by Abeni Inks
Northern Nights
Abeni
Copyright © 2020 Abeni
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means electronical or mechanical,nor in any form of binding or cover than that in which it is published without prior permission in writing from the author.
- For dreams. And all who believe
Before Time...
“We’ve run out of assignment for new gods”
Olodumare; the infinite, endless breath, King of gods, convener of the Council of Immortals and life-force of the universe sighed.
The universe sometimes birthed incorruptible souls.
Humans with the fierce hearts of warriors' and spirits of noble royalty.
The Council had long deigned to grant them divinity.
Godhood. Liaison between human and divine. Eternal Emissaries. But the universe created more men than the Council of Immortals had assignments for.
“Akudaaya!”
Those whose deaths become life. The Undying.
A hush fell on the Council.
Olodumare had just created demigods. They who would enjoy humanity whilst sipping from cups of divinity.
“Ase!”
The Council rose. It was done.
Prologue
2002
You know my name is…
Arghhh!
Hi Demilade, how’re you today?
Naaah. She’ll roll her Bambi eyes at that!
You’re the best part of my dreams most nights...
Really?! Who died and said we must humiliate ourselves, hanging by our balls?
His palms covered his face. Massaged his forehead... supplication that his brain please work better.
Why are we being cheesy?
Can’t we speak plain and loving like Lagbaja?
His tilted lips curved upwards at the thought of his father. Alias Lagbaja.
Lover boy extraordinaire. King of words that stirred the heart and soothed the soul.
A twinkle stole into his eyes.
Beautiful Demilade, will you be mine?
In his mind she swooned into his arms; defences reduced to nothing.
He dusted nothing off his uniform.
Brushed his Bata sandals till the leather shone, begged for mercy, and promised to stay immaculate until the girl was won.
He parted his hair.
Combed the loose curls till they submitted to his gentle coaxing.
This was #WinOrWin.
The number of times he caught her gaze on his hair any random day suggested it was maybe the best asset in his arsenal.
He strolled to the full-length mirror in the middle of the room. Assessed the young Adonis it reflected back.
A satisfied smile lifted his cheeks.
Demilade would be his.
Chapter 1
Ifekunle’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the steering. Rising and falling one after the other; in cadence with the music filling the Corolla Sport.
Speed breakers in front of the Neuropsychiatric Hospital demanded that the car slow down. Egg-rolls; lush and round in clingy nylons were pressed against his windows.
"Egg roll Sah. Fresh eggroll."
"Buy chips Uncle. Fifty fifty naira."
Unripe plantain chips winked at him. Long and sunshine yellow in colour. Promising and beckoning. Dangling from hands too close to the window for safety. Or comfort.
Ifekunle frowned. Shrugged off the unease. It wasn’t the life children should be exposed to but, could he save all of them?
Gross poverty was the real federal character. That the government was yet to symbolize it on the national coat of arms was simply testament of their collective ignorance.
Or is it a deliberate attempt to keep the hapless masses hopeful? Ploy to ensure they are eternally hungry, and grateful for crumbs tossed in exchange for votes in election years?
His lips tilted to the left and lifted in response to his thoughts. The voice in his head wasn’t a very serious somebody, was it?
Almost on cue his stomach rumbled. Loud and rather rude. He rolled his eyes in mock drama, stole a glance at the digital display on his wrist.
12:22pm.
He had made good time on the journey as he’d hoped. Perhaps it was finally time to eat some of the fresh akara and tapioca mother had packed and bully-coaxed into his arms. The thought of 1Aya Lagbaja’s perfectly round balls of akara filled with chopped onions and peppers on his taste buds caused his stomach to rumble again. It was definitely time to eat.
2"Baba yi ki lo de?"
"Aaah! A ti si moto wo o!"
"Oloriburuku wo ni mo ba rin leni tori Olorun?"
3"Awon iya laya yin l’oloriburuku. Eyin mo moto wa l’e se wo soole?"
The bus jumped hard; speeding into yet another pothole large enough to bathe a child in. Words cut in the throats of cussing passengers.
4Baba Mufu enjoys shutting people up with the surprises of his excellent driving. Had he not spent all his life driving the worn out, eternally deteriorating roads? Why would people who haggled transport fares so badly he could barely pay touts, fuel the bus buy four sachets of pelebe and a meal think they could dictate how he should manoeuvre the bus? Shouldn’t their concern merely be that they got to their destinations?
A satisfied grin lifted his lips to reveal tobacco stained teeth with a gap tooth right in the middle; credence to his legitimacy in the business of ferrying people from garages and along the Abeokuta-Iseyin road.
5Ewo ni werey gan? S’eran le ro p’e ko sinu moto ni? Tie duro na, je ki n bole.
Baba Mufu grinned again. He knew this type.
The young man whose jaw hung low on a dramatically twisted face like those of a garage tout in a brawl was trying to rile him. A gimmick to raise a furore, so he could escape in its middle without paying the fare.
Did the untrained bastard eyeing him challengingly in the rear-view mirror imagine it was for nothing that Baba Mufu had likely been plying the roads before he got out of baby pants?
He pressed down on the accelerator.
Leaned forward and increased the volume of rickety speakers from where a harsh voice hailed a rich lawyer man with a doctor wife in London.
However loud anyone wished to complain, there would be no more drop offs on the road. He was heading straight to the park where boys well trained to be wilder than this one would ensure everyone paid every kobo owed him.
The bus burst out into the roundabout to squealing brakes, loud curses and swears from other drivers who had the right of way. Baba Mufu’s mind was stuck on the calculation of completing the roundabout in 30 seconds flat.
He wouldn’t have to tarry long enough for the aspiring thug or any other passenger to escape via the empty windows.
He did not check to confirm that the other side of the road was not clear. Nor did he see the Corolla Sport a hair’s breath away from the roundabout.
He rammed straight into the car. Hit his brakes desperately as the wheels screamed and back tyres lifted off the paved road.
Baba Mufu flung his door open, was out of the bus and running towards the car before the bus' back tyres returned to the road with a violent jolt.
It was too late.
* * *
1. Aya Lagbaja: Lagbaja's wife
2. Baba yi ki lo de? This man, what’s the problem?
Aaah! A ti si moto wo o! Aaah! We have entered the wrong vehicle
Oloriburuku wo ni mo ba rin tori Olorun? Which unfortunate soul did I journey with, for God’s sake?
3. Awon iya la ya yin l’oloriburuku. Eyin mo moto wa l’e se wo soole?
It’s the mothers of your mothers who are unfortunate. If you can drive why did you board a vehicle from the roadside?
4. Baba Mufu: Mufu's father
5. Ewo ni werey gan? What is this madness exactly?
S’eran le ko sinu moto ni? Is it animals you’re ferrying?
Tie duro na, je ki n bole. Just wait. Let me alight
Chapter 2
Baby baby! Na so you dey do me
That thing you do before, I like the feeling!
- Brymo, Fe Mi (Tabula Rasa)
They were getting worse in Cupid’s enchantment, Chief Awonla thought.
He had just reached for his phone to call his wife when it rang with a call from her. He smiled, answered the call and felt his heart skip a silly beat when her voice tingled his ears from the Bluetooth earpiece.
“Lagbaja!”
There was alarm in her voice but he was too seduced to respond to it.
1“Aya e”
She giggled and he closed his eyes. Let it wash over him. Shooing all pending concerns aside.
“There was a slight tremor here. Did it get to yours?”
He frowned.
“About a minute ago? I thought it was from the construction next door. Nigeria hasn’t become seismic; or have we?”
“Will you call Ifekunle? We don’t know how far this thing reached but since he’s on the road...”
“Of course, Adiaha. We don’t want my rival driving on undulating earth.”
She giggled, called him an 2agbaya monkey, and he said her great grandfathers were also monkeys. They ended the call with her threatening to lock him out of the house. Still laughing, Chief Awonla dialled Ifekunle’s number. He sighed as it rang heedlessly. His son was notorious for staying off the phone while driving.
He navigated to local news channels seeking information. There was no mention of the tremor. Google had no search results for earth tremors in Nigeria. And twitter, home of eternally chattering fingers, was ominously quiet.
Ifekunle lifted his head from his knuckles and his eyes shot open.
“Apes! Hadn’t I left here?”
He frowned at the immaculate orderliness of his desk. He could have sworn he was on the way to Iseyin via Abeokuta just a second ago. He looked round. Had he slept off and dreamt the journey while still in the office? His mind often hoodwinked him like that, true. But that only happened when he was running on excessive sleep deficit; which he had religiously avoided all week in preparation for the long journey.
How much time have we… The apes?!
How had the day sped to 3pm?
He had gotten to the office at 6:30a.m. After staying home just long enough to collect the akara his mother had woken early to fry and pack for him.
He had slept for 9 whole hours?!
That had never happened to him. Never ever in his history of fitful sleepiness!
His teeth ground against themselves and his palms massaged his temple.
He’d have to return home. Journeying to Iseyin at that hour would be a lesson in frustration, and he didn’t voluntarily sign up for those.
But oh! Lagbaja and his girlfriend were definitely going to stare in utter disbelief and laugh till their teeth shook. Then they would take note of this story as yet another embarrassing tale for when the grandchildren came along. Ifekunle sighed.
There was going to be no winning tonight.
* * *
1. Aya e: His wife
2. Agbaya: (jocular) Bad adult
Chapter 3
So many darn colours
Demilade had just rounded the corner of the administrative block and was bombarded by a world of competing brightness.
The U-shaped storey building opposite the administrative block was alive with animals and objects lettering A-Z. Painted in 3D life-size drawings; they were an artistic welcome departure from kwashiokorish portraits squeezed on playground or fence walls.
A smile pursed her lips, lifted their sides and dimpled her cheeks. She was heading down decades of memory when a bell rang and a roar of many voices filled the air.
Now the day is o-over
Night is drawing near
Shadows of the evening
Steal across the skies…
It sounded like a mismatched orchestra of contagious enthusiasm and Demilade chuckled.
Oh sweet innocence of childhood!
"Oow!"
A bundle of lunch pack, backpack and little girl ran out of the administrative block and straight into Demilade.
"Sowwy. I’m sowwy Ma."
The little girl with curly hair packed into a bun rose off her back and to her knees; head bowed in contrition. Demilade walked around her to pick the food pack and its displaced contents. When she returned little shoulders were shaking.
Plop. Plop
Stony sands swallowed droplets of condensed fear.
"Hey? Heeey…"
Demilade glanced around.
Assured their exchange was unobserved she bent, lifted the little girl into her arms. Her left hand secured her tiny, wheezing bundle to her chest; head settled into the comforting hollow of her shoulder. Melancholy weighed heavier on her chest than the girl.
No child should be so quick to tears for accidents.
Turning around, she walked to the playground beside the car park.
A garden sat serene around an almond tree by the northwestern wall. It was the perfect spot to watch the bustle of the playground and enjoy some seclusion.
“I’m sowwy Ma”
She sniffled
Looked up at Demilade with large, truly penitent eyes.
Demilade settled her more comfortably into her laps. Felt tears smart her own eyes.
She looked into the branches of the almond tree. Exhaled. When she spoke her voice was low. A thready understatement whispered to herself as much as the girl.
“I know. Me too”
Demilade held the little girl to herself.
Why had she been running? And from the administrative block?
“What happened today? Why were you running?”
The girl reached for her tear-smudged, dust covered glasses hanging down her front by a woven cord. Her hands shook as she wiped it on her uniform. Buying time.
Never talk to strangers! Say it after me…
Lessons at painful hands echoed in her young mind.
She looked at the kind woman who had carried and petted her when she fell.
The woman had not scolded her or complained about being run into, she remembered. It felt good to be held and cared for like this. Like she was loved, cherished….
She exhaled. Sinking into the woman’s gaze and the warmth it radiated, she spoke.
“Today was my first day at school...”
“Oga we don reach”
Ifekunle’s eyes shot open. He had slept off again?!
“We don reach where?”
The streets did not look like home. Neither did the fancy houses nor putrid stench that assailed his nostrils when he wound the mirror down.
“Mobolaji Johnson, Sir”
It had gotten dark.
How much traffic had they gotten into? He had slept through it all?! Goodness! A tsetse fly most certainly had bitten him or he had somehow fallen pregnant.
“Take me to the beginning of the street please”
The more the man drove the more certain he became. This was not home!
