Begi-Begi

They held the first meeting in the primary school.

The first class was where it was held, the one designated as belonging to the children who were yet to be accustomed to school.

The ones who brought food in fancy lunch bags and cried as their mothers walked away, leaving them in the hands of stick-wielding humans possessing loud voices and fake smiles.

That was where the first meeting was held.

Black buttocks sitting on tiny chairs, infecting clean minds with taint.

Nene brought rock buns to school. Firm, golden brown, and smelling like how proper rock buns should smell.

Freshly fried buns, wrapped in paper and a closer peek at the right bag, reveal a bottle of juice.

Nene hands out pinches of rock buns to everyone during the break. It is delicious and Oscar comes back for more, Tina calls him begi-begi. The other children laugh loud and hard.

Delicious rock buns, a small price to pay for ordered chaos.

Sweet rock buns, unsuspecting fingers reaching out for more,

Warnings forgotten, washed away with a foam of flour and yeast, and sugar.

Such artistry, such cooking, demands savouring.

Only that your soul evaporates with the savour, in a cloud of farts and blackness and tiredness.

shey you were warned?

begi-begi.