ORION'S BELT II

So I finally did it, I messed around, went on the blogger link, changed encoding..a bunch of randomness that is even confusing me sef, but I DID IT! So YAY ME!! Here is second installment, enjoy guys! Thanks for your help Repressed One.

ORION'S BELT©

We began our walk home as I told him my dream, he throwing stones at imagined lizards in the far distance, me gesturing endlessly with my hands. I concluded my dream as we neared Mama Uzo’s backyard garden , Uzo broke his stride, gave me a quick hug and thumped me on the back “There is nothing to worry about Amadi, now that you have told me your dream, of course I will not run into the road for a ball!” he said.
I smiled uneasily, I was not entirely convinced, there was still the niggling feeling of uncertainty, like on days when it rained while the sun shone brightly and a sense of dread had settled upon me. But I nodded my head in agreement and answered “Yes, of course” with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “Mama cannot see you, go I will see you later” Uzo said, as he unlatched the kitchen door and waved goodbye. I walked home feeling very confused and afraid. My head was throbbing with questions and there was no one who could answer them, Adaku, my mother was a self-absorbed ex-beauty queen who still reveled in her pageant days and went through life like she was still the twenty year old who had won the Ogudu Market competition. I was the mistake that happened with the business man otherwise known as my father - the electronics dealer in Mammy market. The same mistake that destroyed her figure she had since been trying to reclaim. Adaku, the woman who would not bat an eyelid even if I set my head on fire (I had tried it, the patch-work pattern growth of my hair would always remind me of my foolishness). I laughed bitterly as I thought of having a conversation with her about my dream. The only time Adaku ever spoke to me was when she barked out orders, gave me food, or during the morning ritual. She called me every morning after she finished taking a shower, naked before her full length mirror, she would hold her love handles and say to me “Nwa Ekwensu! Devil Child! You see it?” She would look me up and down, from my head to the sole of my feet and eye me in a way only she could execute. After I singed my hair and wounded my scalp, I gave up trying to get her attention and establish a relationship with her, it was a hopeless cause.
I got home weary and mentally exhausted; I had detoured from my original route home in hopes of ridding my mind of the persistent feelings of doubt, to no avail. I walked into the kitchen tense and hungry, on the kitchen table sat an Eleganza cooler of yam porridge. I scooped spoons of bright yellow mush (the kind of yellow that comes only from rich palm oil), yams morsels replete with utazi slivers and spinach leaves into a ceramic bowl and wolfed it down hungrily, sated I fell into a deep sleep.
It was Saturday - chore day, and I generally danced to the beat of my own drum, I usually woke up at six and commenced with sweeping the yard and then all the rooms in the house. Adaku usually came in at noon, drunk and rambunctious. She had spent the night at the local palm wine joint, sitting on the laps of men who bought her drinks hoping to score a new boyfriend. Today was different though, she staggered into the house, her skintight mini-dress ripped and revealing her was-once-white lacy pant, her hair was in a disarray, and there was a huge stain of some liquid spread across her chest and breasts.
“Ekwensu, ebe ki no? Devil, where are you” she screamed, she was drunk. “Adaku, there is bath water for you” I said, holding my breath to avoid the reeking stench of stale sweat and fermented palm wine and pointing in the direction of the outhouse. She moved towards me as I wondered if she was too drunk to take a shower, and then she struck me in the face. My mouth fell open as my cheek tingled, my ears had taken on a new shade of red, and they were hot - I could feel the heat spreading down my neck. She had never hit me, despite her cold-heartedness and deficient maternal skills, Adaku had never once laid a finger on me. “Why?” I asked, my palm cool against my burning cheek, “Lo-ok at wha---t that wo-man did to…me” she stuttered. “Uzo is dead, and you talked to him se? You killed him Amadi.” “I am tired Amadi! I cannot continue to deal with your wahala, Festus is coming to take you” she talked fast and mumbled the words like she had hot yam in her mouth. “Uncle Festus?” I asked, “Yes, to Lagos” she said and walked past me, slamming her bedroom door as she entered into it.
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‘Ukwa ruo oge ya o da – At the appropriate time, the breadfruit will fall”
We went to see Uzo’s mother – Adaku and I, in spite of her attack on Adaku, to pay our condolences and that was when she screamed at us and called me an ogbanje. Adaku said nothing as we left the mourning house, we could hear the women whispering and muttering under their breaths “Ashewo” one said, “Prostitute” another spat in agreement. But they would never say it to her face, because they liked their faces too much - if there was anything other than drinking Adaku could do: it was wrestling and winning.
“Uzo died in his sleep, I didn’t kill him” I said to Adaku as we walked home, “Festus is coming tomorrow, pack all your things” she replied, ignoring my self-exoneration. “Maybe, you can learn his trade and make something of yourself in Lagos” she continued. “What does he do?” I asked, “Am I Festus?” “You will find out when you get there” She answered mordantly. The short conversation had ended, and we silently made our way home.