A work of Fiction by @pheesayur.
It’s Monday morning where we finally go to court. His fate is to be decided. And I can make him go to jail or not. Forgive me I started losing you there. My name is not necessary now, because it’s a major reason for my story, my story is about my life, my life? One word “misery”.
I lost my mother last three years I was 18. She died of a cardiac arrest. Her will was to be read to me at the age of 20. Like her death was not bad news enough, she told aunty sola to give me the note that explained that my father, The one I have always known as my father is not my biological father. Without telling me his name? My heartbeat skipped like a 120kg woman who was trying to lose 50kg before her date that same day.
Questions start running in. Literally running, like fighting for first position to be answered. Who is my real father? Where is my real father? Does my “father” with all his wahala know this? I doubt it. Perhaps my real father is dead? Maybe? But hey. There it was. They say what you have been looking for in sokoto is inside you shokoto. Wait for it, my real father is the… I can’t even type this with still hands I feel I am lying to myself. I am convincing myself about the obvious truth. I do no not even understand.
Bode Thompson is the name of my father, erm my make-believe father. Well to do should be a way of narrowing things down, but let humility stay with my words. I am his only daughter! He has always seemed to be proud of me, says “my only omoge, sisi London. You will bring home my retirement money with your bride price” and that made me laugh so hard because I hardly dated anyone that could afford my crème de la crème lifestyle. Hehe. Our long time gateman, Mr. Jamiu will tell some guys that come to look for me that, “you better bring better car, next you are coming to see her, unless you want her father to cut off your legs” this was not an empty threat, anyway.
Dad is close to perfect, except he has this anger problem, that aunty Sola says killed mom. I never quite agreed with her. Apparently it killed my dad as well. Yes the “anger” problem. Relax let me answer your questions.
One fateful evening; aunty Sola came to pick me up. So we could go and do our hair together. The next thing, I started hearing loud arguments from the living room downstairs. Before I could place the cause. Getting to the living room, my aunt is really shouting. On the hilltop of her voice. You should be very ashamed of yourself, you are not a real man, you killed my sister and you can’t even make a woman pregnant, all the miserable days of your life. I start shouting “aunty sola calm down”.
She replies “shut up, you don’t know anything. You don’t even know your father is at the gate”. My knees are weakened. In confusion. My eyes feel like they have started hearing rather than seeing. My lips are wide opened, they are now for seeing. What does she mean, at the gate? She continues with my dad.. Bode; Sule Jamiu is a better man than you. The next thing I saw, my father stormed into the room. Picked up a gun went out, its like a dream. There I was drowning in confusion. Gunshots that’s all I can hear. Dad shot Mr. jamiu twice. The devil had come into our house in form of aunty sola.
We run outside together. Aunty sola is rolling. Tomi.. Bode has killed your father! A knife was too blunt a tool to drive in to aunty sola’s chest at the moment. Dad’s domestic workers are all out. Wailing. Aunty sola is up again jumping like she’s clueless about what she has caused. I am right there. Lost. Cold . Insane. Then I become so Numb I would not even feel a gunshot.
Without mincing more words, my name is Tomilola jamiu. The daughter of Mr. jamiu the gateman. My father just died. Tears? That’s an understatement. Sadness? Hahaha.
It’s more like insanity. I still go for lectures, it is my final year. I was supposed to have graduated last year, but I took sometime off because of the absence of my mom. I went through all the five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance. I am an orphan technically, right?
A court case has been birthed. I am to testify against Mr. Bode Thompson. So that “justice” will prevail. Here I am cooking a case to implicate Aunty Sola. She’s the murderer. The case is scheduled for 28th January 2013. Exactly two months after the incident.
It’s Monday morning the 28th where we finally go to court. His fate is to be decided. And my testimony is a big part of that decision. I need to hear the full story; I am not even clear about what happened to mum, how the gateman is my father. What will happen when Mr. Bode is in jail, rotting? Mr. bode is at the other side of the house. He has been instructed by the police not to speak to me in private. Thanks to aunty sola.
I have not been able to tell anyone, after all nothing has changed. I still have my fancy white range rover. A buoyant pocket. My friends just noticed the gateman is no longer there. Who cares about the gateman anyways?
Its 4:35am in the morning, court hearing is for 9:15am.
I do not have an inkling of what sanity means anymore. How I have had normal conversations Human beings is beyond me. The fake smiles, laughter born out of deep grief and pain.
What should I do?