Midnight Reckoning

Morning Hours

The early morning sun cast a golden glow over the vast land of Ikare, a quaint village in the southwest of Nigeria, waking its people from their small ornate homes. The sunlight shone on small pockets of farm fields, each sowed with either yam, cassava, cotton, okro, rice, corn, or pumpkin. Cocoa and palm trees painted the brown sandy land with their greenery. But despite all these wonders, none could compare to a massive mansion that stood grand at the village's edge. Behind the mansion were farmlands twice the size of all the other farmlands in the village combined and with every crop planted.

As the morning sun peaked bright and hot, majority of the villagers had already filled the mansion's farmland when they suddenly felt a shift in the atmosphere so thick a few of them peeked their heads up to discover the cause. As quickly as their heads were up, they scurried back down at the rare sight of the mansion's owner and the second most important man in the village, after the king.

Clothed in heavy beading and a rich black Agbada, a Nigerian attire, Ade swaggered on the farmland's path with two guards behind him, a reminder of his mighty authority. A formidable figure tall and stout, Ade meticulously observed every man and woman who tilled his soil and cared for his plants with swollen, narrowed eyes due to sleepless nights. With every step forward, he directed his frustrations on nearby workers.

The guards glanced knowingly at each other and gave their oga some needed distance.

About finished with the morning inspections, Ade caught sight of a farmer who moved far too sluggish with his tool. Irritation fumed inside him like a smoky chimney, his body unexpectedly vibrating with vexation. His guards suddenly stood alert and defensive at the oga's shuddering body, and the workers closest to him shifted away, afraid they'd pay the price for something they didn't commit. Unaware of Ade's eyes on him, the farmer dropped his tool abruptly and Ade saw nothing but red as the chimney top blew open. Workers scurried clear from him as he stomped through them and crushed crops to reach the farmer.

The man had broken the number one rule: never drop a tool during routine inspection.

Ade quickly approached the farmer.

"How dare you drop your tool! You know the rules. Why aren't you working?"

His voice boomed for all nearby to hear, halting their work.

Shocked and startled, the weary farmer turned immediately to address his oga.

"Sorry sir–sorry. I am not feeling well, sir. Please I'll need my pay for treatment," he said weakly while he staggered.

Though much younger than Ade, his frail body and mud-stained wrapper, both products of tireless work had aged him faster.

Ade's arrogance flared, and his eyes and nostrils widened.

"Feeling unwell? That's what a lazy man would say, and clearly, you are!"

Enraged, his hand flew hard to the worker's cheek, the impact loud enough to make onlookers shriek in dread yet they dared not look away when their oga angrily pushed the farmer down the moist earth.

"This is why you are sick," Ade spat, "hindering my crops with your laziness. Now stand up and be useful!" He turned away.

The breezy morning went still as the onlookers hastily returned to their work with less enthusiasm, for that was their life: Work, eat, sleep; Work, sleep; Work, eat, sleep. With Ade being the richest farm trader in the land, he'd blocked their chances of earning enough from their produce—that's if it were sold on time unless they travelled to another village.

Defeat and desperation chained them to the formidable man's will like cattle in chains.

"This is not about laziness, Sir Ade!" shouted the farmer.

All the workers halted abruptly, their attention turned to the man. The winds picked up, and with it, their hopes lifted as he struggled off the ground and stood with what dignity left. Ade too, turned to face him with a stunned expression. The farmer continued.

"It's about fairness, you owe me my pay!" His voice grew courageous as onlookers watched amazed, but Ade simply laughed.

"Hehe, fairness? Not in my land. Here, I make the rules. I am your lord, and you are mere cattle. Only when I feed you do you eat."

Ade's eyes darted around the mumbling crowd, their audacity to leave his crops unattended caused his head to shake twice, thrice.

The farmer shook the dirt off his bony shoulders, his mud-stained wrapper, and his brown afro. A throbbing ache made his head banged, and his body stung under the sun, but something stronger raged within him that had cut all fear he had for the man who stood in front of him. When he spoke, his voice silenced the crowd.

"Every man, woman, and child despises you, Ade! Your ego, your arrogance stinks." His voice, loud and true, carried the collective resentment of the villagers. "I wish you be gone, lifeless by midnight."

Gasps of utter disbelief resounded among the fearful crowd, for to insult one's oga so openly was to dig one's grave and bury any hope of work. The workers gazed at the farmer not with admiration but with a mix of pity and disdain.

Ade, accustomed to insults, glimpsed up at the blue heavens, at the green woods that rustled with the wind, and merely chuckled when he looked down at the frail man before him.

With a wave of his hand, Ade turned away from his guards' immediate assault on the farmer and walked past a now dwindled crowd toward the farm exit.

The roads were busy and so was his precious time, yet Ade stood still and alone at the farm's gate and unconsciously gripped his chest.