Chai!!! I've been so MIA!!! jeez!!
Myne has gone and started another story in my absence, but won't you finish Gladys' story Myne??? I feel so outta the loop!! I have to go and catch up on the blog entries I've missed!!
And here's the FINAL entry, enjoy guys and critique!!!
P.S - I'm not ignoring you Myne, I will get to your concern in a bit
@ Rethots, thank you for your comments..*I blush and yes, I will respond to them, soon.
ORION'S BELT IV
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“Death for us all, but his own death to each – Albert Camus”
Lagos, Nigeria July 2007.
Uncle Festus’ expiring prophecy business blossomed into a thriving household name, our raffia mats soon became plastic chairs, his high stool an embellished throne-like high chair, and our clientele was fast expanding to include the upper crust of Lagos society. We had moved to a new house and a huge white banner outside it proclaimed “Holy Festus and Prophet Solomon” in bold red font. The banner was tied to two wooden poles erected in front of our new temple, a small room that was in the back of our newly built bungalow, a far cry from our former “holy” room. In a span of six months, our customer list had quadrupled and so had the gifts and cash offerings to Jah. The plastic bowl had become a red embroidered satin bag that only housed five hundred naira notes and higher denominations, as the almost inconspicuous thread on the side read, apparently a lot of people wanted their enemies dead and if Jah was doing the killing, who were they to argue?
My life as Prophet Solomon was good; I would touch a customer and get a glimpse or a vision of their adversary’s death, I was respected and business was booming. At first, seeing death and funerals had scared me, I refused to be a part of Uncle Festus’ hoax after I saw my first vision as Solomon but when my first customer came back with five thousand crisp naira notes and thanked me effusively for the death of her husband’s mistress I was enticed and then persuaded.
I convinced myself that I was only a tool in the hands of Almighty Jah as Uncle Festus had put it, I did not have a hand in these deaths and I was actually helping people, Amaka disagreed however.
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“You call it madness, but I call it love – Don Byas”
Amaka, my heart, we had begun a whirlwind romance after my first few weeks in Lagos, It had started off with winks as we passed each other in the compound and then stolen kisses under the shade of the mango tree when night had come and only the spirits walked the earth. We would lay under the tree on Amaka’s old wrapper watching the stars but not really thinking about them. I would look at her as she watched the stars, thinking how plain but beautiful she looked, she would catch me staring and poke her elbow playfully into my side “We are supposed to be looking for Orion’s Belt” she would say. Amaka loved science and school and insects and she talked endlessly of her dream of owning a school. At first she was going to name it ‘Ekwensi Grammar School’ after her then favorite Nigerian author Cyprian Ekwensi and then she found Sidney Sheldon and decided ‘The Sheldon Nigerian School’ was more appropriate. She was like a pendulum on a string, oscillating and wavering and that was one of the many things that drew me to her.
She had gone off to continue boarding school after two months and we had written letters to each other, at first my letters were always sent back with red lines drawn across words and corrections written above them. She meant well I knew, it was the teacher in her, but it irritated me and so I got Obinna, my neighbor in secondary school to start writing the letters. She marveled out how my lexicon and subject-tense agreement had improved she said in the first letter she sent back after Obinna took up writing the letters, I smiled when Obinna told me what lexicon meant and told him to write “it was all for you babe” in response.
“We are lovers separated by space, but like the stars in Orion’s belt our hearts still beat as one” I had said in one of the letters Obinna had written. In response, she sent me a CD by Luther Vandross that contained only one song – Endless Love. My belly felt like I had just dropped from a high point on those amusement park rides every time I listened to the song. I imagined dancing with Amaka under the mango tree and kissing her until I could taste the pepper soup she had for dinner on my tongue. In June, she wrote that she was coming back to spend four whole months at home, I was exuberant and ecstatic. So ecstatic, that Uncle Festus asked me if I was dipping my fingers into his palm wine kegs, I shook my head and said I was just excited, he peered at me his eyes dancing above his reading glasses and nodded knowingly “I understand”
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Lagos, Nigeria July 2007.
“Nigerian Hitler Uw Uw Uw” she screeched clapping her hand over her mouth in a mocking fashion as she pushed me roughly out of their living quarters. “You want to kill Amaka for me abi?” “Tufiakwa!” she said spitting into the sand, Amaka stood in front of the door watching helplessly as her mother shoved me further into the street, her eyes begging my forgiveness. I left their house with only one sandal on my foot, that night Amaka came to me “What a homecoming eh?” she said offering me my sandal “Yes, indeed” I replied. “I am sorry about Mama” she said “But do you really kill people Amadi?” I usually loved Amaka’s bluntness but tonight it was like a blow to the chest. “No, Amaka” I replied, hurt that she would think so low of me, “So, explain...I’m trying to understand here Amadi!” she said impatiently. I began to explain my visions and what Uncle Festus and I had been doing for the past four months that she had been away in school. She listened raptly, caught up in my story and when I finished and let go of my breath that I didn’t realize I had been holding, she kneaded my shoulders gently and said she still loved me but that she could not be with me if I continued killing people. I was astounded “I just explained to you” I said. “It’s me or Prophet Solomon” she said and left me speechless as she made her way into the night.
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Lagos, Nigeria July 2007
I was a dead man walking; my eyes were sunken and bloodshot from weeks of sleep deprivation, my collar bone was starting to jut out at an increasingly odd angle and my skin had taken on the sickly shade of tangelos. “Biko, Eat something” Aunty Mary begged me, she was holding a tray that held a plate of jollof rice and she looked as if she was going to burst into tears at any moment. “I’m not really hungry Aunty” I said “And my mouth is dry, maybe water?” She promptly filled a tumbler with water for me watching me as I gulped it down. “Amadi, you have been like this now for two weeks, what is it?” “You can talk to me Amadi, you are like my own son” she said as tears pooled in her eyes, I wiped them with the back of my hand and looked at her intently. She was truly the mother I never had “It is my heart, Aunty” I said as my face fell, she held my hand in hers clinging to it for a long time and then she kissed it “Follow it” she said and she left my room leaving the food tray behind.
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The darkness was comforting and reassuring, like a bulletproof vest only it was not made of Kevlar. I felt the brick wall, rough and gritty under my hands and then my hand bumped into the doorknob. Quietly, I turned it “Amaka” I whispered into the darkness, a torch flicked on “Who’s there?” came a raspy voice as the beam of light hit my face. “Amadi?” she asked surprised, the sleepiness had vanished and I put down my duffel bag. “Yes. I wanted to tell you that I miss you Amaka” “At this...” “I love you” I said cutting her off, “Prophet Solomon is gone! Run away with me?” I begged, she smiled and then ran into my arms “The appropriate term is elope, my dear” she laughed tickling my chin. “Can we dance?” I asked “Now?” “Yes, now my love” I said pulling her with me out of the room.
We danced under the mango tree as I hummed Luther Vandross’ Endless love, the night sounds of crickets and owls providing an orchestra and then we kissed as the moon smiled upon us and the taste of last night’s pepper soup lingered in my mouth. “Amadi, look!” she said pointing at the sky, I looked “It’s Orion’s Belt!” she said excitedly “It’s has three stars” I replied. “Yes, two hearts that beat as one and then there was a third” she said. She winked and I smiled, and then she laughed and I lost myself in her.
