We begin the day with a song: “We have come again, we have come again, Father we have come again” as if God is not aware that we were dumped by our angels in a country called Nigeria.
Mother refuses to believe it when the oga’s at the top steal palliatives meant to alleviate poverty but I assure her that they too are poor. They do not know when God will come to take their souls so they are making sure they have enough food till then.
We go to the car park, my brother and I. The driver sees my box and barks “If e no fit pay 500 make e carry her bag for leg”. My brother says nothing. He pays the 500 and pushes me inside the hot bus. A mother is already inside, and soon another man joins us – almost at the same time the baby in the mother’s arm begins to cry.
The mother forces water into its mouth and screams at it to shut up. There is no need to interrupt, I do not know if the woman herself has eaten. I eat my plantain chips in silence, feeling guilty for the luxury I could afford. Our bus moves and brother is crying like a child. He is relaying prayers from mummy. “You will not die. God will keep you. Fire burn down every envious person…”.
I catch the snippets of the prayer through the closed window not because brother is shouting but because I am familiar with the routine by now. I know how hard it is to let your child take a trip. And there are no guarantees where I am going. I push the windows open when the man of God begins a prayer of protection and many fires because I do not know which will kill me first. I remember the Lucky Dube song mother banned me from singing in JSS2. I begin to search for it on my phone before we leave the network behind.
Oh, my! I love this! The pace and precision of the story of struggle in this land and the narrative technique is just mind-blowing. You’re a very good storyteller