CHANGES

 

Otueke, Bayelsa State - Few Years after Nigeria’s Independence

 

An energetic lady with faded wrapper crossing her chest region dresses a teenage boy in his school uniform. She brushes his low-cut hair with her hand and wipes his sweaty face with the edge of her wrapper. She inhales the fresh air which characterized the late morning. The lady is in her early twenties. She straighten's the boy’s shirt and hands him some books. The books are numbered three in copies.

 

“Split each exercise book into two equal parts to make up for the 6 subjects you would be taught, Ebele.” The teenager nods. He looks at the drawings on the cover of the books. The lady raises his head and looks into his eyes. She smiles and kisses his forehead. The teenager smiles too. “Go now, Son. You are already late.” The boy walks briskly away to school, barefooted.

 

*****

The morning wind blows from the nearby creeks into the midst of the people who sit around sharing jokes and dreams. It saturates them so much that they feel elated. The men who understand the language of the waters suck in air and perceive the good news. “The waters are full!” said one of the men with a rather flatter nose. “And fishing would be great.” concluded one of the men with a narrow face. They each walk into their huts to un-hang their fishing nets and paddles. They call out for others who might have been sleeping. They march towards the river. The women gossip amongst themselves and giggle as each man marches with vigour, courage and great sense of responsibility towards the river that called.

 

*****

The classroom is an open air. One dark man with a deep voice is the teacher. He seems like a missionary. But his words are not.

“You godforsaken fisherman! See when you are coming to school! This is called a school, not your father’s fishing pond. You would make nothing out of the competitive life posed by the influx of westernisation if you don’t embrace my struggle to teach you morals. And you, yes, you, Jonathan, is that your name?

The dark sweating boy, who could pass for a beggar, nods.

“I knew it. You have such a nice name but such an unruly character. If you are elected President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, is that how early you would come to work? Is that the kind of service you would render to those who would look up to you?

The young boy stammers between apology and explanation.

“I won’t be a President, Master”.

“O gracious Mary, the Mother of the Christ. The beautiful woman perceived by the angel to conceive of the saviour! You haven’t said that from that un-colourful mouth of yours, right?

The young boy shivers. He squats and covers his face with his note books.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed. I am not God. But if you should lead the people of Nigeria that way you would be stoned to death by angry mobs.

The classroom listens to the silence that follow and the sound of chalk which makes rhythm as the Master writes on the charcoal board.

 

*****

Port Harcourt, Nigeria – somewhere in the early eighties

 

An old Peugeot car splashes water on a young man who stands awaiting vehicle.

“Why nah? Why?” he cries at the driver.

“Sorry oh. I no see you. You know say you too black”.

The young man sees a bus. The sound is so terrible it can chase a village. The vehicle halts. The apprentice driver calls for passengers to Choba, Uniport. The young man jumps, shoves aside a contender and settles on a seat. He heaves like he finished a 100miles race.

The vehicle dances and disappears as those without seats stand, holding the rail in the middle.

 

*****

Aso Rock, Abuja, Nigeria

 

The environment is so serene one would assume the gods of Nigeria live therein. An exotic car pulls up. An officer salutes a man who has some funny smiles. He leads him inside one of the various houses. He opens the door and those in the house file up for greetings. A platform is set. The man comes to the microphone.

 

“A Happy New Year, fellow Nigerians. I am glad to announce to you that the proposed fuel subsidy would be removed against the April date as later deliberated by some wannabe politicians who know nothing about governance. Prepare to pay a sacrifice which would cost you nothing except your lives. I, your President am doing same. I have cancelled my trip to Manchester, UK, where I was supposed to watch the Red Devils fool itself. I am cutting cost. You should know what I mean. I understand your fears. I might not be good at elementary economics but I have employed a very special woman, a lady that is feared around her office for knowing more than her professors; a lady who has failed many times but privileged to keep files in the World Bank. She would make sure our residues are properly channeled. We would build new refineries in Otueke, my home town and may turn the existing ones in Port Harcourt, Warri and Kaduna into football pitches. People are investing in football and I bet you a change would be achieved. God bless you”.

 

The people shake hands. A few aggrieved men walk to the extreme of the hall, hit their heads against the wall and collapse. 

 

The end.

Nice collection of flash fictional pieces you've got here.

Are these all yours? More pls if you've got them...