Iyawo Nylon Bag By SoulSpasms

Blog 2

Mother had simply told her to shut up and eat before her elder siblings, who were rushing the food, finished the eba. On bad days, dinner was a full cup of water.

Chilo yawned again, loudly enough to wake her brother. He stirred restlessly and went back to sleep.

Yesterday had been a good day. They had had jollof rice and fried fish for dinner. Whenever they had rice for dinner, it meant Mum had just been paid her salary. 
The salary usually didn’t last more than a few days, most of it going into settling into debts that had been incurred during the course of the previous month. “Give Nne Ebuka this money, tell her I am thanking her and it is for the dericas of beans and garri I bought from her last month”, or, “Here, go and give this money to that shylock Nasiru. Tell him it’s for the soap I bought last week”. Nasiru was the neighbourhood 'aboki'. 
She didn’t particularly like him, ever since the day she had stood in the burning
afternoon heat for thirty minutes pleading with him to sell her a bar soap worth ten naira. “Please sir, Mum will pay you tomorrow”, she had begged. And begged. And begged yet some more. Nasiru had ignored her and when her whining had become too much, he had ordered her to leave his presence, saying that when Mum had the money TOMORROW, she could come buy the soap. Eventually, tired of begging, she had gone back home.
When she relayed Nasiru’s message, Mum had hissed with disgust and had gone rooting around the house for loose change. Eventually, Mum had come up with four Naira fifty Kobo and sent her back to Nasiru to buy Omo measured into nylons instead. They were going to use the detergent for bathing and washing, no matter how little the quantity was. It took another ten minutes of pleading with the unyielding trader to accept the four Naira fifty Kobo she bore because measured Omo was sold for five naira before the man had grudgingly accepted it and sold the detergent. How Chilo disliked him. Soap, sugar and sachet milk worth two Naira and five Naira respectively was all he was good for, she thought darkly.

The sound of the gate leading into the compound opening woke her from her reverie. She was a very imaginative child. Most times she lived in her head and had little use for friends. She could stay in her bed and walk to and fro the surface of the earth in minutes, while twiddling her toes and drawing imaginary shapes with her stubby little fingers in the air. Mum often called her ‘Ogbanje’, because which normal, healthy, ten year old child would sit down facing the wall and staring into it like as if she was watching a very interesting cartoon, while her peers played under the moonlight? This incident had happened some months back. 
Mum just refused to understand that she hadn’t felt like playing with other noisy neighbourhood kids and the brick wall of the compound fence which hadn’t yet being cemented by the landlord held more fascination for her than playground games. She had rolled a piece of log hewn out of a fallen tree to the wall and sat on it, facing the wall. She used her eyes to trace funny patterns she imagined she saw on the bricks. That stone jutting out from that corner looked like bird poo. The joints between each brick looked like the patterns of strings from Mother’s hair net. 
She had been wondering where the agama lizards she saw darting into holes in the wall lived. Were their living quarters like the one she and her family shared? Did the lizards have chairs, a centre table and a television set? Did the lizards do That Thing, like she had seen her aunt and uncle doing when she had gone to spend the weekend with them the previous year? She had stared in open mouthed fascination through the key hole until, grunting heavily, uncle had rolled off aunty. Sweating, he had tied a towel around his waist and had been heading to the door where she stood hunched over the key hole like an evil monitor spirit. 
Suddenly remembering where she was, she had gathered her wits and fled to the room where her and her cousins slept. 
Uncle must have heard someone running because he had headed straight to their room. He had entered the room, swept the beam of the flashlight he held over the sleeping forms, lingering on her for what felt like HOURS in her fevered mind but in reality was most probably a few seconds, before finally clicking it off. Satisfied he had quietly closed the door and padded to the bathroom. Seconds later, she heard water running. How peculiar . . . She had ruminated on what she witnessed, but something held her back from asking her parents later on because some how, deep down,  she sensed that they might not like it.

She had been in the middle of her musings, her eyes still fixed on the wall when her Mum had walked out of house to take some fresh air. On sighting her still, small form sitting alone, facing the wall, Mum had asked her what she was doing alone all by herself while her mates played outside. Didn’t she want to play? Was she ill? Chilo had shrugged her shoulders noncommittally and resumed staring at the wall. Mum complained that she didn’t quite understand why Chilo always behaved like an Ogbanje child, and on seeing that the little girl refused to budge, had left her to her wall gazing.

Somewhere in the compound that she and her family shared with four other tenants and the caretaker, she heard a door open and.......

TO BE CONTINUED

Comments

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    If it's Ayamashe Stew you are searching for, Google something like this ""Ayamashe Stew On Wives Connection"" That way you find Ayamashe stew without having to scroll through related posts.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Anonymous7/11/2013

    Nice one! I enjoyed it. Noticed some grammatical errors though.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Anonymous7/11/2013

      HATER

      Delete
    2. Thank you anon 11:25,will work on the grammatical errors.
      I'll keep writing and getting better. God bless you. :)

      Delete
  3. To be continued again? :(

    ReplyDelete
  4. What a wonderful writer you are!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Anachunam7/11/2013

      Are u alright?

      Delete
    2. Thank u pink sunset.(Lovely name by the way)

      Delete
    3. @Soulspasms, Thank you too.
      @Anachunam, yes I'm alright. The question is are you?

      Delete
    4. Anachunam7/12/2013

      I like the way you typed my name @pink sunset,and yes I love you too

      Delete
  5. fantastic writer!...got me reminiscing about our 'suffer head 'days in lagos though. kai!life is tough o

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks o warm hearts.

      Life ehn? It takes the mighty grace of God for one not to be overwhelmed by the trials when it comes.
      Keep smiling!

      Delete
  6. wonderful piece but its too short, cant wait for the next one! lol

    ReplyDelete
  7. Anachunam7/11/2013

    They ve started famzing ooooo
    The 1st part was ok,this one an apology.madam writer pls look for anoda meaningful think to occupy yourself with.tongue out

    ReplyDelete
  8. Anonymous7/11/2013

    Yeye fowl! @anachunam

    Patsy

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Anachunam7/12/2013

      I love you too
      Have a blessed morning my BBF

      Delete
  9. Nice! I like.

    ReplyDelete
  10. Interesting piece I must say,but why continuing again naaa?

    ReplyDelete
  11. Wow! you write marvellously well..... Keep 'em coming dear!

    ReplyDelete
  12. Anonymous7/11/2013

    I used to do a lot of imagination as a kid . I still do as an adult and I envoy spending some quiet time with myself.
    Nice prose

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Anonymous7/12/2013

      guess you are piscean....

      Delete
  13. Anonymous7/11/2013

    Plssssssss continueeeee can't wait dis is wonderful d God of heaven will giv u more inspiration

    ReplyDelete
  14. Nice story line.

    Please check out my own stories on
    Ayibumakolo.com

    ReplyDelete
  15. She is a nyce story. Kip coming. Is too sweet

    ReplyDelete
  16. wat a touching story..........

    ReplyDelete
  17. More Ink to ur pen oh*lool..Nice one

    ReplyDelete
  18. Bislondy7/12/2013

    Nice work Soulspasm......Following fervently

    ReplyDelete
  19. Wow!
    Nice one soul spasm!
    I also use to do a lot of imagination when I was little, doesn't necesarily mean one is an Ogbanje thou!
    Lemme go and read d concluding part.

    ReplyDelete

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