Nigerian Writer: Ekadi Part one

Felix Brambaifa

By Felix Brambaifa

    As a child he had lacked the financial means that would have made education accessible, added to this failure his parents were the sort who because of poverty had gone the whole mile of weaving ridiculous lies of how school was very unnecessary, a ploy enacted to hide their inadequacies and so growing up became nothing but aborted chances in that regard. Living up to the expectation of his father meant becoming a carpenter himself and so the road into adulthood was shaped to carry the hammer and pincers, a decision that gave his curse a monstrosity breathing not even a moment’s peace.          

  The sun was again angry and this time like before he complained. The carpentry workshop was his greatest achievement, the inherited property handed down from his father and one venture which over the years had only succeeded in draining his vitality, perpetuating the poverty that he had no business making daily contact with. He gave his all but received almost nothing in return and despite his dedication to serve, the carpentry workshop would bring him almost no profits, bringing to the minds of those curious few of how malnourished it has become, how close it was to a terrible end and how it would gladly accept that fate.

  His complaints about the sun carried with it an undertone, a lone voice begging for a change but too afraid to journey the road that would bring the answers. Pretending he had no use for it but silently wishing for the rain to fall on him, to allow every drop wash his penury from his skin until there was no sign left to show it once existed. The boys who worked under him were wise and understood his paranoia; they had come to see the reasons and kept quiet whenever the session was in play.

   It was fast, it was precise and one after the other the planks fell into the detailed design already planted in his sweat dripping head which at the same time was busy courting the fear from the latest act of poverty he had forced himself into committing, forgetting the many times he had promised not to again venture onto that path.

      He had promised to deliver on time, in complete trust the customer had paid full in advance but his increasing poverty had so eroded his sense of duty and created too many temptations that it became a necessity to squander the entire money without a single piece of wood bought for the purpose it was intended.When the time finally came, Ekadi knowing the manner of trouble counting the distance towards his tent became evasive. He had failed in his promise, the cash meant for the project he had expended, and now the rumors concerning the lady whose money his needs had tampered with were becoming most terrifying. At ungodly hours he would make nocturnal visits to the workshop and diligently he would give his time to the service of those lucky not to have fallen into his need for money.

    With the eventual remunerations for his nocturnal efforts he bought the needed materials, thinking he had averted the calamity, he celebrated. But nothing take’s the normal pattern when the Devil becomes the sculptor.

   He waited for her to come but instead, the message of how his life would suddenly meet a cold end became the returned reply.

   She was popular, the Devils crowned princess, she was troublesome and whenever trouble emanated from her quarters blood was also expected to follow in due course. Ngozi was the end product of what was to be expected when the mind takes to the duty of practical insanity. It was said that her violent handiwork's would make even Angel Michael beg for quick cover. 

 She was angry as she carried herself through the path leading to Ekadi’s carpentry workshop.

 “I will deal with one of his boys rather than make an empty return” She had promised herself before embarking on the journey. Her right hand held the unbroken bottle within tight grip, impatiently praying for the moment.

   He was quick, his eyes were vigilant enough and his legs applied pressure as the fear of Ngozi who he had suddenly spotted became the start of a new and needed knowledge. He dropped the saw, kicked the bucket of nails on his path as he fled for his life. She went after him; in the process of this sudden pursuit she broke the bottle on a concrete pole on her path and there and then was the perfect weapon formed. She pursued, she chased but Ekadi was a man intelligent enough to recognize death even when it was dressed in the form of a deranged woman.