No one wanted to stay back. Even the old planned to be there. The lame arranged to be carried to the venue. The blind paid to be led there. The unwell jumped out of sickbeds and all hurried to the playground to listen to the Master whom they asked to set the pace while they follow.
With the people filling every inch of space, kicking and pushing one another, stepping on toes and heels and raising necks all in the eagerness to hear his million-dollar speech and to witness what his opening moves would be like, "Attention, please!" Master pleaded as he mounted the straw-coloured van parked amid the field. On the said van, his placid gaze spotted a wooden stool on which he stepped to spare the crowd the stress of having to push one another in an attempt to gain vantage positions, "Let me start my address by stating how surprised I am by the massive, soothing reception this village accorded me," he began as he arranged the knot of his blood-like tie and flashed out his smile which revealed his chalk-coloured teeth, ''I don't know If I deserved that much but all the same, I say a very big thank you for the honour," he paused, leaning forward to the crowd. He bowed in respect and the bright-eyed people cheered him on.
Master was recognised as a man of little words, however, his actions preceded him. He was what you would call a leader. He was a good man whose top-notch manner of behaving, talking and handling things and people had stirred the villagers to adore and desire him as the best candidate for the upcoming election.
Master had a Degree in Political science at The University of Professional Studies, Ghana, before he later returned to Nigeria, in the early seventies, to commence a career in teaching, "It shows the esteem to which you want me to govern you, and I promise to serve you all well," Master said as he rounded off his speech, smiling to the joyful people.
"We concur, we concur, that you will serve us well, we concur," the people chorused, clapping and jumping with their clenched fists jabbing the air.
The supporters' response thrilled Master that if he had a thought running in him, it would be the thought of victory. He had sensed that miles away and he was very certain that he would win the chairmanship election.
It was nearly five o'clock in the evening, the sun was already set on its horizon, and the cool breeze that normally signals the arrival of the night was gradually piercing the air, but the campaign was still on. As Master stepped down from the high van, the people swarmed around him, arms outstretched, hailing and yelling. Although the night was fast approaching, no one was willing to leave the venue; they yearned to hear him speak some more, for there was nothing that flavoured the occasion more than the contents of his speech.
To the crowd, his speech, contained in the distributed leaflets, was breathtaking. At that moment, the rain failed to hold back, the sky grew dark, thunder clamped, and the birds flew for shelter while half the spectators hurried to their quarters. Only those whose houses were nearer were able to land safely just in time before the rain began. Half a dozen others shielded themselves in the classrooms around the field because the campaign took place on the playground of a public school.
Master and his followers waved up their hands in the direction of the cheerful crowd in preparation to leave the place, leaving behind some assorted items and enough cash notes for the supporters to share among themselves.
Adigun Adejare was among the spectators who en masse came to listen to Master. He was eighteen-year-old, but he spoke like a wise man. The people who knew him did often say he was wiser than his age. He hovered at the side of a framed-classroom window and examined the rain sliding down from the roof in parallel lines. When the rain had subsided a little, the rabble stepped out and joined the endless stream of people who were now returning to their houses.
Going by the heavy rain, the gutters lodged muddy water in which toads croaked hoarsely at night. There also existed flies, and because the flood was running, the mosquitoes felt unsettled, seeking for whom blood to suck. There were many pools of water on the squirmingly untarred and bumpy roads, on the same roads, Master said he was going to revamp. Outside the buildings along the streets, people sat on the long wooden benches placed against the uncemented walls and observed the sudden termites that tenanted the air. The teenagers gathered themselves around the embers of a fire in the kitchens, warming up their bodies against the cold weather. Most of the people trekking along the streets were barefooted as the moistened ground almost tore off their sandals and swallowed up their slippers. The cars and the motorcycles passed continuously, worsening the slippery driveways and splashing the red, unclean water on the passers-by who grimaced and cursed from time to time.
There was fear, stinging and raw filling the bladder of Adigun. For a moment, he seemed as though a lump of solid garri, the size of a lime orange, had clung to his throat. As a result, he was unable to think straight. His thoughts swayed from side to side until they focused on only mom, examining how irritated she might be because he had been away longer than he was allowed. Knowing that he needed to return home as soon as possible to dodge worsening the fury in her, he walked so fast like the speed of the sun. The lane he chose was so narrow. This he did in company with a few strong boys to avoid the cars, the motorcycles and the dirty water they splashed.
As he approached home, prepared to step on the threshold that led to the hallway, a blasting sound was heard. He turned to confirm what it was and saw a young girl slipping on the watery ground. He quickly struggled for some water and ran back to rescue her.
"Thank you," the girl said as he bent low to wash her soiled feet, her hands and the spots that got stained on her coal-like dress which was moulded to her well-proportioned body, but she did not look him in the face:she seemed too ashamed to do so; too sad that she had slumped, rapidly wishing the ground could be unclosed and swallowed her.
Adigun pulled her to her feet once he finished the rinsing. Then she bowed and turned to go. He pictured her unsteady gait until her footsteps sounded no longer than an insect's hop. He turned and sneaked towards the largest window of the sitting room through the backyard and peeped to see if his mom was in sight. His mind pounded so bad the moment he saw his pacing the sitting room, gaping and shutting her mouth, stamping upon the floor, and on one occasion, banging a huge fist on the unpainted wall. Adigun heaved a deep sigh as the prophecy he dreaded so much manifested so fast. He knew it was only a matter of time for the punishment to catch up with him. Fearfully, he slowed himself towards the entrance of the building and knelt by the time he reached the doorway that faced the direction his mom stood.
"Don't tell me you're just coming home, boy? Don't tell me," his mom roared as she turned to him, her brows meeting in a quick frown. He struggled to speak, but his sealed mouth would not part. It was as though something, the size of unripe pawpaw, stuck still in his throat.
"Tell me why are you so so stubborn, Adigun? Did people send you to kill and make me childless?" She screamed and sank to the chair, wordlessly staring at him.
Adigun could feel a cold shudder in him, swaying him from side to side. He wanted to mop a film of sweat that clouded his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, but he was too confounded to make a move since he disliked the fact that he had angered his mom after the agony she said she faced years back:
Sade, his grown-up mom, had been a widow since the late eighties when she lost Adejare, her spouse, about the time Adigun was born. On that fateful day, Sade, who was rushed to a nearby clinic by well-wishers, had sent a message to inform her husband of her situation. Unfortunately, the news of Adejare's fatal crash filtered in just as Adigun came to life, permeating the atmosphere with gloom and doom that weakened everyone present. Of course, Sade would not be consoled. She leapt up like a hen and slumped on the clinic's floor. Her eyes were gleaming with tears-- tears that were sparse and itchy. Her heart sagged in the insides of her. She swallowed hard. Her throat became dry. Life, Sade had lamented, was so terrible, so horrible. She looked pale. Her breasts were over drooping, her eyes red and sorrowful. Not even the tears of Adigun or the joy and relief that accompany childbirth could pacify her. Again, two nurses came together. They pulled her up to the bed. For a moment, she was still, but after a while, she loosened her brown wrapper, leaving only her long transparent skirt and threw herself to the floor again, reeling towards the door. A nurse quickly rushed to call on the doctor. The doctor hurried in, squatted and spoke to her until she was calmed.
In those bleak years, Sade neither had sound sleep nor looked happy. The more she took a stab at the huge sorrow in her life, the more it grew wings. Her burdened heart lasted a year.
"Have you no word in your mouth and has something got lost in your head?" his unsmiling mom yelled, startling him.
"I'm sorry, mom," his voice was odd and shuddered, "I was supposed to be back early, but I stopped on the way to help a person who slipped towards a gutter," Adigun once again wondered about the kind of discipline she would issue on him. He thought she would pull at his ears and slap his face with the sole of her brown, leather footwear that would sound, like a roaring of a mighty windstorm, but she simply retreated a bit, sat upright on a chair and folded her arms in disbelief.
"Who?" She shrilled, the pupils in her eyes darting around.
The parlour was silent except for the heartbeats of Adigun as the question stood so high in his head. He remained on the kneeling spot like the sculpted hindquarter of a marble statue. After a while, his mind began to pound despondently during which he noticed the coming of trouble on a reminiscence of how often his mom earnestly told him to put a long distance between himself and anything that would bring trouble to them.
It was not that Sade was opposing a gesture of goodwill. In some respects, her heart of compassion was so great. She had helped so many people, even after the demise of Adejare, all of which she did with the carefulness of a first-time mother to her baby. She had a good reason for saying Adigun should not get along with strangers. After all, she was a witness to the happening of the preceding year in which the mob and Mr Paama had serious strife.
Mr Paama was a selfless philanthropist who found solace in spending his wealth on humanity because he, too, had immensely been helped in various ways by several strangers who charged him not to allow the chain of kindness to end with him. But no one understood why he was still single, and they sought to know why. He was in his early forties and had been living in Ayetoro for over twelve years. On the day men were asked to dance at the 82nd carnival with scores of maidens flowing like a river around them, Mr Paama excepted himself. He preferred to sit alone, drinking his ale and sucking his tongue. When he was asked to woo ladies by his married friends, he proudly claimed he was a celibate, adding he was once a monk in the city. He went further to announce how his spirit forbade him from being married this time around. It was also rumoured around the village that Mr Paama was not a man. While a majority of people said he used his balls of the testicle for money ritual, a minority of them had the belief that Mr Paama had a score of people who sent him money from the cities. In his attempt to assist a hungry-looking girl-- her face bony and her neck thinner, Mr Paama was disgraced; the mob said he had a plan of using the hungry girl to increase his mysterious wealth.
"Who?" his mother asked a second time, rising from the cane chair. She placed her palm on her cheek, eager to hear him speak.
"A stranger," Adigun stuttered, his gaze following the ground as if he were going to enter it.
"Come again," his mom bent over and held her ear, her eyes almost touching his own, but he was still shivering like a cold-afflicted man, still having his look emplaced to the floor. She gaped at him for a while and surveyed her stare around the parlour as though she were looking for a stick to cane the obstinacy out of him, but she Instead clapped her hands three times in the way that football lovers do when a player misses scoring a goal, nearly spitting at him.
"Adiguuun! Adiguuuun! Adigun!," his mom hooted like a singer, " you had better be careful this time around and let this be the last time. You had better be cautious," she hissed and resentfully footed to her room.
The night had grown darker now and everywhere was silent like deep water. The leaves staggered as the breeze blew. It was a different night because today, the chatter of neighbours and the shrieks of children were nowhere to be heard since the moon was not smiling at anyone from the air.
In the building they lived in, there existed three bedrooms and a parlour. The kitchen was in the front yard, and the toilet was dug in the backyard surrounded by palm-kernel leaves to keep off the passers-by. Beside the toilet was a bathroom. As the only child, Adigun had a room of his own, but he owned no mattress at home; his foam had been shipped to school, the University Of Ibadan, where he was studying English Language and Literature.
As Adigun helped himself to his feet, he walked to his room. Getting there, he picked a hand-woven raffia mat and spread it on the ground, and sat on it, with his back placed against the wall. His eyes were dim and sad. He's going against the rule mom imposed on him and called for such a noble cause. He had always disliked seeing his mom unhappy. But after a smattering of minutes, he forgave himself, determined not to irk her again.
Adigun's room was as black as ebony because NEPA had taken light and he had been unable to stand up. It seemed the mat held him back, sucked him in. Behind the spot he sat was a palm-oil lamp alongside a matchbox. He crawled to the place, stroke a stick of match and lit up the hurricane lamp which gave a yellowish light.
The time was fast-moving but Adigun had not eaten his dinner. As he heard a deep snore, he knew it was his mom who was already asleep. He walked himself to the storeroom, picked a stainless plate that had a meal of rice and stew bereft of chunks of meat or fish and returned to his room.
As he ate a spoonful of rice, chewing in gentle bites like an immature sheep, he stirred the rice together to encircle the stew. He had barely swallowed two spoons of the meal when the spoon dropped off his fingers towards the mat. His appetite had left his mind, and his thought had journeyed to a far distance, gone to the strange girl he earlier helped. He looked as though he had met a beautiful girl in the village, but he was certain that he had never heard her voice that sounded like Nightingales. He wished to hear it again and to have her eyes hold to his as they did when he squat to wash her stained feet.
She was a plump, fair-complexioned girl, with an oval-shaped face. Her backside was a landslide, her breasts heaved like a bunch of ripe orange on an over-weighed branch. Her oval face ended in a small chin, and her shifty eyes were half-concealed by bushy and yet black eyelashes. For the first time, Adigun admitted he was in love. He suddenly became upset at everything and with himself that he did not know where she lived and what her name was. He wished he had spared time to ask, but he was hopeful he would meet her again.