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Thursday, 12 July 2012

He deserves to die!!!

My neighbours, my neighbours… My stupid neighbours!! Dear God! Why do I have to live with these people? Lord why? This jobless, local, rude and uncultured lot. If they aren’t gossiping, they are fighting or expressing surprise at something you should ordinarily roll your eyes and hiss at.  Why can’t each person just mind his or her business and live in peace. Must they fight? Must they argue? Aaaaarggh!!!

Seriously, why can’t everyone just stay in his or her room and mind their own business?  Drama after drama, I am getting tired. I always have to wake up and have my bath and disappear before they all start to gather at the bathroom; I hate to stand in line neither do I want to argue. And the toilet? You don’t even want to imagine it. My friend’s house isn’t very far away; so after work, I go there to make myself ‘comfortable’ before I go home. I don’t have friends here. Once I get home, I go straight into my room and sleep. Fraternising isn’t even an option; No! Not with these ones..

They have started their noise again this Saturday morning. Isn’t it too early? Oh! Well, it is never too early to make noise around here. I want to go back to bed but the noise is just too much. What could they be going on about today again? So I look at my watch; it’s already 11am. I stretch again and feel pangs on hunger in my tummy. The noise coming from outside is getting louder and louder but I just can’t be bothered; afterall they scream like this every other day and I don’t want to know their business. I reach for the pot containing the leftover beans from last night and head out to the passage to warm it. But the noise keeps getting louder and has gone beyond the usual. Even I, the unconcerned one have become slightly interested. I want to know what is going on. I look out through the main door and observe that people are trooping into our compound.

And then I saw Shakiru, the guy who stays two rooms away from mine on his knees. It looks like he is under some sort of punishment. Some people are looking at him from afar with disgust on their faces; others are close to him and saying things to him. I can’t hear them, but I know they are angry with him. I have never liked him too. He doesn’t work, neither does he trade. He looks like a miscreant to me. There has always been something creepy about the way he looks. But then why is everyone angry at him. I become more curious. What has he done?
And then appears Iya Bola, the widow whose room is just opposite mine. She is crying and wailing like she has a demon in her. She moved into the house with her little girl, Bola about four months ago. Some people are with her, trying to guide her into her room and telling her that Bola’s health is more important now than any other thing. This is getting scary! What could be going on?

At this point, I decide to swallow my pride and ask Dapo, the landlord’s son. The look on his face; like I came to beg him for money. I don’t have to be told that he won’t talk to me, so I move closer to the crowd which was beginning to form around the now weeping Shakiru. Then I heard him say in Yoruba amidst tears “Ishe Esu nii!” (meaning It’s the devil’s work).  
‘Why won’t you blame the devil?’, says Tafa, another occupant of the house. ‘After you have done such damage, you will surely be quick to blame the devil.’ ‘Tell us! What attracted you to a 3 year old girl?’

The only three year old in this house is Bola! Oh! Bleeding hell!! Shakiru had raped Bola!!
Iya Bola had asked Shakiru to help her watch Bola while she went out to fetch them some food. Only to return and meet her daughter alone, crying loudly, writhing in gruesome pain and bleeding from her vagina.
A feeling of sadness creeps up all over me and I shudder. My hips and pelvic area begin feel totally uncomfortable as I imagine what that little girl must be going through. My eyes begin to shed hot tears and I become all covered up in goosebumps. I wish there was something I could do. I wish I had seen him when he was about to start. I wish I could cut off his manhood and make him swallow it. I wish he could be made to suffer a very terrible death.

I think about Bola and I wonder why! Why would he do a thing like that? What did he stand to gain from sleeping with a three year old? Is he insane? What did he think he was doing? How did he feel having sex with a baby? What pleasure did he derive from a partner who could neither respond nor enjoy? How did he even penetrate? Did her body turn him on? Did he enjoy her pain? Did he even have an orgasm?
It beats me, I cannot understand. All I can do is shed tears for the little girl. And for the first time I actually think to myself about a fellow human being, ‘HE DESERVES TO DIE!!!’