THE UNCERTAINTIES OF A CERTAIN SOMEBODY
Who fears death? Certainly not me. Death is certain for everyone. Death is the crux, the climax, the end. Death is certain for royalty, and even for the King’s Horseman. That was what was running in the core of my thoughts, as my family packed our bags to go home, back to our paternal Roots in Ijebu-Ode. My father had a pensive look on his face, I think that he finally realised that our Jeep wouldn’t be able to carry all the bags of rice, beans and garri, plus the groaning suitcases and five humans who would rather be lounging on a beach somewhere, Where the Crawdads Sing.
Simi, our maid, who was also coming along for the journey, God forbid that mother parted with her favourite accessory for even a minute, had a brown and yellow Ghana Must Go bag in between her legs. It was bursting at the seams. She wasn’t looking thrilled, and I suspected that all her life’s possessions were in that bag. I knew Simi was going to run away once we got to Ijebu-Ode. I just know things. Mother was soon to going to learn that What is Not Yours, is Not Yours. I sighed and turned away. The last of the Purple Hibiscuses have fallen, leaving bare trees behind.
Benji, my brother has The Bluest Eyes I have ever seen. He is the residential family freak. He takes it in good strides of course. We do not know how he came by them, as far as we know, there isn’t a drop of foreign blood in our ancestry. I used to think he was switched at birth and given to an unsuspecting Yoruba family who were far too overjoyed at the birth of their son to notice his eye colour. He is currently juggling his gym bag, laptop bag and what he calls his book bag. He is trying to stuff another book in the bag, The Alchemist’s Secret. Cousin Modupe had sent it to him from Scotland, it was signed by the author. I secretly hoped it got missing or someone would do us a favour and steal it. He was obsessed with it already.
My sister, Toyin, has skin the colour of Milk and Honey. She prefers the moniker TY. TY likes The Colour Purple. It is very obvious. She is wearing purple socks, purple hair extensions and purple lipstick. It doesn’t look garish. She always manages to pull it off. I sometimes think that she may be a succubus, out to slay unsuspecting men. Ah, imagine that! My sister, the serial killer! Mother would have a fit. God forgive my wicked thoughts. TY is currently explaining to my father that the only reason she is going to Ijebu-Ode is to buy bags and bags of ‘garri Ijebu’. And her extensions are waving around quite madly; they obey their mistress’ wild gesticulations.
I suppose I should talk about myself. I am the first child. The one with Scars, both real and imagined. It is the reason why I always wear gloves. Explaining ones fascination with death gets old, sometimes. And only Benji and TY understand me, to an extent. I love my siblings, and I hate them sometimes. I suppose that The Hate You Give is a reflection of your core self. Maybe that’s who I am on the inside. A big, black mound of hate. But, then, who’s to say that I am full of hatred? No one. Just me. I judge myself pretty ruthlessly. It is why I want to die, and maybe take my family with me. That is not selfish, is it?
Father sounds the car horn. My gaze drifts upwards; the Stone Age would have been Such a Fun Age. We all converge towards the car. Mother will sit in the front with father, TY and Benji will be in the middle seats. I have the back seat all to myself. Simi and Pedro, our driver, will follow in the Toyota Camry. It is loaded to the brim with foodstuff. Father plans on feeding the entire village, I’m sure.
“Mother”, I say, “what is The Thing Around Your Neck for?”
“Nothing to worry about, dear. It is just an arrow” she replies. Her fingers fiddle with it restlessly. “Cousin Modupe made it for me. It’s part of her new jewellery collection. She is calling it ‘Arrow of God’”.
Father raises an eyebrow but says nothing. I shrug my shoulders and climb into the car. I know I am going to sleep until we stop to rest somewhere. But, I sincerely hope that Things Fall Apart.
Ha!
I wrote this for a contest in 2020, and in the second stage, I quit because they wanted us to use book titles to weave a story about the pandemic.
My thoughts exactly!
I thought I’d share it with you, see if you’d like it.
The words italicized and in bold font are published book titles and a complete list is found below. You could try reading a book or two from that list.
LIST OF PUBLISHED TEXT TITLES
1. WHO FEARS DEATH – Nnedi Okorafor
2. DEATH AND THE KING’S HORSEMAN – Wole Soyinka
3. ROOTS – Alex Haley
4. WHERE THE CRAWDADS SING – Delia Owens
5. WHAT IS NOT YOURS IS NOT YOURS – Helen Oyeyemi
6. GHANA MUST GO – Taiye Selasi
7. PURPLE HIBISCUS – Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
8. THE BLUEST EYE – Toni Morrison
9. THE ALCHEMIST’S SECRET – Scott Mariani
10. MILK AND HONEY – Rupi Kaur
11. THE COLOR PURPLE – Alice Walker
12. MY SISTER THE SERIAL KILLER – Oyinkan Braithwaite
13. SCARS – Fehintola Da Silva
14. THE HATE YOU GIVE – Angie Thomas
15. SUCH A FUN AGE – Kiley Reid
16. THE THING AROUND YOUR NECK – Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
17. ARROW OF GOD – Chinua Achebe
18. THINGS FALL APART – Chinua Achebe
The photo belongs to cottonbro on Pexels.
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