Wali sat on his door steps, looking straight ahead through the open door that let to his wife’s kitchen. His brow twisted, his left eye twitched and involuntarily he passed out wind. He jerked. He ran his hand over his face wiping his eyes as though surprised by he sound coming from his bosom. His stomach rumbled and his feet started to shake. The court yard was empty. The sky was dull. The night was gone but the sun seemed to have refused to rise. He shook his head and closed his eyes, wishing things were different. Wishing he’d listen to Tatah and had become a priest. And after a while when he opened his eyes, he was still alone, sitting on his door steps. The court yard was still empty. The sky was still dull and the sun had not risen. He stood up and fell back on his backside. His knees, buckled under his bulging stomach, will not hold his weight. He propped his elbows on his knees and took his head in his palms as though his head was now too heavy for his shoulders to carry. To his right lay the machete, his favourite machete, the one he has always used, which no one else was allowed to use. It was sharp as usual. On it was blood, dark dry blood.
He could not understand why it has come to this. He recalled the days of his youth. He recalled the corn fields and the coffee plantations. He recalled the school play ground and the priests and brothers who taught him at Sunday school. He recalled Lumabi, the woman of his dreams. He recalled his wife. Here he was now sitting on his door step, the smile of his youth gone, and the laughter of his children gone. Even nature seems to be mimicking his desolate life. The sun had gone to sleep on him, even the fowls that filled his court yard just the day before seem to have missed the breaking of day.
He looked to his left and caught a glimpse of the lifeless body of his dog, Bingo. Its gold furs stained by its blood. The wounds inflicted by his machete lay open and the flies knocking life out of each other as they feasted on its flesh. His inside rumbled again and he doubled over, clutching himself to stop the mad rush of his bowels coming through his mouth. He closed his eyes and listened to the rush of his heart, the music playing in his ears. it was a sad song. A funeral song. A dirge. The kind that they sing in church when mass is over and their a taking someone to the cemetery. This was a procession to the cemetery. The burial of everything that was of left of his life. Yes!! Wali was dead from the in side as he was to the world as he once knew it. His wife and children, his father; his friends and to...
He tasted the saltiness of the tears on his tongue. He felt the tears as the dripped from his eyes and trickled down the back of his hands and down his elbows leaving a snail trail on his cracked skin. He sniffed back the mucus that was blocking his nostrils and ran his left palm over his upper lip. His thoughts were racing. He was trying to keep track of what was going on in his mind. He was not mad. He was not going crazy. He knew who he was. He pinched himself just to make sure. With all the will power he could muster, he pulled himself onto his feet. He turned and glanced at his dog. He shuddered at the sight of its lifeless body. He had to kill it.
The clouds were gathering and he knew the rain would be heavy. He thought of his wife and his children again. What will happen if it starts raining before they arrive? Will they stop somewhere to shelter themselves from the storm?
He stumbled into his bedstead and snatched a spade. He stumbled out again, his vision blurred by the fountain pumping in his eyes. He stopped again on his door step and looked beyond the horizon into the darkening clouds. He saw a ray of sun light forcing its way through the denseness of the cloud, through the flickering leaves of huge kola nut trees, making its way straight into his face. His face lit up when the warmth of the sun ray hit his eyes. He said his name out loud as a thought crossed his mind. "Bury the dog" he said. He chuckled at the sound of his voice reverberating in his mind. "Bury the dog!" he said again, this time with the same power and conviction with which he made decisions.
He made his to the back of the house, underneath the flourishing banana plants, he dug a shallow grave in which he placed the remains of Bingo, his faithful friend. When he'd finished, he washed his spade in a pool of rain water and in the same pool he washed his hands and feet. Finishing the cleansing ritual by licking his lips and throwing a chunk of spittle into the pool.
He walked back to his bedstead and changed his clothes. He made the decision to go back and see Uche, the man of God who in his infinite wisdom had revealed to him the curse upon his house hold. The curse that brought him a crippled Obanje son and the demon that was hidden in his dog Bingo, sent from the spirit world to protect the obanje. The Bishop had promised that if he killed the dog and got rid of the crippled son the nightmares will be over.
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