Millipede Chasing - Part 5

MILLIPEDE CHASING

This story is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

PART FIVE

He frowned and asked, “It’s an Igbo name, isn’t it?”

The nurse replied, “Yes, it’s an Igbo’s name.” She smiled at the doctor. “You are married to an Igbo woman, but you don’t recognise an Igbo name again.”

The doctor laughed, “I am trying. Igbo is not easy, but I have never heard this Igbo name before, I must say,” the doctor admitted.

“It means ‘Don’t do evil’,” the nurse replied with a smile.

“I believe that this boy will indeed be evil,” the doctor noted with a slight shiver in his voice, “Just look at his big devil eyes,” he said, pointing to the baby who was now fast asleep. The nurse lunged forward to see what the doctor was referring to. Suddenly the baby woke up and started crying. Then she replied, “Go back to sleep! Why are you crying now? Do I look like your mama?” The nurse was pissed and about to leave the room when the doctor called her back.

“Where are you going? Are you mad? Pick up the baby and go feed him some formula milk,” the doctor said, upset with her unsympathetic behaviour.

“Sorry, Doctor,” the nurse said and carried the baby from the cot.

The doctor thought hard on what had happened and said, “I want you to take the baby home tonight, please. Look after him properly. It is not his fault the mother left him, remember that and be nice. If the mother doesn’t come back in two days to collect him, we’ll drop him at the orphanage,” he commanded and again looked at the name on the paper, thinking upon the irony of it.

*****

Chomp chomp chomp

“What is that sound?” Emenanjo asked himself. He listened carefully. It was a very familiar sound. The rain had stopped briefly and the bright yellow sun smiled happily through the waning clouds again onto the people below. It was a regular, daily exchange between the sun and the rain in this part of Nigeria. The rain had caused a muddy mess on Emenanjo’s feet. His clothing, which had been soaked, had amazingly dried up within the mere hour since the sun had emerged. Emenanjo was wearing blue jeans and a torn, dirty white shirt. Exhausted, he looked down at his feet and saw how muddy they were. From his knees down to his toes his pants had collected mud, staining it to a dark sandy mess. Emenanjo was not surprised though; he blamed the bad roads that the greedy Aba government did not want to repair. Bad! Just bad!

That was the terrible situation everywhere in just about all parts of Nigeria. Bad roads, bad air, bad pollution, bad electricity, bad government, bad policies and everything else was bad on top of it all. No, not everything else was that bad. Let us talk about the Jamboree! Yes! Jamboree! That was Emenanjo’s favourite subject, a reminiscence of when he was happy. It could make him lick his lips just like a dog does, craving for the meaty bone thrown by its master. Good food, good parties, good people and all around, a good nation.

God bless Nigeria!