This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2020 by Tobi Abraham

#1


Granma Lucy squinted through her spectacles at the ruckus outside her store. She’d had been dozing over her Sunday School manual and was glad for something to finally clear the sleep from her eyes—the fact that the ruckus was taking place right beside the blue Toyota Corolla sport her son had bought for her on her last birthday which was parked across the road. She set the book aside and wondered where her driver was. Didn’t he see that the crowd was too close to the vehicle? What if they broke something like the last time?
“Nonso. Nonso?” Granma Lucy called to her store keeper who sat just outside the store.
The young girl jerked at the sound of her name and came hurrying into Granma’s office.
“Where Taju?”
The girl looked about her, as though the driver were among the packs of soft drinks that stood in piles in the store.
Granma Lucy shook her head.
“He go dey outside.” She said. “Tell am make e no keep im eye for pocket. If dey bash my car, o di trouble oh.”
Granma Lucy heaved and continued to pore through the lines of her Sunday school manual. She was just over fifty-five but still packed the punch of a young lady. She’d studied up till primary school when her mother put her on fulltime hawking, so that there could be enough for their large family to eat. She still managed to sneak in reading materials at night and study them. And thanks to the past three years of living with her son, she’d fully transited from village to city life, even learning how to use a touchscreen phone. So when she told city folks that she’d spent all her life in the village, they could scarcely believe her.
All of a sudden, she could no longer concentrate. She took her handbag. She needed to be sure those hoodlums were not doing anything to harm the blue Corolla. The last time, she’d had to shell out money to replace the windscreen and side mirror, all because some rascally teenagers were fighting. She crossed to the other side and as she neared the vehicle, she sighted a white man laid back on a bench, writhing, coughing fitfully and gasping for breath at the same time. The crowd was gathered at some uneasily distance from him, watching him like a roadside execution. Nonso had now become part of them, gawking stupidly at the oyinbo. Granma Lucy pulled her ear and sent her back to the store, asking her to shine those big eyes of hers so that items did not go missing from the store.
“Wetin do am?” Granma Lucy turned to an onlooker.
“Na one Uber drop am for here run comot. Maybe im get—”
“Una con dey watch film since? Una no fit carry am go hospital?”
“Madam, person don call ambulance but they never come, but e be like say the oyinbo get…”
“Ambulance… mumu mumu people.” Granma Lucy hissed. She looked around and found Taju clowning with another man. She snapped at him, and in a moment, he was by her side. He scrunched his face when she told him what she wanted. Then thought better of it. He barked at two boys who were standing around, and coordinated them as they help the indisposed oyinbo into the back seat of the blue Corolla amidst feeble protests from the crowd.
As Taju sped down the road to Hopa hospital, Granma Lucy wringed her palms and smiled inwardly. A live opportunity to practice ‘the good Samaritan’ she’d just studied. Heaven must be beaming down on me now, she thought.

For now, I'll post three times a week-Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays. Leave a comment, and share if you likey... ��☺ #SB2020

#2


“So, because of one tiny virus, the world is coming to an end?” Babs lifted his bowl of cold Gari to his lips and slurped on the fluid before continuing. “What should we say of the Spanish Flu? Or the Cholera plague? Hundred years later, has the world come to an end? I can’t believe that as rational as you claim to be, you still join people to say this nonsense. ‘God will see us through,’ my foot. Have we seen ourselves through yet?”
“What I’ve said is only for you to accept or reject. There’s no use killing over it.” Maclean replied, wafting particles of Gari slowly with his spoon. The afternoon was hot, and they were having this cold pastime in his sitting room.
“Look I’m a student of history. Guess what happened to Taiwan during the 2004 SARS epidemic. People died in their hundreds, because the government didn’t make policies on time. They were busy believing in their gods. Look how they’ve learnt and are now tackling this virus. With Taiwan’s proximity and trade relations with mainland China, the affected figures should be higher. Instead, it’s one of the lowest. That’s a country that learnt from its mistakes. And to think that they are not even as religious as we are.”
“But really, there’s nothing wrong with the word ‘religious’,” Maclean said. “It’s just been misused. Lemme tell you, it was after I got married to my wife that I began seeing things this way. You sabi me before na…” Maclean was referring to his memorable days in Asaba, Okpanam, Anwai and the rest. “I just think that there’s a gaping hole in everybody’s soul that only a capable deity can fill. That’s why everyone feels the need to serve something, whether stone or wood—”
“And I’m not saying people should not be religious or whatever you call it. Let’s use our head. Our mumu don do for this country.”
Mac sighed and reclined in his leather armchair.
“So what should be done?”
“No, Mac, think of it too. This is my eleventh year as a healthcare personnel. I’ve travelled throughout Nigeria, and I know what obtains. If this thing enter Nigeria, na poor people go suffer am, because the rich know what to do and I’m sure they’re doing so right now. They know there’s no facility to handle it, dem go just jand leave una for here. Una go dey declare fasting and prayer…” He chuckled and munched on a handful of groundnuts, his dancing moustache speckled with flecks of Gari.
“How did we get on this sef? If not for the lights out, would I be arguing with a loser like you?”
Babs chuckled and rubbed his belly. He reached for his phone and skimmed through idly. Then he sat up with a jerk, his body facing Maclean, but his eyes on the phone.
“It has happened.” He said.
He passed the phone to Maclean. It was a report of the first confirmed case of Coronavirus in Nigeria. An Italian man who’d come into the country some days before had tested positive after being rushed to an hospital in Magboro axis of Ogun State. The report said efforts were being made to quarantine those who may have been in contact with the Italian.
Maclean was both shocked at the report and the fact that the case had been discovered in a location only a few minutes’ drive from his apartment. He reached for his phone and dialled his mother. She picked up on the third ring. She was doing well, safely in her shop. Nonso was misbehaving these days. Who did the girl think she was? After all the stress she’d gone through to bring her to the city. Maclean needed to talk to her. Did he hear from Cletus his brother recently?
Maclean rolled his eyes. “No mama, abeg lock shop mek you dey come house.”
Granma Lucy declined flatly. If Junior was not back from crèche, then she couldn’t come home until later. Maclean knew it was a lost argument, but he was worried that she was closer to the said source, and according to reports, elderly people were more susceptible. He sighed.
“Mama abeg just dey safe. No use hand wey you take collect money touch your face. I go send Taju make he bring hand sanitiser for you now…”
One hour later, Maclean received a call from his organisation on Lagos island. It was regarding the paperwork of the boy who had been brought in for rehab. The boy’s addiction to drugs was morphing into mental issues and his parents needed to be sure if what he needed was psychiatric treatment or a halfway house. The boy had been schooling in China until recently when the father found out about his condition. It was urgent, so Maclean thought he’d dash there and be back by night. He didn’t return until late the following night. If he’d returned earlier, he might have been able to salvage the situation in his household.

#3


Tade was walking to the well with an empty pail when he had the sudden knowing. He knew in that instant that it would happen. And indeed, it did. His body took off like a rocket and shot into the clouds. His heart swelled with excitement as he realised that this was finally it. He made it. He drew a deep breath and found the air up there to be incredibly refreshing. He looked about him and wondered if his family members and the others made it too. He saw nothing in the distance. He looked straight ahead and wondered, he’d finally meet the man he’d been hearing about all these years, and all his questions would… Tade cocked his ear. The air had stopped whistling. His speed was receding. What was wrong…? His body decelerated to a halt and began to hurtle back to the earth. Tade landed on his bed a sweaty pulpy mass and started with a shriek.
He had dreamt again. The usual dream where the trumpet sounded and he was transported into the sky. The issue was that it often ended the same way—him hurtling back to the earth a disappointed mass. A few times, it had happened that he was in a gathering, and suddenly everyone was gone and he was left behind. Tade wiped his forehead with his loincloth and gave thanks for another opportunity. What if it had really happened, with the video he'd slept off while watching...? He picked his phone, accessed the file manager and pressed delete on the video. He sighed. The time was 3:42AM. His finger strayed to the data button and turned it on. He exhaled and warned himself. This early in the morning often seemed like the hour of temptation. He couldn't count the number of times he'd been drawn to nudity and saucy girls online at this hour. These were times to keep pure. He couldn't afford to mess things up after being given another chance. He held his breath as a flurry of messages flew in. 267 messages on WhatsApp. Most were updates on the Covid-19 business. The number of cases in Lagos were increasing by the day. There were now four cases which were said to have been initialised by an Italian man. Why wasn't this expatriate checked before he was allowed into the country? So the virus had no cure? Perhaps, what made this period lethal was that the fear of the virus was greater than the virus itself. People were already using face masks in Ibadan where he stayed, whereas there were no cases yet. Perhaps that in itself was meant to be preventive, but there hung a je ne sais quoi angst in the atmosphere, like the intervening moment between when a herd of bison heard the unfamiliar crackle of a twig and when they stampeded. Tade sighed.
An article caught his eyes. A man called John G. Lake had been alive during the bubonic plague in South Africa in 1910 and had healed many people by laying hands on them directly but he himself never got infected. In fact, he'd asked the unconvinced doctors to put the inoculum from an infected person on his palm and observe its viral activities under the microscope. It was confirmed that there were no activities; all were dead on contact with him. Tade starred into the dark space beyond his phone. This was something, a hundred years ago... Was it available in this age? Perhaps it was time for all the numerous men of God in Nigeria to rise to the occasion.
A few moment later, Tade began to feel uneasy. He thought he should probably turn off the data and go to sleep. But he flipped over and began viewing WhatsApp statuses, grinning at the video clips and photos.
He quivered as a message tumbled in.
“Hey honey. Miss you. Wanna cuddle?”

#4


Gbenga was popularly called Gündoğan because of his passion for the Man City star, especially because one fateful night three years before, the footballer had redeemed a crucial bet for him by scoring the winning goal in the last moment. Since then, Gbenga's love for the footballer soared so much that he bought a Man City jersey with Gündoğan’s name imprinted on it. Despite corrections from learned folk that the second ‘g’ in the name was silent, Gbenga raised the name to the rooftop. So when he moved to a new apartment in Isolo, they called him Gündoğan instead of Baba Nofi.
Gündoğan had four boys and three girls, the eldest being six and the youngest a few months old. When asked if he’d ever give his wife a breather, he would pat his paunch and say with a twinkle in his eyes that he was only doing what God initially asked man to do-multiply and replenish the earth.
Gündoğan delighted in having people around him, so a few other cousins lived with him and his family in the one room self-contained apartment which had shared facilities with the other half dozen members of the large fenceless compound.
He had once worked as a ‘meiguard’ for a logistics company, but when a robbery ensued that almost took his life, he resigned. He’d attempted to get into the Nigerian Police Force several times but never got past the training stage. Each time, he’d promise to work on his paunch, maybe reduce his weight a bit so he could get past the training and into the Police Force. His idea was that even if the salary was infrequent, at least those roadside ‘rojas’ would suffice to some extent...
Eventually, he got a bike on hired purchase and worked tirelessly for months to repay it, as well as bring something home to his family daily. His plan was to complete the payment for the bike, sell it off, then take a cooperative society loan to buy a tricycle which he'd heard was more lucrative for transport business.
On the day he signed the bike transfer papers, he was so excited that he threw a party—against his wife's advice—to celebrate his feat. The following week, the first case of Covid-19 broke out in Lagos and he immediately told his wife to get ready, they were moving to the village--let the world end if it must.
His meeting with the buyer was that evening, and he thought he'd take some of the money and cart his family over to igbokoda by the end of the week. It was that evening as he returned home that trouble pressed play.

#5

Maclean Agu looked this way and that as he crossed the untarred road with his three-year-old son. They were returning from the Akara spot with steamy succulent Akara for the Saturday morning special. Grandma was tired and needed some rest. Otherwise, she’d have offered to prepare homemade Akara, which she preferred in any case. It was good he was relieving her. And since it was a Saturday, she’d be able to rest properly.
He himself would have offered to make it, but he was tired. He’d returned from his office on the island late last night. The case he’d gone to resolve was still ongoing, but the most part of it was done. The family had agreed to put their son in the halfway house.
Maclean sighed contently as he approached his apartment. Then he shook his head and wondered, a rueful smile on his face, how a man’s fortune could change so rapidly. A few years ago, he had been struggling with life, swapping trouble after trouble like changes of clothing. Then his foolishness had led to the death of his then-betrothed, Sansa. He had then been challenged to take life by the horns and ride it like a matador. He had gather destitute boys involved in substance abuse and created a home for them, helping many of them from relapse. When he shared his life story in a book, it had become an instant best seller, and doors had immediately opened for him to speaking events, including opportunities to speak beyond the shores of Africa. Then Bitris had reappeared in the picture. He chuckled as he wondered. Who’d have thought an already engaged nurse would choose to marry him? It had been nurse Bitris Akpavia who stood by him during the Sansa crisis. Of course, who best to marry than the woman who stood by you during a crisis you created by your hands even though she stood to gain nothing from it? Oops, his muse was awakening, he had to get to his writing desk. He was drafting his next book already… It was going to be a blockbuster. His phone rang. Babs. He had news.
Maclean spoke into the phone, herded Junior in through the apartment door towards the kitchen with the sachel of Akara, and shut the door, remaining outside.
***
Granma Lucy woke up feeling light headed. Her throat was sore and housed an incessant cough. She knew it was a build up from the previous days which had been stressful as she’d been stocking up the store for the wet season. She knew what to do though, as soon as she was done preparing breakfast for her son and grandson. The woman of the house was away in Germany on some professional course. Delightful as it was, Granma Lucy did not exactly agree with it. Anything that would put a distance between husband and wife for more than a week—and this was almost a month already—was not proper. What if she’d not been living with them? Wouldn’t those randy-eyed girls with breasts aslant like solar receptors have come for her son? Well. It was good she’d agreed to live with them. Now, she was closer to her grandson Maclean Junior who constantly reminded her of Cletus, her second child. Oh Cletus. Although he called her often, she wished he would return to Nigeria, at least to see her.
Granma’s throat stuck as she raised herself to a sitting position, and she broke into a spasm of coughs. When she recovered, she decided not to bother Maclean as he had only returned the previous night, and would probably still be asleep. She would send for the family doctor…, but that was after she’d done the home remedy of aah-ing into the crack of a wall seven times. She said a quick prayer and noted that she ought to pray some more in the afternoon, after all it was a Saturday and she was going nowhere. There was this particular burden she couldn’t ease off her mind. Maybe it was why she felt uncomfortable... She got up with some difficulty, found her eyeglasses and headed for the kitchen. If she had taken a look in the mirror on the way out, she’d have been aghast at how red her eyes were and may have picked her phone to send for the family doctor.
The sitting room was empty. She chuckled as she mused that the boys were still binge-sleeping. As soon as the sliced onions hit the hot oil in the pan, her throat caught in an array of spasmodic coughs and down she went gasping for breath.
Junior bounded in seconds later and raced to the sitting room to turn on the TV.

Yo hydronium welcome back bruh...

cassbeat:
Yo hydronium welcome back bruh...

Glad to have you here cassbeat
You've read through yet?

Hydronium:


Glad to have you here cassbeat
You've read through yet?

Yea and I'd say its one I look forward to...

cassbeat:
Yea and I'd say its one I look forward to...

Many thanks broa

Its really nice and captivating. I was hooked from the very first sentence but try and make it less predictable.

laurenwhite:
Its really nice and captivating. I was hooked from the very first sentence but try and make it less predictable.

Thanks for your comment Lauren white. Just keep following and see

#6


Tade had met Cynthis in a competition a year before and they had kicked off as friends. It happened one day that while chatting, he boasted to Cynthis of his muscular figure and warned her not to be deceived by what she saw over his clothes. Cynthis replied with a meh and dared him to show her. Tade paused for a bit, took off his shirt and send her a snapshot of his bare chest, he had actually been running a fitness challenge for some weeks and had a few things to show for it. Cynthis sent an eye-popping gif and said it was not bad at all. Then Tade argued that her posterior was one of the smallest across the seven seas. Cynthis replied with a photo of her ‘grand booty’ as he later called it, and one thing led to the other, and they began to exchange nudes.

Discussions went on and plans were made for Cynthis to come visiting from Asaba where she lived. She’d never been to Ibadan before, so Tade agreed to arrange a guesthouse for her, since his guardians frowned at such acts. One night a few days before the meet, Tade broke it up, stating that he couldn’t believe he was actually going to meet with her for such depraved purposes. Cynthis had cried and called him an idiotic loser. That was months ago. Tade was a church boy, but beyond that, he believed he was a next-gen Joseph who should withstand all the wiles of madam Potiphar. They had remained friends though, but slowly begun to get close again.

Now, here was Cynthis on his timeline asking if he wanted to cuddle, like she knew how he’d awoken with all kinds of yearnings last night. He wondered if he should take a jab at her. Then he remembered the dream he’d just awakened from. From all the news and happenings around, the rapture was sure to take place soon and he did not plan to miss it. He pushed the data button and turned it off, but just before a voice note from Cynthis slipped in.

Just wanted to let you know I’m visiting in Ibadan. Arrived yesterday. If you’d like to hangout anytime, I’m free. Mwaah.

Tade groaned and stuck his face in his pillow.

***

Taju’s breaths were laboured and he wondered who could possibly be calling him by this time. The person had successively called twice. Why couldn’t they understand that he was in the middle of something? He disengaged from the activity and eyed the screen of his phone. Granma. He sighed. The old woman loved to work, despite all they’d done in the past few days...

“Taju?” her voice was weak, and there was a loud sound in the background, like someone left a radio blaring at full volume. What had happened? Taju rose from the bed and wrapped a loincloth around his waist.

“Hello Granma…”

The line went dead. Taju looked from his phone to the luscious vixen lying on the bed whom he’d promised to spend the weekend with. He was miles away from Granma anyway, and besides, why didn’t she call her son if she direly needed help? He got employed as a driver and not a slave. He would probably turn in his resignation next week. Hiss.
He tossed the phone aside and pounced on his prey.

#7


Moments later, Taju lay up in bed wondering if he should call Maclean and inform him of his mother’s predicament. Truth be told, he knew this moment would come, and being a son of the elders, he knew the outcome. On the way to the hospital to offload the oyinbo the other day, he’d told Granma about his and the others’ suspicions, as well as the fact that someone had ringed an emergency ambulance, but she’d simply ignored him, humming one of the songs she normally hummed when she was pleased. Even if he couldn’t boast of as much literacy as she often did, which was arguable anyway seeing as she finished only a class ahead of him, and she was three years’ in the city compared to his own five. Yet, what he’d heard over the radio in unmistakable Yoruba was that if an individual began to exhibit intense breathing difficulty and dry cough, the person was to be isolated and a phone number called.

On the day Granma first began to cough, he’d told her she needed some rest. But she declined, claiming she had to be at the store and spend the rest of the day with her grandson and some other guests. She never once listened to his counsel in all the three months he’d been employed to be her driver. She never paid him on time, never let him keep the slightest change from any errand, never let him out of her sight and never let him get close to Nonso, as much as he desired that supple young girl. Now, she had it going nicely for her.

On the day of the event, he had been sensible enough not to touch the oyinbo, instead he had prodded two ignorant youngsters to put the oyinbo in the car. Immediately afterwards, he’d excused himself and travelled straight to baba Oka’s, the old man who made amulets for him when as a youth he was involved in several cults, raiding villages and killing and maiming. On one particular occasion, he had faced off with the leader of a rival gang. First, they had gone at it with local guns, chanting vociferously, and bullets ricocheting off the other’s body, tingling like twice accelerated raindrops against the skin. When it was clear that they were both fortified against bullets, they came at it with daggers, plunging, slashing, hacking while the metal objects scraped on like strokes of a paintbrush against a wall. Planks had simply broken in pieces while they each went unscathed.

Then he had brought out the joker—a special powder prepared from the brains of a monkey, the spleen of an ibis and cacti juice—spread it into the air, picked his gun, made few chants, turned the barrel and shot at himself. It was as laughable as the effect was dramatic. The man yelled in agony as his body tore up into bits, the outcome of the numerous bullets and knife assaults he had made.

Baba Oka later explained to him how efficacious the powder had been during the Ijigbo wars in the 16th century,  and had now made him an amulet against the virus or plagues of any sort. The old man had stated the ingredients, but he’d been too agitated at the time to remember them. But he remembered hearing salamander eggshell and the breast feather of a buzzard. Regardless, he and baba Oka had come a long way, and he believed the man with all his heart. So corona or kuruna—whatever it was called, he was covered.

He warded off the vixen who was now attempting to ride him astride and jokingly remarked that whoever made her elixir was to be praised.

He groped for his phone and called Maclean.

“Boss, e be like say Granma sick o.”

“Sick kwa?” Maclean said. “I leave her and Junior for house this morning. Where you dey?”

“I go one of my … aunty place for Elekuro, but I dey off today.”

“Abeg hemme go check her. I go soon join you.”

The line went dead. Taju rolled his eyes and made a feeble attempt to get off the bed but the vixen pull him back and sat atop him.

Hydronium:
#7


Moments later, Taju lay up in bed wondering if he should call Maclean and inform him of his mother’s predicament. Truth be told, he knew this moment would come, and being a son of the elders, he knew the outcome. On the way to the hospital to offload the oyinbo the other day, he’d told Granma about his and the others’ suspicions, as well as the fact that someone had ringed an emergency ambulance, but she’d simply ignored him, humming one of the songs she normally hummed when she was pleased. Even if he couldn’t boast of as much literacy as she often did, which was arguable anyway seeing as she finished only a class ahead of him, and she was three years’ in the city compared to his own five. Yet, what he’d heard over the radio in unmistakable Yoruba was that if an individual began to exhibit intense breathing difficulty and dry cough, the person was to be isolated and a phone number called.

On the day Granma first began to cough, he’d told her she needed some rest. But she declined, claiming she had to be at the store and spend the rest of the day with her grandson and some other guests. She never once listened to his counsel in all the three months he’d been employed to be her driver. She never paid him on time, never let him keep the slightest change from any errand, never let him out of her sight and never let him get close to Nonso, as much as he desired that supple young girl. Now, she had it going nicely for her.

On the day of the event, he had been sensible enough not to touch the oyinbo, instead he had prodded two ignorant youngsters to put the oyinbo in the car. Immediately afterwards, he’d excused himself and travelled straight to baba Oka’s, the old man who made amulets for him when as a youth he was involved in several cults, raiding villages and killing and maiming. On one particular occasion, he had faced off with the leader of a rival gang. First, they had gone at it with local guns, chanting vociferously, and bullets ricocheting off the other’s body, tingling like twice accelerated raindrops against the skin. When it was clear that they were both fortified against bullets, they came at it with daggers, plunging, slashing, hacking while the metal objects scraped on like strokes of a paintbrush against a wall. Planks had simply broken in pieces while they each went unscathed.

Then he had brought out the joker—a special powder prepared from the brains of a monkey, the spleen of an ibis and cacti juice—spread it into the air, picked his gun, made few chants, turned the barrel and shot at himself. It was as laughable as the effect was dramatic. The man yelled in agony as his body tore up into bits, the outcome of the numerous bullets and knife assaults he had made.

Baba Oka later explained to him how efficacious the powder had been during the Ijigbo wars in the 16th century,  and had now made him an amulet against the virus or plagues of any sort. The old man had stated the ingredients, but he’d been too agitated at the time to remember them. But he remembered hearing salamander eggshell and the breast feather of a buzzard. Regardless, he and baba Oka had come a long way, and he believed the man with all his heart. So corona or kuruna—whatever it was called, he was covered.

He warded off the vixen who was now attempting to ride him astride and jokingly remarked that whoever made her elixir was to be praised.

He groped for his phone and called Maclean.

“Boss, e be like say Granma sick o.”

“Sick kwa?” Maclean said. “I leave her and Junior for house this morning. Where you dey?”

“I go one of my … aunty place for Elekuro, but I dey off today.”

“Abeg hemme go check her. I go soon join you.”

The line went dead. Taju rolled his eyes and made a feeble attempt to get off the bed but the vixen pull him back and sat atop him.

Could you please stop mentioning my name?

Astride:


Could you please stop mentioning my name?

Hehehe. Hope you enjoyed the story? Do stop by to read some more.

#8


Immediately after Bab’s call, Mercy called and told of the situation in the halfway house in Elekuro—the six-feet-two nineteen-year-old who had been bundled back from China by his father for dangerous drug usage was giving strong symptoms of withdrawals along with some other unidentifiable signs. Maclean had wondered what to do. The facility matron was on leave, besides, he had a deep obligation to the chap. Over the phone, the TV was blaring out loud; Junior was having a good time watching cartoons. The facility was nearby, he could be there and back before anyone knew it. Of course, Junior would have finished the Akara by the time he returned. He would probably need to buy some more when returning, along with some toffee to reward Junior for his patience. With that, he dashed into his car and drove off.
As he rode to his new facility in Elekuro, he thought on Okotie, the new rehabilitee in the halfway house. He had instantly recognised the boy on that first day as one of the secondary school students he’d sold drugs to back in the day as a drug peddler. And thus, his obligation to the boy, considering that had furthered the boy’s cause by foolishly peddling drugs to underages. Tears streamed down his eyes as he thought back on those days. If his wife were here, she would squeeze his hand and tell him to stop crying, since he did not act consciously. He took out a hanky and wiped his eyes. He wondered if the emergency number he’d asked Mercy to call was worth it.
“They’ve not come yet?” He said to his receptionist as he walked into the tiled, freshly-cemented bungalow.
A tidy-looking bus interjected him with a honk, and screeched to a halt outside in the manner of an action movie. Clad orderlies marched out and advanced into the bungalow, briefly eyeing the signboard outside which said MACLEAN AGU FOUNDATION, rest from your worries.
“Who’s in charge here,” One of them asked, short and stout-looking behind his garb.
“I am, Maclean Agu, owner of this institution.”
“Where’s the suspect? How long has he been in here? How many people have been in and out of this facility?” With gestures, he barked out orders to the others who plunged into action, as Mercy and Maclean led the way to the sick bay.
“His name is Okotie. Okotie Chuks. His father brought him in from China last week because of his heavy involvement in drugs. And as is our responsibility, we’re to help him through the relapse period so that he can blend properly into the society.”
“Did he exhibit any signs of illness when he first came?”
“No. Other than minor withdrawal symptoms regular with users.”
The man turned to Maclean and narrowed his eyes into slits. “Do you realise how dangerous this virus is, Mr Agu?”
“But it’s not even confirmed yet. Plus, how was I to know he had the virus?”
The boy was wheeled out through the exit, writhing.
“We need to lock this place down.” An orderly said to the man who nodded.
“Lock what? What about the inmates?” Maclean protested.
“We don’t know how many people he’s been in contact with. Everyone and everything in here is now under quarantine. That includes you, Mr Agu.”
The man barked fresh orders to another orderly and said.
“Please cooperate. It’s part of the procedure. We’re not sure what we’re dealing with yet, but it’s our duty to do what we must to prevent the spread of the virus.”
It was while this was happening that Taju’s called to say Granma was indisposed. Maclean waited a bit, sneaking furtive looks here and there. When he was sure no one was looking, he disappeared through a back exit and onto an alley.
Taju was passing by on a bike when he saw his Oga dashing out of the alley like a bat out of hell.

#9


Taju arrived at the Agu’s residence in time to see a white van driving off. He wondered if that was the van meant to show up the day the oyinbo had had the seizure. He whipped out his phone and was about to call Maclean when another bike pulled up to the apartment and Maclean dashed down and into the apartment.

Taju followed and stopped at the door. Maclean came out cuddling Junior and asking the lad what had happened and where Granma was.

“Ah Taju, You see Granma?”

“As I reach here, na im one white van dey comot.”

“Ah, that must be an ambulance. She did well to call an ambulance.” Maclean said, a look of relief on his face. “But honestly, I didn’t know that those services still worked. I gave Mercy a number to call and they…”

His brow furrowed. What if the two ambulances offered the same services? That would mean Granma was… He’d rather not think about it.

His phone rang.

“Hello, Mrs Agu gave us your number.” The caller said.

“Yes, she’s my mother. Where is she? And who’s this please?”

“I need you to come over to Adenoid hospital right away.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Taju watched as Maclean drove away with Junior in Granma’s car.

He shrugged and began to walk down the road. He had told Iya Bimpe he was travelling for the weekend. So, he would probably return to Aduke’s and resume from where he had stopped, after which he’d go for some palm wine and fresh fish in the evening and discuss with this whole madness with his friends.

Taju was with his friends the following evening discussing the incredulity of Covid-19 and how top leaders had collected cash from some Chinese men to allow the disease infiltrate the nation when his phone rang.

“Am I on to my Tajudeen Ayeke?” The caller said.

“Yes, who be that?”

“I am with the NCDC and would like to confirm if you were a driver to Mrs Lucy Agu, the woman who tested positive for the virus in Magboro market?”

“Yes, I be her driver. Wetin do her?”

“We’ve been to your house… your wife says you’ve been away for two days. Where are you right now? To limit the spread of the virus, we are tracing those who may have had contact with her and the—”

Taju glared at his phone, his battery was empty. Who did this madman think he was anyway? What had he and the virus to do together? Didn’t they know that some people knew how to equip themselves more than others? He had done the needful, so NCDC or whatever their name was needn’t bother about him. He was fine.

With that, Taju sucked on a juicy head of catfish.

#10


When Gündoğan woke up that morning, his throat felt funny. He laid up in bed wondering what to do. His wife had left with the children for her shop. His phone rang repeatedly, but he ignored it. He recalled that the estate agent from the other day was sneezing every so often into his fancy blue hanky. What if that had something to do with this. He should have left that office as soon as the first sneeze hit his eardrums, if not that the cool office was like paradise in the midst of a gushing volcano.

Gündoğan sneezed, and it felt like his brains would fly out through his nostrils. He panicked, threw on a shirt and headed straight for Mama Becky Alagbo, the woman whose dexterous combination of boiled roots could cure anything. He remembered when he'd picked up Gonorrhoea from one of his away games and confided in Mama Becky, she had easily put his mind to rest and told him to return the following day. She served him some dark pinkish fluid morning and evening for three days. At the end of the three days, the ailment was gone. That was when he confidently began to up his games, knowing that he had a solid herbalist behind him.

He looked at his Nokia torchlight to check what time it was. Alicea had called. Ah Alicea … The lady stallion. Perhaps she was calling to find out when he was coming... He’d met Alicea through one of his high school friends. She was the young polytechnic student for whom he would travel to Ilaro—he’d done that at least twice now, book a guesthouse and ask to come over. At times, he’d spend the time in her apartment, which he was responsible for anyway. But that was when things were going smoothly. Now things just weren’t, with the Lagos State Government having stopped motorcycle operations...

Yesterday too, Alicea had been calling repeatedly, and Mama Dupe was looking at him one kind, wondering who was calling and why he was uneasy to pick the call. Of course, he had dismissed it as one of his lenders who wanted their money back. From their last discussion a few days ago, School was closing and everyone was expected to go home, but Alicea did not want to go home to her family, so she wondered if he would come over, or if he wanted her to come over. He had choked on his bowl of Gari when she said this. Come over ke? Where did she want him to house her? Besides, where was the money? Of course, he didn’t say any of this at the time, but he knew he would have to provide an answer sooner or later. Or she would keep calling, And Mama Dupe would finally confirm her suspicions.

He arrived Mama Becky Alagbo’s kiosk and overheard her saying something about Coronavirus being a repeat of common flu from the olden days. And that she’d concocted the same formula used then but had now fortified it with some special mint leaves. He immediately ordered a glass of the steamy deep green concoction.

As he downed the liquid, his phone rang. Mr Fideles, the estate agent. He picked it, holding the phone at a wary distance to prevent a sneeze from the agent.

“Mr Ajayi, ... you brought the other day has placed his .... Would you like ... commission now?”

Gündoğan clamped the phone to his ear.

“What did you say sir?”

#11


A few days before, Gündoğan had been at Bailey’s—the betting shop where he spent most of his time these days watching the news, bantering, charging his rechargeable home appliances, and most importantly, nurturing his bets. He greatly admired the posh and style with which the Channels broadcasters delivered the news. There were now a total of ten cases in Lagos, and three in Ogun. After the brief headlines, he joined the banter at the desk.

“This virus na Chinko jor. You no see say na only for China the figures dey increase?”

“Which kain Chinko?”

“Abeg those people too dey chop rat, snake and the rest…” A youngster said and someone snorted. The youngster shrugged and reached for his smartphone and began scrolling for a videoclip, bobbing his head to the music playing from the next shop. He soon found what he sought and played it. It was an Asian, muttering in his native language and nursing tender ratlings in a dish with his chopsticks. One’d have thought he was merely poking at their fluffy sides, until he picked up one tender pup and it disappeared into his mouth. He chewed with relish, and the viewers of the video turned up their face in disgust. The Asian reached for another pup and the clip came to an end.

“You never see anything.” The youngster said and began to scroll for another videoclip.

Gündoğan winced, picked up his items and began to head home. He had placed his bet and the odds were in his favour. Besides, someone at Bailey’s had found him a buyer for his bike. So, in a few more days, he and his family would be headed for Igbokoda where they would lay low until this madness was over.

As he trekked home, he wondered if he should buy some cold water and kuli-kuli for himself and the children to soak some Gari. The shop where he stopped to make the purchase was attached to the fence of a building which he realised was newly constructed as he seldom took this route home. A printed flex against the fence said something about making money on investments and referrals. But Gündoğan turned his nose. He hadn’t paid much attention in class in his high school days, even up till his days in the Polytechnic of Osun studying Science and Lab Tech, but he knew what referrals meant, and he knew this was Lagos, where all manner of fraudsters plied their trade. Particularly at this time when he was going to sell his bike, he wanted no distractions. Not even Bailey’s could make him take a kobo out of the motorbike sales. But still, he could not help asking the store attendant.

“Wetin dem dey do here?”

“Dem dey sell land, houses and so on sha…”

A man garbed in dapper blue suit stepped out of the building, and the store keeper called out to him.

“Mr Fideles, you get customer.” She gestured to Gündoğan.

Before Gündoğan knew it, he had been gripped in a firm handshake and was being herded through the gate and into the building. As soon as he entered the office, the cool breeze of the AC teased him, and he sighed as he sank contently into a plump leather cushion. The office was plushly decorated and everything smelled new. He caught himself quickly and made a mental note that he was only here as an escape from the blistering sun, he did not want the money or the commissions whatever they called it, he was fine. He tried to keep his thoughts busy as Mr Fideles informed him of the commission on properties sold or rented, as well as an opportunity to invest which had yields of up to 30%.

Minutes later, Mr Fideles gave him fliers and accompanied him to the door. Gündoğan stopped at the shop to collect his goods and give the grizzly store attendant a withering look.

He found himself whistling some tunes as he completed the trek home, but he did not realise that his mind was calculating how much the investments could yield in one month and what the commission would amount to if he referred ten persons. It took a while because he was terrible with figures. He was lifting a spoon of soaked sweetened kuli-kuli-sprinkled Gari to his mouth when the figures appeared before him. The gulp almost missed his food pipe for his voice box.

So he was all the more overjoyed when Mr Fideles called him a few days later and told him he had gained his first commission of ten thousand Naira and if he wanted it immediately or he’d rather compound it.

#12


Tade paused to appraise himself in the mirror. His afro needed trimming, and the bags around his droopy eyes needed offloading. He had been staying late nights studying materials on John G. Lake, and his findings had been sublime. That man was simply inhuman; walking and caring for people in the midst of a lethal contagion as though the antidote were in his back pocket. Each finding on the man led to the conclusion that there was yet a possibility of this kind of life and Tade had told himself: if there were anything to be found, he would find it.
He ought to be napping now though, but Cynthis had pressed him for a meeting by 2 PM. As he brushed his teeth, he thought of all the combination of things that could happen with Cynthis. What if she forcibly extracted the kiss he promised her months ago? What if she asked him to take her to her room and shut the door behind them? No such thing would happen. He would just go out there, have a plain lunch and return.
But how was he to move? Now that there were five cases in Ibadan? This was why he needed to find that mystery fast. The ‘don’t touch your face’, ‘always wash your hands’ et cetera campaigns were everywhere, and there were rumours of lockdown. Already, one had been pronounced for Lagos. Coronavirus had simply gone from nothing to everything, locking down worlds and shutting down systems. How strange that something as commonplace as handshaking should now be a taboo. Was this the end of the world the Bible spoke of? He’d heard a preacher on Facebook say that this was God’s judgement meted out on a sinful world and that worse was coming. But Tade wondered what sort of God would unsheathe his sword and massacre everyone to death.
His phone beeped. Cynthis. She texted to say she could no longer make it. She wasn’t feeling too well. He shrugged and texted back that he’d still come see her. At least, to show that he cared, even though somewhere deep down he felt he shouldn’t go. He jumped into the bathtub and in twenty minutes was dressed in a funky T-shirt and a pair of black jeans. His wallet was nowhere to be found. He decided to use the Oride app. He could easily draw money from his bank account that way.
The ride took a while in coming, but eventually, it arrived and Tade climbed on. The bike refused to start. What was wrong? The motorcyclist did not know. His okada had been in good working condition until this moment. He asked Tade to disembark so that he could perform some routine checks. Tade could feel his shirt sticking to his body in the blistering sun. He couldn’t wait to get on the road so that the breeze would cool him, although dark clouds were gathering in the far horizon. But it didn’t seem like it would rain anytime soon. He attempted to envisage the feeling of meeting Cynthis again. He hadn’t seen her in how many years? The motorcyclist kicked the engine. The thing whined and whined. Tade shook his head. He had to get moving. He cancelled the ride and ordered a second, walking down the road in hopes to join up with the new cyclist at the junction. The ride soon appeared, and as Tade climbed on, he heard his jeans rip all the way through the bottom. It couldn’t be. Since when did denim tear so easily? Plus, he hadn’t attempted any acrobatics in getting on the bike.
He sighed and asked the biker to take him home so he could change into another pair—which was out on the line drying. As soon as he stepped in through the gates of the compound, the rains began, pouring down so heavily that by the time he reached the line, the dried clothes were thoroughly drenched.
As the rain poured down, it became evident to him that he wasn’t supposed to go out. He dismissed the rider, texted Cynthis, and laid on his bed, thinking about what had just happened.
Cynthis replied. She had been coughing and was having difficulty breathing, but it had kind of subsided now. She missed him. How soon could he be here?

You write well. I like your choice of words. More ink to your pen.

pabon:
You write well. I like your choice of words. More ink to your pen.

Many thanks Pabon.
I see you're a writer too. I reckon we could exchange materials sometime eh?

Hydronium:

Many thanks Pabon.
I see you're a writer too. I reckon we could exchange materials sometime eh?

Sure.

#13


Experiment… experiment… experiment…
The word clinged and clanged in Maclean’s mind as he thought on the times in the laboratory with Wistar rats and guinea pigs. What if Cletus was right?
He shook his head and jolted himself back to the moment. Today was his fifth day in isolation. He had tested positive though asymptomatic and had been requested to isolate at home. Junior was over at Mercy's, and so far, the lad was doing well. Presently, he was awaiting the call from Bab’s who had intel on the isolation centre where Granma was kept. She had slipped into a coma yesterday and there were hopes that she would be conscious today. Granma was diabetic and the doctors were quite unsure of how the ailment would affect her reaction to the pathogen, seeing she was one of the first few cases to be confirmed in the state.
So while he remained at home dieting, crying himself to sleep and musing if he would have the courage to alter all that he had preached these years, Babs was his ears and eyes.
He had met Babs on his first speaking engagement to the University of Benin, Ekpoma. The guy was huge and gruff, easily over six feet, and he peculiarly enjoyed biting the insides of his cheeks. Babs had simply walked over to him at the end of his talk that day and introduced himself as a medical staff with the UBTH, and that he wished to ask a few questions. He quizzed Maclean further on his involvement with drugs and underage children, then later invited him for lunch. That was how they kicked off the relationship. He had only known Babs in three years, but that time seemed like forever. Babs was a firm, squinty-eyed, down-to-earth fellow who rarely minced words.
So when Babs called one morning to give info on the ramshackle condition of the isolation centre, he knew forebodingly that danger loomed. Agnes was over in Germany and was seriously considering cutting corners to return from her professional nursing course. He had advised her against it, they would be fine.
It was just after their conversation that Cletus called and said he’d booked a flight and was coming down from Malaysia. He tried to reason with Cletus; travels were quite dangerous now as you never knew who had the virus, plus what about the closed borders? Cletus had cut him short and yelled over the phone: you think say I go leave my mama for those people make them use her do experiment abi?
The line had died and Maclean knew Cletus' mind was made up. What could the drug lord possibly do when he arrived? And how would he handle their existing feud? Nevertheless, he might have a point. Could there really be plans to use Granma as an experiment, to see how the virus would advance through existing infirmities? And if push came to shove, would he do what he had to do to save his mother?
His phone rang, startling him. Mercy.
“How’s it, Mercy? I was going to check on—” He said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Sir, it’s Junior…”
“Junior? What’s wrong with him?”

#14



Tade had recently completed his Masters in Agricultural Economics and Extension in the University of Ibadan and was waiting to resume a job in IITA Ibadan when the lockdown began. His family was resident in Lagos, but he stayed with family friends in Ibadan who were ministers of the gospel.

He wondered how Cynthis was doing. Since the last time they’d spoken, there had been several additional cases, and he wondered if they would recover. He had been reading his Bible that morning and had stumbled upon the portion where Paul was gathering sticks for a fire and got bitten by a venomous snake which he shook into the fire. Others expected him to collapse and die at the incident, but the apostle had simply moved on and continued till they termed him a god. This reminded Tade of what he’d earlier read about the man John Lake and the things he did in his lifetime.

The man had been born in Ontario Canada, and had carried on as a high earning insurance salesman until he felt led to leave his work and travel to South Africa for missions. It was there that he healed many people from the bubonic plague, and he himself remain whole and untouched. So why wasn’t there any such person in this plague a hundred years later? Tade wondered. Or could it be that the doers were private people who resented Social Media? Perhaps, it was more because there were few true believers. Here in the area where he lived, Christians were mostly pessimists and were among those going about looking for herbs and leaves. He wouldn’t be shocked if some of them ended up at the local native doctor’s. Perhaps the answer was in the fact that John G Lake left his job to obey the call. Tade chuckled and wondered if he too could possibly resign his job in future and go into a rural area all in the name of missions.

But his major concern was for those who depended on daily hustle and lived from hand to mouth. How would they survive in this season? He lived with a fairly well-to-do family, so there was always food on his table. How he wished he could help. He didn't have much other than a little savings he'd put together here and there which really was nothing among so many. He could already hear the cries of infants and loud rows between couples which must be the result of empty pans and pots.

His phone rang. Cynthis.

“Tade…” She said, breathing heavily.

“Hey Cynthis, I’ve been unable to reach you.”

“I couldn’t reply your texts. They don’t allow phone usage in here.” Her speech was sprinkled with a permutation of short and intermediate gasps.

“Oh, how’re you feeling?”

“I can’t do this anymore. I think it’s just better I go.”

“Go? No, you can’t do that…”

“Tade, you don’t understand. This thing saps the life out of me…”

“But what are the doctors saying?”

Gasp. Gasp.

“Do something Tade… I don’t want to—”

The line went dead.

Tade dialled back. The line was unavailable. He slouched back on his seat. Cynthis chose to call him for a reason? What to do? Pray? No he couldn't do that. He had no validation to. He couldn’t as much as heal a fly.

He thought long and hard about the man in South Africa laying hands on the sick and raising the dead. He lay back down and cried. He was as powerless as the others he’d condemned for being pessimists; sitting ducks who could not bring a fly back to life but went the world over hollering that they knew someone or something that could heal.

Two days later, he received the news.

Cynthis was dead.

Still following boss

cassbeat:
Still following boss

Glad to hear. Thank you sir

#15



After Mercy called to give the news of Junior’s poor health, Maclean instructed her to take him to a nearby hospital. While he followed up with calls, Babs called to say there was yet no improvement with Granma. Maclean grunted a goodbye and sat pensively thinking about the last time these had happened, and why over four years later, the cycle was repeating itself.
After his education and service year in Asaba in 2014, he secured a job as a marketing officer with TrustMond bank, there he met Sansa—whom he later got engaged to, Kome and Shaggy. They did well enough and soon got desk jobs in the same Okpanam branch. Then had come the legendary robbery in the days of the Ebola Virus Disease where plus-size Madam Agambala—a customer at the branch that day—pretended to have been infected by the virus. Her act was so perfect the robbers fled in different directions. He and her got along afterwards, he becoming her account manager and she his sugar mummy. Then Shaggy got jealous, jealous enough to pit his beneficent madam against him, and wicked enough to lead him to a massage parlour which doubled as a drugs base at a time when things were falling apart. Kome had confronted him with her pregnancy when all he’d done was help her wasted self into his apartment after Shaggy dropped them off in the middle of the road at 2am. Then Sansa went crazy at him because of Kome. Mr Abayo found out his shady deals and forced him to sign an even shadier deal. As the loop closed in on him, he found solace in the arms of Fausta his masseuse, and in drugs. Then he had run out of funds and out of sense because he soon obliged to peddle drugs to students in exchange for his daily stash. Then a fight had ensued and an urchin had nearly ripped open his stomach. That was when Sansa found him and began to love him back to life, helping him through the withdrawal period and taking the fall from the incriminating document he had signed with Mr Abayo, losing her life in the process—a girl with whom he was to be married barely two months later.
It was after all these that his head snapped upright and he decided to live. He put his experiences in an online book, and from his one-room apartment in Anwai, he began to receive cheers from all over the world, getting invitations to speak as far as Reykjavik in Iceland.
Now he was married to a lovely nurse, and things had gone well for four years—other than his altercation with his immediate younger brother Cletus who in 2016 undertook a perilous journey through the Sahara and the Mediterranean to Spain and finally to Malaysia, and had now built a booming drug empire. Here he was in Nigeria pulling down substance use and its effects, and there was his brother sponsoring drug runs all over the country as well as sending drug money to finance family projects. They hadn't spoken in over a year until Cletus called a few days ago to say he was coming home, that he was not going to stand by weakly like his elder brother as they used his ailing mother as a COVID-19 experiment.
It seemed as though life was reeling back events of the past five years to trick him. Or perhaps to find out how well he’d grown, and if there a possibility he'd get caught up in the mistakes of his past.
His phone rang. Mercy. Hospitals were not admitting, and the kid was not getting any better. What to do?