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While We Are Tragic: Chideziri POV
It's past six when I get home. The house is as quiet as it always is. Only the rustling of the crawling plants at the fence can be heard. Daddy is at his usual spot, cuddled between the two ends of the long couch. He eyes me vehemently but doesn't say a word. For that I am gateful. He grunts in answer after I have greeted him, then goes back to listening to the news at six on his trusty radio, eyes closed, blissed out. He nearly looks peaceful, I swear. I had already braced myself for the tirade, so when it didn't come it is replaced by a suprised soothing relief. I ambled into my room as fast as fast goes and shut the door before he can change his mind. That night, I do not soak my clothes in a bucket of detergent water and wash it off in the bathroom how I normally do. I set it u on the nail on which I hang my backpack and I breathe the underlying perfume of clean grass shimmering above the spicy smell of use. Amanda on me. Perfection in itself.
There was no electrici
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She Belongs To The Sky While We Are Tragic: Amanda POV
Daddy took me to school in the morning, himself. We drove in silence, he staring at the wheel, me staring out the window. When we drove past Elimgbu junction, I thought about the crossroads the four-way junction had created. One time, Dad told me that back then in the village, some people who believe in one deity or the other would go to a junction that is a crossroads and makes sacrifices there. He told me how he would see cowries and red brown blood on the coal tar when went out for water—some times even a dead chicken or two in the middle of the road. He told me how he saw that bizzare sight so many times that he became used to it. His face contorted into a grimace when he said it and i knew he was thinking about all those wasted birds that someone could have eaten and been satisfied with. I thought of them, too. Although I had never seen such—i still have not—i was angry at them, whoever they were, for all that wastage. Whie zooming past that spot, I imagined s
She Belongs To The Sky What Made Now Sour: Chideziri POV
It's past six when I get home. The house is as quiet as it always is. Only the rustling of the crawling plants at the fence can be heard. Daddy is at his usual spot, cuddled between the two ends of the long couch. He eyes me vehemently but doesn't say a word. For that I am grateful. He grunts in answer after I have greeted him, then goes back to listening to the news at six on his trusty radio, eyes closed, blissed out. He nearly looks peaceful, I swear. I had already braced myself for the tirade, so when it didn't come, fear is replaced by a suprised soothing relief. I ambled into my room as fast as fast goes and shut the door before he can change his mind. That night, I do not soak my clothes in a bucket of detergent water and wash it off in the bathroom how I normally do. I set it on the nail on which I hang my backpack and I breathe the underlying perfume of clean grass shimmering above the spicy smell of use. Amanda on me. Perfection in itself.
She Belongs To The Sky What Made Now Sour: Amanda POV
Daddy took me to school in the morning, himself. We drove in silence, he staring at the wheel, me staring out the window. When we drove past Elimgbu junction, I thought about the crossroads the four-way junction had created. One time, Dad told me that back then in the village, some people who believe in one deity or the other would go to a junction that doubles as a crossroads and they would make sacrifices there. He told me how he saw cowries and red brown blood on the coal tar when he went out for water—some times even a dead chicken or two in the middle of the road. He told me how he glimpsed that bizzare sight so many times that he became used to it. Still, His face contorted into a grimace when he said it and i knew he was thinking about all those wasted birds that someone could have eaten and been satisfied with. I thought of them, too. Although I had never seen such—i still have not—i was angry at them, whoever they were, for all that wastage.While zooming past t
She Belongs To The Sky What Made Now Sour: Chideziri POV
I get to school on Friday morning and all of the squad has that knowing look in their eyes. They didn't ask. I didn't tell. I just slinked into my seat with Amanda. When she asked me why I wasn't around, I told her I was involved in a "small family crisis".It made her laugh. It also made my stomach turn."Small" is no way to describe these things.Mumsi hasn't been to the saloon after Wednesday night. She stayed in bed, dropped her curtains so the room was like some dark street alley, throughout yesterday—she was still in there when I told her I was going out to school. She just mumbled an incoherent "okay" that screamed contrast to the "Didi! Have a blessed day" she always says.It hurt so badly that it actually hurt.It hurt physically.It's not as if I was in short supply of things to keep me angry for the rest of the day, someone just had to come along and piss on me—the driver of an old faded taxi. He was
She Belongs To The Sky What Made Now Sour: Amanda POV
I am flying.Without wings, with only the air to hold me up. Then suddenly, the air lets me go and gravity snatches me. I drop into the rivulet like a stone, feet first, where I make a splash worthy of an Olympic medal."Followed somebody who knew." I finish. I splash around in the water and it ripples brown currents from the disturbed soil under."Are you crazy?" Chideziri bellows, well on his own path to craziness. I turn and spray water at him with my palms cupped together to form a spade. He is wet, through and through, from feet to chest, and is glowering down at me."Is that really a question?" I snicker.Craziness is a prerequisite for awesomeness. Not everyone you see walking on the road is aware of that. I don't mean crazy-crazy, straitjacket needing kind of crazy. That's a bad kind. I am talking about the good kind of crazy.Okay. Slow down. Rewind.Good kind of crazy? There is no such thin
She Belongs To The Sky What Made Now Sour: Chideziri POV
Nothing rivals a kiss from your favourite person in the whole wide world.Nothing in the whole wide world rivals a kiss from your favourite person when you need it most. Nothing at all, G.My eyes are closed, lightly, shut automatically the moment she kissed me. She lingers a second. A second long enough to make me want to depend on her more.When she lets go, i open my eyes and the sun has dipped further into the water.But it is still bright out here."Every time we are alone, this kind of thing happens," she says, quietly."And whose fault is it?" I joke."Yours." she intones, not missing a heart beat.A Classic case of Amanda. I chuckle to myself."Thank you though," I say. "For coming to get me. I needed this."."Whenever," she answers, focused on the bear paw imprints on my shirt. Out of all times to be bashful.I steal a kiss.
She Belongs To The Sky Alive, You Say: Amanda POV
Afterwards, we sit on the jetty and listen to Teni's Wait on my earphones. One bud is his ear, one in mine. Honestly, I never, ever, enjoyed a song with one earbud. I still don't, but I like the sharing part. I wonder how Patoranking and Lil Kesh's is it because I love you will sound if I listen to it like this. It used to be my favourite song. I wonder about the mangrove tree near the jetty, its thick twisted roots growing into the river bank, I wonder how long it has stood there, watching silently. I wonder about the straight line of black ants marching up its torso carrying fresh green dicot leaves.But I don't let myself drift very far away. I am sitting next to him, being here, whilst wondering about the world. Living it, breathing it, wondering about it. Oddly, it is not so bad to sit and watch for a second, like the tree.I don't know when I start humming, humming to the next song on my playlist."Please stop," Chideziri begs. "Please."
She Belongs To The Sky Alive, You Say: Chideziri POV
By the time darkness falls we have left the riverbank.The ends of my knickerbocker are still wet and they are cold, plastered to my knees.Amanda stopped us at the suya shop I'm front of the store. The suya man was busy arranging and rearranging the heap of meat stock piled on his table, a thickset man with too prominent a Hausa accent. He called her "Aunty", in that sly way traders do, even though he looks twice both our ages combined.He said, "Ah, aunty welcome. E don tey since I see you.".I got the feeling that she often stops by. I never thought of her as a carnivore. But we learn every day. I told her that, and she laughed, while pointing out the bloody red pieces of meat she wanted from the pile. When he had finished grilling the skewed meat over the improvised barbeque, he chopped onions and cabbage, with expert precision, added it to the mix and then rolled it up in old newspapers.Amanda said.
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