TOMMOROW AWAITS

Episode 7- Mohammed

I shrugged out of my leather jacket and tossed it on the couch,watching my little brother struggle with the weight of it. I chuckled and turned towards the kitchen door,Mom was waddling towards me,her arms open wide. My heart sang,i always got this reception anytime i returned from vacation. I wrapped my arms around my mother.

"My son!"

She said dreamily, as though she couldn't believe she was the mother to this awesome genius child. Now,that's just me musing.

"I hope they fed you well in Dubai,this one you're looking thin"

"Haba,mo-mi"

I stressed,with my fake Yoruba accent.

"This one you're calling me thin,don't you know all those white girls were dying for me and my six packs?"

We laughed in unison.  My brother paused from the jacket he was playing with,stared at us and joined in the laughter, as though he understood what was being said. He was barely three,a character on his own.

"Don't worry,now you're back,I'll add more flesh to your bones so,those white girls won't like you anymore. Tell Cynthia to serve your dinner, i have to rush to the bank,something came up. One day,when you become an MD, you'll understand the life i live. Let me go upstairs and get ready,we'll gist when i come back. Oh,and Mohammed.  Your father got you a new car. The keys are on your dresser,call him and thank him"

"No wahala,momsi"

I shrugged.  My parents were always trying to spoil me one way or the other. The car i rode before i travelled was just three months old and it was just like my dad to decide it was time for a change. I'm not one to complain,anyway.

From the corner of my eye,i saw Cynthia approaching ,she was our maid,nanny and cook all in one.

"Young sir,your dinner is ready,will you like to eat now?"

I laughed in my mind,my mom had this funny policy that all her domestic staff be university graduates or at least,have a HND. Not only that,she enrolled them in six month intensive training on the queen's English, whatever that meant. I just thought she was suffering from the effects of colonialism but that's none of my business. 

  I turned on my charm and beamed at Cynthia. She averted her eyes but i knew she was blushing.  I smiled,i couldn't blame her as i was yet to see a female that didn't fall under my spell and i was just nineteen.  Growing up,my mom used to call me 'The beautiful one ". I was fair and had beautiful curly hair,not the kinky Nigerian curls but the soft gentle  curls of someone from the eastern part of the world. Little wonder i was mistaken for an Arab many a time. It came with its highs and no lows which,believe me,was surprising.  My parents loved me the more each time they set their eyes on me,nobody said no to me,i had my own fan club of girls who wanted a chance to say they had dated me. I was a living charm,a magnet.

"No,Cynthia.  I'll have dinner later. Now,i need to go test that Li'l baby pops got me"

She smiled coyly as i turned on my heels and began my ascent of the staircase.

An hour later,i was in the club with my boys,we were drinking the night away,spending our parents' money as quickly as they could earn it. We had all come out to "bless" my car. We'd probably end up drunk but we didn't care,when you had money, nothing could go wrong.  Our fathers were all either top men in politics or the military and there was never a time we lacked anything.  To us,being hungry was eating your food with meat instead of chicken.  Being broke was having less than five million but more than a million  in our accounts every month.  This was the life of the modern day Lagos elite,the life we were born into,the life we were to pass on to our children,if we deemed it fit to have any,that is.

My phone blinked with an incoming call,it was my dad. I excused myself and went to the rest room to pick it up.

"Yo! Pops"

I hailed him and waited for the laugh that came on rich and strong over the phone.

"How's my handsome replica doing? You know i missed you,son"

"I Know,right dad. I missed you lots too. What you up to?"

"We just closed"

My dad worked for the Federal ministry of Internal revenue. He was a top guy there.

"There's a traffic jam at first mainland bridge, so I'm stuck. How's Ibrahim,did they tell you he was down with..."

That was when i heard the explosion and felt my phone shake. I still don't know if that was real or just my imagination.  The line went static.

"Dad? Dad? Can you hear me? Are you there?"

Static.

I felt panic. Something was wrong,i glanced at my watch,almost ten pm. I was in a daze as i shuffled to where i had left my boys,grabbed my keys,muttered some explanation i didn't even hear and was soon on the road. I was getting close to the bridge when i saw the checkpoint, the police had blocked the road. The only way was backwards,but i could see the smoke and the bright light from burning vehicles,the screams from afar,the bitter realization that my father was in one of such vehicles. While reversing with one hand,my other hand was dialing mom. It didn't even connect. I called home,it rang on end. Panic took all over me and i drove like a madman home,surprised i didn't get an accident.

  I saw the hole in the wall before i noticed the house was dark with all the lights off. Cautiously, i came down from the car,opened the gate, parked into the dark car park and waited one hour. Nothing happened.

  I came down, turned on the torch of my Nokia phone  and sneaked inside. What i saw next changed my life forever .

My brother lay,sprawled on the floor,his throat slit, crimson blood puddled on the tiles and soaking into the furry carpet in the center of the parlor. Cynthia lay beside him,the bastards had spared neither of them. She was naked and it was obvious she had been raped. Three bullet holes marred her body,her eyes open, gazing right into oblivion.  The expression on her face was one of fear.

  I felt my self go cold,i had lost my father and brother in one night, my mom was probably God knows where. At nineteen, fate was forcing me to grow up and accept the realities of life. I sat on the floor,watching the bodies and willing myself to cry tears that had departed from me,till the morning came.

At the crack of dawn,i woke up in pain. Now,this is probably from the fact that i slept sitting down than the fact that i slept in a room with two corpses. I hurried upstairs and got two blankets to cover the corpses with. From my room window,i saw the huddled form on our porch. The panic shot through my body again as i hurried down,and outside.

She lay there,all folded up on the tiles to shield from the cold. After what i had seen,i couldn't trust anybody no matter how innocent they looked. I pulled out the gun i don't remember removing from my dresser drawer and pointing it at her. That was when she opened her eyes. First,a cautious glimpse,then it flung wide open.

Flash forward,two days later. I'm sitting across the room,staring at her and all the attention she's giving to that little kid with the one arm she's treating. I could see the concern and affection in every pat of the bandage or heave of the shoulders. Why didn't some tiny kid come to me instead of these old people who lost either an eye or something worse, lamenting about their woes like i don't have one of my own. I sighed and turned my attention back to Ada.

  There was something weird about this girl. First, she didn't act like Osas,wasn't stunned by my beauty or anything which when i come to think of it is quite insulting.  I mean,every one notices me,before all this,when i walk into a room,they stop and stare but this girl be acting like it's everyday she sees a pretty boy. Well,i could deal with that.

  The kid she was attending  to had run along, probably to play and show off his cast,even in turbulent times like this,kids had no worries. I checked to see if my patient's temperature was under control before i crossed the room to Ada.

  She looked up and smiled,ignoring the way i carelessly ruffled my curls. Hell,every girl fell for that. What is wrong with this girl? Why was she so different?

"Hello,Mohammed "