Pestilence at nineteen

One

November 29 , 2019. Nigeria.

The chiming of the parochial church bell , the chirping of the birds ,the smoking chimnies , putrid smell of socks in the balcony - one is faced with the rot of the abode. Pa Jesa lies on his bed , chartreuse in hand , he embellishes his porcelain mug which he seldomly used when decanting the alcoholic content. The days seemed slow ; how long was he in bed? he didn't know. Turning on the news lately had been much of a stress , he drank only , and his peptic ulcer seemed to show no sign of assuagement or amelioration. Cooking wasn't an option , as he could in no way eat without having digestive contractions. Staring blankly at the ceiling , the septuagenarian reached for his pen and note - since Keffi died he took to writing of poems , and once , a publishing house by the name "Rarfixe" in the university he once taught offered to publish his poem collection "Verily it sprung" , he knew Keffi would want that for him but he bluntly refused , trying to maintain his in communicado personality with the outside world.
Trying to write was a bit strenuous as his mind couldn't work in tandem motion with his hands , he drops the pen and heads out for the library , the door creaked open and he recognized that the asymmetrical cobwebs had found their place in every nook and cranny of the extensive library. His desk held dust and the proximity to him sneezing when he grasped a book was somewhat unavoidable...he checked the last project he was working on before he recumbented to his present state , the bold inscription of the article header he had scribbled on his note "Juxtaposing the Nigerian socio-economic welfare" his eye caught sight of the book "Season of anomy" by Wole Soyinka , he had an unprecedented expression on his face , as to whether he actually did these things. Alpenstock in hand , he takes the elevator down the lobby and espialed his mail box - twelve letters to be precise protuded from the box - one from the University , another from the University , yet another from the University and...wait! Joan! he saw a letter from Joan! his daughter. Quickly , he banged the box and walked as brisk as his legs could carry him to the elevator , climbing the stairs these days had been fire and brimstone altogether.
Sitting on a chair in the library , he tore up the envelope with hwyl and the first thing he did was check the date it was written : it dated 24th June , 2019. He peered at a calendar behind him and found the date to be an anachronistic placement , he got the letter at a wrong time, for the date at present was 29th November...very heartbroken , he managed to read the letter.

Dear Father ,
By the time you see this letter I might have been in Canada by then , I called you lately , almost felt like a million times , but you didn't pick up - still , I phoned Albert the Major domo, but he said you fired him. I know all this is because of Mom's death...I know very well ,but that isnt the life I want for you Dad , I want you to move on with your life , surely , you and I know quite well that mother wouldn't be happy to see you in this state.
I am leaving for Canada because I have to clear my head off some few things that Nigerian reminds me of. I intend going first to Manitoba to see Aunty Ifeka ,then I'll head to Montreal, I have to complete my dissertation with Dr Richie Foxx , I know you call them unimportant nonsense in your philosophical lectures , but I have to do it pro tem , at least until everything and everyone normalizes again.
I don't know when I'll see or hear from you again , but I called Mrs Eugene to come take care of you.Please Father , don't put her out.
I will drop my pen here now. I hope to hear from you soon.
Your Daughter ,
Joan (Kadinene).
P . S. : The University called , they send their condolences , and they give approbation to your retirement. I sent a copy of their letter to you.

As he read slowly , tears welled up in his eye , his daughter had gone to chase academic dreams just like he did. He didn't avail himself to give her some words of advice. He thought of Keffi , he thought of his Ulcer which he hid from everyone. He slammed his head on his desk in tears , a heartbroken man he was. Why had he failed everyone and everything like this?