MAGICAL MONDAYS WITH 'KREATE'

    

LIFE IS GREY

Episode 1: History breeds Personality

The skies were grey, threatening …and underneath, the air was powdery with a sandy brown taste. Thunder cracked a terrible whip and lightning rods flashed in nervous reverence. Banana trees, coconut trees, vegetables, and other plants swayed vigorously at the wind’s whistling fury. Dusty beaten leaves, twigs and other random things swished and swirled in misery as they were mercilessly tossed here and there. The barn’s thin metal roofing jiggled and jangled, and the wooden structure beneath trembled, causing the enclosed animals to cry in a cacophonic frenzy. Behind the barn door, Banzi the goat and her kids bleated. Under the pen shelter’s solace, Chief Jurupapa the turkey cock cackled. Yansidudu the cock crowed incessantly and his harem of chickens clicked their beaks nervously; A few chicks were either curious or courageous enough to pop out tiny heads from their mother’s sheltering wings. Two consecutive howls rang out from a hidden location. It was Rolo the 4-month old pup.  He hated stormy days. It was a shame stormy days were a reliable, recurring routine in Abia state during Spring. 

An annoying shame for Rolo? Absolutely. A nuisance to other breeds and species of the animal farm? Most likely. An annoying shame, nuisance, bother or any other synonym for Chinwe Anayo? An irrevocable, resounding No. Chinwe was 10 years of age and conspicuously sprightly. For her, windy meant impending rain. Rain equated cool weather. Cool weather translated to a beautiful night sleep. A beautiful night sleep was tantamount to dreams of butterflies, lilies, and awesome adventures.

She peered through the transparent window pane with bright inquisitive eyes before racing back to her mum’s side in the kitchen. The kitchen smelt delightfully of leafy egusi soup and chicken bits and bobs. Mrs. Christabel Anayo was pounding yam in an arched stance, putting the finishing touches to the yam pounding process. She was a tall, curvy woman with conservative eyes and an intimidating jawline. Her arms were quite muscly for a woman. An uneven string of sweat had formed on her forehead.

‘Mummy,’ she squealed, hands akimbo. ‘It’s going to rain soon. Yay!’

Her mother stood upright, stretched, before wiping off her sweaty forehead with a patch of her blouse. ‘Hello my lovely.’ The smile on her face exuded motherly love. Chinwe was her only child and her birth had been challenging, to put it lightly.

Chinwe wrinkled her nose. ‘Dirty mummy. You shouldn’t be wiping your forehead with your blouse. My teacher says it’s dirty habit.’

Mrs. Anayo had no justification for the action in question. But who was this teacher to tell her right from wrong in her own house? ‘Shut up,’ she said sweetly and stuck out her tongue in humour, ‘and help your mum scoop this meal into the plates.’

Chinwe giggled. ‘Funny mummy.’ She rinsed her hands in the tap, retrieved the plastic scoop from a nearby rack and began helping out.

Five minutes later another thunder cracked and the heavens let loose a sudden torrid torrent. Chinwe squealed again. Rolo barked. ‘Yay! It’s raining!’ Mother and daughter were in the process of cleaning up the mortar and pestle when someone knocked the door. The rhythm of the knocks indicated impatience.

‘That must be your father. Can you please let him in?’ Mrs. Anayo instructed.

‘Yes mum,’. Chinwe rinsed her hands and skidded to the entrance, unlocked the door and pulled. ‘Daddy Alfredo!’

Mr. Alfred Anayo was about two inches shorter than his wife. He had a broad chest, intelligent eyes, and a gentle face. Water dripped from his clothes. He picked up his daughter in one swoop, flexing biceps from his bulgy forearm. ‘Hello, love’. He planted two kisses on both cheeks. ‘Missed me?’

‘Hmm uhn,’ she nodded cheerfully as her dad carefully set her back on the floor. ‘We are having pounded -’ The sentence was cut short when she suddenly noticed the presence of a teenager who looked twice her age. His face was calm, friendly and Chinwe liked the sky blue bag strung over his shoulder. ‘Who are you?’ She asked with curious interest.

Mr. Anayo was inclined to let the two introduce themselves without interrupting but the weather was unfriendly. ‘Chi, please let us in and then you guys can introduce each other. It’s raining. You don’t want us to catch a cold now, do you?’

‘Oh yes. Sorry dad,’ Chinwe apologized, sidestepping. 

Father and strange teenager stepped in. Mr. Alfred said, ‘show him into the guest room,’ before heading to the kitchen.

‘Okay, I’ll show you your room. Come with me.’ 

The stranger nodded. ‘My name is Tolu, your cousin.’

Within the next two months, Chinwe had grown quite fond of Tolu. He was funny, smart, and oddly shy around anyone other than Chinwe. Chinwe had introduced him to all the animals in the compound, shown him around the neighborhood, and shared all her childish secrets.

Chinwe was an observant one and had noticed a few things about Tolu. She noticed the funny look he gave her. For her, it was hard to tell what the look represented. It wasn’t sad or happy or angry or indifferent. It wasn’t one she had come across in her years of existence. However, she recognized the unsettling, tense intensity behind them. Sometimes, after extending such looks, Tolu would give her a close hug. Every time he did that, Chinwe would feel something warm and hard from between his thighs prodding against her.  Another behaviour intrigued Chinwe:  after such hugs, he’d go into his room, lock the door behind him, and wouldn’t come out for about twenty minutes. When he eventually did, his face was painted by relief. Satisfying curiosity, she would ask him what he was doing there. ‘Grown up stuff,’ was all the response she got. Mum and Dad were never around when these peculiarities transpired. Chinwe decided to solve the puzzle on her own without including her parents.

One day, when her parents were away on an unplanned trip, another incident reoccurred. This time, Tolu forgot to lock his door. So Chinwe pushed it open and lingered by the doorframe. What she saw looked odd and funny. ‘What are you doing?’ Tolu was naked on the bed, playing with his penis and simultaneously watching a video on his laptop.

Tolu was shocked for he hadn’t noticed her entry, but the reaction quickly passed. He sought for an appropriate response. ‘Something adults do when children aren’t around.’

‘Can I see?’

            ‘Hmm, only if you promise to tell no one.’

            Chinwe ruminated on this implied convenant. He was her cousin and cousins don’t hurt each other. He was fun. Clearly, whatever he was doing was enjoyable. This secret was adventurous and fun. A proper secret, she thought. Yes, she decided. She could keep it. ‘I promise.’

            Tolu put on his shorts. ‘Okay. Come.’ He tapped the mattress twice in quick succession.

            Chinwe joined him on the bed and Tolu resumed the video. She saw funny things and alarming things. ‘Why is she making that sound?’ Chinwe asked Tolu.

            ‘Because it’s fun,’ Tolu replied. Chinwe observed that the look in his eyes resembled the one on the actor’s eyes.

            ‘I have fun all the time and I don’t make that sound.’

            ‘It’s a different type of fun. I could show you how.’

            ‘Hmm,’ Chinwe thought. ‘Do I need to take off my clothes too?’

            ‘Yes.’

            Chinwe thought again. Only mummy and daddy had seen her naked. And mummy had taught her that a girl should always put on clothes. But she was curious and he was an interesting cousin. She decided to try this fun thing but Mummy must never know. Another proper secret. ‘Only if you promise to keep a secret.’

            ‘I promise too.’

            Tolu returned home at the end of that week, leaving Chinwe a changed girl.

           

Every time Tolu visited, they had fun. In five years, Chinwe had learnt a lot and the act had become more fun than she could have imagined. Tonight, Tolu had something new to show Chinwe. He double clicked the video icon on his laptop.  In the movie, the room setting this time was very different from what she was accustomed to. It was red all over. A guy was brandishing a whip and a naked girl was tied to a pole. Suddenly, the whip descended on the girl’s buttocks. Chinwe screamed with and for the girl.

But contrary to Chinwe’s expectation, the lady said, ‘More.’

Chinwe was enraged and disgusted at the same time. She slammed the laptop’s screen shut. ‘That can’t be right! He is mad and she is obviously crazy’. She turned to look at Tolu, expecting him to mirror her feelings, but he had a familiar seductive smile on. ‘You are crazy. Don’t you dare try that with me.’

Tolu shrugged. ‘If that’s what you want.’

One year later, on a sunny Sunday, on the 16^th of January 2009, Chinwe received news that her parents had just been in an auto crash. The outcome was pretty simple actually: father was in a comma and mother was dead. She felt numb like skin under the influence of a powerful anasthetic. She seeked pain. She needed something to numb the pain. But she didn’t want one without the other. She dialed a number.

Tolu arrived an hour later. ‘Are you alright?’ He asked. His eyes were swollen and his cheeks had fresh tear marks.

Chinwe slapped him hard across the face.

Tolu’s palm flew to rub the spot on his cheeks. ‘What did you do that for?’ Disbelief and pain filled his visage. 

‘Slap me twice as hard as that.’ There was an almost suicidal pleasure glint in her eyes. ‘Then do me just as hard’.

That night, Chinwe received another call. Tolu had hung himself. 

Kreate is a budding Nigerian writer with a flair for fiction. Writing for him began sometime in secondary school where he dabbled in poetry and plays. He has authored two self-published short novels.
He is a banker and lives in Surulere.