It was a beautiful Thursday morning in one of the ember months, Kunle
woke up feeling dizzy and gasping for breath, his face was covered with
his perspration. He has just awaken from a nightmare, he sat at
the edge of his bed for a while trying to recall what the bad dream was
all about but he couldn’t. He tried harder to probe into his memory but
the only thing he could remember was him falling freely into an abyss,
what happened before or after this fragment of his dream was
inaccessible to him and any attempt to probe further was met with a
pounding in his head in protest. He could hear the heavy pounds in his
chest now. He closed his eyes trying to calm himself and concentrate,
but there was still nothing, everything remained completely blank.
Kunle
was overcome by a sudden instinctive sense of danger he could not
explain, he has never felt this way before, this strange feeling made
him squeamish. He made an attempt to get up on his feet but failed, his
body felt like cement, his feet were numb. He was left with no other
choice than to lie on his back for a while. With his head on a pillow he
fixed his gaze on a portrait of Jesus Christ in his room. His father
had decorated his room with different wallpapers of Jesus Christ and few
art paintings when they moved to their new apartment few years ago. The
room was partly illuminated by rays of light peering through the window
frame. He doesn’t know whether to share his dream with his mother who
was just a door away or to wait for his father to return from work at
nightfall; the duo has different interpretations and opinions about
dreams. He contemplated on this for a while and finally made up his mind
to go with the latter.
He made a conscious effort to take
his mind off the present and its unpleasant feelings. He was soon lost
in his thoughts. He remembered the time they were living in a two room
apartment. A moderate size living room and a bedroom, their living room
was sparsely adorned with old but neat furniture and earth color
curtains, an old black and white television sat on a stool close to the
window. On one side is a large portrait of his parents and his baby
picture on the other side. There is a recliner in the corner of the
living room where his father loved to sit and relax in the evening
before retiring to bed and sometimes on weekends when he’s at home and
not busy.
He remembered the day his father slipped and
fell off the chair while trying to adjust his position; his mother
busted into laughter and sheepishly apologised later. A lot of memories
are tied to that chair, he chuckled. His father had told him a myriad of
stories on that chair; his childhood stories, Yoruba origin and the
legend of Oduduwa, the mythical creatures in Ooni’s palace among others.
He had recreated a number of the stories in his mind, he even dreamt
about some.
Kunle! Are you still sleeping at 9 o
clock? his mother’s voice from her room brought him out of his reverie,
his head throbbed but he was alert now and the numbness was gone, he got
up from his bed with a response to her mother’s call.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
To be continued...
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