“Aha, you’ve swallowed the seed.” Akinwale jumped and rubbed his palms together in glee. “An orange tree will grow in your belly, and you will become a fatty bum bum.”
Fatimah chased him. He laughed loudly as he ran. How much strength was in her small toddler legs, he thought as he ran circles around her?
“Waleeee!” his mother shouted his name menacingly, “I asked you to bring out the dirty plates.”
He closed his eyes and stamped his feet indignantly, then he went into the house muttering incoherently. He emerged later carrying the dishes in a big bowl. He walked sluggishly, earning his mother’s criticism.
“Mummy, I’m hungry.”
She glared at him. “Lazy boy, you only know how to taunt little children.”
She stretched a fleshy arm and pulled him towards her. “Come and eat my arm…”
He squirmed in her grip. “…or my leg,” she said as she patted her left leg on all sides. You cannot kuku finish it.”
She pulled his ear before releasing him. He ran from her murmuring.
“Just don’t let me hear it, if you don’t want a slap that will send your father home right now.”
Her friend, Iya Omo, who sat on a stool beside her touched her to get her attention.
“I need to go home,” she said looking down at her blouse. There were big, wet patches where her nipples would be.
Mama Wale noticed the patches as well “Your baby must be crying.”
“Yes. I will come back later to finish our discussion.”
Wale watched the exchange perplexed. He wondered if a baby’s cry could draw out its mother’s milk from a distance and wished he could follow Mama Omo to confirm if her baby was actually crying.
***
Wale’s father was impatient for the end of the Landlords’ Association weekly meeting. It annoyed him that the old men kept bringing up decided issues and arguing unnecessarily.
His ear had been buzzing, as though a winged was trapped in it and trying to fly out. He cleared his throat noisily, then put a finger inside his ear to shake out the imaginary insect. The ringing continued.
“Whoever is calling my name for evil will be visited by evil.”
He made his right hand into a fist and put the open top to his ear to silence the buzz. It didn’t work. He smacked the hollow of his ear with his open palm, then placed the balled fist over his ear again. The buzzing stopped briefly then started again.
“My head will not accept evil,” he said under his breath, then he snapped his finger while waving his hand over his head. The motion was subtle to avoid attracting the attention of the other landlords.
Suddenly he remembered that the last time something like this happened to him his phone had been rigging endlessly. Perhaps it was a sign that his phone was ringing again, he thought.
The thought made him want to get home faster.
***
Wale washed the plates distractedly, still preoccupied with the connection between a crying baby and a mother’s dripping nipples. He suddenly looked up and saw his father walking home briskly. He stopped washing the dishes and tried hard to remember where he had dropped his father’s phone after playing games on it. He knew his father would ask for the phone immediately. He was in trouble.
“Welcome sir.” He greeted as his father’s shadow fell upon him.
“Did you see my phone? I’m sure it has been ringing.”
“No,” he answered hesitantly.
“No?” his father echoed. “Come and help me look for it.”
He followed his father into the sitting room and stood at the door. He watched in fear as his father checked the top of the table and the shelf that housed the big, coloured television.
“I left that phone on this table.” The phone began to ring again, and he traced it to the space behind the sofa. He looked at his son tellingly.
Wale’s legs trembled. It was apparent that the phone didn’t walk there.
“Go to the backyard and cut a befitting cane for your back. If you choose a light one, I’ll come and help you pick a good one.”
How outside, he slowly lifted the edge of the curtain covering the open living room window and saw his father sitting in his armchair, waiting for the cane. He looked up at the guava tree and wondered which one would be acceptable to his father. Canes from the guava tree branches are always vengeful. They curve and bite into the skin without mercy.
The last time his father flogged him was memorable. His father had followed him as he backed away, shielding the lashes with the back of his upper arm, until he fell into a big basin of water his mother earlier fetched. The lashes didn’t stop until his neck, arms and body were a fearsome crisscross of bruises. Strange how he didn’t remember the unforgettable experience when he was tempted to play Sudoku on the phone.
What could he do to avoid the beating,” he thought. Sodiq once told him that putting strands from his eyelashes on his father’s footwear could make him forget to flog him. He didn’t believe it, but Sodiq was Alfa Sulaimon’s son and what better time to test the hypothesis than now when he faced imminent agony? He quickly pulled at his eyelashes and pasted the hair on his father’s Dunlop slippers on the foot mat. Pull. Paste. Pull. Paste.
At the end of the task, his eyelids stung like crazy and were already slightly puffy. He ran back to the backyard and pretended to cut a cane. When he went back to peep in the window, his father had gone.
***
“Knock, knock. Who dey house?” Uncle Toosweet said as he came into the house.
Wale and Fatimah ran to greet him.
“Hey, Wale,” he said as he handed him a small pack of peanut burgers. It was that yummy one from that factory in Ghana. Wale was annoyed that Uncle Toosweet didn’t even look at him. All his attention was on plump Fatimah whom he gave a kiss on the cheek before he tossed her up and down and settled her in his lap.
Uncle Toosweet showed Fatimah a sponge cake, packs of milky chocolates, and a banana-flavoured cookie. These were for her as her baby teeth weren’t strong enough to crack coated peanut burgers. Seeing all the goodies, he wished he was a toddler too.
Fatimah had a big smile as Uncle Toosweet unwrapped the sponge cake and began to feed it to her, in small bits, with his hand. She giggled.
Rubbish! Wale glowered as Fatima ate. His uncle had still not looked at him.
“Fine girl. Whenever I look at you, I see Maame Afryea. See how you’re smiling. I’m sure she’s smiling too in heaven.” Another giggle. Wale scoffed.
Uncle Toosweet wiped the corners of her mouth with his thumb. “Anything you want, tell me. Ok?”
Fatima nodded. Wale couldn’t understand how Fatimah resembled Grandma Ghana. Even though she died before he and his sister were born, his mother and Uncle Toosweet were dark-skinned while Fatimah was very light-skinned like his father’s brother, Uncle Nifemi. Anyways, Fatimah was younger, AND A GIRL. Men like girls.
Their mother came in at that moment. Her brother had passed her outside the gate, on his way in, and she saw off Iya Omo, who had returned to finish her discussion earlier. He stood up, hugged her and pulled her cheeks. Of course, his mother was a girl, he would hug her, Wale thought. If only he was a girl too…
“Ohenewaa, I came to see if you need help in moving or arranging things.” His sister smiled.
“We’ve arranged everything and settled in. But you can help me chase away spirits that might have followed us from the old house.”
Uncle Toosweet chuckled, “Where did you hear that one?”
“My friend told me to discard the old brooms and buy new ones, as is done when you move into a new house, to ward off spirits.”
“So, these spirits reside only in brooms but not in your clothes and other stuff?” his uncle mocked.
They both laughed but there was no mirth in his mother’s eyes, and he knew she would buy new brooms that evening. She served her brother delicious egusi soup and white rice. After much gist and laughs, they walked him to the bus stop to catch a bus home. Uncle Toosweet carried Fatima while he walked beside his mother, totally ignored.
***
On their way back, his mother stopped by the roadside shops and bought two brooms. Wale marvelled at their lengths. They were almost three times longer than the old ones they used. Back at home, he pulled out one broomstick and twirled it. Its tip curled and drooped like a ballerina.
Aha! He would use it to tickle the sponge cake out of his grandmother’s twin. He sneaked up on Fatimah where she sat on the floor. He tickled her nape and ears. She didn’t turn to see him and was busy twisting her neck and shifting her round shoulders like a chicken plagued by Coli. He kept on ticking her and she kept jerking as though she was having a bad hiccup. Wale chuckled in delight until his mother suddenly appeared.
“Why are you beating your sister with a broomstick? Do you want her to become thin like you? Oya, spit on that broom and throw it away.”
He reluctantly did as she instructed. So, she ordered him to go and kneel in one corner of the sitting room. Then she went to cook and forgot about him. Of course, he wasn’t a girl.
***
“Assalam Aleikum.” His father was home.
Wale looked up just as his father noticed in the corner. Their eyes met. He could see judgment in his father’s eyes.
He expected an outburst at any moment, but his father showed no sign of plotting a punishment as he left the living room. Wale knew he was going to perform ablution for prayers.
Wale was drenched in sweat by the time his father returned. He had been suppressing the urge to go to the toilet and his balder was the worse for it. He dared not leave his punishment corner, so he kept fidgeting with the hope that his father would notice his discomfort. But his father was blissfully looking straight ahead, chanting prayers. Wale stood up and held his crotch to hold in the urine. For where?
The first alarming trickle made him run to his father’s mat.
“Daddy! Daddy!” His father clapped his hands sideways.
“It’s wee-wee. Daddy, I want to wee-wee.”
His father clapped at him again. He wondered what the clap meant.
The long trickle touched the floor. Yee! He bolted. Better to leave without permission than to desecrate his father’s prayers and make him start all over again.
Surprisingly, neither his father nor mother said anything when he returned.
As they ate dinner later in the evening, Wale watched his father closely. He didn’t look or act like he remembered anything about the phone or the prayer incident. Just before retiring to bed, his father causally mentioned his swollen eyelids.
Sodiq was right after all, he thought.
***
Wale woke up to see his father standing near his bed. He got up and prostrated before his father.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, my son. The swelling on your eyelid is going down. Did you dream?”
The question caught him unawares. Without thinking, he answered, “Yes sir.”
“Sit and tell me what you dreamt about.”
“A man was pursuing me. I became tired and couldn’t run anymore. I begged him not to hurt me. He said he wouldn’t if I told him my father’s name.” He looked at his father, wondering if the older man believed his dream.
“Go on.”
“I told him my father is Baba Wale.”
“That’s good.”
“He asked for your real name, the one grandpa named you. I told him it was Akinwande. He then asked for Grandpa’s name.”
His father crossed his arms, “Did you tell him?”
Wale nodded solemnly.
A cane appeared in Baba Wale’s hand miraculously. Wale was surprised to see it. He was firmly in his father’s grip before his brain could tell him to run. When the first blow landed, he suddenly felt an intense urge to pee.
“Stupid boy! Oh, you think I forgot.”
The cane whacked him all over his body without stopping.
“You’ve been misbehaving lately, like there’s a spirit living in you. Now, you have confirmed that you are possessed. You gave someone my name! Do you know if he wants to use my name to bewitch me? My enemies can’t use you against me.” He snapped his finger over his head.
“Daddy pleeeeeease, daddy, please. I will not do that again.”
More lashes. A hot stream began to run down Wale’s legs.
“I’m not going to spare you. The last time I did, did you repent and become wiser?”
The cane landed on his body in quick succession. He screamed and jumped up and down as the itchy sting crawled down his face to his neck.
“Daddy please, I want to poo poo.” He held the cane. A knock landed on his forehead. He let go of the came immediately and rolled on the floor.
“Do you want to kill me because I am not a girl like Fatima?”
“What? The retributive hand suspended its movements. Only Wale’s heaving and wailing broke the silence.
“Ok. I want to die. Please I want to dieeee.”
Maria Oluwabukola Oni is a copywriter and storyteller based in Lagos, Nigeria. Her stories have appeared on Akowdee Magazine, Ebedi Review, Nantygreens, Jellyfish Review, and are forthcoming in more. She is currently writing her first novel. She tweets @OhMariaCopy.
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