Who Took Care Of The Witch?
The bird settled on the home it had built for itself on my window pane. Its tiny feathers spread with pride and it sat and watched. That was not the first time it built a home there, I had destroyed the first two but we eventually reached an agreement. I allow it to stay and it doesn’t build another house. I was the only one compromising in our deal but it saved me a lot of stress. The sun stormed into my room and reflected on every surface. We had not had light for a while, sweat took a stroll down my face till it found its rest on my pillow.
The entire family had been inside for 2 weeks and the government told us to stay for 2 more. People who were caught on the streets never returned home to their families. Our neighbours’ father went out a few nights ago, they ran out of foodstuffs and no one was willing to give them a handout. I remember my mother saying,” if we gave them a little out of our portion, it would increase the number of days we would go without food.”
He never came back. Since that night, I never finished my meal, I kept a little portion for their youngest daughter. I couldn’t help the whole family, but I could do a little. Our face-me-I-face-you apartment was hostile, bathing every morning felt like a comedy-drama. The struggle not to come in contact with one another was tiring but necessary. We wore masks and gloves to the bathroom and toilet. The apartments that could not afford those materials tied pieces of clothing materials on their hands and handkerchiefs over their nose.
Everything is fair in love and war. It was a sunny afternoon and Idris was fetching water from the well. He was a fat short boy who took forever to perform a task. Waiting for him to use the toilet or the bathroom took forever. He always came out with soap in his ears and his hands were always wet. His shirt was torn in various places and the singlet he tied around his nose and mouth was so dirty, he was better off without it.
Idris finally finished with the water he was fetching, but he struggled to put the bucket on his head. His father always insulted him. He once said, “no son of mine can be this sluggish.” The insults never got to him, his father always came home drunk and his mother was always the victim of the swinging of his father’s fist. Idris turned and his right arm hit Mrs Adebanjo. Mrs Adebanjo was the apartments hot head, she fought with everyone, and hid her children from the world. There is a rumour that the reason for her husband running away was due to her violent tendencies.
We heard a voice pierce through the cracked walls of our apartment, and it rattled our ears. Everyone jumped from their beds or floor, depending on if you had a mattress or not. On arrival, we saw Mrs Adebayo struggling to push Idris into the well. Everyone was taken aback, but she swore she would push him if we came closer. On the floor was a pot of soup with a lot of meat. Idris bucket was broken in front of him and his singlet was on the floor too.
“you’ll cook another pot of soup, you this boy, omo Hausa oshi,” her words sounded like poison. Her left hand held her wrapper, the other ruffled Idris collar and finally held his neck. He looked so puzzled, the reality was far from him. He rose his head and inhaled loudly, his eyes closed and he let out a silent sneeze. He was allergic to something in the soup, but It felt like he released death from his mouth. Mrs Adebanjo immediately released him from her death grip and he coughed on her.
She ran down the street shouting and screaming. People peeped from their windows to see what was going on as no one dared to come out. She kept shouting “o pa mi o, o pa mi.” Idris started to laugh. He picked his singlet from the floor and walked home. Everyone gave way, he tried touching us and we kept moving back till Papa Muli fell. Mrs Adebayo didn’t return home till later that evening after we called to inform her that Idris played a fast one on her.
When she returned we could see hells fire in her eyes. Like a whirlwind, She stormed into Idris apartment and took every foodstuff she could lay her hands on. Idris father was passed out drunk on their sorry excuse for a chair and his mother was nursing another black eye. None of them had the strength to stop her that night, but the next day was a different story. We woke up to Mrs Adebanjos dead body and the question on everyone’s lips was “who killed the apartments witch?”
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