“Chioma! Chioma! Chioma…! Bring the spoon here!” Mama shouted above every voice from the kitchen into the house. Her voice was mighty, thunderous, and sounded very urgent. It had priority over other voices, over the bleating of goats and lambs, barking of dogs, gossips, chirruping of birds, cackling of fowls, cries of babies, cantankerous arguments, chitchats, and the announcement gongs of town-criers in the fading distance. Continue reading
I could vividly recall that faithful day as I waited for my bus to depart for Sukka, a small but industrial town in O’gu, famous for its cottage industries especially shoe making. The fifteen-seat minibus was sparsely occupied and the driver wasn’t going to depart until it was full, until we begged for space, until his mental quota was achieved, and until his bills, rent, food, children school fees, were paid. Time was on my side because it was going to be a long journey. In the meantime, my eyes feasted on the vicinity, on the boisterous activities and madness of the motor park.