Forlorn Ecstasy

CHAPTER 1

Dedicated to kaslliehillsfor making me consider writing a Nigerian book.

Temporary relocation to hometowns during Christmas season is the norm for most Christians in the Eastern part of Nigeria. A journey in a bid to celebrate Christmas was something my family never missed. It was a common practice. Just as common as it is for a farmer to plant crops during the rainy season and harvest them in the dry season.

We hardly travelled to our hometown. Even during critical issues, like when Uncle was to be buried after three months of being in the mortuary. Dad sent his condolences, telling them he was 'busy with work' even though he wasn't.

Or earlier in April when Aunty Martina's husband fell down from a palm tree and developed a fracture. Dad sent some money and constantly moved him to the best hospitals, postponing his visits to the village till it was no longer necessary.

But some weeks to the Christmas and Dad was frantically making preparations for our vacation. Adequately servicing the car and ensuring Mum bought sufficient food items. He often said that going to our hometown was the fundamental key to remembering our traditions and I wondered how a vacation lasting for a few weeks each year would make me properly familiar with these traditions.

I sat on the small wooden bench in the verandah, helping an eager Tito. He was keen on learning all the printed information in his pamphlet for an upcoming seven-year-old class test.
We were supposed to travel to our hometown today and everyone was to be seated in the car but procastination often got it's way.

Tito was reading aloud, hurriedly trying to memorize his school work as though the time for the class test would sporadically change from next academic session to now.
BB scattered the already arranged bags looking for his phone charger, saying he would not travel without it.
Ken was using a tiny rope to hold the blue mattress firmly to the roof of the car while Dad sat inside the house, packing his clothes in a relaxed manner.

An hour later, with Ken in the driver's seat, Dad in the front passengers' seat, Tito in between BB and I, a mattress on the car roof, a goat, Turkey and a whole lot of foodstuff and luggage, our journey began.

I didn't realize my eyes were closed for long, till I opened them and saw a sign post signalling our entrance to a different community. I became aware that we had broken a rule.
We had unspoken rules, which we adhered to conscientiously. On Sunday's, we drank alcohol after lunch and every morning, we ate at least one fruit before breakfast. I couldn't ever recall us breaking a rule, but sadly, we broke one today- Prayers.

We often said a prayer during long distance journeys for protection and peace. Mum always saw to it. This time, she had gone to our hometown earlier, for an umuada meeting.
Missing the meeting attracted a heavy fine. The absentees would also face silent treatment and public disgrace.

I wondered what Mum would have done if the umuada meeting was scheduled at an inconvenient time. If she would give an excuse using Dad's favourite line; "I'm busy with work" and risk their wrath or if she would have given less priority to her work and gone anyways.

Courage left me like air leaving a deflated balloon when I opened my mouth to say a prayer aloud. I looked at each of them hoping to see looks of realization dawning on their faces. How could they easily forget a rule? Our rule?
Tito was still preparing for the test, Dad was fiddling with the air conditioning vents, BB was engrossed in his laptop, typing furiously on its keyboard while Ken's was focused on driving, his eyes on the road.

Saying a quick, silent prayer, I came to realize what Mum meant when she told me that she is the 'family glue'.
Days without her were miserable not necessarily for them, but for me.
I had to please a persistent Tito, an ungrateful Ken, a picky BB and an indecisive Dad.
Aside the prayers, we were three hours behind the clock. Something Mum would not let happen if she were here.

♡☜☆☞

The drive was silent. I leaned forward and placed my hand behind the drivers' chair for support, trying to reach for the magazine on the dash board in front of Dad. I noticed his choice of footwear. He was wearing an oversized yellow rubber slippers that did not compliment his dressing. The kind of slippers that Men who carried wheel-barrows from house to house, in search of condemned iron scraps wore.
I sat back in my chair, flicking through pages of the entertainment magazine when the image of the over-sized slippers crept into my head.

"Dad," I called

His neck snapped facing my direction. "Hmm"

"You should have worn the blue rubber slippers instead. It is more presentable."

He let out a muffled chortle, like I had told him a joke. "Okay, I hear you"

Later Ken stopped the car for us to stretch our bodies and immediately Dad came out, he faced me. "Why didn't you tell him to stop wearing rubber slippers' entirely? It's embarrassing. He should only wear them indoors."

I wanted to ask him why he couldn't tell Dad himself or why he suggested it to me instead of Dad but I walked out of his questioning gaze and stretched my legs. A bald headed man alighted from his van full of confectionery and made his way to the side of the road.
I removed my eyes when he unzipped his trousers and started to urinate on the Cassava leaves.

The ride was exhausting. I stared fixedly at the light-skinned model on the bill board decorated with neon lights, clad in a tiny piece of towel, a body cream in her hands.

Closing my eyes and enjoying the vague movement of the harmattan breeze on my face, I remembered how Dad flared up, how his eyes shone with intensity, how he let out an invective outburst, shaking Ken's shoulders back and forth and repeatedly asking if he had gone mad when Ken told him that he had enrolled in a modelling institution.

I opened them when I heard the loud voices of the road side hawkers, pushing their commodities into every window of the car chanting, "I will sell Okpa for you very cheap".
"Buy your freshly baked bread" or "I have roasted groundnuts"

Dad beckoned on an old man with a tray of Okpa on his head. The man looked older than Dad. He wore a faded grey shirt with enormous holes in it. The material was fraying from excessive use and a loose short that was almost slipping off his waist.

The Old man brought the tray the tray down from his head to the window pane of the car for Dad to select. His head shook violently as he brought down the tray, the way the body of Chickens shook after their heads were cut off.

Dad threw a pair of crumpled Naira notes at the man after making his choice and told him to get a nylon bag. The old man searched his pockets frantically and seeing he had no nylon bag, pleaded for Dad to wait while he limped around in unbalanced strides, begging other sellers for nylon bags.

"Don't waste my time, this Cow!" Dad shouted.
The Old Man increased his crooked strides, as he begged pitifully, afraid he would loose a customer.

"I hope the Old fool isn't deaf!" Dad added, his voice louder than it was the first time.

I flinched at Dad's choice of words. The loud whispers and murmurs of the other sellers confirmed that I wasn't in a mirage.
The Man made his way to the car and handed Dad two black nylon bags. Dad snatched it from him, muttering some curses under his breath.

I turned around and stared at the man's withdrawn stance as Ken drove off. I wondered if he had children or perhaps if they had abandoned him.
His empty eyes and uneven gait while he walked, kept replaying in my head and I suddenly didn't feel like eating the Okpa.
Dad munched his in delight. The impact of his words earlier didn't bother him.

A/N

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Nnennawithdpen,Maryqueen-,Chidiogor18,NkechiAjogwu,treazure1607kaslliehillsand every other person that gave me an advice or encouragement.