MILLIPEDE CHASING - PART 13

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 THIRTEEN

Once upon a time I was alone and then I met you, Okafor, when we were three years old at the orphanage. We grew up to be strong young men to the age of 21 and now you are gone. We never talked about our parents who had cast us away from their shadows. Since we met each other, we have been inseparable. We never lacked anything as long we had each other. We were loyal to one another. You were like a brother to me. The love we had for each other was more than a brotherly love; it was a love that sparkled like the twinkling stars that brightened the night sky. It was a love that would make the strongest men break out in tears. It was a love as pure as a motherly love. It was a love that nothing on this earth could break – not even the mighty strike from the thunder. This love is for eternity. Rest in Peace, my brother Okafor.

“Do you like the changes I made to your speech?” asked the short, chubby funeral director after he had read out the eulogy.

Emenanjo paused for few seconds as he had been doing constantly since Okafor passed away seven days ago. He had become slow in responding to questions. The poor Emenanjo had not yet fully acknowledged what had happened. Once more he was back to being alone, just like he was before he met his friend. Solomon had promised to visit him after he told him of the accident, but he never came. The newlywed Solomon had his phone switched off and Emenanjo could not make sense of it or understand why. He was alone and there was no one to comfort him.

After the accident he came back home with a bloodied shirt and trousers. The first step he took when he opened the door he would never forget. Inside, the room was like an incomplete jigsaw without Okafor. The first night was the worst. His eyes could not sign off on the day and allow him sleep. There were no tears in his eyes because he was still in a state of denial, imagining and believing that it was all just a nightmare. When the dark enveloped the room he left the light on, sitting on the sofa instead of lying on his bed, and he just stared at the brick wall until the sun awoke in the east.

Only the next day did he change from his bloodied clothing and wore something fresh, but he didn’t have a shower. Luckily he did not smell. He went to the mortuary were they kept the corpse. When asked if he wanted to see the corpse he said, “No,” as he couldn’t bear to see Okafor in the Deep Sleep. Keeping the body in the freezer was very pricey, therefore Emenanjo was in a rush to bury his friend just 7 days after the incident before getting swallowed by the high bill. On the second day at home, some friends from his line of work heard what had happened and came to pay their respects. Even his neighbours too, who rarely chatted to him, came to show their respect. He invited them all to his friend’s funeral.

“Okafor will love that.” It took Emenanjo 12 seconds to reply back to the director. The director scratched the back of his head, wondering how he could put a bit of life back into this forlorn young man sitting in front of him. The he recalled the stuff he had in the plastic bag under his desk. Bending down, he took the plastic bag and placed it on the table. He opened the bag and took out a bottle of J. H. Henkes’ Schnapps and poured it into two shot glasses.

“Here,” he offered Emenanjo a shot of schnapps, “drink this!” he commanded. “You really need it.” With a look of despair and confusion, Emenanjo looked back and forth from the shot glass to the director’s face and said, “I don’t need a drink. What I want is my brother.”

“Look at you! You stink! You are wearing a torn top and dirty jeans. You have to stop now or you are going to be dead soon!” the director shouted at the stubborn Emenanjo.

Emenanjo got up from his chair and said to him, “I will meet you at the mortuary at 2 p.m. to take the body for burial. You will get the ₦20,500 balance left.” The young man’s voice was cold and desolate.

“No problem. Don’t worry, the burial is going to go smoothly but please, go home, bathe and wear fresh clothes,” the director implored as he took a shot from the glass. He did not bother asking the young man to sit and chat because he could see Emenanjo had blocked his mind from listening for now. In his heart he wished him luck.

“Bye,” Emenanjo muttered as he walked out of his office, completely indifferent to whatever the chubby man thought of him. The director took a shot of the drink from the other glass and said to himself with a satisfied sigh, “This is nice!”.

*****

As he was just few streets way from his home, Emenanjo received a call from Solomon, who sounded very reserved and abrupt. He made some excuse about an emergency that came up and that because of it he would not be able to make it to Okafor’s burial. That was not a problem for Emenanjo until Solomon informed him that he would no longer be able to loan him the balance he needed to pay for his friend’s funeral. Emenanjo was speechless!

Suddenly his whole world fell apart around him. Not only had he lost his best friend, but now he was left financially emaciated. The last glimmer of hope, the last thread of help he was holding on to had slipped from his grasp, leaving him exposed to all the bad things he had managed to escape with Okafor. He felt like a lost orphan all over again.

As Solomon hung up the phone, the poor devastated Emenanjo stood frozen on the road side, his astonished face ashen as if he had just seen a ghost. With a heavy heart and deep sorrow he wondered why the world had turned upside down since his friend had died. He was broke and had no money to continue preserving his friend’s body in the mortuary. It was imperative that he buried him as soon as possible!

He felt like screaming to the heavens. Just screaming and screaming at God for the cruel turn of events. He was furious that he was plummeted into nothing again. In his throat a lump sat and in his heart he felt how he hated the injustice of the world, where rejected children and good people get trampled even more by life. Looking at the people around him, he realised how oblivious they were to his plight. Nobody cared about his troubles. No one would give a damn about helping him as they just went about their own lives. Emenanjo started walking again. At home he could give in. In public he had to keep it together.

He heard a car door nearby in front of him. That was when he saw the big fair rich woman getting out of her car. She was huge, struggling to get out the door, rocking the car under her weight. As she did, Emenanjo saw a thick bundle of money falling from her bag as she bore forward.

“Hauuu,” she complained at the notes falling where she could not reach with her overweight frame. She finally managed to pick up the money and place it back in her purse before she started walking further up the road. Emenanjo followed her inadvertently, and he was not even sure why he was doing so, but he was at the end of his tether and somehow felt that she would lead him to some resolve.

“Oh, of course!” he said to himself as he realised where she was heading. He noticed that she was making her way to the dreadful noisy church he hated so much, the one that was built within a few minutes from his home. Before she could enter the church’s gate, and seeing no one was close by, Emenanjo felt a jolt of adrenaline propel him forward and he seized her bag and ran. That was it. Emenanjo became the thief he never wanted to be. It was too late! Emenanjo was a thief!