Ekwe woke up very happy.

The clock was yet to hit 6:00am, and he was already at Iya Joy’s kiosk, discussing current affairs with cohorts, each holding a bottle of whisky to fuel their brain.

It’s almost a week since that liquid flowed down his throat. And that was too bad for a man who only feels alive when his brain is on fire.

The month hadn’t been a sweet one because none of his predictions came off. He depended on pool for income and his wife for feeding. And it was quite a while since he won any game. So his wallet was already empty, leaving him at the mercy of friends to get any drop of liquor. Not that Iya Joy doesn’t sell on credit to customers but because she set a limit, which Ekwe had already exceeded.

How lucky he felt last night when he noticed a slight bump at one angle of his faded carpet and found ten crispy notes of N200, enveloped in a black nylon. That was a rare opportunity because everyone in the house had learnt invisible ways of hiding money except the woman to whom he said “I do” several decades earlier. A mother of nine who was unfortunately luck to have worn Ekwe’s marital ring since the days of her youth - the wife, the mother and the bread winner of the house.

To beat the ever busy Lagos traffic, this bread-winner would leave her home very early in the morning to enable her secure a stand at the open part of Oshodi market where she sells vegetables and other perishable items. Before she returns at night, those at home would’ve run rounds of ultimate search to uncover any hidden treasure. She would snarl and shout like a hen fighting off a hawk from her chicks. But like a piece of coin swallowed by a might ocean, any money taken would sink without anybody accepting responsibility for its disappearance.

That was her cross which was not to continue because she soon gave an appropriate response to that by building a secured bank around her waist.

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Ekwe took a gulp of the hot whisky and fired a comic shot at an okadaman who just alighted to take a share of the early morning blessings.

“Okperi, if I was not there at your birth, I would be in doubt what your gender is. The magnitude of your back side keeps me asking who actually gave birth to your children, you or your wife.” He said jokingly.

To Okperi, it was too early for such frivolities and indeed, he tried to ignore him but not when Ekwe continued whispering something to another man of a similar age, sitting next to him. He would whisper to the man, they would both laugh heartily and then look up to catch a glimpse at Okperi.

Having paid for his drink, Okperi stood and demanded for his balance.

He couldn’t just take his eyes off this silly old man called Ekwe. He didn’t know what he hated more, his tongue or his looks. He looked at his smooth, shinning top and wondered if hair had ever grown on that region of the head.

“Listen Mr. Ekwe or whatever you are called” he said in obvious anger.

Ekwe who just dug out a snuffbox from his pocket looked up in an awaken alertness.

“Don’t you notice that I’ve not been greeting you? It might be of your interest to stop talking to me if truly you want to respect your old age.” Okperi growled, snatched his keys off the chair and zoomed off.

“Oh, wait, wait! Okperi don’t misunderstand me. It’s only a joke. Although if you ask me, I would advise you to be careful because of this gay thing that is gradually coming into this country. Those boys can go for anything big.” Ekwe shouted sarcastically.

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He took his face from the direction of the disappearing bike to notice his cohorts displaying their brown teeth in excitement. He chuckled, slowly pulled on his few strands of grayish moustaches – long and scanty like cat’s whiskers. He then raised his snuff box and observed it carefully. That would take him for three days, needless to order for more.

He tapped the cork thrice with his thumb and yanked it open.

He pushed the first pinch into one nostril, blinked severally and farted loudly.

“It is difficult to find good snuff these days. Potash potash everywhere” he murmured to himself.

He took another pinch into the other nostril and gave out a soft, relieving sigh.

Noticing some flies, assembling to feed on his open sore, he flicked a piece of towel to drive them away.

In his hay days, before the advent of the Nigerian civil war, Ekwe was a big player in smuggling in all kinds of country banned products from neighbouring countries through unofficial channels. He drank, smoked and womanized.

On one occasion, he was caught rapiing an eleven years old girl. But he managed to escape jail term. He stole a car and escaped another.

When the war broke out in 1966, he gladly joined the military. He shot and shot and shot until he began to fear that he might never stop shooting. Then he was shot. Again, he escaped death but not without a bullet that stuck deep into his left ankle, leaving him a permanent wound to nurse. But when he talks, one would think that there is another in his head.

When he got home that day, the cold, windy morning had slowly turned to a harsh sunny day. He came back with different renditions of war songs on his lips. Those were his songs whenever he was happy.

“Who is inside? Boil me some water let me treat my leg?” he shouted as he took a seat under a mango tree within his compound to benefit from its comforting shadows.

lovely write up hilarious too with the description of the character ekwe, following hope you feed us adequately

BobUg28:
Good story inkon, the plot are very rigid and well presented. You description and the use of figurative expression are also very rich.

I have got to follow this story to the end. Good work bro.

tnx

Following

Mario1983:
lovely write up hilarious too with the description of the character ekwe, following hope you feed us adequately

tnx.
Yes, I would've loved to continue but as it stands, that would betray the intention behind the story. I want others to do the rest. You may check this link to find out the essence of the story. www.nairaland.com/2926785/open-invitation-writers

nice