Madam Koi-koi ✓

07-07-2020

Koi, koi, koi.

Yes, that was how she walked in those her black heels with red soles. Her big afro hair, bright-red lipstick, and that black and white polka dot cotton dress.

Hmm. A true African woman that would drive men crazy with her those wide hips that swayed beautifully with every beat of the bata drum. Her soft curves, and big buttocks was outlined in that flare black and white polka dot dress, that stayed just a few inches beneath her knees.

Her ebony skin shone in the sun from the ivory-coloured natural fat extracted from the fruit of the Shea tree -- as she walked proud and tall in between the students, chewing her gum loudly, and smacking anyone on the arse that misbehaved on the assembly with her thick whip.

Everyone trembled at the sound of the Koi-koi shoe. The headmaster, and the teachers, too. It was a rumour that she bedded one of them.

Mister Seun was his name and he never returned.

I was just a little boy then, and I remember it as clear as daylight.

I had just awoken in the middle of the siester that the senior boys made sure we observed, just after I returned from one English competition against junior boys like me at Kings college, Anambra state.

Senior Bankole and Senior Bello had given me their buckets earlier to fetch water from the tank at the middle of St. John and Queen of peace hostels.

If Senior Ugochukwu, my school father had been present, he would not agree that I go on such lavish errand. But then, he was not, so I had to go.

It was late in the afternoon, the sun, orange-red, and hot. I walked a little while with the buckets in each of my hands, whistling an old tune my father had taught me when I noticed something.

Everything was unusually silent, and still; The birds, the leaves of the mango trees that we plucked everyday, after morning mass, during lunch hours, and sometimes after lights out when little boys like me -- meant to be tucked in bed and duly supervised by our hostel prefects-- snuck out to satisfy our growling stomachs that yearned for our mothers tasty meal.

The fine, green grass that we cut with our cutlasses and hoes during the weekends, and also on other days as punitions for the sins of us, queer boys -- had lost its brillant sway.

And time, too.

Dread was supposed to be at nightfall, and little by vespers. But not today. Today when a little boy like me was out. Alone.

With the corner of my right eye, I caught her red handed. Red handed indeed, as blood scattered throughout her dress, and around the corners of her mouth. She had claws for nails on her fingers, and the nails of her left foot with a missing shoe. She had fangs, too, for teeth. Dirty brown ones.

"Help me find my shoe," she mouthed, dragging herself on the ground with one feet. She tried using one of the trees to pull herself up because of her grazed knees. And she did.

Koi. Pause. Koi. Pause.

I ran.

"Where's the water I asked you to fetch?" Senior Bankole asked harshly when I returned, panting hard, as I pointed in her direction. It was there I passed out.

I awoke at smokefall the next day at the infirmary. Nurse Stanley had placed some warm towels over my head. Her tall, fierce frame contrasted her soft eyes and kind voice unlike the woman she was speaking with.

And it was my mother. That small dark-skinned woman, with stork hard, black eyeballs that made one burn with just a glare. Her feminine disposition, and highly esteemed beliefs was a great combination. That could have been what father had seen in her.

She perched on the small wooden stool just by the window, in her two layered purple, yellow hollandis lappas and same mirror repeat patterns on her headtire. There were yellow pearl beads, and earrings to match. And her soft, ceder scented perfume wafted mildly through the air.

"He's awake already," Nurse Stanley said, with a hand clamped over her mouth in astonishment. Mother immediately rushed to my side. Her normal stoic stance was gone, and replaced by dark circles over her eyes. She had been crying.

"Nnàm," she cried, cupping my face in her small hands. "Don't you try leave me," Just as father had.

Christopher Hollingsworth was his name. He was one of the officials assigned by Queen Elizabeth, from England to one of the six geopolitical zones.

Mother was working as his housekeeper at one of Lagos VIP quarters when he met her. Father was a kind man. He liked good wine, books, telling tales, listening to classic music by Elvis Presley from his small, black radio with antennas, and he liked black women too.

My mother was one of them, and one particularly close to his heart. And he did adored her.

He died from malaria when I was seven. Leaving a weary looking half-caste boy with a mass of brown earthly coils and a black woman, to raise the boy alone.

Anyways, that was why Nurse Stanley was here. To safe Africa from the deadly disease. . .

After mother had settled a bit, the nurse left the room, leaving us to do some mother-son bonding. I told mother about the woman monster, but she laughed, telling me it was all the figment of my imagination.

I begged her not to leave till day break because the woman monster hunted between those times, evenfall till nightime.

Caressing my hair, mother prayed, and poured olive oil over my head. She huggud me too, and gave me a rosary.

It was time for her to go. Go, to make our daily bread. And I begged her not to.

Well, it turned out that the hunter, madam koi-koi, we named her, liked full blooded boys. And trickish men like Mister Seun. And detested half-caste boys like me.

. . . When I had returned to the hostel, I told them about the woman, thinking that if my own mother wouldn't believe me, then, they would. But I was wrong. Instead, they laughed, and pulled at my hair.

Nighttime that day, Senior Bankole and other seniors bound me up. They tied my mouth, hands, and feet, and snuck out with me. I counted all five of them, Senior Bankole included. They dumped me in the middle of the exact same location I saw her and hid behind the trees, laughing.

Moments later, it happened. The light breeze had stopped blowing, the trees were still, even the night creatures hushed. I know they felt it because they fell silent too.

It happened so quickly -- a muffled scream. Guess who. Yes, you guessed right. . . He was a really trickish boy. Hard to say, but I wouldn't miss him.

The others ran. I heard some snorts, then belching, and more snorts. She had had her first meal, and I was next.

Koi. Pause. Koi. Pause. Koi--

I saw her eyes, an endless mass of empty sockets . Blood dripped from the corners of her mouth, and she stunk. Her dress looked like it hadn't been washed in days.

"Have. You. Seen. My. Shoe?" She asked me, trailing her sharp index finger over my face. Her fangs were visible as she opened her mouth to take a bite from my flesh. I tried to scream, and break free but couldn't because of the cloth tied around my mouth.

Her tongue, like a viper's flared in the air before it landed on my skin. It felt hot, and painful, and then she immediately lashed away, breathing heavily, and into darkness. . .

Now, they believe me. But who cares? I'm not the hunted.

Signed: Ojuju kalaba [a short story].

-Eunicezika✨