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Friday, September 18, 2015

Guest Post: November Dairy. Episode One

Written by Blog Reader: Aorabee Iyambee from Ghana.

This story will go on for four days. I will post the first episode of my next story after this interesting story is over. Enjoy!
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The bus moved at a slow and steady speed, the stench in the chocked up bus heading for Taraba; coupled with the strong odor of petrol made me nauseous: it always did. Sometimes, before the journey ends, I end up with a soiled cloth. I tried to sleep but sleep was far from coming, I was also afraid that the vomits in my mouth might pour out any moment I lose control of my lips that were now shut tight.
The woman sitting next to me with her infant child was making life miserable for me; at times she puts the baby on my laps or but her child’s bag on my laps; presently she shoved the sack that was under the seat close to my legs, I felt uneasy, the strong smell of locust beans hit my nose hard as I bent down to readjust the sack. The woman seemed not to be concerned; she only attended to her child. Since our seats were close to the window and I was lucky to be close enough to the window, I leaned towards it and pulled back the knob and the window opened, I fixed my head through the window and took a deep, deep, deep breath.

I looked at the sky; dark clouds seemed ready to weep down to the earth. The very common scent of a humid atmosphere teased my nose, I turned forward and caught the drivers eye, he didn’t look friendly; the expression on his face prompted me to pull back from the window. The rain fell heavily such that the car’s roof vibrated. I pressed my cheeks to the closed window and felt a chill, when we passed by a cemetery that was bushy and overgrown with grasses and weeds it reminded me of my dead friend, I was really afraid of death, I turned away and placed my hands between my laps to feel warmth. I looked out again the rain was forming fog on the window but I could see the bridge that we were now crossing. I felt like ‘sarafina’ going home to her mother after being tortured by the police and my thought wandered off to recent things that happened to me. I could still recall them vividly they were too serious to be forgotten, everything that happened: my adventure outside school, the fence, the police, and school authority and when I was expelled. A tear stole down my cheeks I really missed my mates and my girlfriend, earlier I had made a mental note to put down every detail down in my dairy. The atmosphere was conditional for me to write it up since the journey was still a while and I wasn’t sleeping, I pulled back the windows knob and threw out a mouthful of spittle and quickly closed the window for the rain was dropping into the seats.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and recollected my thoughts, all the scenes, characters and actions quickly came back like an opened dam had released water, and I arranged them into place: I unzipped my hp bag and brought out my Dairy, it was a present from my girlfriend, I wouldn’t want to talk about my girlfriend because it only reminds me that I’m not seeing her pretty face again and some other boy would take over. The dairy was designed beautifully with pink lines running across the edges and the front cover had fine illustrations that were very colorful, the back cover was covered with pictures of my likes I cut out pictures of my favorite artists: Olamide, Miley Cyrus, Charlie puth, Jessy jags and Ice prince. The remaining space was covered with pictures of Achebe, chimamanda, Hadley chase, john grisham, marktwain and a picture of his painted character tom sawyer, it was a large diary. I opened the dairy and on the first page, she calligraphed my name and wrote hers reclining over mine, it was such a beautiful sight. I flipped more pages to the month of November, and on the top I wrote the title: NOVEMBER DAIRY and sub headed it as …….’a truant’s dairy’ and I dated it to be 27th November 2014.

When I placed my biros nib on the next line, the story started working out in my brain, literature took over, my hand itching to put down every detail and without further waste of time I started scribbling hard and determined to put down the right and correct words:

Dear Dairy,
Twenty seventh November, a day after my birthday is a no ordinary day in my life and I want to share it with you. Two weeks before the end of first term.
During the night preps, I was felling bored and sleepy. Occasionally, the preps coordinator with the aid of his boots that had smooth soles would walk into the class on cat paws and beat the sleep out of those who dared doze or sleep. I had fallen victim to his long and stinging ‘koboko’ [horse skin] whips and lashes on my back on several occasions he entered the class.

"I thought to myself” maybe I needed a breath taking adventure outside the school walls. I had sheer love for adventure; not only for the fun of it but also to show my uniqueness of being different from the ways of others. I sneaked out of the classroom, artfully dodging the bright rays of the powerful lontor torchlight the preps coordinator was using to unveil any student lurking outside in the dark.
In a thrice, I was close to the school field that was separating me from the fence. Quietly, I tiptoed closer to the fence and chose a spot where I could scale the fence nice and easy. First of all “no be introduction ooo” I removed my shirt and folded up my trousers to minimize the chances of being recognized easily as a student.

The first attempt to scale the fence failed; the cement block brick broke and I fell of the fence wall with a thud and all of a sudden, the security man flashed the powerful torchlight to the direction of the sound, then I bent very low almost prostrating on the grass that was heavy with dew. So as to elude the bright rays of the torchlight, my heart beating hard and slamming against my ribs, my eyes as big as saucers. 

What if I was caught?” I swallowed the question.

Without quitting, I still attempted and landed safely on the other side of the fence. I sighed with relief and quoted the words of martin Luther junior: “free at last, free at last”

To be continued....

5 comments:

  1. Its am interesting story about your journey. I love the vivid descriptions of the journey. As if I was in the bus with them

    ReplyDelete

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Stories on www.ckjacob.com are work of fiction. Names, characters and events described are the imagination of the writer. Resemblance to actual persons, alive or dead, is entirely coincidental.