N.B. This is not fiction, it is real. Some of it happened in time and space; others happened in my mind. But as Milton said, the mind is its own pace so all of it is real. This is an attempt to use words to pursue intent to the door of sense. Let's see how far the chase goes.

Bleep

ONE
There is a God for every man. But on most days, He’s busy planning for every man’s big day. So sometimes we feel like nothing is happening when a lot is. Those were the words of the Imam when I told him about my frustration with the whole ASUU palaver. I had gone to him with a heavy heart and a broken spirit. I had told him that I needed some kind of reassurance that Allah hadn’t gone to sleep on the matter. He didn’t grin like He usually does when I start up another one of my unconventional discussions. In fact, he looked perturbed and heavy-laden too.

So when he told me those words, I left him and went away quietly. Something told me not to prod him further. I think his hajias were at it again. See, the Imam has three wives and twenty-three children. Once, he confided in me that he wished he hadn’t married thrice. He wished he could give some of the children back to Allah. He wished his filial headaches were less. The Imam is a man of many wishes.

On my way back to my father’s apartment after the evening prayers, I saw Sule slipping something into Mairo’s hand. Then when the young man felt nobody was watching, he playfully slapped the fourteen-year-Old’s behind. Instantly, I knew it was only a matter of time before the Imam gets another grandchild from Mairo. But if there is one thing I have learnt from my dealings with the Imam’s family, it is to always turn a blind eye.

A familiar hand squeezed my shoulders gently from behind. I knew it was the hand of Imam Sadiq. You showed up for solat, he said. I was almost worried that the ummah had lost a bright man and future advocate of its cause after you left in the morning. Your questions are at best startling and confounding, he continued. What is your bother, my friend? He motioned me back into the mosque and I followed his lead.

The mosque is a shed standing on four bamboo planks. Its roof is aluminum and its floor is the only cemented portion of the outer compound. Daddy had it fixed before he returned to his station in Abuja so that when rain falls, we could still have a space big enough to accommodate our neighbors for ashamu during Ramadan. The shed is divided into two to indicate difference in sex and the floor is covered with a thick carpet upon which the mats are laid.

Nothing seems to be working in the world, I blurted out as soon as the Imam sat down. The Law School opens in October and if we don’t resume soonest, I think I might have to wait another year. It’s been forty days sir. I don’t know what God is doing. I know that the government is useless and the Lecturers are self-serving megalomaniacs, but you taught me that God is in charge of us all. If so, why won’t He call the warring elders to a truce? I am fed up.

To compound my woes, I continued, I am being tempted with that which most men cannot decline. Sir, it is the wife of the soldier, the one whose husband was killed in Somalia about a year ago. She started out by asking me to help her replace some bad electric bulbs with new ones; then it was to fix her sink; then the fuse of their meter smelled burnt. Much later, their generator won’t start and her child was running a temperature. When I got there, she was silently sobbing. I was touched to say the least but behaved like I hadn’t noticed her tears.

I fixed the generator by cleaning out the plug and as I was about to leave, she shouted from her room that she was coming, so I busied myself with the Yoruba movie playing out on Africa Magic. All the while I was still standing against the door to their apartment as I was hitherto almost gone.

Then the unexpected happened.

Sir, I must say that I wasn’t prepared for what met my eyes when the mother-of-one emerged from her room. She was loosely clad in a gown that must have been meant only for the eyes of her husband because it left almost nothing to the imagination yet concealed everything necessary. I was transfixed. I just could not look away.

The moment she stepped back into the sitting room, her presence felt like the relieving yet enchanting scent of air when the first drops of scant rainfall touches the earth. My heart was beating so fast that I could hear its gentle thump in the deafening silence that engulfed both of us. It was like the television had been muted by some ancestral forces. Then I remembered what a pretty friend of mine back at the university in Ife once told me about the roving eyes of some of our randy lecturers.

She said when they stared at her, she felt like every piece of clothing on her had been removed.
I am sure Mummy Niyi must have felt that way. Then her son opened the door to his room and emerged looking all sweaty. He asked to be fed and the woman nervously whispered something like; you’re sweating, thank God. Now I am sure you’ll feel better. She asked me to sit down. She said I needed to sit down. I did not know what she meant until I felt a throbbing between my legs, just below my stomach. I saw the bulge and at once, I knew I had to sit down. I was slightly embarrassed at my rabid display of manliness.

When she was done feeding Niyi, she put him to bed and came out again. She still looked the same, but this time I was more composed. She sat in a chair not so far from mine and causally asked how I have been coping with the strike. I wasn’t sure how to answer. I wasn’t sure if words would come out from my mouth. So I gently swallowed first. She noticed and smiled. But I noticed that it wasn’t a teasing smile. In her eyes, I saw that she was quite glad she had such an effect on me. In fact, I caught her stealing fast glances at the region of my bulge when she felt I wasn’t looking. But it is my bulge so I would know. She had no arrogant airs about her and she was so easy to talk to. She seemed very calm and relaxed and it would take depth to decipher that the glimmer in her eyes wasn’t from joy but from resignation. She seemed ready for anything and that made her almost imperturbable.

For the first time, I allowed myself to think that she was beautiful, in fact very beautiful and I did not feel like I had sinned. We talked about everything but the actual thing we both wanted to talk about. But we knew that so much had been said in the silence. When I told her I wanted to leave, she offered to walk me to the door. She said she wanted to lock the door after I was gone. Then the tension started to rise again. I felt heat at the back of my ears and my palms were suddenly sweaty. I thought I caught a glimpse of her heaving a very heavy sigh, but I can’t be so sure now.

When we reached the door, I made for the door knob but her hand was on its handle before mine. For a second I thought of myself as that handle in within her grip. She seemed to have read my thoughts as she seemingly fumbled with the door. Then she closed in to open it and her bosom brushed my shoulder. I couldn’t move, so she had to gently nudge me on when the door almost hit me in the face. She didn’t apologize; she just giggled and whispered into my ear. Good night. See you tomorrow. Or so she said. Needless to say I couldn’t sleep all night. Now we are so cordial and I see the inevitable happening between us anytime soon else the passion flying about between us will spark a flame and consume both of us.

Sir, but my main grief is that in all of this I don’t see any wrong with what I am doing. I should be sad and depressed for flirting with a widow without shame but I feel absolutely no remorse. I don’t think I am responsible for the death of her husband to start with. Nor am I responsible for the inability of ASUU AND the government to reach a truce on their bloodless but fatal battle. I am not even responsible for my hormonal reaction to the startling beauty of Mummy Niyi, the widow. I shouldn’t be blamed. I have not sinned. I am only but a victim of circumstances. I stopped and kept quiet so I could hear what he had to say.

The Imam sighed and started. Nothing is a mistake. Everything that happens in this life is being orchestrated by our God. No goodness or badness escapes his command. He may not approve of the bad, but He doesn’t force anybody into doing anything. He allows us all to decide whatever path we choose and then we have to live with the consequences of what we decide. Everybody has a prerogative over his own life and destiny. Whatever you choose to do with that prerogative is what makes you accountable before Allah.

Then he said; everything in life is a matter of choice. God has given us an array of options to choose from. Whichever you pick, you are responsible. You must be ready for the consequences of your choices. So choose wisely. God has given you freewill.

I scoffed and responded to his spiritual diagnosis of my dilemma. Freewill you say? I think not sir. If the freedom to choose does not include the freedom to create the choices, then there is no freewill. I didn’t create the choices I have, so I have no freewill. The Imam was now obviously befuddled.
Before he could respond, Mairo stepped in and knelt down before him, and then she whispered something to him and left. The Imam rose. Your father wants to see me, he said. This isn’t over D Law. We must finish this conversation tomorrow. I nodded and we walked back towards our house.

XXXX

TWO
On the way back to the house, we met Mummy Niyi. She had a polythene bag in her hand and it was transparent. I could see the contents without trying. She had bread and other provisions. She genuflected to the Imam and casually mumbled Hi D Law towards my direction. Then she walked past us. I almost died. Who does that? Her reaction reminded me of my dear Ella back at the University in Ife. Whenever I offend her as I was naturally wont to do, she wouldn’t stop talking to me all together, she’d just be so casual to the point that I almost grovel my apologies. She had a way of stooping to conquer. I still cringe whenever I remember the cold shoulder. But I had not done anything to this woman now. Maybe she was protecting us from the Imam. If only she knows what the Imam knows.

When we got back to the house, we said salamah and Father responded from within. He was in the Parlor watching the Evening News on Channels TV and gently picking his teeth for debris of meat that may have stuck somewhere. Father has a particularly small dentition for his fiery appearance and even more fiery way of speaking. During one of our relaxed chats about the nation’s situation, I had told him that Ronaldinho would gladly swap his two front teeth for six of his own. He busted into peals of laughter and told me that I was silly. Then three days later when I had almost forgotten the episode, he told my brother that he had always known that I’d be the silly one. He said so with a big smile. I grinned. My Father is a good man.

Father asked me if there was any news about the strike ending anytime soon. I told him none. I told him that negotiations had even broken down and it seems we were in the abyss for now. He told me he knew. He just wanted to be sure that I was following the news and not spending all my days on social media making friends with no one in particular. I grinned. He said it wasn’t funny. Then I straightened up and gave him a very stern serious look. He jokingly asked me to vamoose. I complied and marched away like a zombie. He and the Imam smiled, and then they began to confer quietly. I headed to the kitchen to find my night meal.

Since I could not sleep, I turned to my Laptop for companionship and browsed through for anything worth seeing again. Chris Ubani’s TED Talk stood out. I remember the joke he made about a t-shirt his girlfriend had. He said there was an inscription on the shirt. The inscription read; Bombing for peace is like fucking for virginity. I kept turning the words over in my mind.

My incredulous dalliances with Mummy Niyi the night before had left me more restless than ASUU strike. My encounter with the Imam hadn’t ended the way I expected and I was more befuddled than ever. Then Ubani’s words came ringing in my head again. What if I did it with the woman and couldn’t stop? Will meeting her needs and invariably mine, cure me of my attraction to her? What if that opens a new floodgate of emotions that I don’t even know how to control or deal with? Can bombing ever bring peace? I mean real and long lasting peace? Will sleeping with the woman cure me of my attraction to her?

I made up my mind to speak to her about it when I went to see her in the morning. Maybe that is what she even wanted to tell me. That I should stop thinking it could ever be possible between the two of us. I slept in thoughts and was startled out of my sleep by the call to the Morning Prayer. I slipped into something and headed for the mosque.

After everyone had gone to school, I called her to ask if it was alright for me to come over. She said yes. When I got there, I knocked and she answered from within that the door wasn’t locked. I stepped in and there she was. All my thoughts disappeared at once. I was temporarily taken aback but I quickly gathered myself together. She was watching a movie. Good morning I said. She nodded her reply.
I couldn’t help but stare. Though she wore a gown made of Ankara material, she wasn’t any less beautiful. It had a tag that read H&W. The local designer definitely found a fine blend to create an African yet cosmopolitan outlook. I made a mental note to ask her later if they made gowns for boys. Gowns for boys? I almost belched at the silliness of such thought. I must have been really taken in by her. Whoever designed that gown will go places.

She didn’t cover her hair. I noticed she had just plaited it. My sister had told me all I needed to know about the style she had on. It is called Patewo. I swallowed when I noticed how neatly the rows sat on her head; the ridges caught my attention and I liked the way the rows had one long dissecting ridge in the middle. That long ridge seemed to divide the rows into two, the same way the equator divided the earth. The division was not only equal but artistic. In my mind’s eye, I was already gently running my fingers through the slanted ridges of the rows and the Long One of the equator.

She looked like the moon. You know how the moon shines so brightly when it is full and seems to be a sole lamp for the whole earth? That was exactly how she looked. I felt like the earth and she was my full moon. She was beaming her extra-terrestrial light on me. I was before something that was beyond me yet within my reach. Only The Grand Designer of the Universe could have designed something this physically thrilling and soulfully exhilarating. Here was God using His works to reaffirm my faith. I gently said a quick prayer. And in sheer delirium, I said Amen aloud.

She looked startled for a minute, and then suddenly began to chuckle aloud. The chuckle graduated into laughter and laughter they say is like wildfire during the harmattan. I instantly caught the bug. It seemed almost impossible not to smile at the way she smiles or laugh at the way she laughs. She is like the President making a joke, whether it was funny or not, one feels obligated to laugh.

Then I noticed that I had been staring. And staring they say is rude. So I gently mumbled something like sorry. She waved it aside and told me to sit. I quietly sat down beside her. She asked me to move closer and when I did, she rested her head slightly on my shoulder.
Instantly I felt really powerful. I felt like I could do anything. I felt like I was the ruler of a beautiful kingdom. Only that this kingdom had only one citizen. But this citizen was enough for the whole kingdom. She was a thousand people rolled into one.

In this wonderful posture, I silently said another prayer for Olobe to appear so that he would witness how blessed I had become. I wished I could take a picture and share just for showoff. Such was the depth of shallowness that this delirium had transported me into. By the way, Olobe is my best friend and no, he doesn’t hawk soup as his name suggests. Olobe is his nick. It’s not his real name. Or Wale. If Olobe couldn’t make it, I wished Wale could. He would have laughed his charming hearty laugh and gawk at my luck. But then the thought hit me. Those two men are natural charmers you slowpoke. They may take her away from you. I chuckled and rebuked such thought. Then I grinned.
I felt like I was dead and now in heaven. Only that God wasn’t ready to judge me yet so He asked His Most Beautiful Angel to keep me company. This must be a clear sign that I will make heaven. I rarely use drab clichés to describe women but suddenly the cliché about a woman being an angel seemed new and had a startlingly clear meaning to me.

She asked me why I had laughed aloud. I told her I didn’t know how to start. She said I should say it anyhow, so I obliged. I told her how I felt about her looks and all I knew about Patewo. She told me I had a sweet mouth. Then I gently nudged her head towards me and spoke directly toward her lips. How would you know that I am sweet if you haven’t tasted my lips? She seemed lost and her chest started pounding heavily against mine. Her bosom was now fully rested on my chest. We stared deeply into each other’s eyes for what seemed like eternity. Then I began to move my lips towards hers.
She didn’t flinch or move. Her face was as bland as a sea at peace. No activity. If not for the thumping of her pulse against mine, I would have believed that I was the only one feeling the connection. Now we were both breathing too heavily. Then I saw a flicker in her eyes. It simply said Go On. I did. But my lips went to her neck first. I pecked it ever so gently. She suddenly wrapped her hands around my head. My lips were making the return from her neck back to her lips when we suddenly heard a knock on the door. I felt like a hammer had just landed directly on my cranium. It must be the Devil. She seemed to agree because she didn’t move to open it. Then her phone rang. It was her dead husband’s younger brother, Musa.

Her face suddenly dropped. Musa has become the source of her headache and worries for so long and she knew better than not to answer his call. She answered the call and put the phone on the Speaker mode. Hello, she said ever so softly. Oh so you are in?! He seemed to have picked her voice from the door. I am in front of your house. I almost slumped.

To be Continued...

XXXXX

Interesting,can't wait 4 d nxt update

nice one

lemme just book a space,i want to prepare breakfast,i'll be back.

OP SIR, PERMISSION TO FOLLOW.......------>.

Me likey!


Looks like its gonna be a nice tale.

Coming back to comment..

Following thread. dis ASUU strike go increase number of unwanted pregnacies o.

Following thread. dis ASUU strike go increase number of unwanted pregnacy o.

Subscribed!!!! Bookmark added

Must follow, must comment.

I envy ur command of diction and ur choice of word is awesome. I rep great Ife too

I'm waiting impatiently for d 3rd part

Thats a great write up there.

I love your choice of words too

Nice one. Bookmarked already

Oboy,where u dey na....cum update sharp sharp!!!

Hello everyone. This is the continuation. ASUU Chronicles 3: Yams, Palm-oil And A Pinch Of Salt By Samsudeen Alabi. - Literature - Nairaland

https://www.nairaland.com/1456377/ASUU-chronicles-3-yams-palm-oil

ASUU Chronicles 3: Yams, Palm-oil and a Pinch of Salt

I was suddenly awoken by the vibration of my mobile phone. I had slept on it and the shock of its suddenness was enough to thrust me back to life. I had been dreaming. My heart was still thumping heavily from the thing that had almost happened in my dream. I was breathing heavily and had to inhale deeply before I passed out. I sat up and recollected how I had fallen asleep on the carpet, in the Parlor, in front of the Television the night before, after I had seen the Imam off. I remember that I was still eating when he concluded his discussions with my Father and asked me to see him off. Then I had returned to an empty Parlor; to the TV and then I had dozed off. Then I picked my phone to read the text message that had startled me back to life. It was from Mojisola and it simply read, Slow Down. It was a cipher. I sighed, and then prepared for solat.

After morning prayers, the Imam asked me to wait back so we could conclude our conversation from the night before. I thought that I wasn’t ready and then I remembered there was no need to be ready, so long as I speak the truth and my exact thoughts, I’d be fine. So I sat back till everyone had left the mosque. And then I moved towards his mimbar. The mimbar is the Imam’s special place. There was a fine woolen spread atop his mat. Father had bought the spread from a Mallam. It had a fine decoration of the Ka’abbah in the middle and the crescent on top. The edge of the spread was decorated with a row of singular and strong woolen thread. It was done in a way that reminded me of Ella’s attachments to her hair whenever she made Bob Marley. I looked at it again and grinned. Ella.

I have thought about your supposition on free will and your claim that it cannot exist because of the lack of the freedom to create the choices that we have to choose from. I have weighed it in my mind and turned it around over and over again, but I couldn’t come up with anything to rebut it. However, I have decided to tell you a story. It is a story I heard from my own Father. It is a story about a bird named Awodi. I listened with rapt attention and he continued.

Once, in the city of birds, Awodi went to the Town Crier, Owiwi and asked him to call a meeting of his townspeople. He told the towncrier to announce that he had something very important to tell the other birds. On the day of the meeting, the Imam said, all the birds gathered and after Okin, the Queen of Birds had welcomed them all, he asked Awodi to take the floor and address his people.
Without wasting time, Awodi announced his resolve. He told the other birds what they already know. I have the strongest wings for flight as you all know, Awodi said solemnly. No one amongs you can fly higher into the deep recesses of the Sky as I can. I have been to places in the Sky that some of you only have heard of from my stories. The birds nodded in agreement.

Then Awodi continued, we all know that Oluwa, God’s Heaven and Seat of Power is in the Sky. I want to fly to Him. I want to visit Oluwa. That is why I have called this Assembly to announce my plans and resolve. I have spoken. He sat down.

A profound hush fell on the gathering of Birds. There was shock, consternation, wonder and even dejection written on one face or the other. Everyone was silently weighing the magnitude of the enterprise that Awodi had decided to undertake. After what seemed an eternity, Adaba stood up and spoke.

Adaba thanked everyone at the gathering for honoring their friend Awodi with their presence. He thanked the beautiful Okin for the elegance and wisdom with which she has been leading the Kingdom of Birds and prayed Oluwa to continue to bless her with more wisdom and radiance. Then he spoke to the heart of the matter.

He looked straight at Awodi and began. My great friend, it is true that your wings are the strongest in this Kingdom. In fact, it is also true that there is no crevice in the sky that is beyond your ability of flight but you must not forget that there is a reason why nobody has seen Oluwa. He is the Unseen that manifests Himself in so many seen instances. He is the Unseen that shows Himself in anything that has life, yet he has taken the knowledge of Himself beyond us. I am sure He has a reason. I am also sure that our ancestors already know this reason but it is not in your place to fly to Him. It is not in the place of any Bird even. Your enterprise may be one of curiosity but it also smirks of pride. I want you to have a rethink.

Awodi thanked Adaba for his contribution and then told him that his mind was made up. I only informed you people so that you may be part of history, he continued. The strength of my wings is enough to take me anywhere in the Sky, Clouds and Heavens. Tomorrow I will take off and I shall return in eight days on the market day from my journey. On the first seven days, I shall fly over each of the Seven Heavens and land before Oluwa. On the eight day, I shall wine and dine with the Heavenly Body and return before the Market disperses in the Evening. Please make a great feast available for my welcome. I have spoken.

Some of the birds grunted approval and prayed the gods to intercede to Oluwa on Awodi’s behalf so he could have a safe journey, but most of the Birds bowed their heads in deep thought. They were scared for Awodi and his seemingly seamless faith in his own ability. They envisaged disaster.

On the following day, Awodi was seen off by the whole Kingdom amidst a solemn cheer here and there. Secretly, some birds even wished that Oluwa would teach him a lesson he would never forget.
And so Awodi flew into the Sky. For days and days he travelled but he kept finding himself in the sky only with few changes here and there. Awodi kept faith and continued flying deeper into the Sky. After eight days, he still hadn’t made any progress. Heaven still seemed very far off, almost as much as when he was still on Earth. He flew higher for another eight days but still found nothing. He grew weary, tired and dejected.

Birds heard of the wandering Awodi from other birds returning from the Sky. Those who were friends of him were saddened by his wise folly occasioned by pride in his own strength; others who disliked his guts simply mocked him. He became a man of disgrace and disrepute. Till today, Awodi is still wandering in the Sky hoping to meet Oluwa.

His story has been made into a didactic oral tradition of the Yoruba people, the Imam continued. I am sure you have heard of it and even sang it, D Law. I nodded my agreement as I was too enthralled by the weight of this new knowledge to comment with my mouth.

It is ok to ask questions from God, but to think that you can philosophize and think your way around and about him is folly D Law. If He has asked something of you, then do it as honestly as you can and take the rest of it to him in prayers. Your ability to think may be deep but no depth can comprehend the immensity of our God. I hope the Truth of that hits you soon, he concluded. Let’s go and have our morning meal.

I thanked him and stood up hesitantly. When I got back to the house, I asked what was for breakfast. Yams, Palm-oil and a pinch of salt, Idi responded. I lightened up.

To be Continued...