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Episode 1: My Okada ordeal

Boredom almost choked me to death in the house. I was home alone. I had finished watching all movies in the rack. My internet was faulty else I would have soaked myself in my kindle reader.
So I took a time out.
"Hello, could you take me to the cinema?" I beckoned the 'okada' man.
He looked at me and jolted like one who has just won all his stakes in Betnaija. I was rocking my fashionista poise, so I didn't blame him when he uttered the ridiculous "it's #2500 sir". His lips slackened backwards as if to deny what just came out of it.
"Oga no mind wetin you dey see I know where cinema dey, and na #100 naira I dey take to go there come rain come sunshine". I argued.
He grinned "oya enter".
I held my sagging trouser as I threw my right leg over the back seat like a karate apprentice.
His shirt smelt dusty and sweaty. The bushy hair was uncombed and flecks of dust rested on it giving a yellowish brown colour. I almost sneezed out my lungs, thanks for my hanky. There's something about the stench from his cloth that nauseated me. I could feel the hot air in company with the stench immigrating into my nostril. Even the hanky I fixed tightly on my nose could not scare them away.
We got to the destination. Calmly, I placed my right thumb and index finger on his shoulder blade to sustain my balance while climbing down his high-jacked 'okada'. With zero delay, I reached out for my wallet, removed a neatly piled #100 note and tossed it to his greasy palm. He ejected his lips to show some brownish teeth which I immediately perceived as a thank you smile. I dashed to the film house in a flash.
There was a feeling of comfort I felt when the soothing Air-conditioned breeze hit my skin.

Culled from http://chroniclesofpaulinus..com.ng/

A TASTE OF DEATH

I tripped and dashed headlong striking my brow on the hard concrete floor of our lodge. It ripped open. I felt rest clutching me tightly on the ground but the throbbing of my heart against my chest could afford me no leisure. I pushed myself up. Picking my strength from where I left it I began limping; blood had mixed with sweat. My face was covered in a pool of blood. The salty taste of sweat struggled for a way into my mouth. I kept on blowing it off. The briny taste of my blood and sweat mixture nauseated me. ‘Maybe I have lost him,’ my mind wandered trying to find a reason to relax a bit. But such leisure was far to be gained at that moment. My heart could need a million seconds to pace down its throbbing marathon. Tears of helplessness blurred my vision. I could hardly glide a leg to make a move. I knew at that moment that I couldn’t make it alive.
Who could imagine how I struggled with my killer? A storm of thought filled my mind. I gasped for breath but the air in the building clogged in dread. I was writhing in pain. I watch my potential killer smoking stinks of fury as he strode towards me. His dagger that curved slightly on its blade dripped of liquid of a crimson tinge. ‘Please sir, I don’t know where they are,’ my voice hung at the edge of my strength. ‘You shall pay for their lives with yours since you want to be a hero,’ his voice reeked of fumed anger. I could only move my hands above me as I lay down there helpless. He had earlier struck me with his dagger while I was in my study.
I came back that evening and felt weird when I entered the compound. An unsettled smoke of danger suspended in the air. I couldn’t make sense of it ‘cos my hostel had always bustled with activities of youths. It had never frozen into a graveyard quietude like that evening before. Pebbles lined through the corridor. The newly painted wall was redesigned with scratched of groping fingernails struggling to escape. ‘How mad the landlord would be when he sees this,’ that was all I could make of the signs. I hardly noticed the stains of blood, the debris of bottles and footwear that lay scattered at each corner. Some people’s door stood ajar, even that of the famous secret master. But I felt strangely courageous to continue whistling with my mouth and lunged straight to my room. My room choked with the pong of Indian hemp. ‘Who could this idiot be,’ I clipped my nose with my thumb and index fingers while my eyes rummaged through my room. It stood in a mess. My neatly piled clothes were littered on the ground, my books were in shreds. Nothing obeyed its normal position…

Continue@ http://chroniclesofpaulinus..com.ng/2017/05/episode-6-day-i-had-taste-of-death.html