the storm. Love you babes, still miss you like crazy…