The Last Holiday

CHAPTER FIVE

Chapter 5:

It was aunty Akaba that saw me first.

    I was still pretty much banged out, but I could imagine the situation: a curtain twitching, a gasp, the rattle of bolts being hurriedly but yet frighteningly opened, a cautious eye glancing out the door, another gasp, some mumbles, the clumsy 'drag - drag' footsteps of my aunt, then a pause, before a terrific scream tore out of her.

I know this because that was definitely how my aunt would behave, and of course, she didn't disappoint me.

Except, of course, in the tempo, volume and intensity of her ear piercing scream.

    Going by what my brother told me when I awoke, she pretty much woke the whole village, and her scream was definitely heard in Bakana.

Half the village had run over, all eager to help.

  If it was up to me, I'd say they didn't really give a damn about me, they just did it because of my grandfather.

   By the time I woke up, I was on the bed, covered in bandages like a mummy, and only my mom remained in the room, sobbing quietly by the door.

   I couldn't see her face, and as I tried to raise my head to call her, I was reminded of why I was swathed with bandages in bed and why my mom was crying.

Pain shot up and down my body, and from my head to my toes, each part sang out their throes of agony.

I immediately laid my head back on the pillow, the minuscule effort I'd put into standing leaving me breathless with wheezy coughs.

   It seemed the coughs got my mom's attention, for she cleaned her eyes swiftly, turning round with a sad smile.

"Here", she said as she hurried to my bedside, kneeling beside it, patting my head. "Rest, okay?"

   I tried to talk, but my throat felt like parchment paper. I needed water.

   "Want water? Here, take", she said as she cradled my head gently, pouring cold water in my open mouth.

God!

I'd never appreciated H2O before, but I found myself extremely grateful for it that day, as it coursed down my throat.

I fancied I could hear a hollow sizzle as it met my hot throat.

When I'd drank two and half sixty CL bottles, I pushed away.

"You have to rest, ehn? Then when you feel better, you can tell me everything. You hear?"

I nodded, wondering where the hell my mom was.

My mom wasn't usually this kind. That was my dad. Mom's specialty was in lashing our backs with the heavy leather belts father seemed to have in abundance.

  I remember the beating she gave us one time when my brother and I were much younger, in the early 2000's.
I forget what we did to merit such violence, but she beat us so well that we were sent straight to the hospital the next day.

    Stayed there for a whole week.

Dad wasn't around then, but when he came back, he got really angry and threatened to divorce mom.

She never really forgave us after that, showering her love rather on our two younger sisters.

Her crying on my behalf and not beating the story out of me was strange, and even after she left the room with the window's and doors shut, I lay there, unable to fall asleep.

   With great pain and effort, mostly pain, I propped myself into a comfortable but odd position, half lying, half sitting, and plucked my camera from the small bedside drawer.

   It was cleaned off all the mud, and when I punched the power button, it came on.

I smiled, or tried to, since my face was stiff.

Rummaging through the pictures and videos, I found the one that had almost led to my death.

"Here you are!", I shook my head.

Watching the video was hard, because each time it showed Baker or his voice came through, a wave of guilt and tormenting sadness ran over me, threatening to keep me sullen.

   When it came to the fight between him and Ibiye, I powered off the camera.

   Deep down in me, I felt responsible for their deaths, and depression over that hung over me like the sword of Damocles.

I don't know when I fell asleep, but when I awoke, it was dark, and once again, only my mom was in the room.

The air was heavy with the delicious aroma of dried 'isila' pepper soup.

I yawned, and made to sit up. Instantly, my mom was at my bedside, checking me.
"How are you feeling now? Does it hurt?"

   I shook my head, tears running down my eyes.

Mom's face hovered above, etched with worry. "What is it, baby? Are you okay?"

The caring pet name only made me cry more.

Not because I wanted more, I didn't. Seriously.

It was because she was caring for a murderer.
If she cried this much over me now, what'd she do when I go to jail?

    It'd drive Father crazy, I was his secret favorite child, and more often than not, I'd heard him bragging to his friends about me.

Once I even heard a bet that I was going to be more successful than one of his friend's sons.
That had sparked enmity between us both.

   I wondered now if I was going to make my name in prison.

Mother mistook the tears for more attention, and she hugged me tightly, her tears wetting my injured shoulder.

"What is it baby?", she repeated.

I told her, everything, not omitting a single detail.

When I was done, she hugged me again, tighter, and called me a brave boy, telling me how proud I'd made her.

"Get some sleep", she said, closing the door after making sure I drank some of the spicy hot pepper soup broth.

"We'll leave tomorrow morning".

    Then the door shut, and I was all alone in the room, my only companions being a notoriously noisy cockroach and a wall gecko that was determined to feast on the roach.

I  lay there, counting the seconds till daybreak.

Somewhere around five thousand, I fell sound asleep.

Author's Note:
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