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Follow up

Imagwe only opened his new room’s door at about 8pm when he threw out some things that his father had set up in the room to belong to Junior his younger brother. Poster colours, pencils, a collection of colour pen, some painting brushes, one other stupid carton and comic books. He did not hate drawing but he found it stark petulant. Mrs Oshoke soon knocked and left him a plate of spaghetti before his threshold and immediately she left, he opened the door, welcoming the plate into his arms and thanking God for such a doting mother.


Mr Noah Oshoke needed more than anything to sing praises and thank heaven for their lives, when he had assembled everyone but Imagwe, he went into his room and came back with a beautiful whip. Adesua and Junior squinted in fear but their mother served as a tether. She pulled at him not to go upstairs and pleaded that she will go and knock again for the seventh time.


“I will raise my son, he is my son Gloria and I will do everything to bend him to order.” Mr Oshoke bellowed.

“So he is not my son? Allow me try again please Honey.”

Mr Oshoke tore his way back to his seat, filliping and shaking his head simultaneously. Imagwe opened the door and ran back to his bed when his mother knocked again. She sauntered to him pleading, “My handsome boy, let us go and sing and dance for God please.”

“Or what? Or what?” Imagwe retorted foolishly and that exasperated his mother.

“Or we use a whip, I have been knocking and do we look like we deserve this?”

“No! A whip on me Muummi? I am not leaving this room again, let the rain fall. Shuuuu!”

He has gone loco again. She whispered and hurried away. She forgot to close the door and Imagwe also mysteriously forgot to lock it. Relaxed in that moment, he smiled, thinking of his victory over his father again and he will not go and pray for anything, he had CDs he needed to listen to. Once his hand reached into a cabinet to get his fat headphone, he heard some noise, as if to remember that he did not lock the door. It was too late, his father was already inside. Imagwe and his father stared at each for what was long into the past when he used to flog, hit and damage his body but he will never behave. His soul possessed an enormous power over his flesh.

Mrs Oshoke, Junior and Adesua walked in, each with a bible in hand. Everyone sat around Imagwe when his father said casually, “If the mountain refuses to go to Mohammed then Mohammed must journey right into the mountain.”

He winced when he realized that his father did not even come to him with a whip, he rather, had two bibles in his hand. He tossed one at him, a small bible and Imagwe caught well. No matter the anger, he would never miss a catch. Catching an object well was masculine to him. He glanced at the bible, the red portable one he often preferred. He would forever hate unnecessarily fat bibles especially the ones with zip that most people used and clapped on when they sing rollicking songs during evangelism. Again Imagwe reclined to the wall nesting his bed, recalcitrant to participate but when his father started releasing soul-reaching choruses, those ones he loved dancing after Sunday School in their church back in Benin, Imagwe followed up. He even took up the singing from him. Noah smiled on his wisdom. It is only when a fly perches on a man’s scrotum that he will realize that not all matters are settled violently. He thought of his days as the Choir Master, swaying and directing the choristers through melodies, yet plugging into clubs at nights and dancing to Edo traditional solos. All songs moved him whether people condemned it or not. His son Imagwe resembled him physically but only the love for songs made their souls similar.

The next day got Mrs Oshoke and Adesua to Mile III market where they bought few things that Imagwe did not see, he was in his room all day and also refused to let his brother in. He did not want to share thoughts with him yet. Sunday was next and Imagwe refused to follow them to a new church. When they were gone, he played songs all through and gorged down a loaf of sliced breads that was in the fridge. He ate happily and sang aloud, at last, the whole building seemed to belong to him and he had enough space to practice break-dance.

“Go! Go! Go shawrey…..it’s your birthday…..ah wanna parry like it’s your birthday…ooooh..” He sang into his parents’ room, went into his mother’s box in the closet, right by the side where he knew she dropped her cash and counted out five thousand naira boldly as if all the money in the world answered to him.


Chapter three here
http://egbechofaith.com/big-boys-story-chapter-three/