This Chikolobi boy meant business- real business. His thick, shabby coat with sleeves that far extended the length of his hands, trousers that were hurriedly folded up a couple of times to his ankles, a huge bag slung over his shoulder, hard eyes and a grim countenance meant he meant real business. He barged into the hall, and like the biblical apostles sent on gospel trips, he greeted no one and when one or two greeted him, he answered them not. Moving with the swiftness and the dogged constancy of purpose of a nocturnal marauder, Chikolobi slunk to an isolated desk, walked around it like a wolf wanting to take a nap in an unsure terrain, meticulously wiped the dust off the chair and lowered himself into it. Tonight was tonight. Criminal law? E must to be A course. His hands delved in his bag and he brought out two rechargeable lamps. Next, a tin of Nescafe. A bottle of chilled water followed and last was a Criminal law textbook such as Id never, in all my years seen. Chikolobi was ready for Awoko or TDB (Till Day Break). He snapped off the tins cover emptying four tablespoonful of coffee into his mouth, twisting his face into a grotesque mask. He planted his ponmo lips on the bottle, shoved in his tongue and began to suck out water in huge gulps, eliciting enraged stares and glances from a few. Done with that, he bowed his head to do something I suspected was prayer. For the first 30 minutes, his head was erect, his elbows were pinned down on both sides of the book with his palms tightly interlocked, his eyes shone and his lips moved as he sought to commit to memory. Yes, I made it my business to watch him. Then, I saw it. He stifled a yawn and stretched out his arms, then resumed his reading. For some seconds, he stayed like that and then, his eyes shut with remarkable slowness, like feathers were circled around his ears, his mouth fell slightly open and his head began a slow and gradual descent towards his book. Suddenly, his head jerked up. Maybe he remembered he was supposed to be TDBing. He shook his head in a valiant attempt to ward off the enchanting powers of slumber that hovered implacably over his head. A quarter of a minute later, and his eyelids, like magnets, gravitated slowly downwards with an overwhelming force that shattered his fragile resolve into smithereens. His consciousness ebbed. His head moved to the left and downwards and his mouth fell open again with a load of spit drooling. Some seconds later, my guy had his arms on the desk and his head in deep sleep. I was done reading. A little trouble wouldnt hurt before I went home. I tiptoed to his seat, balled my fists, banged on the table several times and fled. Now, I expected to hear a maddened cry of You dey mad?, Jargo, God punish your fada or a wild glare, at least. Nothing. Nada. I turned and didnt see him so, curious, I walked up to where he was with my body set up for flight if he lurked. Alas! He was lying down now. Not on the chair. Not on the desk...but on the floor. KIA
Posted on: Wed, 22 Oct 2014 18:51:30 +0000
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