CHANGING SEASONS

CHANGING SEASONS

HUMAN BEINGS

Photo credit –  www.colourbox.com

 

“Me sef I be human being o…..”

The depth of emotion in Tubaba’s voice as he wails that line of chorus after MI’s smooth and easy flow always does something magical to my system. When Sound Sultan’s vocals join the mix, my mind is blown. Such is the awesome power of good music that it transports me beyond the confines of my car. I absolutely love all the tracks on the Chairman album, but the sixteenth is undoubtedly my favorite.

A startling knock on the window brings me back down to reality from the clouds of musical euphoria in a flash. I look outside and it’s a beggar, one of the many flocking around the long queue of cars waiting for the traffic lights to go green. This one at my window is female, sitting atop a wheelchair without a pusher.

I wave her off, turn away and focus on the lights, silently willing them to change. There’s another tap on the window, a much harder one this time. Angrily I switch off the radio and hit the window control button, breathing hard as the glass smoothly goes (a bit too slowly in my estimate).

“You, what is it? You want to break my window? Allah baa musa. I don’t have money to give you, is it by force? Go somewhere else abeg.”

Something about her beggar’s whine and atrophied legs make me angry, and my voice unconsciously rises. From the corner of my eyes I spy one or two of the other drivers on the line looking questioningly at me through their windscreens, but I don’t care. The barrage goes on.

“Are you mad? I say I don’t have money; do you want to damage my car? What’s wrong with you?”

There’s hopelessness in her eyes as she sits there and apologizes. I’m sure she has seen many like me before. I have seen many like her before, and I’m always put off by their disabilities. I’ve never been able to understand why.

“Sorry oga, no vex. God go bless you flenty…”

Her voice is not more than a whisper, and even that is cut off as I wind the window back up and turn on the music, taking the volume way beyond its previous level.

In another minute red changed to amber and then green, and I zoomed onto Ozumba Mbadiwe, turning right towards the Ikoyi bridge, nodding my head to the music but still very pissed.


Work normally ends by six o’clock after which I usually head for home. Today however, rather than go  home to the nagging arms of my darling wife, I decide to pass by Roland’s and gist for half an hour, just half an hour only. I was there ‘killing’ time just two days ago and really shouldn’t be going again this soon, but the situation at home this past week dictate I point the car in that direction again with only a slight hint of guilt. Call me a coward if you will, but the wife has been acting strange lately, and since I don’t have any clue as to what exactly is biting her, wise counsel dictates I try to limit close interaction.  Hopefully by the time I finally get home, she would either be asleep or close to it.

Trust Roland to start ragging me as soon as he lets me inside his apartment. The time is a half past six.

“Bros the bros. Welcome. How office today na?”

“Fine” I reply, waiting for the punch line which I know is coming.

“This wan wey you wan turn my house to sanctuary so, abeg sofry o, before madam Hitler go come burst here.”

I know he is only joking, but still it rubs me the wrong way.

“Please don’t address my wife as Hitler, please. Her name is still Rita and if you don’t like my coming here, just say so and I’ll leave right now, you hear?!”

“Calm down brother man, calm down. I’m just joking. Your body too dey hot sef, relax!”

I took a deep breath and dropped into his comfortable couch. It isn’t his fault I’m here in the first place anyway.  With a small apologetic nod in his direction, I loosen my tie and roll up my shirt sleeves.

Playtime is officially under way.

I didn’t plan on Lucifer somehow managing to introduce alcohol into the mix (doesn’t he always?) and the thirty minutes I planned to spend magically become two hours.

The first time my phone rings, forty minutes after I arrive, Roland snatches it off the table before I can and checks the screen. Of course it is Rita calling.

“Ehen, tracking don start. Nor say I nor warn you o.”

I grab the phone from him as he laughs hysterically, but I don’t answer it. Instead, I wait for it to stop wailing, then activate the ‘vibration only’ mode and drop it on the seat beside me. Two more times after that it rings, but without him noticing it.

Finally it is time to go home and as I walk unsteadily towards the car, Doctor Ayo’s voice creeps into my head.

“The greatest chance of conception comes from meeting your wife approximately twenty-four hours before she ovulates, anything before or after that significantly cuts down on her chances. You should also be aware that the drugs I have placed her on may interfere with her normal hormonal functions, causing her to have mood swings or overreact to trivialities at certain times. You’ll have to be particularly tolerant when this happens.”

I slap my thigh in sudden realization. All these things have been happening a lot lately. Me and Rita have been married for five years and have been visiting the facility clinic for a month plus. How stupid can one be?


I’m standing by the side of the cot, looking down at Darlington’s toothless gape. Our eyes meet and he laughs, as if something on my bearded face is particularly funny. His mother is in the kitchen preparing dinner, and I have him to myself for a while. He seems to prefer my attention to that of his teenage nanny.

“Goooo goo goo…,” he mouths in baby speak. Then he starts giggling again.

“Gooo goooo goo…” I coo back, making him giggle harder. Then I reach into the cot and pick up my precious legless bundle, hugging him to my chest. He was born that way, and I love him to pieces.  After almost six years of waiting, who can blame me?

Somebody must have turned on the radio downstairs, and bits of the song playing wafts its way up the stairway and into the bedroom through the open door. Tubaba’s voice is as sonorous as ever.

“Me sef I be human being o….”

 

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