| abstract
| - Published in Nigeria Today 2012 Some few hours ago, Ikotun and almost the whole Lagos was flooded. all the drainage channels busy with pitter-pattering; it rained cats and dogs for quite a long while, and this had shattered my day’s schedules. I was returning from the studio that wet Saturday afternoon, after a floored recording session. My previous data had been reported missing, my producer gave flimsy excuses for not being able to work for me; claiming the heavy thunder and lighting was… bla-bla-bla… gush, I was so pissed with my self, with everyone, and everything my eyes could see, in fact! Wet and drained, I shivered past my gate and made for the foyer. A blue Honda was parked right at my mother’s parking spot while Her’s was just under the rain. ‘Maybe, an Uncle or an Aunt is around?’ I quickly guessed, beating the door barricade, into the living room. Well then, I was greeted with the most shocking moment of my life. At first, it seemed quite funny. A man’s pair of shoes and stockings… certainly not mine. Then, a T-shirt carelessly hung across one of the cushions. “Hmm, what’ the… hope it’s not what I’m thinking…” A few cigarette butts and bottles of beer almost confirmed my suspicion. Yeah, I know. Since my father died in a crash, Mama had suddenly turned to drinking, but smoking is definitely not part of her most recent hobbies. She’s having a guest, I guessed. I walked up the stairs, stealing every step from the noisy tiles like a stilt-cat… (Most awkwardly, there were no voices, not even a whisper). soon, my heart leaped with a sight… my mother’s room was ajar, I could hear her moaning. As I got closer, she was on her back; a big guy was ravaging her like a little whore, while she lavished obscenities on him. My head almost exploded… you know why? My mother saw me coming. But to my greatest amazement, she began calling; “help! Help me darling! He’s killing me!” there, I noticed the man’s heavy arm, wrapped around her neck. My God! Was he choking her? I was pinned to my position. Couldn’t move a limb or say a word. Floods and schools of ideas and thoughts crowded my head in a heightened dilemma. My mother? Being raped? Under my own roof? Before my very eyes? I reached for my side pocket, there was a pen-knife holding my bunch of keys. All I felt and wanted to do as soon as possible was grab this guy, choke the life out of him, stab him mercilessly… ghhrr! Damn it! I pounced at this huge guy with all my might, thrusting my dagger rapidly and successively too… I stabbed him for quite a good number of times; suddenly, he lost hold of Mama and turned toward me. His eyes glowed with such furious rage that I almost lost my wits. (Thought I just stabbed this guy severely a few moments back?) He glared at me as he approached. I took a few steps backward as though trying to regain balance or build up some defense. It was then that I noticed a strange object in his hands… it was a revolver. (He’d been raping my mother under gun point?) He raised his hands toward me, I saw him pull the trigger, and next thing was a sound… the blast. *** My head ached so badly, I felt a sharp pain in my elbow… moments later, I woke up. (Have I been dreaming all this while?) I was glad it was all a dream… but, no! It wasn’t. I realized Mama’s full weight was on me, she was all blood drained, and cold. Immediately, I recalled having met her with a man in his room, images of a man pointing a short gun at me flew across my head. Could it be Mama had taken the bullet for me? “Mummy! Mummy!” I shrieked. But she was far beyond our planet. I saw this glow on her face, it provoked a feeling of, yes!-I’m-proud-to-die-for-my-only-son. The guy! Where the hell is he…? I burst out, couldn’t control the tears, my vision blurred with thick tear bubbles, as I turned every corner of the house in search of the man who killed my mother after raping her. There was no trace of him nor his Honda, the gate was ajar, and everywhere was serene. Tears stopped running, my body went dry of liquid, and I was fainting. Soon an ambulance arrived and the entire story became a press business subsequently. This was how I became an orphan, at the age of 24.
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