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.