Season of drought

Harmattan season finally came to warri but it was hot. The sun scorched the sand and the rivers almost knew thirst but the dry wind that rattled the zinc, the dust that almost blotted the sun, the cold foggy mornings was nonexistent. The season did not satisfy all the prerequisites for dry season. People sweated through their hair, their underwear, their shoes. Gods, feet stank and the price of deodorant went up.

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Pixabay

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Some people said that it was not the unusual heat that brought about an increase in the price of deodorants and eau de parfums but rather the price of fuel. Everything bad that happened to us was blamed on crude oil. Warri was once the capital of oil exploration, the darling of the multinational companies until the youths began to demand for more, until the oil spills went unattended and it began to affect fishing and farming, formerly the mainstay of the riverine communities that bedecked the boundaries of the bountiful town.

If a wife left her husband, it was blamed on money and as far as the government was concerned, crude oil was the only viable source of money in the country. If you were not working within the oil and gas sector, you were not rich as the politicians sharing oil leases to their cronies or the akatés who lived in Europe and the Americas and only came home during the festive season.

This was so until people became too broke to care and fraudsters began their reign in money politics. Capable of spending millions of naira in a club in Abuja or Lagos, these young men began to take over the pleasure scene and with their love of enjoyment, they brought their own demons too. Before men complained of losing wives and girlfriends to potbellied politicians and bosses but now these boys not only slept with any willing body, they brought drugs and pagan rituals into the mix. It was mayhem in warri. It was in this state that we faced the heat of December.

It was no surprise that what happened happened. Put hunger, addiction and heat together and you have wounds to heal. Karumi was tired. She had worked all day, hawking her wares from Enerhen junction down to Effurun roundabout and all she just wanted to do was put her tray of plantain chips down on the floor of her one room shack, have a quick bath, warm the remaining oil rice from the morning, eat and sleep. Her thoughts did not even go to her husband. She had not seen the man in two days. She did not care.

As she entered her compound, she could hear the loud music coming from the next room, where a boy and a girl lived. In the old days, fear would not let that girl live with a boy at her age but these days, there were no father figures worth having and mothers were too tired, too broken to even help their daughters determine who they want to be. Maybe it was a good thing. After all, her parents didn't give her anything but she did well for herself. The only mistake she made was getting pregnant in secondary school and keeping the child inspite of her father's angry threat to disown her. She never expected him to go through with it but he did. Karumi sighed as she rummaged through her memory and her waist bag for her room key.

The smell hit her like a blow to the face. The evening wind blew it to her again and her nose curled. She turned to spit only to find her next door neighbour, Rebecca's husband, peeking through their own door.

"What died?" She asked in greeting.

"It seems the old man has finally gone o. No one has seen him in a week now," he replied.

"Did none of his children come to check on him?" She asked.

"Those ones? They only come when rent is due or when his pension comes," he replied.

"Wait o! He died inside his room and no one has thought to remove him?" She asked.

"Who will do it? We told his son living at Udu. He said he will come tomorrow morning. I have been smelling the bad smell for some days now but I thought it was rat," the man replied.

"This is wrong o! He was not a bad man now," she replied.

"Well he was a member of Ogboni you know and those people have their rules on how to treat any of their member that passes on. We thought it best to let the children handle it," the man replied.

Karumi stood there thinking of her father who lived in a big house in Kaduna all by himself. Her mother had died two years ago. She was not allowed to be at the funeral even though she is their only child. She knows her father's brothers are waiting for him to die so they can divide the spoils. She sighed and brought out her room key.

"Erm where is your husband?" The man asked.

Karumi thought he had gone in so she jumped when she heard his voice.

"He went out. Is there a problem?" She asked.

"He is owing me one hundred naira. I gave him three days ago and since then I have not seen him," the man replied.

"Have I not told you people to stop borrowing him money? I beg you, I have had a long day. I want to rest," she replied and entered her room.

It was suggested the next day when the landlord's son came, that the heat was what made the smell become too portent. They had to break the door to bring him out. The compound was packed full with curious onlookers. As soon as the ambulance had left with the body, the son from Udu came back and informed everybody to be prepared to move out of the premises in three months time. Karumi took the news without comment. Other things disturbed her mind; her husband was still not home.

She remembered when she first met Joseph. He was so exciting. He was working as a driver with Shell petroleum back then. They used to live like they had only today. He would buy her fancy dresses and take to fancy restaurants. Through him, she met people from different parts of the country and even from outside the country. Those were the good old days. As soon as he lost the job, he lost his sense of purpose and took to drinking. Now he disappears without telling anyone. Her father had warned her but she thought it was just his bias against Joseph's ethnicity and religion speaking. She should have listened. She should have listened.

For the third time that day, she picked up her phone and dialled Joseph's number. It rang and rang and rang and went unanswered. What was she to do? She gathered her wares and stepped out of the door only to be confronted by Rebecca.

"My friend there's trouble o," Rebecca said.

"Trouble? What happened?" Karumi asked.

"It is your husband o. They found him," Rebecca replied.

"Thank God! Where is he?" Karumi asked.

"They found him inside landlord's ceiling o. It as if he was hiding there. He had landlord's purse with him. The heat from the zinc must have suffocated him," Rebecca replied.

"Where are they now?" Karumi asked, her voice shaking.

"Landlord's son went to get the police o. You should run o. They are saying that you people were stealing his money to feed yourselves," Rebecca said.

Karumi dropped her tray of plantain chips on the floor, rushed back into her room, removed the money she had saved from inside the mattress and changed her clothes to a casual t-shirt and skirt. When she came out, Rebecca was standing near their door with her husband. The woman waved at her as she fled away from her home, leaving everything.

She boarded a bus heading for Kaduna and as the bus trudged away from warri, she thought about the fifteen years she had spent in the oil city and how dreams can slip through fingers. She arrived in Kaduna after several hours to meet her father being laid to rest. She just sat down on the ground and began to weep.