Summer Holiday

I only go home for the summer holidays. It is the best time to be home. Daddy is always on his international trips during this period. This means no restrictions and easy access to the cars at home. My friends are usually also back at this time, so there is always somewhere to go, always something to do. My summer holidays are always filled with laughter, fun and parties. I always look forward to these holidays. Now I am back after my sixth semester in school, and I am looking forward to my normal planned events for the summer. But things are different this time around. First, I realize that daddy is around; he did not go for his international trip this time around. I would have been disappointed if most of my friends had not decided to stay back in school for different reasons; some claim they had to do internships, others say the country isn’t secure enough. So now I am trapped at home, just me and my junior siblings. I then notice abnormalities in the house; I wonder if these abnormalities are new, or I was never around to notice them before. There is constant shouting and quarrelling coming from my parent’s room. My daddy looks as if he had aged ten years in the space of the eight months that I was away. Mummy is always cranky, complaining about the shortage of food, and hounding us about the wastage of food. Mummy never used to complain about wastage. Then, daddy’s cars begin to disappear, first the Range Rover, then the Corolla 2012 followed by the Camry 2011. We are now left with the old rickety Benz 190. My little brother asks me if the cars are being taken for repair. I do not answer because I do not know, I am too afraid to ask mummy or daddy-they are always on edge.

The oddities are not only in the house, I notice changes even when I go out. I take the rickety Benz out to take care of mummy’s errands. After driving for a while, I come across the first of many checkpoints I would encounter. It is manned by five armed soldiers. Two of them look bored, the others look happy, as if they enjoy waving cars through all day or watching as the okada riders get off their motorcycle and roll it past the checkpoints or stopping the cars that seem suspicious. They show off their guns, as if daring anyone to make the wrong move. They wave my rickety car past without any problems. The atmosphere in town is charged with fear and uncertainty. Everywhere is so tensed, it makes the air heavy, and it makes my heart heavy, for it keeps beating faster than normal. I fear driving to a hold up or a crowded area. With the heavy charge around the atmosphere, I fear any friction or spark would set the whole place ablaze. As I drive by through a holdup, a vendor holds out a newspaper over my window. On the front page, there is a bold caption that reads “BOKO HARAM SCARE IN KANO”, with a picture of blown up car beside it. I would have looked away, but then I see a picture of daddy right above the caption, beside it reads “State politician faces corruption allegations from EFCC”. The cars behind me begin to horn, I drive forward and head home. 


P.S this is completely fictional.

Melody

The soft sweet melody of the reggae music slowly fills the dim lit room. People begin to respond, to move slowly to the beat, enjoying the slow sensitive rhythm. There is no rush, the music gives them time, and they can savor each note individually and ask for more. And the DJ is quite the giver; he gives the crowd exactly what is needed and he does so in surplus. There are cat calls and whistling going about now, the room is alive, and DJ is its soul, the crowd pumps the heart and gives it a sensuous beat. If one could truly get high on music, then this crowd would have been completely intoxicated and the reggae would have been the opium. But there is one sitting at a corner, lurking and staring. He wets his lips as he watches the dance floor, like a lioness already savoring the meal to come. His meal, a young nubile girl twists and turns enticingly on the dance floor. Her body gleaming with sweat under the dim light, her steps are wild, her form perfect. He watches on, feeling uneasy on his seat. He can’t hold on much longer, he is intoxicated, but his opium is completely different. He stands up and approaches his meal, making way through a sea of intoxicated people. He is now standing dangerously close to her; he can even smell the sweet coconut butter scent on her skin. But she is oblivious, unaware of the man standing by her because she is in an unexplainable trance. The melody has gripped her; her body is no longer hers. All she wants to do is just move to the sweet rhythm flowing into her ears. This is why; she did not scream or shout when she felt the sharp pain of the cold steel penetrating her chest, right below her ribs. There is just a soft gasp with a shocked expression on her face. It’s like she thought her body could not be touched under the powerful grip of the music. She could not believe it, she had given up her body and the melody betrayed her. She cripples to the floor.

 At first, the screams are not audible under the loud beats of the reggae, but the lights came on-somebody had put them on. The screaming is instantly loud and clear now as the music is stopped and more people join in the screaming. On the dance floor is a young girl soaked in thick blood still pouring from her side. There is panic immediately, the crowd begins to disperse from every direction-people creating windows where there were none. Only a particular boy has the composure and calm to reach for the girl, he takes off his clothe and tries to stop the blood flow. The few people that were remaining watched on in shock and disbelief. The room is now filled with whispers and gasps as people try to identify her but nobody can, nobody knows her or has seen her before. They finally carry her out of the room and into a car, heading for the nearest hospital. The room is left quiet and empty. The soul has escaped through the back door. The heart has long stopped beating because there is no one to pump it anymore. So the room fades into an everlasting sleep. The room dies.