RAIN IN MY VILLAGE I sat on the bamboo bed in our hut. The house was silent. No disturbance from Pa and Ma. Our compound looked peaceful. Igi Osan was happy for not facing war from stone- throwers, also Igi Agbalumo. My jaws rested on my palm placed on the lower window brim. I looked at the outside world, thinking of what the future seems to be. The guava tree gazed at me and waved heavily for me to recognize its presence. Quite a long while I was lonely. Everyday is a day of work. From Iya Sukura to Baba Adio. Running errands like an African robot . Who cares? Pa? He cares my foot! Anytime the council of elders are around for meetings, I served kolanuts and palm wine like an air hostess. Dressed in my knicker and khaki shirt. That shirt, I wore it once in a month. My head looks like a desert. Thanks to barber, Pa Kasali, he can even scrape your skin. The look on my face is that of the pre-colonial servant. The weather changed. Mamas washed clothes flung down. Wooden windows closed with a bang. Chickens ran to their homes. Trees looks like falling. And the air blew out a horrible sound. Mama Asake, she almost fell down. At sixty, she ran like Justin Gattin, her bosom moved sideways . What of papa Arikuyeri, he forgot his walking stick when he saw the cloud knocking harder. Well, thats a punishment for him. All he does is to drink palm wine like a thoughtless human. His moustache looks bushy like Igbo irumale. Even, his beards serves as home to rodents. The eyes crazily stares without blinking. The fear of sun causes congregational prayer for rain. It poured heavily. Women brought out pots to get the first rain in the year. Children played with the water washing the pants worn for days without tasting water. Me! I dozed off with my hand paused from writing.
Posted on: Tue, 04 Mar 2014 08:18:27 +0000
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