STATE OF MIND

The raining season had ceased for a while; it was the august break. I feel little calm and so did the room see little space. Its wall wore a faded blue with shades of exposed plaster and blocks here and there. I love to sit on my chair and pierce my eyes through the window, its net is very dusty and torn; and I care less about the mosquitoes. I love to see the kids play ‘papa and mama’, I love to see them run around naked as they play with motorcycle tires which they set in motion with their hand and sustain with sticks or irons. The cul-de-sac is still flooded with water as the canal around the area is full and stagnant.
The night feels cool, the smell from the canal is calling to be replenished; now very pungent is the odour that emanates from it and it distorts activities in the area; I hear them say the government cares less. The stars in the sky seemed to have evacuated themselves, suddenly static plastic buckets move, polythene bags fills the air, Zinc roofs shake and become noisy; then it begins to drum as drops from heaven hit against them; there is panic in the air. The canal odour rises to the occasion; it goes along with the natural breeze till it becomes swallowed. The breeze hits against my net and pours dust on the floor of my room. I’m stern

Suddenly, the clouds begin to drop its content little by little; it first begins with drizzling, then it rains, then it pours. The children run around under the rain playing and dancing others singing ‘rain rain go away’; yet still playing under the down pour. The older ones; some older children, young adults and mothers but few men rush outside with buckets, plastic and metal buckets and place them in alignment with the dropping water from their nearly rusty zinc roof above. The older women stand for a while inspecting the water drop as they drop into the buckets; I see a woman reposition some buckets probably because of the breeze effect on the dropping water; she leaves it that way and walks back into their already flooded passage way. They say so much about the government and how they know the problems of the masses, how they know the solution but choose to amass wealth and leave us like this. I hear them pray for a messiah, I hear them pray for a miracle; others hope for a breakthrough into the political circle to also steal public funds and live a better life. There is a sudden flash of light; more like God was taking a picture of our shanty town; the sound followed behind the light and was a strong thunder; the children screamed, a joyful scream. I’m stern

I hear the sound of the door knob turn but still had my eyes through the dusty net watching the cul-de-sac , He walks towards me and wraps a wrapper around me; my eyes still on the cul-de-sac. He moves me away from the window further into the room. Now all the buckets in the room began to take their specific positions; he aligned them just as the woman outside did hers; to collect the dropping water in my room. He aligned them well, separately but perfectly. As he walks away and the door shuts behind him I could see his mistake, a bucket missed its water drops, the water dropped on the floor inches away from the yellow custard bucket. It gives a tone separate from the others. I’m stern

He walks in again, removes the wrapper from around me and drops the plate on the floor; he rarely looks at me. The plate had contents; it was food. I stood and walk away from my chair towards the plate it is yellow garri and soup, a bright yellow egusi, with stints of green I wasn’t sure if it’s ugwu leaves or just green. I devoured it with my unwashed hand. No sooner had I finished, I felt my tummy rumble: I stood and with my hand against my anus and I searched for my custard container to use, but my rectum had failed me; unbaked faeces had evacuated itself through my anus. It still sipped out and fell against my trouser; I pulled the trousers away and with my bare buttocks now exposed, I bent down on the corner of the room to allow the semi liquid hit the ground, it felt peppery and ran fast; simultaneously, my penis shot out its own liquid, little of both poured against my Achilles heel but the urine felt hotter. The urine stopped first, it now shut out bit by bit until it was all gone. It was all watery with little solids here and there; I touched the solid and tasted it; its taste was a bit better than the food I ate on the plate. He walked in, hit me on the head and stops me from eating the content from my bowels.

He walks back in with a large cup of water; he helps me wash my hands and he gives me the rest to drink up, I finish up the content and hold on to the cup. He collects it from me, picks up my plate, brings down the mat which stood on the jointure of the walls and spreads it on the ground and he walks away. The drops from the ceiling are fewer now; the rain pouring had ceased, the hood is quiet, the children are quiet maybe sleeping, I stroll towards the burglary protected window. I can see the image of the moon on the little flood caused by the rain, a bike has just past and the image shakes. I look up at the skies and the bright moon still sits there bright in the dark ceiling with little dots of stars scattered around it, I retrieve into my room toward the mat and I lay.

I feel wet splatter on my Nose Bridge; it had fallen from the ceiling. The moon had turned to sun; I stand and go towards my chair. He walks in again, search his eye around then walks towards the mat, folds it and place it at the corner of the room, then he carries the buckets, all heavy with water; he carries them out of the room. He walks in again and holds me by my wrist and I walk behind him as we strode towards the bathroom, he carried one of the buckets in his hand and a towel on his right shoulder I can feel houseflies follow me behind and some hit against my exposed buttocks. People say I’m getting better; they say I was violent when my family brought me here, some feel pity that a young man my age is retarded; others say it’s from smoking marijuana; a few say madness runs in my lineage and that my grandfather and his daughter aunty Winnie were at a time insane, some people say it is voodoo from my village. I don’t know what to think, I only know I’m not normal.

In the bathroom now; He pours the water on me, I move a little. He rubs the soap on my head and drives the sponge in between the line that separates the two halves of my buttocks. He pours water on me again; I can see the crumbs of excreta from yesterday flow away, most of it encapsulated in the foam that flows away. He hits the sponge on my armpit, and pours water on my head again. I’m stern

by OLISA KEVIN

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