Vampire Diaries

For some reason I cannot donate blood. Back in 2017 I volunteered but was turned down because I hadn’t been in the country long enough and my last country of residence was Nigeria which is known for malaria.

Fast forward some 2.5 years and I got a notice from the Red Cross that I can now donate blood. In January the Red Cross had a blood donation drive in my office. Three different people attempted to draw blood from both arms. Lucky that I am not squeamish or afraid of needles because the needle they used looked humongous compared to a regular hypodermic needle. After poking both my arms several times without getting any blood to flow into the tube talk-less of the bag, they finally gave up. I joking asked the lady if she’s sure I am alive.

Another 2 months passes and I got another call that they need blood and every “whole blood” (as opposed to plasma for example) donation can potentially help three people. I signed up again and drove to the center the following morning at 10 AM (a Saturday). We basically repeated the same “show” from two months earlier. The youngest person on staff (and I suspect the most junior had a go first). In and out, left and right the needle went, she’s sure she’s in the vein but no blood comes out. She got a little blood into the tube but that was all. Finally she calls her colleague who she says is very good. He too starts on the same arm. I mentioned the January issue and he kind of laughed it off stating they probably just weren’t good enough to make it happen. After a while, his younger colleague suggested he may want to try my other arm as the vein seems to be more “hydrated”

So he switched to the other arm and repeated the same process. Finally he gave up and called the most experienced staff there who I think was the leader as well. She comes and repeats the same process and actually got the flood flowing slowly through the tube but she says at that rate, the device will time out.

I asked if she had any idea what was going on and she said while she’s not certain, it maybe that my platelets are overly aggressive and once the needle goes in, they react and start blocking the ingress point – basically clotting. The lady suggested that if I really wanted to help, seems it appears I can’t donated blood, I could donate my time in other ways such as welcoming people and ensuring they sign in properly when they arrive to donate blood.

I am going to give it one more try and after that if they still can’t get blood out of my veins, I may likely have them take my name off their list.

Death of an Innocent

“BarbaraO” over on Yahoo! said: “I have a poem I have had for years … In so many instances it’s the innocent one who pays with death…”

Death of an Innocent

I went to a party, Mom,
I remembered what you said.
You told me not to drink, Mom,
So I drank soda instead.

I really felt proud inside, Mom,
The way you said I would.
I didn’t drink and drive, Mom,
Even though the others said I should.

I know I did the right thing, Mom,
I know you are always right.
Now the party is finally ending, Mom,
As everyone is driving out of sight.

As I got into my car, Mom,
I knew I’d get home in one piece.
Because of the way you raised me,
So responsible and sweet.

I started to drive away, Mom,
But as I pulled out into the road,
The other car didn’t see me, Mom,
And hit me like a load.

As I lay there on the pavement, Mom,
I hear the policeman say,
“The other guy is drunk,” Mom,
And now I’m the one who will pay.

I’m lying here dying, Mom…
I wish you’d get here soon.
How could this happen to me, Mom?
My life just burst like a balloon.

There is blood all around me, Mom,
And most of it is mine.
I hear the medic say, Mom,
I’ll die in a short time.

I just wanted to tell you, Mom,
I swear I didn’t drink.
It was the others, Mom.
The others didn’t think.

He was probably at the same party as I.
The only difference is, he drank
And I will die.

Why do people drink, Mom?
It can ruin your whole life.
I’m feeling sharp pains now.
Pains just like a knife.

The guy who hit me is walking, Mom,
And I don’t think it’s fair.
I’m lying here dying
And all he can do is stare.

Tell my brother not to cry, Mom.
Tell Daddy to be brave.
And when I go to heaven, Mom,
Put “Daddy’s Girl” on my grave.

Someone should have told him, Mom,
Not to drink and drive.
If only they had told him, Mom,
I would still be alive.

My breath is getting shorter, Mom.
I’m becoming very scared.
Please don’t cry for me, Mom.
When I needed you,
you were always there.

I have one last question, Mom.
Before I say good bye.
I didn’t drink and drive,
So why am I the one to die.

 

NB: To be clear, the poem above was written by “BarbaraO”. It was in a comment on the following story at Yahoo! “https://gma.yahoo.com/missouri-mom-writes-heart-wrenching-note-alcohol-related-154026380–abc-news-lifestyle.html?bcmt=comments-postbox

One at a time

One at a time

They say people don’t remember their early years. Especially before the age of four or thereabouts. But I remember mine. I remember the blood. Can’t really say I remember the pain. But definitely the blood. It was everywhere.
I had cut my hand on a large kitchen knife. How that came about was straight forward enough. I had watched my mum cut all sorts of things with that knife. I was fascinated to say the least. Some of those things I had tried my baby teeth on so I was surprised to see the ease with which she sliced them with the knife.
I had been warned off it a few times until she decided I had better learn the hard way under her watch.
So some day when I thought she wasn’t paying attention, my curiosity got the better of me and I had sneaked into the kitchen and grabbed the shiny knife. I looked at it in amazement then decided to see of I could split some vegetables like I had seen her do with it.
Something went wrong.
All I remember is the blood. It was red. It was everywhere. It was hot.
She rushed in. There was the trip to the hospital. The doctor. The big bandage which stayed on for a couple of weeks before the stitches were removed.
That was the beginning of my fascination with knives.

I guess growing up it was inevitable I would end up in a profession where I could use knives.
I did work as a chef for a while. I enjoyed it but the pay was not worth the hours spent roasting slowly in front of big gas-powered cooking ranges.
I also tried my hands at one of the abattoirs. I found out that though I didn’t mind the blood, I couldn’t stand the repeated task of killing literarily defenseless far animals over and over everyday. Before you jump to wrong conclusions, I love red meat. In fact I am glad I didn’t enjoy it, otherwise it could have been an indication of psychopathic tendencies.

*****************************
I can’t tell you exactly how I ended up with a knife in my hand and a long list of dead people who might still otherwise be alive (but no guarantees of course. They could just as well have been run over crossing the street).
But that’s beside the point.
Death comes to all. Some get to pick how, some don’t even realize they are dead and well, some leave when people like me say it’s time.
Of course nothing is for free, I guess I enjoy it so much I could probably do it free half of the time – the other half to pay the bills.
Since the profilers have decided with adequate real life of people misbehaving badly in the throes of passion (think revenge, think greed, think spurned love) that using a knife implies a deep personal connection, it plays nicely into my MO.
Because it’s nothing personal to me. It’s just a job. So while the cops are looking for someone close to the deceased, someone who has an alibi cast in granite which even a truth serum can’t shake loose because the individual can’t reveal what’s he or she doesn’t know because I won’t take a commission when you are desperate to have it done – that’s the stuff mistakes are made of – costly mistakes that can land one on death-row or at the least a few decades in some high security jail with no guarantee you won’t leave in a six foot box. Guess what, the cops can’t be farther from the truth.
But don’t get me wrong, I go to church. I pay my tithe. I read the bible. I believe.
It’s against the law. What I do. I wouldn’t choose as a career if I had to make a conscious decision.
But sometimes life hands you a knife or a lemon or both and you don’t make lemonade without a few choice cuts, do you?
The commissions I take are bad people. Only their family would miss them. As it is said, no matter how ugly the monkey is, it’s loved by at least one person: it’s mother.

So I am doing my social duty. Ridding the society of evil: one scum at a time.
It’s not personal.
It’s business.
It’s just got a sharp edge.

Long ago

Long ago

I was tired. So I didn’t go to church. I seem to have reasons every Sunday not to. That’s what I tell myself anyway. Otherwise how can I explain the fact that the baby that was christened the last time I was in church should have started tottering around his parent’s living room now?

“We all know the number 3 has special significance in the bible.”

I wondered what I was doing there: at the fellowship. I think it was boredom at home that pushed me to go to the local fellowship cell meeting at 6PM in the evening when I hadn’t been there for so long. Maybe it was loneliness. Not since she …

I thought for an instant when I showed up that they were going to welcome me as a new member. I could see the surprise on the face of the cell leader. He had called so many times to convince me to come around for the weekly Sunday evening fellowship that he had finally got the message and stopped calling.

I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, but no such luck. I was invited to sit right at the front beside the cell leader. He seemed to direct most of the discussion on the topic at me.

“Three crosses on Golgotha. Peter denied him three times. Satan tested Jesus three times. The list goes on and on.”

“But today, we are going to bring it home to our level. We won’t be all spiritual about this topic. Someone said the best way to beat temptation is to avoid it, but that is usually not possible. In fact by the time you know about it, you are already being tempted. I have heard some people say if they had been Peter, the fact that Jesus had told them already what would happen would give them the courage to resist denying him. Especially knowing that he was the son of God.” said the cell leader.

“Well. Let me say if Peter had succeeded in not denying Jesus three times before the cock crowed, what would that have made Jesus? ” he continued.

Everybody was thinking it. Despite the fact that it was a reasonable answer to something that didn’t actually happen, I guess a lot of people still consider it blasphemous. You can see the discomfort on their faces and several people fidgeted on their seats. As he was looking at me again, I said “A liar.”

“Correct Bro”. I still don’t  understand why he called everybody “Bro”. I guess it is more friendly and less “spiritual” than “brother this or brother that”

“But of course the Son of God cannot lie. So some people use this scenario as a basis for predestination or pre-ordination. But that is a discussion for another day, but note that the fact that God has given us free will means we are in control of the decisions we make and to a large extent the outcome. ”

“Now who thinks if he or she had been in Peter’s position, he or she would not have denied Jesus? Anyone?”

There were no takers. But secretly I thought I would have been able to damn it all and go for broke: that is, I would not have denied Jesus. The discussion wafted around me. I kept enough presence of mind to answer the questions asked directly of me. I literally thanked God when the fellowship closed with a brief prayer. I was invited to stay for light refreshments afterwards but I had a ready-made excuse: I just couldn’t wait to get away.

“Bro, I will call you during the week. There is a men’s meeting coming up and you should attend. Really.”

What have I got myself into?

The drive home was uneventful. But I couldn’t get the topic of discussion out of my mind.

I must have fallen asleep in front of the TV because I suddenly realized I was looking at “static” on the screen. I got up slowly, and headed to the bathroom. Paid my “water rate”, washed my hands then brushed my teeth, and hurled myself into bed after putting on my pajamas.

“Really Peter. You cocked that one up. But thank God for second chances.” I thought.

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“Think about it. Bill Gate’s got what – 67 billion dollars mostly in Microsoft shares right? Is that cash? No. Well you could say he could cash most of it out now, but would he ever? Capital No!” I thought I knew him. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place my finger on where or how I knew him. It was a feeling. Like someone you have been talking to over the phone for a couple of years but never met. Also, I was too busy wondering how I came to be dressed up in what looked like a mid-eastern costume. Maybe I was on some movie set?

“Stay with me now. I am trying to tell you something. Now what if, just for a moment, now what if you, yes you, could get the combined wealth of all the 100 men on the Forbes list in gold right now, right here?”

“Just think what you could do with that kind of money!”

“You could get any girl you want!”

“I know, I know. You don’t want just any girl. You want that girl. Story of my life. Remind me to tell you about it sometime. But really, you just think you don’t. But with that kind of money, you could have the last 5 Miss World lined up and attending to your every need! You don’t think you want them right now. I get that. But I assure you, you will change your mind if they are right here smiling at you. Tell you what. Just to sweeten the deal, let’s include Wunmi in the list. Fresh off the boat with a degree to boot. I know you liked those pictures you saw. What if you could meet her in the flesh and she said yes to your every question – even before you asked?”

“OK. OK. You are a brother right? Brothers know how to roll. You could have every luxury car brand out there customized for you! A different car for every day of the year. Not to talk of the bada-bling you can accessorize with that kind of cash!”

“All for the limited edition, limited offer of just saying I am the king of all there is. Don’t you think that is a bargain?”

“I know what you are thinking. What if the world ended right now? What if there is an earthquake and you die? What if the big man decides to drop down for the second coming right now? Are you going to live your life a collection of what ifs that may never happen. Even J.C. says not to worry about tomorrow, today has enough evil etc, etc. Well, let me tell you. Ain’t no earthquake going to happen in the city of God! And chill, smart boy like yourself know there are more people who haven’t heard the good news than you can shake a fistful of gold dust at. Besides, you could recite Psalm 51 in a minute and be home for dinner before the trumpet sounds. But in the meantime, get the cash while it is good for the getting!”

“Say it with me now. All I need to do is say I am the big boss man!”

“OK. You don’t believe me. Let me show you how we roll.”

In front of me appeared possibly the most beautiful women I have ever seen either in the flesh or on the big screen. Their smile was enchanting. It seems all they wanted to do was serve me. But they kept just out of reach. Besides them was stacked so many gold bars, they blocked my view of the valley beyond.

“See what I am talking about. Besides how do you intend to get out of this place?”

I wasn’t sure how I got there in the first place. It looked like miles and miles of desert in all directions.

“But check out that ride over there. Isn’t it just bad! That’s not Chrome on that baby bro.” I wondered where I had heard that “bro” before.

“That is Platinum. That car is got so much armor going on, a nuclear missile couldn’t scratch its fender. ”

“All you have to say is I am the big boss man and you have hit the jackpot baby!”

I licked my lips. Despite myself, I liked what I was hearing. I looked up guiltily at the sky. It was still clear. One couldn’t wish for a better day to be alive. Maybe I can beat this guy at his game. But it would be tricky. What if I said what he wanted without actually saying it. That wouldn’t be a sin right? But the question is how to say it without actually saying it.

“You mean I get all these if I say you are the big boss man.”

“Trying to trick me boy? Trying to be smart eh? I have been at this game before you were an embryo! Didn’t the good book tell you that out of the heart proceed all wicked things? Don’t you know it is not what you say that matters but what is in your heart?”

“Wrong answer padre. Here is your reward!”

Instantly I was at the top of a mountain looking down. I could see the world laid out like a vast map built of Lego parts. Looking down! I realized I was upside down! Something was dangling me by my left leg over the precipice of a very steep drop! I kicked madly with my free right leg and started to scream, but to no avail. Whatever had me by my ankle had a vice-like grip.

“See you in hell!” he said. I was free!

I hurtled down at break-neck speed. The ground getting ever so closer. I screamed all the way down. I could hear him all the way down taunting me. My face made contact with the ground! I could feel the dirt in my mouth. I am dead.

I was still l screaming when I came awake. I was gnawing on the sideboard of the bed. I sputtered and spit out the wood. My heart was beating so wildly I thought I had died and gone to hell. But the AC was going full blast and the sweat cooling rapidly on my skin as my heart rate slowed down to normal gave me a chill. I rubbed my hands over my arms and felt the goose pimples.

I sat back on the bed. I looked at the time. It was 2 O’clock. I don’t think I would be able to sleep again. That felt so real I could have sworn I was there. What was I going to do till the morning?

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“Wow! I didn’t think you had it in you. Forty days and forty nights! Just like the Israelite in the wilderness right? Well, it is over now. I am sure you are very hungry! And thirsty!”

The hunger was OK. It was the thirst that was threatening to drive me mad. I didn’t want a cup of water. I wanted a Jerry can! Or two!

“Luck you. See those water jars over there. ” There was a row of about 10 huge earthen jars right there in front of me in the desert.

“Just like the wedding in Canaan hey? I must tell you that wine was exquisite. I have never tasted anything like it before and since. The real Jesus juice!  You cheated Mon Homme! You don’t have to tell me the secret. We both know you used grapes from heaven to make that wine. ”

“But that is in the past. The future begins now.  Help yourself. Why die of thirst in the midst of plenty!”

It was all I could do to get to the first of the jars. I pried open the lead and dipped my cupped hands in and took a mouthful. It was very sweet wine! It did nothing for my thirst and I knew if I drank too much of it, it would just worsen my situation.

“Not wine! I need water!”

I went quickly from one jar to another. Same content. One more jar left, though I wasn’t expecting anything different. My despair and desperation was obvious.

“Wait. Wait. Look. If you can change water to wine, how difficult can it be to change wine to water?”

“You know you want to.” He laughed out loud.

I opened the last jar and was not disappointed: it was full of the same sweet wine.

He rubbed his hands together. “Why have power if you can’t use it? What is the purpose then? If you can’t enjoy it a little? Don’t you think you deserve some slack after your 40-day sojourn in the wilderness? Even the Israelite had manna and water.”

“Wine is after all not good for the king so the good book says. That should encourage you to do what you need to do. There is no way you are going to make it to the city of God in your condition. Talking about wine. Why are some of your devotees so hard-assed about it? All that nonsense talk of non-alcoholic wine. When we both know it was about 10% proof and wine was a stable in those days. It is mentioned at least 235 times in the bible. Believe me I counted. Yeah. I know. Too much free time. What is  a man to do?”
“Wine. Wine. Wine. In the good book. Almost always along the advice to enjoy oneself. Along with bread, honey and milk. And talking of time, my minions are on a roll convincing men of the implausibility of your actually being the son of God not to talk of the second coming being something that would really happen. In fact, we have achieved the “perpetual motion” of unbelief and sin if one could call it that. We don’t even need to do anything anymore. Men are so busy putting up laws that aid and abet our purpose and killing themselves that we just sit back, relax and have a Saturday evening out eating pop-corn and watching them: one continuous sinful movie of blood, sin and gore!”

“Where was I?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Wine is good. Wine is not good.  Enjoy your wine. Wine is not fit for kings. Wine is not for princes. A little wine for your many infirmities. Make up your mind would you!”
“Well, no one ever said that about water. So go right ahead and change the wine to water and have a good long refreshing drink!”

“OK. OK. I know what you are thinking. Thou shall not live by bread alone. I agree with you completely. But nowhere did the good book mention water. What are you waiting for? You know you want to do it. Just go ahead and will it. I can see it in your eyes. Don’t be a blushing bride now. It is only you and I here. And I won’t judge you. I promise.”

I was shaking from the thirst. I was close to being delirious. The Sun beat down mercilessly. Maybe he was right. A little water would help me resist any temptation he may have up his sleeves to tempt me with. But then maybe not. Maybe this was the ultimate temptation in progress already? If I just think it and don’t say the words, does it count? I stared into the depths of the wine-filled jar and my eyes swam. I grabbed hold of the lip of the jar with such force I thought it would crumble under my fingers but I could feel from the smoothness that it had been fired to a rock-hard consistency.

Suddenly I could see all the way down to the bottom of the jar. The wine was no longer wine. It was water! I dipped in my hand and sucked hungrily at the content of my cupped hand. It was so cool it could have come from a refrigerator.

“Gotcha!”  he screamed with glee behind me. I felt myself upended into the jar head first. I tried to struggle but it was no use. He was too quick. I was drowning in less than 5 feet of water.

I came up gasping for air. I was in the sea! Fortunately, there was a plank floating past. The seas was so rough, the plank almost brained me in my attempt to get on top of it. Lightning flashed across the sky. It was dark. The sea raged. The rain came down with such force it stung my face, my arms and my back.

“Don’t look so shocked. That is what we call a storm in these here parts.” I couldn’t see him. But he was there. His voice came from above; from around; from within. “I am everywhere!” he laughed.

“But not to worry. You are the original storm trooper right? Just command it to stop if it is getting on your nerves. You are not scared are you?”

The waves were 100 feet high. It was all I could do to hold on to the plank. I was drinking the salty water every few minutes whenever a wave broke over my head.

“Or you could walk on the water if stopping the storm needles your need not to interfere with the grand scheme of things: the grand design. How about it? I have seen magicians do a similar trick, but I have to hand it to you, no one comes close to your showmanship. I could almost not believe my eyes that day so long ago. You doing the moonwalk on water. And believe me, I have seen it all.”

“What’s one more sin. Do it already!” he yelled over the thunder from the lightning renting the skies.

“You are going to die if you don’t!”

I realized I was in more trouble than I could handle.

A gigantic wall of water rose up in front of me and blocked out the sky. Here is why I die I thought. Heaven or hell? I got pulled under and dragged this way and that, but then I was up again and the rains beat down like heaven was weeping? Weeping?

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Weeping? Water on my face? I must have drifted off. I didn’t realize I had left the windows open. I could see the lightning and hear the subsequent thunder. The wind was blowing the rain into the room and I was almost drenched. I got up and dashed over to the window slamming it shut. The bedding was soaked.

My second pair of pajamas was in the wash so I put on a dry pair of briefs. I dragged the mattress off the bed and put it on the floor. I went over to the wardrobe and brought out the Duvet. I spread it on the bed’s frame. It won’t be comfortable but at least it was dry. I didn’t expect I would get any sleep before morning anyway. But it was still too dark to do anything else.

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“What insolence! Speaking back to the high priest like that!” it was the slap that brought me to full consciousness. I tasted blood on my lips. I could not keep from blinking my left eye continuously, something was trickling into it and it made me very uncomfortable. Probably blood. My head hurt. A lot.

The man who had slapped me looked ready to repeat the action. I cringed.

There was a crowd. Their laughter was one continuous taunt. “Safe yourself, Son of God!” they yelled. Then they burst out laughing. The crowd moved in on me. Poking me in every conceivable part of my body. I twisted every which way in reaction. Some of the jabs were merely ticklish, but several were really painful. The spite was palpable in the air. I felt as if I was suffocating. My body felt as it had been stretched and passed through a ringer. Every inch was on fire from the pain.

I realized they thought I was Jesus. I could hear the shouts of “crucify him” emanating from the crowd. It started low then built up into one continuous chant. “Crucify him!” they screamed!

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! How could I be there? Their cloths didn’t look like anything I had seen before. And I was in something similar but it was in tatters and soaked through with blood.

In my bewilderment, only one thing came to mind. I needed to get out of there! I needed to make them understand that I was not Jesus!

“But I am not Jesus!” I screamed as I was dragged across the courtyard of the high priest’s compound.

“Well, why didn’t you say so since? You had your chance. You refused to answer the high priest. Sorry, Barabbas disappeared like the wind once we released him. Though I don’t think it would have made a difference even if he was here. The pardon is already granted and there is no reversing it. But not to worry, knowing him, he will soon be back where he rightly belongs! Unfortunately for you, we have to hang someone or forfeit our own lives. We go to the hill! Let us string him up!”

The crowd roared its satisfaction!

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I must have blacked out because when I came to, I was lying down with my back to the ground looking up at a huge man standing over me. I tried to move but could not. I had been tied to a cross with heavy ropes across my forearms. I felt a pinch in my left palm. I looked over and watched in horror as a man kneeling down balanced a huge nail about 10 inches in length and as thick as a finger in the palm of my hand. He was trying to find a “good” spot. Silence descended on the crowd. I looked up in the direction in which the faces I could see were pointed expectantly. The huge man had hefted a big iron-headed mallet in his hands. He brought it up over his head, and held it there for a moment. I heard several people in the crowd gasp. Then the mallet descended like a ton of bricks! The pain of the nail going into my hand was unbearable. I saw the end exit the back of the wooden beam to which my hand was tied. I started screaming . The crowds scream mingled with mine. But they weren’t screaming from pain. They were screaming from pleasure!

I came awake. I had got my hand trapped in one of the curled springs in the bed and the sharp end had scoured my palm. There was some blood but not a lot. I was trying not to get it on the Duvet when the cock crowed?

But that is not possible! But it crowed again. Twice.

I was living in a concrete jungle. I could bet my last Naira that there was no living animal except maybe cats and dogs anywhere in my immediate neighborhood. Any chicken around was lifeless, plucked, cleaned and frozen solid. I am on the 7th floor of a serviced apartment building. There could be no cockerels around.

My computer’s screen was flashing in the dark. The “crowing” sound came from the digital software alarm installed on my laptop. I couldn’t honestly remember if or when I had changed the alarm’s sound to the crow of a cockerel. But more surprising was the fact that the alarm had stopped after the second “ring”, when usually I had to get up from the bed and shut it down as it never stops by itself once it starts. It just blinked silently in the dark.

The Sun was starting to rise.

I closed the laptop’s lid and sat there immobile in the dark. I don’t now for how long. I thought of Peter and Jesus. Then Peter. Then Heaven. Then Hell. How easy it was to get it all wrong.

I picked up my phone from the bedside table. I dialed the cell leader’s number. It rang repeatedly but no answer from the other end. It was quite early but not that early. Most people should be up and about by now. If only to beat the traffic going into the Island. It was after all a workday: the first working day of the new week.

I pressed the re-dial button. This time I got through after the third ring.

“Hello Sir. Sorry to bother you so early. When is that men’s meeting again?” I asked the cell leader over the phone.

“Bro, let me get back to you in a couple of hours.” The line went dead so quickly I didn’t even get a chance to say anything further. I could almost “see” him turn over and fall back asleep.

Maybe if I called once more. That will make it three times. Maybe I will get the answer I want: on the third call.

I pressed the re-dial button.

Again.

02/Jun/2013

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Update (09/06/2013): I think most of what an FB contact said (below) after reading the story (above) may be true. I lost my muse (my lame excuse for the uninteresting stuff I have been writing). I promise to try harder to “change” – it hasn’t been easy – but the best I can do is continue to try (I think?)

“Ur story is too long and boring. Same story, unarranged . No wonder your stories don’t provoke discussion or argument.
Though you can write but you are not dynamic in your style of writing.
That makes it boring and very unstructured.
It lacks that sense of humour you have. And your writing shows how stubborn you are and that you lack change.
And don’t respond to change.”

Don’t go out tonight

Don’t go out tonight

You have to realize that I was bored out of my mind and at the same time there was a lot on my mind I would rather not think about. I am impulsive. I am a loner. Maybe that’s why I gravitate towards two extremes – either I over think issues and fail to act at the appropriate time, or I act impulsively. In either case, the outcome is not always pleasant for any of the parties involved. I guess people with friends can bounce ideas off them before doing something that may turn out foolish. Me, I just worry at it forever or not at all before acting.

I had had my car for just over a year when it happened. I didn’t realize the freedom I was missing until I got the car. I could head out at any hour of the day or night without thinking of how I was going to get back to the house. I was mobile. I was free. But outside of work there was always the question of what to do with that freedom. That night I had a lot on my mind I would rather not think about. I got my keys and jumped in the car. It was already past 11PM at night. I had no idea where I was going except a vague idea of crossing the third mainland bridge. I had the Garmin, so I wasn’t too bothered about where I ended up. All I needed to do at any point was ask it to take me home.

I still can’t remember where I ended up or how I got there. But suddenly I was in an area of Lagos that looked like one of those high-crime slum areas I had seen on TV. I was a little apprehensive, but though the streets were cluttered with refuse and broken-down cars, and some of the people hanging out by the roadside and in the doorways of some of the houses looked decidedly unfriendly, there were no attempts to stop me. So I drove on slowly.

The street I was driving on was long and winding, but I could vaguely see it open onto another street at the end. But suddenly there was a whoosh and almost immediately, I felt the car list to one side and the sound of my flapping flat tyre. I debated whether to stop or drive on at the danger of destroying the wheel, but decided to stop since the area was reasonably lighted. I pulled over a little to the side, switched off the engine and got out to examine the flat tyre. The tyre was completely flat, and there was something sticking out from it which I tried to dislodge with my foot. No luck. I bent down and put on the camera light on my mobile phone to get a closer look. I almost immediately realized that the small contraption was not some random wood and nail piece I had run over: it was purposefully made to damage a car’s tyre. I straightened up and had just got into the car when out of nowhere eight burly youths had my car surrounded. The ones I could see properly looked mean and had an assorted array of weapons in their hands. I was tempted to try and make a run for it, but there was at least a couple of pistols in the mix.

My goal at that point was to get out of there unarmed. I didn’t care too much about losing the car. It was covered by insurance. And I was Ok with losing my wristwatch and the small amount of cash I had in my pockets which I was desperately hoping would satisfy them. I smiled a little and called out a greeting. They weren’t having any of it. Probably the biggest fellow in the group with bloodshot eyes, just calmly asked me to step out of the car. I was hesitant to do so because the group didn’t look like they were particularly interested in just dispossessing me of my belongings. I suspect it was the way the cutlasses and axes were held that made me suspicious.

But there was no alternative to getting out of the car. The windows were almost completely up, and for some futile reason, I had locked the car immediately I made it into the driver’s seat. I was about to unlock the door and get down when there was a scream from behind the car. I couldn’t quite make out the source but the commotion was definitely coming from right behind the car. A gun went off and there was a flash of light in the darkness. Several more screams and suddenly it appeared I was the only one in the vicinity. I was confused.

But there were obviously at least two people at the back of the car.

“Pick up the knife.”
“Please sir.”
“Pick up the knife or you die anyway.”

There was some hesitation.

“Good.”

Then a brief scuffle. A small scream and all was quiet again.

There was a streak on the passenger side window which looked like blood. I was contemplating it when there was a knock on the driver’s side window. I nearly jumped out of my skin. There was a face at the window. Younger than I was, and from his looks definitely in the wrong place same as I was. I looked around again and he was obviously the only one around so I wound down the glass.

“Today’s work is done. Can you give me a lift out of here.”

“OK.”

I couldn’t help myself. I unlocked the car, and as he made his way round to the passenger’s seat, I opened my door and looked towards the back of the car. I could see two bodies, and also a pair of feet poking out from behind the car. No movement. I assume they were dead.

I quietly closed the door again and looked at my companion.

“We should go.”

Good idea. I started the car and moved off with the flat wheel making a continuous grinding noise. He seemed to know the area because after a few instructions from him to make certain turns, we were soon out of the built-up area and approaching some sort of expressway. It was obvious the tyre needed to be changed if I was to drive at any reasonable speed. I asked if it was OK to pull over and replace the wheel. He agreed.

I changed the tyre as quickly as possible and we were soon back on the move. Since he didn’t say anything more, I punched “home” on the Garmin and I was soon back across the bridge in familiar territory. I asked where he was going and he said Lekki. We went through the Lekki tollgate at about 2AM and I soon drove past the Lekki phase I entrance. At some point after phase II on a more or less empty stretch of road, he asked me to drop him off. I pulled over and he got out. That was when he apologized for the blood on my seat which I hadn’t noticed until then. He appeared to disappear into the darkness.

I drove off and found the next roundabout and made a U-turn and headed back towards the Island. I looked out into the darkness as I passed the spot where I dropped him off but there was no sign of life. I made it back home. Despite being bone-tired, I still found the strength to clean the passenger seat. He must have been bleeding quite heavily because of the sheer amount of blood on the seat and the foot-carpet. I got most of it out. And emptied a few buckets of water over the body of the car.

After that I crawled into bed and slept like the dead. I woke up around 12 noon in the afternoon. For a couple of minutes, I wasn’t sure where I was. Then recollection came but it all felt like a dream. I got up slowly and went to look out the window at the car. Sure enough, I could see the telltale brownish (oxidized) stains were still visible on the car. It still felt quite unreal and I suddenly became so tired I crawled back into bed. I gravitated between sleep and awareness for the next couple of hours. Finally, I got up and went out to the car. I went slowly round it and then checked the passenger side. I had done a reasonable job of cleaning the blood but looking closely enough showed I missed some spots especially along  the threads.

I didn’t give him my number or my name.

I got a call from an unknown number the following day. Immediately he spoke, I knew it was him. 

“Hello.”
“Hello. Who is this?” I had to ask.
“We met early in the morning yesterday.” That was putting it lightly.
“I am calling to thank you. I hope you were able to get the stain out of the seat. Apologies.”

I did get all the stains out. But not the vision of those dead bodies on the ground. Yes, they might have killed me, but that fact didn’t make it any easier. Those young men were dead.

“Thank you. I did.”
“Good to know.”

End of phone call.

But not the last I would hear of him. If anything, that was the beginning.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * *  

If you had asked, I would say we were friends, though it was a strange friendship to say the least.

Generally because of the support nature of my previous job, I am accustomed to coming awake fully at the first ring of the phone, and not be grumpy at the person on the other end of the line. The fact that he calls randomly out of the blues is how I learnt most of what I know about him. He may call and launch midway into some topic as if we had been discussing it before.

“Hi.”
“Hello.”
“Hope you don’t mind my calling.”
“No.”
“I was thinking about my wife.”
“Ok”. He needed no prompting when he wanted to talk.
“She died painfully you know.”
“Hmmn.”
“Can you believe until then, I had never even killed a single person despite the many years I spent in the military.”

I know from past snippets that he was in the military in the US. Then the patriotism bug had bitten him. He had resigned his commission, taken his foreigner wife and returned “home.”

“She bled to death while begging me to help her.”
“Hmmn.”

I had pieced together a story slightly similar to mine. It appears they had gone on a midnight jaunt in the wrong part of town and had been attacked. He was able to fend off the attackers, but then found they had already stabbed his wife several times.

“And there was nothing I could do.”
“Hmmn.”

Silence from both ends for about 3 minutes.

“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”

And that was that.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * 

I was of course concerned about him, so during another call, I asked.

“Have you thought of settling down again.” (even my own questions have started to sound like comments)
“A few times.”
“But not yet.”
“You know I have done that once. That was completely spontaneous. I met a woman. I fell for her. Chased her. She fell for me. Got married. Settled down. And yet here I am.”
“Let me throw the question back at you.” Time for some answers from me.
“I am something of a loner. The reason is of course complicated.”
“I can talk up a storm with almost any lady. Even if we have only just met. That is, as long as I am not attracted to her.”
“If there is even the slightest attraction, I get tongue-tied. Everything I intend to say, I start replaying it in my head instead of saying it.”
“And that is bad. Not talking. I just basically clamp up.”
“How do I expect a lady to know I am interested if I talk about everything else but the real thing?”
“Just hanging around and hoping something happens. Pathetic I know.”
“And it gets worse. Because attempts to keep in contact or then do something positive becomes to all intent and purposes like stalking.”

Looks like I have got some sort of shrink. Maybe I am the same to him.

“You need to sort this out.”
“True. I just don’t know how.” Implicit question: does he?
“I don’t know either. But you need to sort it out.”
“True.”
“And what do you feel about marriage?”
“I am not in any hurry. Certain people in the family are of course apprehensive. But for me, if it happens, great. If it doesn’t, well, it doesn’t. I have long ago dropped the idea of a deadline. I have been around all sorts of couples. Yeah. They are hopefully happy. I feel for the women though. It seems men who don’t cheat – and continuously for that matter – are the exception and not the rule. This is not the itch. This is just the “I can do it and get away with it” attitude. Young guys with reasonably beautiful wives. I guess what makes the women fall for them in the first place, and not for guys such as myself – even though we try too hard – is what makes the same guys carry on as if they are still single – the wives are hopefully content and happy in their ignorance of what is really going on. Of course, I am probably a little jealous of these guys. But only to the extent that I want only one beautiful girl to fall for me – and I can’t seem to manage that one single thing.”

“I guess it comes easy to you.”
“I never really thought about it along those lines. I am a one-woman man myself. But I guess most men who play the field say that to the women – since that’s what they want to hear. But I should say yes, it’s kinda  easy for me when I was interested.”
“Anyone in mind in particular”. I was hoping he wouldn’t ask.
“Nope. There was one. But it was one-sided as usual. Since I played dumb, there was no way she would have known. And while I fell heads over heels, as I kept a straight face and didn’t say anything, there was of course no chance of reciprocity until I had crossed the bridge where suspicion turns to discomfort.”
“And she was perfect. Almost literally. Which made it harder to let go.”
“Sorry.”
“The strange thing is that was the first good thing to happen to me in donkey years”
“And you messed it up.” I must have repeated that to him a dozen times now so he knew to finish it for me.

“Yeah. I messed it up.”
“Have you prayed about it.” I don’t find it strange any longer that he sometimes asks these questions. He is actually religious despite what he does regularly.
“Yes. I have.”
“So continue to do so, if it’s right, it will happen.”
“I am. It’s just that it is the only thing on my mind day and night. And if I hadn’t done anything negative, I would have easily accepted the fact that if it’s right it will happen.” 

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * *

I took to putting my itinerary on my blog. For some reason, I knew he was a regular visitor. Probably from some of the almost undetectable references he sometimes makes when we talk. I didn’t know when he would call and ask me to come and get him, so when I was going to be particularly busy or out of Lagos, I would craft some entry on my blog and work that into the narrative, and sure enough, I have never received his call on any of those days.

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * 

“Where are you?” Strange. Usually, his first line is completely different.
“At Bubbles.”
“Where is that?”
“Challenge in Ibadan.”
“It’s a club.”
“Just chilling.” That was a question.
“Yes. Actually someone suggested it may be a cure for what ails me.”
“Which is.”
“I have been thinking about the lady continuously for over 2 months. It’s not getting any easier.”
“Some smart ass suggested what I needed was a visual overload of women. So here I am.” 
“There you are. Is it helping.”
“Unfortunately no. Plenty of ladies in various state of undress. The only thing that strikes me is that they are not the lady. I was about to leave.”
“Ok.”

And so I left.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * 

“The day’s work is done.”
“Can you come and get me.”
“Where are you.”
“Yaba.”
At least I know Yaba.

“Which area.”
“Just pull over once you get off the bridge. I will find you.”
Sure enough, there was a tap on the window about 5 minutes after I got there. I had taken to putting a plastic cover on the seat whenever I am going for him. The blood is easier to get rid of that way. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * *

I became a sort of sidekick. From time to time I would get the call. “Today’s job is finished. Can you come and get me.” That only meant one thing – he was injured. I have to accept that I was living precariously through him. I was of course concerned that he may get seriously wounded or get killed, but there was the thrill I experienced whenever I had to venture out sometime in the early hours to go get him from some out-of-the-way, back-of-nowhere place. I also learnt never to ask questions: I really didn’t want to know about the body count. I already felt like an accomplice in some gory unholy play.

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * 

He is on the line.
“I work for the government.”
“Which one.”
“The state government.”
“Doing what you do.”
“Doing what I do.”
“OK.”
“The government is determined to clean up the state, you know.”
“How long have we known each other – 4, 5 months.”
“Yes.”
“How many of those incidents have you seen in the papers.” So I am sure he knew I have taken to buying papers looking for reports with possible links to his nightly outings. I thought I had just been missing the reports, but it now struck me that it was strange that hardly any of those nights made the papers. The few times there were references to some of the happenings, it usually sounded confused –  usually from people such as myself who appear to have been miraculously delivered from dangerous situations. Could he be telling the truth?

“I do free-lance. It is not because of the money.”
“Yes.” They say payback is a bitch. I guess he is on a revenge mission because of his dead wife.
“It was indeed for revenge when I started.” He caught me.
“But not anymore. Now it is something that needs to be done and I am doing it.” 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * *

The last call I got from him came like any of the others.
“I am going back.”
“U.S.”
“Yes. There is a woman. I am going with her.”
“Good.”
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome.” I will surely miss those random night trips. But good for him. If he is going back to the US with a wife (I found he was a stick in the mud prude such as myself so I am sure he has either married the lady or is going to) then he will put all the dangerous stuff behind him and settle down once again. I am still on my own.

And just before he signed off, “I have a friend.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * * * ** * * * * 

I had about settled into my new routine without his calls, when about 6 months later I got a post-card from a city in the US. For some reason, I didn’t even think of him as I opened the letter. I don’t think I have ever received a postcard before. The message on the card was simple, but it was obvious who it came from.

“There is a lot to do here. Pray.” The message was clear, he was back in action. And the “pray” was for me and my “issue.”

That same day, the phone ringing woke me up in the middle of the night. I turned on the bedside lamp, and took the call.

“Hello.”
“Today’s work is done. Can you come and get me.”

It wasn’t him.
I got my car keys.

19/08/2012

You

You

Bundled against the cold
On a cold winters night
I wandered where I know not
Icy fingers can’t freeze my heart
Make me calm as the snow king
I think of you 

I looked at the sky
No stars
But they are there
Shining their light
I wish I was lost among them
Tell me how to define eternity
If not a day without you 

The leaves crunch underfoot
The lady smiled as I pass her by
Do I frighten her?
Maybe it is my eyes?
Why?
Do I frighten you? 

I wage war with the sins of my past
They fiddle with my mind
I am of late April
I am supposed to be strong
Stand firm against the tempests of life
I will – if by you 

I pass a man
A mugger I thought
“Jump me” says my eyes
Use the knife in your jacket’s pocket
Strike before the dried blood of your summer victim rusts your trusty blade
He didn’t hear me
Or maybe he thought he pitied me
Because of you 

I am back to my journey’s end
I opened the book
I turned the page
Paul tells me to stand firm if I could
But seek if I wont
So I knelt on the felt
Closing my eyes
I asked for you

Cupid is dead

Cupid is dead

I prayed to the God of love
And worshipped his middling form
I did not care that he looked like a grownup babe
And cavorted with nymphs in nothing but his very skin

What I wanted done, I thought only he could do
He failed me at every turn
Worse, he laughed loud at my every loss
And told a hundred jokes at my sorry face

So I tricked his curly head
Wrestled his puny arrow from his stubby grip
And dipping it in the dragon’s blood
I stuck it in his ugly heart
I waited till he bled no more
Then burnt his godless form
And scattering his ashes to the winds, I told Zeus to kiss my ass

So if you find you cannot fall in love
Or love finds you not, no matter how hard you try
Do not blame Cupid (no longer the god of love)
Because I killed him dead

Dead I said.

(06/08/2012 – 1:21AM)