Published on February 2nd, 2012 | by thetoolsman12
43 Fafunwa Episode 11: Best Laid Plans
Sitting alone out on the veranda, Mr. Andrew – Madam Wangerr’s husband – was fanning away the flies trying to keep him company. Ifiok walked past, clearly returning from work, and they exchanged muted greetings. Mr. Andrew was bored enough to notice that Ifiok was not in a good mood.
“Shey worki is fine? No problem?” he asked in his familiar drawl.
Ifiok hesitated before answering. He was contemplating whether or not it was worth it to share his woes with Mr. Andrew. He’d been dying to tell somebody.
“Work is fine Sir but I have another problem.”
“Wetini?” Mr. Andrew actually sounded concerned.
“My girlfriend is coming today…”
“Don’t laugh me but she used to complain that I don’t satisfy her.”
“You? Calabar? Noooooo. At all at all. Dat one not good o.”
“It’s a problem Sir.”
“Ah no. Not a problem. Ahn ahn. I have solution. You like herb?” Mr. Andrew asked with a smile on his lips.
Sparrow trudged back home very tiredly, having spent all day ‘hustling’ with his dear friend Mozilla. This was all new to him: the fancy clothing, the wrist watches, the shoes. Mozilla told him that he had to look the part first of all. Gratefully, he’d been allowed to keep his ring; his talisman. It used to come in handy when he needed to knock errant conductors. Or when he got into one of a countless number of fights.
Ifeanyi remembered only too clearly the events of that day. Sparrow had shown up at his pharmacy with a nameless STD. Even though there was a lot going on that morning, he’d had ample time to notice the huge ring on Sparrow’s right hand middle finger. He was convinced it was the very same one he’d found in his room only two days before. The ring was already placed in his pocket when he went seeking Sparrow’s key. It wasn’t difficult figuring out where the key was. Sparrow never seemed to be making any kind of attempt to conceal the resting place of his key. It was always under the small, tattered excuse for a doormat sitting in front of Sparrow’s room. Sparrow practically bragged about there being nothing of value in his room save for his old hot plate. Ifeanyi pulled out the key and looked sideways, making sure that no one saw what he was doing, before sticking it in and turning. Once inside, he would lock it and slide the key back to its native resting place from the space between the door and the concrete floor…
* * * *
The young man was pressed. He’d held it for as long as he could. Finally, he could take it no more. He found himself in front a rundown building labelled ’43′ in charcoal with ‘this house is NOT for sale’ written in several places on the walls out front. He took aim and began peeing in the gutter in front of the house. Relief. He barely heard the sound of someone trying to push mucus from his nose through to his oral cavity. He was having too much fun. The grating noise became louder: like it was coming from just behind him. He turned just in time to see Sparrow hurl a mouthful of vile sputum towards his groin where his hand shielded his errrm…
Go on narrator, you can say it…
The man screamed. Barely getting out of the way of the perfectly aimed sputum. But at a cost. He felt moisture on his trousers. He’d sprayed himself. An angry Sparrow yelled: “Comeon gerraway from my yard before I wound you! You no go your Papa parlour go piss! If I catch you!” Sparrow by now had picked up a granite stone from amongst many on the untarred road. Dishevelled and dripping, the man had run for dear life. Sparrow cursed under his breath and made to go inside. Mr. Andrew was still seated on the veranda smiling appreciatively.
“Welli done,” Mr. Andrew offered.
“God go punish that man. If I catch anybody dey piss for dis our Fashola gutter ehn! Na die e go die o…” Sparrow fumed.
Take it easy,” Mr. Andrew placated. Sparrow nodded in acknowledgement and walked in.
Once at his doorstep, he bent over to pick up his key. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Something was not right. He turned the key in the lock. Initially, he opened the door slightly. Suddenly, he swung the door with all his might toward the adjacent wall. Rather than the thud of the door hitting the wall, he heard the sound of wood hitting forehead. Sparrow was in his room in a flash. Already in an angry mood, he held the door knob and reached behind it to land a punch on the ribs of whoever was on the other side.
“Ugh.” Ifeanyi yelped. bending to one side to ease the sharp pain. Now an angry Sparrow shut the door altogether. The room was dark. Whatever illumination that could have seeped in was blocked off by closed curtains on either window. He looked towards where Ifeanyi stood, oblivious to his identity. However, the darkness couldn’t mask the glint of the blade that Ifeanyi held in his loosening grip. In a split second, Sparrow had his body up against Ifeanyi while his hand was tightly wrapped around Ifeanyi’s fist and the machete fell. Oddly enough, Ifeanyi still felt the need to speak. More like groan.
“I’ll kill you. You can’t sex my girlfriend and go free!” Sparrow was now sure that the person was mistaken. Time to have a little fun.
“Okay. E be like say you dey craze. Your head need to come down.”
The hot plate was always plugged in the corner of the room. Right behind Ifeanyi. All Sparrow had to do was move his foot and flick the switch. In moments, the heat created an amber glow. Sparrow pushed Ifeanyi’s head downward.
“Siddon.” Sparrow ordered. Ifeanyi struggled, Sparrow persisted. He was easily overpowering Ifeanyi. Sparrow kicked Ifeanyi’s ankles once. As if to take him off the ground. Ifeanyi buckled and shrieked with fear. His butt was barely a few feet from a searing hot electric cooker. With more force, Sparrow kicked again at the same time Ifeanyi pleaded.
“Sparrow abeg na.” Sparrow froze when he heard his name. But it was too late…
She’d had enough. She always wanted Ifiok to last a tad longer in bed but this was unreal. Surely she’d die from today’s session. She’d tried telling him to stop several times but he was adamant. She needed to form a getaway plan. Besides, her Madam would soon be back from work. It would be an atrocity if she was not home by then. She was fully clothed except for her jeans. It was on the floor by the door. It was now or never. She bit Ifiok on the chest. He let out a yell and relented for a split second. Enough time for her to wriggle free from under him. She grabbed her trousers and in one swift motion, opened the door to the room. She’d happily wear the jeans once she was a safe distance away. She had one foot out the door when she felt his firm grip on her shoulder.
“Come back here!”
Mr. Andrew was still sitting on the veranda. He was wondering why his wife was not home yet when at exactly the same time, he heard a male and female voice scream from inside the premises: “I don die o!”