HAPPY NEW MONTH
So this short story post is about two days due and I apologize (but the story and I were finding it hard to come to a conclusion), anyways I hope you have a nice read. Thank you!
Danfo, Diapers and Dreaded Days
He had been in the danfo that morning, lost in the thoughts of what awaited him at work. Just yesterday, news had gone viral of the doctor who had come out of his car on Third Mainland Bridge and jumped into the lagoon. What could have prompted him to do so? He thought to himself. As for him, he knew he was not going to commit suicide. He had a wife that would kill him even after he had died, for doing such a thing, and he had two children whose constants chants of “Daddy” were, most times, the only voices he needed and wanted to hear. He had not grown up eating Kellogg’s and watching movies at Ikeja City Mall, but he wanted the best for the fruit of his loins.
The bus conductor’s shout jerked him out of his reverie, “Oga, your money” the young man said, in a voice too hoarse for 6.30am, brushing the Ibadan tribal marks across his right cheek with the side of his left arm. When he said money, the last /i/ sound of ‘money’ sounded like the end of a question, but also that of a statement. Akin had noticed – he had combined majors in the University before bagging his journalism degree, and he took his phonology classes seriously. It was this same journalism career that was about to cost him his life. He managed to ignore the rude remarks and boring eyes of the bus conductor, rather he squeezed the Naira notes into the young man’s palm, but the young man had still not let it go.
“Ki lo de? Wetin dey do you dis early momo?” he snapped.
Akin stared at him, far from the decision to give him an answer. Right then, his phone beeped. It was an email from work. He read it and remembered his late grandmother’s words that men should not cry. He also remembered the doctor who jumped off the bridge. He almost could not fathom it; he was sacked, and for a moment, he bit his lower lip because there was no lagoon around him at the time.
Akin became more aware of himself and the other passengers in the bus. Beside him, a child had let out a harsh cry from her sleep and the mother untied her from her back, unknowingly jabbing Akin’s side with her elbow about three times. While in front of the mother, the crying stopped and the mother held the child’s buttocks to her nose. Akin watched as she put her left arm behind the baby’s neck and untied the diaper with her right hand. There it was. Deep shit.
For a moment, Akin caught himself wishing to be a baby once again so he could have his “shit” cleaned by someone else, but that’s the sad thing about growing up. Or maybe that’s the thing with being God’s child as Reverend Chris always called him. The voice was piercing every time, “Whether you are nineteen or ninety, you are still God’s baby!” Now, the words played in his head over and again. He definitely needed to be helped now. Maybe it was time for God to clean his shit.
With Overflowing Love,