Base 1ne by Chris Onaivi Ekuafeh, (Klay)
Drip…drip…drip…
Osas carefully positioned containers around his room to collect rain water dripping in from the roof. He lay in the dark quietly, pondering and insentiently counting the drops.
…31…32…33…
At 11:37pm on this Friday night, the rains poured insanely. The wind howled like wild animals bent on pulling the roof off its joints. Even the overgrown tree by the fence was busy scratching its branches eerily on his window, casting creepy shadows on the wall with every flash of lightning.
The curtain took strange forms in the dark, making him jumpy. Using the light from his phone for illumination, he slithered over to correct this but his leg clumsily hit the empty cooking pots neatly arranged by the wall and sent them crashing in a loud racket.
“Ah…” Osas hissed loudly “…see me now”!
When the din calmed, he quietly rearranged the pots, straightened the curtain, then reached for the remaining ijebu-garri he’d collected on credit days before from Mama Iyabo. Until he paid up all he owed, she told him, “no more credit”.
“Lagos, is the land of opportunities” he’d been told, but two years now and Lagos seemed to be hiding that side of her from him. Why…who did he offend…who?
He’d recently gone to his bank for business funding, but they asked him for collateral. Where was a start-up like him to get ‘collateral’? So, he suggested they use him as collateral, he didn’t mind. He would even donate his blood if they needed ink, but the annoying bank official only smirked “I am sorry Mr. Osas…” she said in conclusion, “…it’s the bank’s policy”.
“But is it your money”? He desperately wanted to scream, common sense advised otherwise. So, he was back on the streets yet again, hustling. “Who de follow me na”? He questioned.
A crack of lightning brought his mind back to the present. He stirred the ijebu-garri, ready to drink, when he heard a shuffle of quick steps end at his door. Ah, the devil himself! Osas thought. His heart climbed up …
