Magical Flashes
A Dr. Rabi’u Umaru story
Dr. Rabi’u Umaru, Ph.D., spotted the book on his office desk and sprinted to discover his new gift. Forced to be a Psychology professor, the doctor was infatuated with history, sadly.
“Your degrees are all in the Psychology field, how can we assign you to the History department?”
Responses tampered with his dreams. No University within the city of Mafarki, or outside it was willing to hear his passionate case. At 35 years old, the doctor could not use the slabs of kudi bequeathed to him by his late billionaire parents. People rejected bribes nowadays, too much pride and self-worth disgusted him. His consolation was the constant history book gifts from colleagues and students, appreciative of gaining access to his mother’s state-of-the-art home gym, his father’s library, and the doctor’s delightful insights on ancient kingdoms and patriotic leaders that might have been framed as warlords and dictators.
His smile slumped into a scowl.
“What’s this old thing?”
Curly cream threads twirled on the spine of the book and its edges, showering the fossil-white cover with the despondent look of an abandoned grandparent. He swallowed the memories of Kaka, his late grandmother; when she transformed into a folktale machine, believing more in her tales than reality, his parents reneged on their previous adoption agreement and whisked him off her.
He pulled his desk drawer, pinched the remaining Dettol disinfectant wipes from a pack he bought two days ago, and dabbed them on the book.
“Ha ah,” he said. “These wipes aren’t making any difference.”
The more he exerted energy to clean the book, the more it seemed threadbare and frail. He flung the wipes and hissed. Chills pinched his back and he rushed to the mess he’d made on the floor, dumping the wipes inside the bin underneath his desk. Dr. Rabi’u exhaled and whistled.
“I forgive myself,” he said. “I forgive myself.”
Disorder to the doctor looked and sounded like nails scraping steel.
He sat on his desk, gazed at the book, then lifted the front cover with a pen. The zest of grapefruit colored his office with the nostalgia of Kaka’s orchard. His mouth slackened as unseen forces gridlocked his voice, and green waves swallowed him.
Dr. Rabi’u stood up from a sandy hill; he’d been lucky to shield his face using his palms. He rose with the ease of a body unknown to him, a body with amnesia about its one-hundred and ten ailments.
“Oh,” he said, ducking from the biggest grapefruit he’d seen — no, not since the night they smuggled him out of Kaka’s reach.
A sole grapefruit tree, at the peak of a hill? He shook his head. The tree screeched, and a flock of yellow birds with pink and blue wings fled from it.
On the ground, lay the book. The doctor accepted the tree’s shade, opened the book, and read its pages.
I sat underneath the tree, marveling at its grooved trunk with the texture of grass.
Dr. Rabi’u caressed the trunk.
“Wow,” he said.
His stomach growled.
Pangs of hunger gripped me.
Dr. Rabi’u salivated at the sight of the ripe grapefruits.
“One page, just one, then I’ll cut one off the tree.”
I dared not touch the grapefruit, the warnings against its swift poison were clear.
He stopped reading, marveling at the coincidence. The tree in Kaka’s house had been strictly for aesthetics, she forbade anyone from plucking from it, regurgitating tales of its protective role. After she passed away, the tree was cut down, then a flood washed the house away. Dr. Rabi’u looked at the tree and its uncanny resemblance to his Kaka’s tree.
He chuckled.
“Not me believing in irrational coincidences.”
I heard them before I saw them…
He cranked his neck, sniffing for the looming sound of marching hooves. Snaky heads of camels appeared, big camels, chewing like sirens of a pompous government appointee.
Majestic camels, chewing like…
“Sirens of a pompous government appointee,” he yelled. “What is this? Can it read my mind? Where am I? How do I go back home?”
He flipped the pages, scanning for instructions about his return. He found something in the middle page.
Finally, I have learned the pathway to return home. I closed my eyes and whispered…
“I do not know anything,” Dr. Rabi’u whispered.
Heat compressed his toes, his eyes clipped shut, and the doctor couldn’t see or feel the ropes holding him down. Smoke flashed in his thoughts, and with a plop, he was back in his office.
Rain spat on the window, and rats inside the roof scurried. The doctor sat on his desk and gazed at the book, carefully avoiding the temptation to reopen it. At its back, two sentences that hadn’t been there earlier appeared in grey font.
Your life is about to witness many magical flashes, remember me when those flashes come to you. Don’t be scared, life in the unseen is a trip! — Yours, Kaka.
