Noel

 I was awakened by a ruckus outside only to discover that it was just my brother and the other kids in the compound excitingly giving chase to the protesting cock Mama bought for Christmas. My over imaginative mind pictured them in their drooping pants of different textures, shuffling and bustling around in different directions as the cock displayed the best evasive techniques known in Chicken-ville in its desperate attempt to avoid imminent capture and that obscure mental image brought a little tingle of envy in my heart and a smile to my face as I slowly got up and carefully found my way to the only window in our one room “face me, I face you” apartment.

     This Christmas was special because of our new clothes and the chicken. I know my listed reasons are not a big deal for some kids, but for us out here in my hood it was, because it gives us bragging rights amongst the other kids in the hood during our usual boastful tirades, secondly the Christmas clothes were the first new ones we have gotten in years and finally, the chicken which was a big leap from the rejected ‘Ori Eja’ we always gathered from our customers at the market was the first I have heard them buy in my short but otherwise painful life. 

   Our meagre existence in the slum of Ijora-Badia in Lagos was an almost unbearable one until Papa died. The man that birthed me was vile and had long lost the right to be called Papa because he never factored in the scheme of things and calling him that felt alien to me because he never accorded me the honor of being acknowledged as a human talk less of as his son. Back then we barely could live from hand to mouth with my brother hawking groundnut on the streets, Papa a pathological drunk by profession invariable making sure he got himself royally messed up on cheap alcohol popularly known as ‘Shekpe’ at the Shekpe mansion two streets away, while I and Mama sold fish at Ijora market.  I still can never forget the first time I accompanied Mama to the market, it was hell for me because the shouting in the market was too loud for my sensitive ears to handle and worse, the putrid stench of rotten fish that assailed my even more sensitive olfactory lobe was too much for my brain to process that I zoned out most times until my body system got used to sensory damages wrought by the market environment.

  My brother on the other hand was having fun because of the freedom accorded to him while hawking around the streets by playing pranks, getting into street fights and playing football, but his fun was always short-lived because of the feeling of wariness and dread that overcomes him as the time to go home drew nearer. His fears weren’t misplaced; infact he had every reason to be terrified because he and Mama were always at the receiving end of Papa’s drinking bouts. I was spared from his beatings because like I said earlier, he refused to acknowledge my existence but they on the other hand were fair game. So it became a norm in our household that most nights I would be crouched in the corner crying as blows were meted on Mama by Papa for refusing to hand over her day sales and on my brother for coming to her defence. At the end of it all Papa either goes out to drink again with the money he collects or pass out on the bed while my mother gathers us all together at the corner of the room crying and praying to God to save us, and it all went on till the day her prayers were answered.  

   It is said that angels protect babies and drunkards from harms way, but on this particular night I think one angel said he has had enough with this one rumbustious and violent drunk and decided to allow the natural cause of things take place.

   On this day Papa came back raving drunk as usual, began his beating which we all had cowardly accepted as our lot and then staggered out again to continue his debauchery with Mama’s sales for the day. He didn’t come back home that night and was found dead by the road side in the morning. Apparently his body had shutdown because of excess alcohol and thereby choked to death on his vomit. It was a turning point in our lives and Mama made a point of it by using one of the fishes she sells to prepare a meal that day even when the scriptures spoke against celebrating death, but would God judge us unjustly because of our merriment?

   Anyway that was two months in the past, we are now at the present which is Christmas and looking forward to the future which we would tackle together as a family. For once I won’t complain when Mama comes to take me to bath because of my eagerness to try on my new clothes, maybe next time Mama might buy us a pair of shoe each, then I wouldn’t have to walk barefooted any longer. Like I said earlier, this Christmas was special but what would have made it perfect would have been for me to see. I was born sightless and seeing would have meant the world to me because I want to be able to play with the other kids and connect colors with my environment and feelings. Mama tells me that God does everything for a reason and that sometimes feel she would have been better off without eyes too because the world was a very bitter and painful place to be in. But I don’t care for I really wish I could see even if all I see is pain and suffering.

Yulephobia

  It is said that in death all things become clear and all mysteries which has been eluding your understanding during your lifetime becomes suddenly revealed. 

     One old geezer somewhere knew this statement to be so true as he clutched his chest in terror when the supposed ghosts of his past finally came back to haunt him. Trembling in fear, he sat up and pointed at the apparition or manifestation or whatever the hell it was and in a quavering voice asked it a question. But whatever reply he was given must have pleasingly astounded him because his eyes almost popped out of its sockets in shock before he let loose a croaky laugh as the memory of their first encounter on this same day over seventy years ago came spiraling down at him like a Tsunami wave.

   It was the chilly eve of Christmas in the year of the Great depression and the whole town was in a festive mood despite the horrible economic condition in the country. Almost everyone temporarily cast away their problems to enjoy the holiday period except for one little eight year old boy that was on   a mission. He was furious with Santa Claus, in fact

been furious with him throughout the year because last Christmas he asked for a car as his gift. He wanted a real shiny four sitter car so that poppa could drive momma, him and his kid brother to school like some of them other kid's parents did, but Santa Claus being a dummy that he was, got him a toy shiny four sitter car instead, can you imagine? It made him so furious and sad simultaneously because he really wanted the car and his poppa says he couldn’t afford one even if he saved all his earnings for sixteen straight years. So this Christmas he specifically wrote down on a sheet of paper that he wanted a real car and placed it under the christmas tree by the fireplace like he had done since he was three, then being a very determined boy and considering that the car would be needed more than ever now that his kid brother was always sick, he decided that he would stay up to confront Santa as he crawled down the chimney to make sure he met with his demands.         

   If only he knew then what he knew now, he would have saved himself the terror and agony he lived through the subsequent years of his life, if he only he knew then that Santa didn't exist and that all the gifts he received since he was three were from his poppa and momma, he wouldn't have had to live the next seventy something Christmas's of his life in horror and trepidation.

  With a foolproof plan in place, this little eight year old boy with all the goodness and love in his heart slipped out of bed when he felt sure his parents were asleep, went over to feel his brother's temperature and found out that his brother's fever had finally broken, before he crept down the stairs to his rendezvous with Santa. In the sitting room he picked the sofa directly facing the chimney and sat down to wait for Santa till the unavoidable forces of nature forced him into a slumber.

   For how long he had been asleep on the sofa, he had no idea but a cold gust of wind and a scraping sound coming down from the chimney suddenly woke him up. A little eager, tensed, expectant and scared, he stared in awe at the fireplace until Santa climbed down, slowly dusted snow off his clothes, before turning around. 

   The first thing the little boy noticed even in the darkness were Santa's teeth, sorry not teeth but fangs and his golden eyes before he realized that the room was freezing cold as if death had just walked in. Time stood still and the little boy's heart stopped for three seconds, all it took were three seconds and when it began to beat again that thin line between sanity and madness had almost been crossed. Santa was as real as daylight and he was a gruesome monster out of a borderline nightmare was what kept ringing in his little head repeatedly as Santa sauntered passed him without an iota of regard and headed for their rickety staircase because Santa too was here on a mission.

  A lot of nightmarish thoughts ran through this little boy's mind while he sat alone in the sitting room terrified out of his mind, should he run for his parent’s room? Should he scream for his parents? Or wouldn't screaming bring the wrath of Santa on him? All these thoughts whirled in his mind until he remembered that his little brother was up there alone and defenseless but before he could move, if he could have even moved at all, Santa was back and he wasn't alone. The little boy remained frozen on the sofa watching Santa walking towards the chimney with his little brother in tow and when they both finally turned his brother sadly waved goodbye to him while Santa gave him an evil grin and a wink, which the little boy interpreted as "If you ever breathe a word of what you have seen to anyone, you will be next" before they both walked into the fire place and up the chimney never to be seen again.

  Fear is a great intoxicant and it held the little boy frozen long after Santa and his brother had gone, long after poppa had crept down to place the gifts under the pretext of it being from Santa and long after the cock crowed introducing dawn. When morning finally came his parents came down to meet him in the sitting room transfixed to the sofa and staring into space.

  It was a mournful and tearful Christmas for his family as they lost a son to an illness and were invariably losing the other to sinister circumstances. That singular experience left the little boy in a dark shadow of his former self for several years, he was always jumping at shadows, screamed if you crept on him, took to his heels if there was a sudden sharp sound like the slamming of a door, afraid to sleep alone, afraid to sleep without the lights on and worse of all was that December became a terrible month for him because he was always sick and terrified and It got worse as 25th draws nearer. Eventually he managed to get a little semblance of his sanity back but he never could feel happiness again in the month of December without having spasms and shivers.

   Seventy something years later and now lying on his deathbed, Santa was back again with a question, "Are you ready now"? The old geezer answered yes, and then stretched out his hand to be led on.

  He left the world smiling at his childish stupidity and assumptions, he also laughed at the fact that "Death" had a morbid sense of humor for it to dress in a Santa Claus costume all in the name of keeping the spirit of Christmas alive as he went about his horrid business of soul reaping. All this years he thought Santa had killed his brother but it was only death going about his business that faithful Christmas night years ago.

Stigma

The Cemetery Grounds

    This wasn't the normal chilly or dusty harmattan night of December that we all knew, because this particular night reeked of evil and had this sharp pungent taste of hatred to it. Its stench was so vile that if you concentrated hard enough, you just might actually taste it, and the source of this vile ambiance was the man lurking around the corner. He seems invincible to the eyes because he has embraced the shadows and he is one with it now, but if you looked hard enough you just might see his eyes glinting like those of a feral beast. He has been around the cemetery grounds for the last two hours waiting for her, he is almost certain that she wouldn’t disappoint because she is a creature of habit and that compulsion to follow a set of laid down routine wouldn’t allow her do otherwise. She always takes this route back from work, always this route and has never diverted. Approaching footsteps Interrupted his thoughts, so he looks up to see the outline of someone approaching, and when the person walked passed the only lit street light around, he sees that it's her, so he slunk deeper into the shadows to watch her sashay towards her Waterloo, and as he watched her slow approach he couldn’t help but notice her delicate curves and got a pretty good sized boner for all his troubles.

 8:37pm  

   Probably if Tosin hadn’t been too preoccupied with her thoughts she would have noticed the eerie silence that enveloped her environment, even the dead knew something was amiss and kept still, the usual chirping of crickets around the grounds were absent and even the glow worms seem to have dimmed their glows in trepidation, yet Tosin was oblivious to all these as she thought about how she was going to break the news to her parents. Still ruminating over last weeks event, she suddenly bent over as she felt a sharp pain around her pelvic region. It was her time of the month and the cramps were a normal but uncomfortable occurrence, so she made a mental note to take a tablet of Cataflam when she gets home, then she continued walking, only this time much slower till she walked right past where he was hiding. She never saw him coming and was invariable helpless as his hand quickly shot out and grabbed her head, then a piece of clothe was quickly wrapped over her mouth and nose. Her last thoughts as she slowly lost consciousness were that she should have heeded her parent’s advice and taken the safer but longer route.

 9:45pm

  Slowly she returned to consciousness a little disoriented and wondered where she was, then the memories came flooding back to her like a tidal wave, and she let out a shriek then frantically tried to look everywhere at the same time, on the off chance that her abductor was still around, when she was certain she was all alone, she began to weep bitterly. Her underwear was halfway pulled down her leg, her trouser had been removed and thrown aside and there was a lot of blood on her legs. She was a victim of a rape or so she thought, but on closer inspection she found an unopened condom, then it hit her! All that blood was as a result of her period not some damage done by the monster, no African or a Nigerian would rape a woman on her period or so she thought! But she being human, humans being who they are and she fearing the stigma behind rape, convinced herself she wasn’t raped, managed to get dressed despite the pains she felt and hurried home to tell her parents what happened.  

11:50pm 

   Now lying in bed and feeling sleepy, she began to wonder if her decision not to visit the hospital wasn’t a mistake, though she felt violated but she didn’t think she had been raped and moreover pastor Akinpelu an anointed man of God was here a while ago to pray for her, after the prayers he told them that God revealed to him that she wasn’t raped, that he had saved her for a purpose in life, so he advised her parents to offer a thanksgiving service in church on Sunday. After the pastor left she made two phone calls, one to Yinka the man she had dated for five years, then finally her boss. Yinka naturally was worried and wanted to come immediately but she told him not to bother, he asked her how she was feeling and she told him she was fine but a little shaken and that her flow was a little heavier than usual. He then assured her that it was natural, because psychological factors affect the menstrual cycle and her traumatic experience could be classified under it. He prescribed some pain killers and sleeping pills for her, wished her goodnight and promised to check on her the following day after his shift. Her boss on the other hand sympathized with her and told her to take the week off.

8:30am  

   As mama Tosin prepared breakfast the following morning, she kept on singing, dancing and praising God for saving her only child, in between she wondered how she would have handled it if Tosin had died or if she would have survived the hurt. By the time mama Tosin was through with preparing breakfast and Tosin hadn't woken up, she decided to go to Tosin's room to wake her up, at the door she knocked and when she didn't get a response, she opened it and walked in. Tosin lay on her bed sleeping peacefully or so she thought, but on closer inspection she noticed that there was blood on her night gown and all over the bed, and that was when mama Tosin screamed and screamed and screamed till all the neighbors rushed in to the house. 

Two weeks later

   Cries, screams and wails rented the air during Tosin's burial, tears flowed in abundance like people were getting paid for it, some of the tears real others not. There was so much intense emotions displayed here that for once I envied her and wished I was the one lying in the casket. Tosin had bled to death because her menses wouldn’t stop flowing, I have heard and seen a lot of strange and freaky things in my life but this beats all, who dies because of that? The stories now making its round was that she was a victim of Ritual killing that has been so rampart in Nigeria especially as the Christmas celebration drew near or so they thought. Killing is an art and most artists like to admire their work, like I am doing here today, I am standing amongst them all shedding tears too, and what's surprising is that I mean those tears. Enough of that and back to relevant things like why and how I murdered her. Firstly the why! She betrayed me and paid the price, why did she think she could just leave me to marry that Alhaji after all the time and sweat I put into what we had? She even had the temerity to tell me I gave her nothing to hold on to, what the fuck did she need to hold on to that I hadn’t already given? I was still fuming about her betrayal when I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to the teary eyed face of Tosin's mum, then she fell into my arms crying and calling my name Yinka! Yinka! Yinka, they have killed me oh! I lived for her and now she is gone, how can I continue to live like this ehn? Was what she asked me as she kept on beating, scratching and biting me till people separated us, and my heart went out to her briefly, mind you, just briefly oh! Because I have to finish my story. 

    When she told me she was leaving me after five years, I took it in style like the man I was supposed to, but this was a relationship I invested five years of my life into and now she tells me she was leaving me to get married to her boss, please give me a reason why I shouldn't have killed her? Before you answer note that I practically slaved myself for her to support her in school. Let’s forget about my ranting or musing and get to the interesting question, how did I do it? That’s the million dollars question Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot or Miss Marple would love to answer. The things about Nigerians are these: they can be so quick to connect the unknown to the diabolic and supernatural, even if the condition had a perfectly logical explanation and even the very literate would rather turn to their church rather than visit their hospital if faced with an issue. I simply played on their weakness, first the grave yard and the attempted rape to divert them, and then everything fell into place like domino. I knew her route to work and that the cemetery was the perfect spot, I knew her time of the month because I had dated her for five years and most importantly I am a Doctor. So I waylaid her on her way home, knocked her off with chloroform, wore my surgical gloves and administered to her a heavy dose of Warfarin, an anti-coagulant that prevents blood clots from forming, then pulled of her trousers and panties to begin the real messy and tricky business. For my plan to work she needed to bleed but her menstrual cycle wasn’t enough and an injury in the open would quickly be noticed, so I made an incision with my scalpel in the inner walls of her vulva so that her menstruation would mask the flow of blood from the incision, then the master stroke was when I prescribed a heavy dose of sleeping pills for her when she called me later, so the loss of blood plus the effect of the sleeping pills sealed her faith. I was grinning and glowing because if my ingenuity and wondered whether I should do something like this again, when I remembered where I was and that I had to keep up the facade of a bereaved lover, so I continued crying, in fact I wailed.