UNBELIEVING BELIEVERS

-Dedicated to the People of Southern Kaduna, Nigeria.
EPISODE 1.

So, these days would soon be gone! And gone forever? Days that should never have dawned. Days of always being woken up by dream-bursting alarms of yells and curses across from parents room. Days of having to flee the sleeping Kaninkon neighborhood early enough before father's creditors are awake to ask the unanswerable questions; will you scoundrels ever pay up, exactly when will your philanderer father barter his yam farms for the packs of cigarettes he owes us? Should we come now to trade his rickety lorry for our crates of beers he has emptied?

Days of being labelled the 'Son of Paraga' at my carpentry workshop in Goska 20 miles from home rather than being addressed as the son of Gospel materials dealer, which mother is. Days seared with memories of having to sneak in at night just on time, to rescue mother from Papa's batterings. Especially the last one, just four years ago when the fist of father's  punches aborted my only would-have-been younger one in mother's fragile womb that had waited 26 donkeys years for such an Hannanian miracle.


So, these days would be gone? Days of nightmares! Countless days I have been forced to call police for the arrest of my own father and then go afterwards to fight for his bailout. Hazy days of mother being filled with the Holy Spirit, father filled with spirit of wine and I with nothing, but awe of how they ever met. Untold days of mother being sacked out of our penthouse she technically built, time and again until she was altogether unwelcome.

Horrible days of stealing in only to chase prostitutes out of mother's bed. Heart-wrenching days that has seen my 33 year old heart jilt jinxed because of a scary family trailing tales of gins. Bleak days riddled with dilemma whether or not to give my hard earned money again to father after several threats of him going into the streets to join beggars. Hopeless days of wondering if parents would ever be back together again, after three years.

I never believed I had seen the last of those cloudy days. Yes, father said they were all gone now, but don't I have the right to be the last to believe the words of a newly weaned drunk? Though, Apostle Jarafi was first to say it and it indeed appears the grind is broken. But God must show me too. No! Those days aren't over, not until my eyes sees mother's feet entered this same Baba Doya house, to even begin with. But for now, it's still eight more days to go, I will keep counting down to the new year; this coming 2017 had better behave itself for me and my family.

" Kanbul! Kanbul!! Hope you have packed those newly sewn dresses I wrapped for your mother?"  His father's words jolted him back to life from his long trains of thoughts.

"Yes Pa'a! Even with the necklaces and shoes. But this would be the third time you're asking me." Kanbul moved away from the freezing dry cold seeping through the cracks in the doorframe where he had leaned waiting all dawn on his father's for his final package of gifts for mother.

Looking his brightest Kanbul had seen only in decades, kind of invigorated with something other than wine - something that has got him tidying up everywhere in the penthouse for his homecoming bride, the old man leapt towards the doorway on his three legs. Finally handed Kanbul a piece of ribboned cube, one he wouldn't even bother to hazard a guess what was inside.

"The cocks have stopped crowing already, you have to be on your way right now if you must make it to Rann before dust. I told you it's farthest edge of Borno and you know I don't want her to wear any other dress for Christmas tomorrow, but are you sure my Mamza would like them?

"Mother always love pleasant surprises", Kanbul replied dismissively.  

"Hmm, I see! But erm, remember those fresh fruits and vegetables are for her own parents in Chibok, it's the tubers and the grains that are for her and the IDPs"

"But Pa'a, you know I can't reach my maternal grannies just like that!" He protested and grimaced in a way that left his gawked father wondering what next to say.

                         ****
To be continued next week Friday 5pm,

This is a work of fiction, all Characters, names and incidences similar to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
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