MILLIPEDE CHASING -PART 10

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 TEN

It had now been five hours since the “millipede chasing” had begun – that was what Emenanjo called it. Now it was only the young men and women who were hot on his heels, still chasing him. Ha! And along with them, the pastor who was in his late fifties. He had never run a race in his life, but somehow he miraculously mustered the strength to run this marathon. Of course, because he was chasing after his money. God’s money was the pastor’s money. It’s very simple. Emenanjo eyed a narrow private pathway on the left and after counting down in his head, he speedily raced through it. He hoped this would slow down all those who pursued him. He got lucky. Fortunately the pathway was clear of any human or structural obstruction, so the 21-year-old Emenanjo rushed as fast as a cheetah whilst praying for God‘s much-needed mercy through the narrow way. Yes! He always called for God when he found himself in trouble and he had always been saved. However, this time he had to wonder if God was on vacation. Why was he not responding to his call? The exhausted, sprinting young man now wondered how long he could run before his tired muscles and bones would fail him. At the end of the pathway was an iron gate. Emenanjo, having climbed plenty of fences and gates before, skilfully scaled it and landed gracefully on the other side of the fence. Soon his chasers arrived at the gates and the young men among them were quick to climb the fence. They slammed their hands into the frames and climbed with ease, while the women felt embarrassed to do so. The ladies were worried about exposing their undergarments or getting their clothing torn. Only two ladies were brave enough to climb over the gates. Emenanjo looked back and to his delight, saw that his plan had worked; there was a good distance between him and his pursuers. Another fortunate turn was that the number of people chasing him had been halved. A ray of hope shimmered across his face and he wished that Okafor was still here.

*****

My heart sings a song

Can you hear it?

My heart beat, beat, beat it

Can you hear it?

In the bedsit room he shared with Okafor, Emenanjo sat on a wooden chair with his hand pressed on his chest. He imagined a doctor checking his heartbeat with a stethoscope. He waited patiently for the doctor to reply. There was silence. “My heart is crying; can you hear it?” He asked again, looking up to the doctor and suddenly he heard a voice out loud.

“You need to stop singing this women’s song,” Okafor said as he walked into the room. He had just returned from work as a motorcycle taxi rider.

Since leaving the Orphanage after they turned eleven, the boys had tried their hands at all sorts of jobs to survive. They had avoided mixing with the wrong people that would get them involved with dangerous jobs in crime that involved bloodshed and trouble. The two boys retained some pride, and they rather worked than to become thieves. Now, at age 19, both boys had saved up enough to have bought two bikes for transporting people. The pay was good and they occasionally got customers who gave them big tips over and above their fares. Working very hard around the clock, the two boys left only Sundays for resting. Sometimes they went to church and sometimes they didn’t.

“Ha-ha! My brother, are you saying you are too deaf to hear my heart?” Emenanjo said gleefully, looking up at Okafor.

Okafor dropped his helmet on the floor and roughly kicked off his shoes. He gave his friend a blood tonic drink he had brought from the chemist before replying, “I can see you are feeling much better. Do you know why that makes me happy?”

“No, why?” Emenanjo smiled sheepishly.

“That makes me happy because I was worried about you all day long. You are, after all, my only family,” his friend replied.

A big smile stretched on Emenanjo’s face. He loved hearing that someone had been thinking of him or the attention received when someone was worried about his welfare. So many times he wished that that person would be a love interest, a beautiful girl, perhaps! For now he was more than happy, in the absence of a family he never knew about, that he was lucky enough to have someone he trusted with his life, someone he trusted above all.

“Okafor! Hey, you are by far the best brother in the world. Please, there is nothing to worry about. As you can see I am fine,” Emenanjo replied happily.

“Thank God”, Okafor replied as he got undressed down to his boxer shorts. “I decided to work tomorrow and earn more money, to compensate for you off work since Thursday. But, today business was good. One rich woman gave me 2000 naira extra! How great is that! I want to take you to Mama Pepper Restaurant tomorrow.”

Emenanjo poured the blood tonic into the silver head of a table spoon and quickly replied eagerly, “I love that restaurant! Their food is delicious. Thank you! Ooooohh!” Emenanjo said that he sincerely hoped he could fully recover from his illness tomorrow so that he could finally regain his appetite.

“Drink that elixir I brought you or you will never get any better,” Okafor said, sounding like a typical mother figure. He pointed to the blood tonic bottle and tapped with the spoon.

“You have started now with your big grammar. Is it medicine you calling elixir?”

“Shut up!” Okafor cackled in reply.

Chuckling, Emenanjo drank the medicine from the spoon and both young men sat in the last rays of the sun, chatting. They laughed about the competition they jokingly had for the affections of a waitress they both fancied who worked at the restaurant.

*****

The next morning, when Okafor had left for work, Emenanjo was home, sleeping peacefully as a little yellow chick cuddled by the softest of its mother’s feathers. The sun had raised its head high already, but inside the flat it was still relatively shaded, where the sick Emenanjo was sleeping soundly. His breathing was deep and tranquil under his blankets. Behind his closed eyelids his eyes rested in darkness and he enjoyed some proper rest. Then, suddenly, a mad noise from the west came and ruined everything at once.

“Oh no! What is this now?” he hissed bitterly and attempted to force himself back to sleep. His mind was still foggy and he hoped that sleep would soon find him again. However, the racket did not allow him to sleep, but instead grew louder. The sick man started wondering if he was expecting a visit from Mr Elephant and his entire family. He was bitterly upset. Though he had slept for a good six hours, he still felt weak and timid. Still he wanted to have a few more hours’ sleep, not only to rest, but to heal.

The din drove him crazy and eventually he jumped out of his bed to fix the problem. He opened a drawer and took out a tuft of cotton wool, which he stuffed into the holes of both his ears to muffle the annoying sound. When he had insulated his ears, he went back to bed. The poor young man hid inside the wrapper he used as a bed sheet and put his head firmly underneath the pillow. It was stuffy and difficult to breathe, but he tried to sleep nonetheless. For a moment he lay still.

Of course, the sleep never came as the stomping noise from outside his room carried on ceaselessly. It sounded like a thumping beat that shook the ground, although he tended to make things seem worse when he was annoyed with them. To make matters worse, a very silly mosquito flew in around him and landed lightly on his neck. The vibration of the little vampire irritated him immensely, so with great vexation he pulled his hand free and landed a mighty slap on his neck, crushing the annoying little insect. The tiny blood-sucking demon died unhappily with an empty stomach.

Emenanjo had had enough of the noises and he decided to investigate to find the location of the stamping noise. Wearing just black jeans and a white vest, he stepped out of the house and headed west.

He walked down the open stretch dual-carriage road of the residential area, surrounded by houses on both sides, all lined in an almost perfect row up the street. It was Sunday morning at 8 a.m. and the light breeze caressed his sore skin as he walked toward the distant ruckus. The streets were quieter than usual as most of the residents had gone to church. Emenanjo and Okafor rarely attended church, as they found the members snooping with their noses in their private life unbearable. Especially the women always seemed very wary of the two boys chatting to their daughters. There was a stigma attached to orphans as very wayward people with no morals, and nobody ever cared if it were true or not. The last thing the women wanted was for their daughters to be impregnated by the boys. Such was life and the two boys had accepted it. They had no other option, because they were bastards by their own admission and that of society.

Just two minutes’ walk from his house, Emenanjo finally discovered what he was searching for. Its was a church! Emenanjo was not sure of what to make of it. He wondered exactly when he had become a devil’s son that he so passionately did not want to live near a church. Why the hell did they have to be such a nuisance?

“Brother, welcome! Come inside, God has a beautiful gift for you today.” A man from the church approached him when he noticed Emenanjo standing on the pavement and staring at the new church.

“I didn’t know there was a church in this street?” Emenanjo asked without hiding the vexation on his face. The nearest church used to be fifteen minutes away from the home he shared with his friend and they never heard even a single sound coming at them from that church. Even their neighbours were moderately quiet, apart from the occasional wedding and christening parties. In fact, they lived in one of the quietest areas in Aba city – until now.

“Today is our first service! We give all the glory to God for helping us build this church!” the man exclaimed with an overwhelming zeal. His face beamed with joy.

“I didn’t notice, I rarely pass this road as it is cut off from the main road,” Emenanjo sneered. “Thank you for the invite, but I need to go home and rest. You see, I am just recovering from a very destructive fever,” Emenanjo added to make the man understand the weight of his illness and he quickly wondered why he was being polite when he could have just told the man to ‘Get lost!’

The smiling man took Emenanjo by his left hand in a clever attempt to drag him off the road and into the inside of the church. He said, “Let my pastor pray for you, Brother! Before you know it your sickness will go as if it never plagued you at all!”

Emenanjo was trying very hard not to get angry. The man’s happy shouting hurt his ears, and his tenacity annoyed the sick young man beyond measure.

“Please, let go of my hands. I am not sick anymore; I am just resting today to recover from being sick, so I don’t need to be prayed for,” Emenanjo politely told the cheerful and pushy man. But he was not lucky enough to make his point, it seemed.

Still holding Emenanjo’s hands, the man replied, “Come in then and praise the Lord for making you feel better.”

Seeing the adamant man was not going to let go easily, Emenanjo lied, “Okay, let me go and take a shower and dress properly, I will be back in thirty five minutes”. That did the trick!

The man finally let go of Emenanjo’s hands and appeared elated to have garnered a new addition to their church membership. He watched the barefoot young man walk away briskly along the street, talking to himself.

“This is bad. Now my sleep is going to suffer immensely! Now I will never get any rest!” Emenanjo mumbled as he walked back home.