Conversation
Yo, OluwaTimi, I don’t know if you can relate but I have been a child all my life. I have always been a small boy, even when I packed my bags and left for the great citadel of learning - the decrepit tertiary institution, my dad still referred to me as 'my boy’. He had a huge smile on his face, it was strange, really because that was the second time I saw him smile. The first time - my report card was filled with A’s and cheers. The man lit up with joy and the hardness in him softened for a bleak moment. Seconds later, he berated me for being the second best student in class. 'The best student does not have two heads, or is he as smart as you are? Come on, don’t disgrace this family,' he said emphatically. Those words tamed the leaping horse in my mind and the butterflies in my tummy rested. But well, in a way, I expected him to say that, so I had partially prepared for those piercing words. 'Irriz Waririz,' I reiterated in my mind.
I woke up around 3am cursing my luck once again. I had dreamt that I was so pressed and needed to pee, you know how the story goes. The bed was soiled, not to talk of my boxer short. I looked around, the dead silence of the night resonated with me and I remembered that I had the room all to myself now. It took forever for me to remove the wet bed sheet and the dripping boxer short. I thought of myself as a coward. 'A spineless boy with a vertebrae,' I muttered while I searched for a clean short to wear. It was becoming more and more troublesome to find one amidst the dirty and stained ones. After a while, one came along and I put it on while a thought ran through my mind. It was intense, one I couldn’t seem to control. It had been on my mind, ruling my consciousness at times since I was 13. I struggled initially, my legs would push me sometimes and I would find myself in front of my parents but my mouth would fail me. I was terrified that they would think of me as a vile being who had been possessed by a newbie demon. My friends in school aided me, we talked about it and they shared ideas on how I could keep it at bay. 'You just need tissue and your imagination, padi mi,' my best friend affirmed confidently.
I would go into the toilet, the only private place I could think of in my house and my imagination would run amok. After a while, the soiled tissue would go down the drain as I flushed.
I tried to fight the thought on this very night though but the picture of the lady I saw on my way back from school and the sultry advertisement on TV stuck with me like glue. I had to pick the tissue and I strolled into the toilet with the hung head on my neck swaying from side to side.
Minutes later, I bounced on the bed and thought about church. I looked at my well ironed cloths on the pressing table at the corner but guilt deemed me unworthy of doning those cloths happily to church. 'I have sinned again,' I thought to myself. I felt heavy, sweat filled the pores on my skin and I laid there, bare. Sleep came however, wrapping me up in all its glory and I embraced it warmly.
Day came and a sound slap on my buttocks jacked me into reality. 'You want me to come to your school and tell your principal that the senior prefect is still wetting the bed, abi? At your age. Stupid boy, get up and go and prepare for church, my friend,' my mum’s voice gave a sound echo through the whole house. I picked myself up from the soiled bed and entered the bathroom.
Minutes passed; hats, cloths and shoes gave us away. The neighbors walked with us as we headed for the church nearby. The neighbor’s daughter smiled at me, I didn’t know how to react, so, I looked away. She must have felt bad, I think.
The choir sang sweet renditions of those soul lifting songs we listened to at home. The hymns and instruments took my mum into a different realm as she screamed at the top of her voice with her eyes closed. I stood there, my mouth was moving, eyes darting from place to place, trying to soak it all in but still, I felt out of place. I really wanted to join in and enjoy the euphoria but nothing was happening. I could not connect; even though I knew all the words, they didn’t speak to me. Was it because our neighbor who knocked the daylight out of his wife last night was also singing along happily? Or the married woman beside me who everyone knows was sleeping around was shivering in euphoria and screaming at the top of her voice too? I really can’t say. I looked at the pastor, his wife and the children: the fleet of cars in their abode, the fancy life they lived and the way they shunned my father when he went to them for help. 'Guy, is that not your cousin, the one who smokes?' I asked my best friend while I pointed to the man who led the praise and worship session. 'So?' He replied in an angry tone. 'Leave me abeg, if you don’t want to dance, don’t dance,' he said as he leaped, grooving and gyrating.
Can you relate, OluwaTimi?
(Irriz Waririz - It is what it is. Padi mi - My friend)
