By Maren John Mafuyai
♥ ♥ ♥
Returning from Accra, I found my father in his rafia dress smelling herbs, a black statue in his right hand from the shrine, his eyes red.
He entered his temple without asking me about my university program. I doubted if I did something wrong before I left Accra to Nigeria. As a History student, last semester I studied advance European History, fell in love with Napoleon the great and was successful with distinctions without any black record.
I climbed, and met him sitting upright on a wooden carved stool in front of a big calabash of water, his eyes closed.
“Asabe was opening her legs like a dog”, he said.
“Did someone tell you?”
He looked at the roof.
“The all knowing
Show me my daughter now!”
When a straight lightning ray from his eyes flashed the roof before he spat in the calabash, the water surface therein turned a live T.V broadcast.
My younger sister, who was at the Federal University, was in a brown mini skirt sitting on a bed in a clean bedroom. Looking beautiful and matured, one could hardly guess she was just 20 in her second year studying Mass Com.
A door gave way,
an oldman entered smiling cunningly with a deep square face.
“Looking like sunlight.”
“Yes! You keep me waiting.”
“It was a traffic hold up, dear. In a jeep,
I was thinking of calling one of my pal about the visa since now, thinking to take you out, to Toronto…”
“Mention somewhere in America, she said. What will I do in Toronto?”
“Toronto is in America, dear. You don’t know?”
”But the name sounds like somewhere in Africa?”
“Ha ha ha ha! Why would I do that? I want to
take you there. As a professor of Communication, I presented a paper there 3 years back. And the city was beautiful.”
“I want to also go to Jerusalem.”
“This is like a stroll to town. I will connect you with the government, simple! If you have any problem, any failure, I promise to make your university program smooth and faster.”
“I don’t have any”, she said.
“Brilliant girl! Ha ha ha ha. Excellent, my darling. He pushed her down, deeped his hand into her skirt.”
My father abruptly stopped the magic, sprang and dashed out.
It was a mess! I felt sick and wished I was in Accra.