JUNGLED

Moyo opened his brown eyes. Hissed. Shut his eyes again. The thought of going to work to face his domineering boss, irritated and infuriated him. He had finally summoned courage the previous day and confronted him fearlessly, during a heated argument. Moyo had arrived at the bar, where he worked as an attendant, thirty minutes late, because he had been stuck in a gridlock of yellow buses, lorries ,loud hawkers and itinerants. His boss flung a broom at him in a fit of rage and rained curses on him. Moyo could not take it any more. He got really agitated and blurted words like; potbellied old fool, drunk idiot, insensitive he goat, wicked man.... He strode out of the bar leaving his boss and the other workers dumbfounded. Moyo stopped by his friend's and stayed there all day, arguing about politics and football matches' prospects and gossiping about fine girls, over bananas and groundnuts. When night came, he went home to tell his mother, 'work is fine, Mama', there was not even a strand of guilt in his countenance. He slept like a baby that night. He felt free; like a prisoner who had just completed his jail term. 'Moyo' ‘Moyo, wake up’, his mother shook him out of his sleep.

He felt her warm and smooth-as-cream hands against his bare brown shoulders. Moyo managed to open his eyes and squinted at the harsh ray of sunlight that fell on his face through the window. ‘Good morning, mama’, he said between yawns.

‘Bless you my son’. She looked bright that morning in the blue and white bou bou dress she was wearing.

He had seen the same dress lying creased and squeezed on the tattered sofa in the living room last night. Moyo could imagine how long it must have taken her to iron it. ‘It`s almost eight. You don`t want to be late for work’, she perched her smallish body on the bed, making the rusted hinges creak.

‘Mama, I don’t feel like going to work today,' he sat up with a frown.

‘If you don’t go to work, how will we pay our bills? Remember I told You NEPA people came yesterday, ranting and threatening to cut our electricity. Moyo you don’t expect me to pay our house rent too with the little I earn from the bread I sell, do you?’

‘but mama…’

She gestured for him to keep quiet, ‘last night, I overheard Emeka telling his mother that your break will be over soon. You have to earn all the money you can before your school resumes. Son have I not tried for you?'

she covered her wrinkled face with her hands and said with a wobbly voice, 'if only your father did not abandon us just to be with another woman...maybe---'

‘I know, Mama’, he hung his achy head and held her bony hands.

‘mama I am so sorry I can't t give you the life you deserve,right now; but I promise you...when I graduate, I will get a good job and change our lives, you, myself and Eniola and the leaking roof…’, he looked up at the brown-stained white ceiling,

‘this small apartment, our poverty-stricken neighbourhood, all these will change by God’s grace’.

‘By God’s grace’, she said softly with a smile. 'I knew you'd bring me so much joy; that's why I named You Moyo', she muttered,

tapping the back of his hands. Standing on her feet, she said, ‘you will go to work and apologize to your boss’, it wasn’t a plea but she was actually giving an order.

'Yes ma'am...wait! Apologize? How did you find out?'he mumbled.

'I am your mother. I can smell your mischief from miles away. Have you forgotten one person's business is everybody's business in this compound? Emeka told me'. she smiled.

'I am sorry I lied to you'. She patted him on the cheek and walked away.

He nodded and watched her stroll gracefully out of the room. Moyo loved his mother’s gait. It gave him hope. He had never met a woman as peaceful and gracious as she. He would chew and swallow his pride, go to boss and ask for his forgiveness. He wouldn't mind rolling on the floor and shedding crocodile tears for his mother's sake.

The mouth watering aroma of fried akara (fried beans cake) mixed with the mustiness of the room, filled his nose as he stepped out of his room. He had finally taken his bath, after standing on a long queue of impatient tenants,before the public bathroom in the compound, he patted some white powder---scented with vanilla---on his armpit and wore a baggy yellow shirt on a pair of whitish-blue jeans. He sat beside his eleven year old feisty and cheerful little sister, Eniola. She had such optimism that one could almost touch and Moyo adored her for it.

‘Mama there is too much pepper in your akara today’, came Eniola’s silvery voice as she chewed.

Their mother was engrossed in the money she was counting at the corner of the room that she did not hear Eniola.

‘Brother Moyo, hurry and graduate so we can start eating eggs and drinking tea in this house o!’, she chewed

‘Eni, please I am not in for your daydream talks this morning’, he scooped some pap into his mouth and finished the crispy bean cakes then he rose from the cold cemented floor,

‘I hope it doesn’t rain today. I can’t seem to find my umbrella’. He hung his bag and darted his eyes across the room.

‘It won’t rain today as long as you are out there’, Eniola said lovingly.

He held her chin and said ‘do you know why I love you?’

‘of course! I’m always positive’. They clapped each other’s hands. He tickled her till tears began to form in her narrow eyes and her laughter sounded throaty.

‘Mama I’m off’, he announced.

‘Moyo can you get me some dried fish on your way?’ said his mother.

‘ok’.

‘you won’t get them at the main market go to the other market by the roadside…’she added.

The compound was bustling with various activities as usual, at the time Moyo stepped out of their one room apartment. Little children were rushing to school in tattered and dirty uniforms their busy-business-women-mothers had forgotten to wash. They were too busy making money and buying expensive wrappers and bags. He met Mr. Uche, a local primary school teacher--- the only one who had a car; a rickety one at that, in their neighborhood. He was the kind of teacher who was deeply loyal to the lifestyle of the nineties that blending into the new trend seemed like a taboo. He had afro hair, wore short dungarees on a neatly ironed shirt, heavy boots and still listened to outdated high life music.

'morning sir', Moyo bowed.

'my good man. Future Dr. Moyo Olanikpekun', he had a fake American accent which---unknown to him---sounded like an over ambitious and overbearing village Igbo man, struggling to speak English. He bragged always about working as a house boy for a white man, many years ago at G. R. A. But he never mentioned that he had stolen the white man's dollars, pipe and bottles of gin and was arrested. Moyo's mother had told him the whole story. How that, he spent weeks in the rat and mosquito--infested prison, with neither food, nor water and slept in his poo and urine. No one knew the origin of the story; but they just knew that they knew.

'I will be a doctor in two years. Still far away sir', he scratched his head.

'don't say that, You will be clad in that white overcoat before You know it. Things will change and you will become a big boy. Don't forget me when you're up there '.

He shut his door and dusted his hands and tucked a book in his armpit. Moyo laughed. 'Magnificent shirt you've got there'. The 'shirt' sounded like 'shit'. It was Mr. Uche's habit to flatter people and flaunt a new word he had discovered in one of his big books...magnificent! 'Thanks!', Moyo mumbled, even though he knew his shirt was creased and oversized.

'Did you hear about the black guy who shot a white cop, during a protest in the U.S?' Moyo shook his head.

'it's all over the news', Mr Uche added fastening his boots.

'that's strange. Normally, we hear of whites killing blacks'.

'change, they say is the only thing that is constant in life. You don't expect things to remain the way they are', Mr. Uche flashed his teeth, 'racism is not--'

'ahm Mr. Uche, I have to run', Moyo was running late. He wasn't cut out for Mr. Uche's unending lectures; garnished with big words. He bumped into his twenty-year old crush, Sarah, at the gate. She was his dream girl. She was slender,had big eyes, her skin was flawless; the colour of chocolate and was four years younger than him. Her black kinky hair, formed into a full Afro. Moyo strongly believed she was his good luck charm. He ended up getting an extra pay any day he bumped into her. Certainly he believed his boss would forgive him! He was too shy to tell her he liked her or maybe he was scared her hot-blooded mother might bathe him with a pot of boiling water mixed with the pepper she sold in the market, if she found out. Moyo had fantasized about getting married to her many times, ever since she and her mother moved into their compound two months ago.

'sorry ', was all they ever said to each other. He had imagined asking her out after his graduation and buying her some expensive coco butter for her skin and coconut oil for her natural hair. By then his status would have changed and his family would be living in a better place at that time. He decided to steal Mr. Uche's lines for the first time, 'things will change'. The obese fishmonger at the market, grudgingly handed Moyo the big dried fish, wrapped with an old newspaper. Moyo wondered how she managed to stand up on her own from the large stool, on which she sat. He was certain four hands had to lift her before she could stand on her bulging feet.

‘Thank you ma ’, he said.

she muttered an, ‘uhm’ and belched, not minding if he was offended or not.

Immediately Moyo turned to leave, an angry lady rushed at him and grabbed the neck of his shirt in rage,

‘ole thief, you think you’re smart abi?’.

‘Madam I don’t know what you’re talking about’. He tried to free himself from her tight grip.

The tips of her long artificial nails dug into his neck leaving a stinging pain. She had come with a group of men, one of them had a swollen face and a bloody mouth, with one of the men holding his shirt tight.

‘You and this fool connived with each other and stole my money abi?’ she pointed at the guy with the swollen face.

Everyone’s attention turned to them.

‘give me my money you thief!’ ‘what? ’Moyo was shocked, ‘I don’t know this man.’

‘Liar’, the crowd shouted.

One of the men in the crowd slapped him and took his bag. He rummaged through the bag and smirked ‘here it is’ he raised the money ‘5000 Naira…’ he announced.

‘Thief ole thief!' they screamed. The fishmonger managed to get up but Moyo didn’t notice. He was too busy thinking how the money got into his bag.

‘I swear I have no idea-’

‘Shut up! Is the money yours?’ the fishmonger chipped in harshly.

‘No...I', Moyo stuttered.

‘Then you are a thief’, she screamed.

‘Thief ole!’the crowd shouted.

'he must have slipped it into my bag while I wasnt watching. Believe me'.

It felt like a dream as they dragged Moyo and his purported accomplice to the centre of the market. Their pleadings and cries were drowned by the crowd's shouts. Within the twinkling of an eye, they stripped and pushed them on the muddy and smelly ground. Immediately, tires were over their necks, cold acrid-smelling fuel was poured over them. Moyo thought of his smallish and hopeful mother, ever cheerful Eniola, his dreams of becoming a doctor. Mr.Uche's words echoed in his head. Things will certainly change! He could've sworn he saw her in that crowd...Sarah... watching with teary eyes... confused. Hot tears rolled down his bruised cheeks as he looked from face to face pleading, wishing they could see his heart, his poor mother's dreams, his little sister's innocence, on his face. But they could only see a bloody conniving thief.All he saw was a bunch of angry beasts ready to devour…a match was lit.