This story is one of those that literally apparate into ones mind after experiencing the effect(s) of prevailing situations that make up our reality in the socio-political and economic context we find ourselves, and as they say, the writer is a product of his time(s), an accumulation of everything and anything that makes up his reality.
A few weeks ago, cruising through the very busy strips of Agege in a luxurious Keke Napep (that means tricycle, Lekki inhabitants and my non Nigerian readers 🙂 ), a peculiar sight caught my eye (well, mayhaps not so peculiar). A motorcycle with five passengers; a man, woman and three kids all stuffed into one scrawny motorcycle, with these Children laughing heartily ignorant to the potential peril their current situation posed to them. A terrifying sight, I do love kids so. Anyways, thus melancholia was born. I will fascinate you with details of what dialectic or deduction used to squeeze this out soon… (yh, like that’s going to happen)…….
I hope you enjoy reading this, as much as I savored putting down every word, every line, every paragraph…..
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The wind whipped at his face, slashing savagely, it stung like a throng of furious wasps attacking an aggressive intruder. Street corners rushed rapidly by, naked children screeched and twirled playfully in the pouring rain and incredulous faces of young and old folks gaped at him from hiding spots, avoiding the rain in stalls and shops. He flew by almost indiscernible in his flight. Muscles rippled with exertion and speed, heart rate tripled mixed with strain and fright, the hairs on his skin stood furiously releasing sweat from pores but hidden by the rain’s offspring.
Hot on his pursuit were men of different shapes and sizes, hooting like freshly-minted lunatics, their numbers growing ever so slightly but large enough to convince him of certain pain and annihilation should they catch up to him. They shrieked, jeered and chanted a “keyword” in rapid succession, a word that is capable of sending Lagosians into a mad frenzy of bloodlust. Hoodlums, spare part dealers, pharmacists and other assortments of individuals pursued him, he could feel the fiery presence of their rage bearing down on his back egging him forward and at the same time draining the strength out of him.
OLE! OLE!! OLE!!! (Translation; Thief)
That word, it bound them all into a terrifying-single killing unit made for one purpose and one purpose alone “red murder”, at that point their minds had become re-coded, the basic human restraints shut down and the low level animal-type ratiocination taken over. These were mindless bi-pedals wielding an assortment of weapons, screaming manically via vocal cords. There will be no mercy but that of excruciating death from them, neither will they feel an iota of shame in putting him down as they would a rabid dog.
Only one path was left to him, he had no choice. If he could make it into 3rd mainland bridge, there’d be a significant increase in his chances of survival, although it remained a slim one. But he would take his chances. The prospect of drowning far outweighed that of being stripped, mercilessly clubbed half to death then burnt. Aiku pushed further, ignoring the strain on his thighs and how heavy his body felt; he pushed on for his family – his wife and his children that stare despendently expecting death, or that little shove to take them off the precipice of existence into deathly nothingness. Even if he did not survive, he had to move the crowd further away from his son.
Fear, tears, resolution; Aiku pushed further. Almost there now, just a few more metres and you are home free, a few more metres and you may survive. Exhilaration filled him, and his lungs struggled to harvest more air. His mind geared him on as he ran past the intersection that led to Bariga on the right and Oworo to the left, down to the pedestrian that is right on the edge of the 3rd mainland bridge. Closing in with blood coursing through his ears and fatigue just a breath away, Aiku avoided a static bus on his path, totally focused on reaching the bridge, and the escape it offered.
The plank materialized from thin air. Aiku’s mind registered with misery what it meant, but his body was petrified at what came next and deaf to the course of action plotted by his mind, he was still slow to react. The plank arched down and struck him square on the chest with such force his teeth clattered, throwing him feet off the ground. The Sun and rain touched his face in elevation, the world froze then crawled to continuity in nano frames with his apperception clouded by fear-and a heightened awareness of his mortality. Aiku knew then that he had made a grievous error.
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Bamidele.
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He crawled out of his hiding spot, shirtless and filthy to the knees, exposing a makeshift sac made of two shirts tired together. Papa had given him the sac, telling him how he will beat “keregbe” out of him if he did not listen to all he said well. Papa wanted him to pack foodstuffs from the shop they just left.
“Bami, I will enter that shop now and then run out, that boy you saw inside will chase me, don’t run after us o, just hide and wait for like 10 minutes then look well well before you enter the shop. Pack sardine, indomie, and any other thing you can carry, you hear me so?”
“But daddy…”
“Shut up, I no wan hear anything, do as I say or Keregbe ma gbe e ti owo mi ba ba e (translation; a threat of merciless beating)
“Yes sir”
Papa had smiled then. Seems like a long time he and that boy have been playing police and thief now.
“I better go and carry what I need to carry before he comes back, keregbe must not gbe mi” he shuddered slightly, then skulked back into the shop….
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Aiku
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A willingness took over, initially felt by the heart then accepted as surety by the mind. It was not cowardice, but unwilling acceptance of what the situation purpoted. Escape was futile, death was certain. A deterministic approach to thought, his end had been pre-ordained before that point his body was so broken and immersed in pain it had became numb, or the point he had screamed for mercy as he was mercilessly smacked, planked and punched left right and center. No, his death was pre-determined as far back as the point before his decision to steal from his brother’s shop, right from the time he opened his eyes to behold a new day. If he had woken up earlier, he may have met his brother before he left. Or if his brother has left a wallet which will have necessitated his return to the shop, albeit it reached even further back to a time unknown shrouded by mist.
But, what ifs and more what ifs will not prove as salvation at this time. The gods have won, the stream of existence will flow on, undisrupted by the extinguishing of his low level being. A mere spark in the consuming furnace of life, a speck in the spectrum of nano-time, much lower than a microscopic being, more like a microscopic being 10 levels lower than the tiniest microscopic being, less than a dot in the grand scheme of things.
The line of causality flowed back further, the long thread of causes and the elements embedded therein. The government, poverty, his unwillingness to study whilst younger; drawing dependence on pure brawn rather than mental grit, his wife and so many kids.. The list was endless.
They were screaming still, chanting their barbaric eulogy to the latest victim of their wrath, borne of poverty, misplaced anger, violent yearning, lust for blood and mental retardation
“ole.. Burn am.. Kill am.. Where tyre?… Epo da?.. Esun .. Thief.. Your papa.. You go die”
A strong smelling liquid trickled down his back, and even with his nose broken three ways to hell, his eyes remodeled to various shades of purple, Aiku knew it was fuel. Suddenly, pain was rekindled, a different kind, born of flame and fire. Spits of the yellow beast crept up various points reproducing rapidly, spreading through all parts of his body like a billion ants released from extended confinement eating all in their path.
Aiku screamed…
Not a vocal scream, he was too weak for that and his throat had been crushed by several blows. He screamed with his eyes, he screamed in his mind, his soul wailed, struggling impatiently to be set free from this vessel, writhing feebly, his arms flaying weakly, bearing such excruciating pain, dragging him from the edge of the tunnel of life he so much held on to. Slowly the light of his being receded, making room for darkness to take root, to spread. Making room for darkness to “be” and the ceasation of life.
His last words were never heard… “Damn the gods…..” Even his name “Aiku” had not saved him this time.
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P.c – Google images
Word_smith 