On Asero Hills – Part 5

(For those who were not able to attend the event and would like to have a peek, the #WriteRight prize giving event photos are up on TL’s blog – http://tlsplace.wordpress.com/2014/03/18/write-right-two-prize-giving-event-the-pictures/
I appreciate everyone who has been following On Asero Hills and I apologise for my laziness at times. I will be away for about three weeks on a writing assignment. So, please bear with me. I’ll be back to continue this. Enjoy today’s reading 🙂

In every town, there is often a house with dark shadows of history hovering over it. For some, it’s the anguished bloods of the sacrificed crying through the walls. Sometimes, it is the mystery of tall forbidding walls and big tinted cars going in and out. It was such a cloud that hung over the big white house on the road to the university campus. As a child, I had often lingered outside its walls. Once, I threw a stone at the gates – the clink sound brought the Mai-guard running out. I ran before he could grab me. Maami often warned me, pulling at her ear lobes, “Tade, that house is evil. Don’t go near it.” I had nodded my head in agreement but my legs had a different opinion.
The white house had been empty for many years and the bats and the owls had been its tenants. So, it was only natural when I stopped in my tracks – mouth hanging open and eyes popping out of their sockets when I saw two men come out of the gates. Their discussion was intense and they didn’t notice me.
“That’s the lowest I can go. You either take it or leave it! This is a very fine house o,” The man in the grey guinea fabric said.
“But the building needs repair in several areas. The repair would cost me some money too,” Uncle Lambert replied. He was leaning heavily on his walking stick, with his shoulders slouched. I couldn’t believe my ears. Uncle Lambert wants to buy the eerie house! With what money?
I tried to walk past without being noticed. “Tade, why are you pretending not to see me? Ehn?”
“Ah! Uncle I wasn’t looking in your direction. I’m late for my class,” I lied and hurried away. I could hear the thump-thump of my heartbeats pulsating in my eardrums.
As I neared the campus’ gate, I heard loud sounds of singing and chanting. There was a large crowd gathered in front of the senate building.
“All we are saying! Give us water! All we are saying! Give us light….” The Students’ Union executives made speeches standing on the elevated culverts. The Students’ President, his high Afro separating him from the crowd bellowed, “It’s time for action! Aluta continua!”
“Victoria aserta!” came the resounding response. I shifted uncomfortably on my feet. Like many other students, I was uncertain which side to take. I wanted classes to hold come rain or sunshine but I also realised that the needs of the students were important. More so, I stayed off campus and didn’t share their experience.
“Are we going to use ten years for a four-year degree. I tire o,” a slim girl, with high cheekbones which gave her a Chinese look, commented as she walked past me. I slowly turned on my heels in the direction I’d come. The students’ demonstration often lasted several days.
I walked leisurely back home with a slow stretchy gait. The kind of walk walked by lazy touts hanging around the market, smoking igbo and drinking sepe or the vain wanderings of a lime-breasted girl selling oranges. I looked longingly at the game house where many young boys already sat before the screens playing away their lives at that time of the day. I was a survivor and there was no going back to that phase of my life – when I couldn’t breathe if I hadn’t played PS or placed a bet on a game in a day. I walked away, the proud air of victory swelling my head.

Our compound was the serene picture it painted late in the mornings. The mother hen clucking to her chicks, the dogs sleeping under the mango tree and the goats bleating. I looked forward to a long nap and some quiet time for study. All my hopes were dashed as I entered the corridor. I saw a queue. They were lining up to enter my room. “Hey, excuse me! What are you doing here?”

On Asero Hills – Part 4

At first I could not see what was in front of the crowd. The men’s eyes were intense and their lips set in a straight line. The women clasped their arms on their chests and their mouths hung open.
“Bring bigger money and you will see it multiply,” Uncle Lambert shouted excitedly. His one-legged hopping looked awkward. On the sand lay a small rectangular box that resembled a piggy bank. One of the men came forward with a hundred Naira note. “Oya, multiply my money,” he said as he handed it over. Uncle Lambert took the proffered money and rubbed it in his palms. He closed his eyes and his lips moved soundlessly. A hush descended over the crowd as they watched him. He placed the money inside the little box and closed it. He closed his eyes again, muttering more gibberish. After some minutes, Uncle Lambert opened the box. He pulled out a one thousand Naira note. The crowd cheered loudly. “S’owo di mewa leleyi o! This a wealth multiplier!”they chanted in exhilaration.

Uncle Lambert limped to the reclining chair and sat with a glowing smile on his face.
“This is imported magic! I received it from a famous mantrik in India. Go and sell your farms and your properties and whatever your hand finds and me! Lambert Olawale will multiply it in many folds for you,” he said, beating his chest. Some of the people hissed and walked away, shaking their heads but some lingered. In the eyes of those that tarried, I saw longings, naked hungers and the shadows of dreams lost and unattained. These ones left with a spring in their steps.

The crowd dwindled until the compound was near empty. It was only then that Uncle Lambert noticed me. “Oh, you’ve returned from school? How acada now?” He spoke in a flippant tone. I shifted my weight from my left to my right foot. I chewed on my lip, deep in thought.
“Haha, won’t you respond to my greeting?”
“I’m so-rry. Sch-ool was fine,”I stuttered.
I stared at the box still sitting on the sand by Uncle Lambert’s feet. I remembered the first night he’d returned and the mysterious box. “This must be the box I saw that night,” I thought to myself.
“Uncle, is it true?”
“Is what true?”
I pointed at the box. Uncle Lambert threw his head back and ripples of laughter shook his body. “This isn’t for small boys like you.”
I opened my mouth to ask more questions but he dismissed me with a wave of his hand.
“Hunger fit kill person for here o. I have only eaten some maize and coconut all day,”he exclaimed.

The compound was quiet. Even Lola and Ewatomi who should have returned from their evening coaching classes were nowhere to be found. The creak of the gates startled me. I half expected to see some of Uncle Lambert’s customers returning. It was Maami with a big sack on her head. Uncle Lambert quickly hid the box beneath the chair.
“Maami, welcome. Did you make good sales today?” I asked as I relieved her of the load.
“Hmm, we thank God. The town is really dry,” she said, with a hint of weariness in her voice. She dabbed perspiration from her brow with the corner of her wrapper.
“Welcome, my wife,”Uncle Lambert greeted. Maami turned up her nose and walked into the house as if it was an insect that had spoken.

Dusk had settled over the compound. Smoke from cooking fires and scintillating aromas from neighbouring compounds suffused the air. I could hear the buzz of their conversations. In our compound, it was quiet until the bustling entrance of Ewatomi and Lola ruffled the stillness. My left eye twitched as it often did when trouble was in the offing. I wondered just when the crackle of fire by the roadside would raze the whole farm down. Maami’s loud voice echoed through the compound. “You these stupid girls, where have been? Oya, start talking before I descend on you!”