Rebellion

1. Fairy Tale

“Fairy Tales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that Dragons can be beaten.” – Neil Gaiman.

•••

Nigeria.

The raw noise pervaded the air, accompanied by the shrills of inaudible wails and screams from individuals toiling in the harsh sun - contending with the forces of struggle, hardship and every other ominous quality the government was responsible for. The odor that invaded his lungs was nothing near exquisite, pleasant or therapeutic, but still it was welcoming to him. The glares that got flashed his way by by-passers didn't connote interest, concern or wellbeing but still it was these portentous qualities that defined home. It was indeed good to be back.

How he wished that were the case.

Of course, the bleak factors weren't exactly reversed by the people who were responsible for it, or rather - who were irresponsible for them to become dominant. No, it was reversed as a result of each individual's factor. To live a good life in such nation, one had to have money and one had to have it in abundance. Once the aforementioned conditions had been satisfied, every inauspicious attribute that prevailed in the country - vanished instantly. Since, he was already a billionaire - he wasn't subjected to such things anymore. And also by extension, his family wasn't subjected to such things anymore.

Life had indeed become pleasant, and as a result of such development - he didn't feel like he was home anymore.

“May, I take that for you sir?” A high-pitched voice jolted him out of his thoughts, and caused him to crane his neck towards its origin. The voice it would seem belonged to a male teenager, who donned a headgear which concealed most of his face and had a rather disturbing amount of facial hair and moustache. He wasn't surprised. He had gotten wind of the beard gang movement some weeks back in Toronto, but he didn't know some people would take it so far.

The man motioned towards his luggage, firmly under the grasp of his right fist. He chuckled internally, and fought back a threatening grin when he realized the man's motive. He knew where the antics of such men led. They were everywhere, even in developed countries – they constantly scoured the premises of every airport in search of a prey that would be naïve enough to conceive them as Samaritans in their minds.

Perhaps, if he hadn't spent the first twenty years of his life in the country – he would have probably fallen victim to such ulterior display of charity. But he was no fool; he wasn't going to get robbed on the day he returned to the country.

“No problem, sir. I think I have it handled.” He feigned a polite smile and tightened his grip on the luggage. Normally, his reply would have implied that he knew where the scenario was headed, but instead – his response invoked quite the wild laughter from his addressee, and caused him to fold his arms whilst taking off his face-cap also–

Frack! Deji!

His younger brother’s stare held mockery, defiance and amusement all at the same time. Once again, he had fallen victim to one of his numerous pranks. At this point, he didn’t exactly know which was better – getting robbed in the passengers' lounge of the airport and losing all his valuables, which weren't that valuable because most were clothes and he could replace them with a flick of a finger – or getting pranked by his brother, who was going to use his defeat to taunt him throughout the rest of his stay in the country.

Getting robbed was better.

His facial expression turned stoic and impassive, as Deji’s laughter subsided gradually and eventually ended. He couldn't actually believe his brother had transformed so much. How come he had so much facial hair and his moustache, urgh! He really needed a shave. But who knew what Nigerian ladies were into.