I've got a Story! Story! Part Two

It was 2am, three months after the death and burial of Mrs. Adelakin. The wind had just finished blowing his whistling cold breeze as it opened the heavens for release of rain. As the rain hits the iron roofing sheets, it produced the ‘music’ no one would have cared to dance even if they were awake. No! Mr. Adelakin whose eyes, though red and sullen, was wide open, would not shake to the rhythm of the best drummer not to talk of the smattering sound of the rain on the roof. His mind was busy while his heart was heavy. As he raised his right arm to use his sleeve to clean the drops of tears from his right eye, a drop of cold water fell on his left arm. It was from a hole on the roof. He was shocked and he became conscious of been awake and lost in thought all through the night.
- “Oh no! This is a dream; I must wake up on time and wash my face with water. Then I will go and pray and fast that this dream will not come to pass.”
- “How will I raise these five children?”
- “Why is this happening to me?”
- “Oh, God! My God, what of my last born, Akin?”
Just as he turned to see the drops of water rolling on the wall from the hole in his roof, he saw Akin’s innocent body laid on the bed with his right hand on his mummy’s pillow. Drops rolled down his face at greater speed. He burst into tears.

The cock had crowed, the night had passed, the rain had stopped and the birds were singing. It was three days after he had agreed to leave his children. Dupe, being the only daughter of the five children, was dear to his father’s heart so much that every one called her daddy’s pet. Though Mr. Adelakin wouldn’t want any of his children to go and leave under another man’s roof, he had to release Dupe to go and stay with her uncle in Ilorin. He couldn’t put himself together to carry the load alone; pitiable poor bricklayer. What a way to start life; Akin had to go and stay with Late Mrs. Adelakin’s parents (Mama and Papa).

Papa was a no-nonsense, hardworking peasant farmer, 62 years old. His hands were callous by hard labour in his cassava farm in Gbadún and his yam farm in Òhòòho. Akin would later know what it means to stay with Mama, a strong but kind 59 years old woman. Mama was a trader with all her stocks of goods in a single old tray. Her tribal marks were already getting faded with her wrinkled face.

It was his first day in this new home, Akin fixed his eyes on the wall in a mixture of fear and amazement like a child looking up to his tall father. His eyes were on an agama lizard high up on the muddy lintel. Little did he know he would live the next seventeen years of his life in this muddy house. Mama noticed the amazement on his innocent face, with tears on her wrinkled cheek; she pressed the little Akin against her chest with her head bowed on him.


Now, that Akin is no more with dad and mum, the story begins …