The Eternal Melody

(Originally: The Eternal Malady)

She was beautiful. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw unsullied beauty like hers. Her skin was unblemished smooth, it was the kind you wanted to touch, stroke lingeringly and appreciate, yet not so much lest you tainted it with imperfect fingers. He liked the way her dark hair fell over her left eye, keeping it a mystery to him. Her colourful Ankara skirt stopped shortly after her knees, her legs were tucked beneath her on the park bench where she sat reading a novel.

He had been watching her surreptitiously for close to twenty minutes hoping she hadn’t noticed. Surely he had to invent a reason to meet her or he would regret it by morning. The sun was beginning to set and it wouldn’t be long before she left, people were already leaving the park; a woman was putting her twin sons into a suburban van while their nanny gathered the basket and blankets. He heard her laugh and wondered why, was the book that interesting? He studied his dusty sneakers and fingered his sweaty hairline.

‘Fuck it’ he muttered and stood up towards her…

She had been aware of his presence the moment he jogged into the park. It looked like he had been running; his camouflage shorts and Nike sneakers confirmed it plus his sweaty top. He collapsed on the turf a few feet from her and seemed to catch his breath. He wasn’t overtly handsome but still attractive. He had a tall, fine build and was in great shape, obviously the running worked. Unknown to him, she had caught him watching her a few times and smiled to herself as she turned a page; now the book didn’t interest her anymore.

She often came to Muri Okunola Park when her 1004 apartment was too crowded and she needed the serenity; Temi her sister usually had noisy friends over on weekends. She wasn’t exactly introverted but then she liked her peace and quiet. Her park visits were quite uneventful, until today when ‘six-packs’ strutted in. He was adjusting his Ipod…Ipod? How retro, who uses Ipods these days? She wondered what songs he had in there ‘Return of the Mack? Or Keith Sweat’s ‘Twisted’? She chuckled to herself and stiffened when she noticed he had stood up. Uh oh! He was coming her way…

“Hi, mind if I sit?”

“It’s a free park”, She shrugged and smiled.

He adjusted the volume on his Ipod. Ipod.

She couldn’t help chuckling to herself again, but she kept her eyes on her novel.

“Must be very funny…the book?” He leaned in to read the title on the cover.

“Not exactly, I am just amused”. She adroitly hid the title with her hands.

She looked at him again. He had dark brown eyes; they were curious. He was no longer sweating as the wind blew gently. The faint scent coming her way was a combination of his perfume and perspiration. It was vaguely antiseptic.  

“I know, I think they are amusing too”.

“What?” She asked, unsure.

“The LASTMA officials over there”, He pointed close to the entrance gate. “Every evening at the close of work, they come here to share the day’s income. Expect an argument soon.”

She looked towards the gate and indeed there were four uniformed officials seating on the grass. One was counting a wad of notes while others watched with rapt attention. It was quite the sight.

She smiled, “That’s funny, but it’s not what amused me”.

“No? Okay.”

Awkward silence.

She struggled to read a few more pages, while he switched between songs.

“Can I ask a question though?”

“Sure”

“Why an Ipod? Nobody uses Ipods anymore…”

“So that’s why you were amused” He sighed, shaking his head in realization.

She burst out laughing. Her laughter was healthy, full of mirth and contagious. He liked it. In fact, he liked her already.

“Is it a bad thing?”

“No…it’s just unusual seeing someone use one these days, we now have these cooler things called Iphones.”

“Well, to start with this isn’t just any Ipod; it’s a 4^th generation Nano classic…”

She scoffed softly and rolled her eyes.

“No! Listen, it was the first of its kind and a game changer”.

“So you are a techie?”

“Not just that. I’ve had it for some time. Besides I don’t run with my Iphone. I get calls and it’s distracting.”

“Okay, so it’s just for workouts? Now that’s more like it”.

He shrugged, this one was naughty.

“What do you have against techies?”

“Nothing, why?” She sounded surprised.

“It’s the way you asked the techie bit, I was wondering…”

“Nothing oh I just w---”

At the moment the LASTMA officials began to argue loudly and soon enough there was a scuffle between two of them.

“I told you...Let’s leave here, we won’t hear them over there.”

As they got up he realised she was reading The Book Thief; nice. In his head, he bumped her up a few more points on the babe scale.

When they stood, she observed how much taller he was in comparison. She suddenly felt safe and smiled to herself.

“This is better, besides it has a great view.” He said as they settled down on the east end of the park overlooking the flyover bridge towards Ikoyi.

“Great view of what, the Lagos traffic?”

It was his turn to laugh.

“Are you always this skeptical?”

“No, just being practical”.

“You’ll soon see”, was his reply.

Now they felt more comfortable and were sitting closer to each other than before.

He could see that she had a tiny birthmark on the curve of her chin; perhaps the only ‘blemish’ on her skin, like a full stop used to mark the conclusion of a beautiful creation. On several occasions he was tempted to reach out and trace the spot with his fingers.

“…your name?”

“Sorry, what did you say?” He asked, waking from his reverie of thoughts.

“I said, since we are almost sharing oxygen space, we might as well know each other’s names. I am Oyinkansola”.

He smiled. She had a funny way of putting things.

“Zik”

“Zik as in Azikiwe?”

“No, you’ll never guess.”

“You are right I probably won’t. My knowledge of Igbo names is limited to Emekas and Chibuzos…”

“That’s because they are common. By the way it’s pronounced ‘Air-meka’”.

She had pronounced the E like A in Amen.

“Oh Sorry, Emeka”, She corrected, trying to mimic an Igbo accent.

“Don’t be” He smiled.

“So what does Zik stand for?”

“Don’t laugh, it’s Zikoranaudodimma”

“Say what?!” She shouted and they both burst out laughing.

“Please can you say it again?”

He did and once more they doubled up with laughter. The few people left in the park looked their way for a second.

“I’ll just call you Zik” She said when they had both recovered.

“That explains why you didn’t start with your name abi. So what does it mean?”

“No, not true. He laughed again. “Show the world that peace is good”.

“Hmm, I like it. It’s so thoughtful and nice”.

“Thanks. So what does Oyinsola…mean?”

“Oyinkansola, honey drops into wealth…but you can simply call me Oyinkan”.

“Sounds sexy. Yoruba girls often have sexy names.”

At that moment the LASTMA officials seemed to have come upon an agreement and began to leave the park. One of them massaged a swollen jaw.

“Do you run every day Zik?”

He liked the way his name rolled off her lips.

“Usually when I finish work early and on Saturday mornings.”

His earphones dropped and he picked them up. As he put them into his pockets she asked what type of songs he listened to on his "4^th generation blah blah Ipod"…Her words.

“Ice, Ice Baby by Vanilla Ice”.

“What? That’s even worse than I imagined!” She shook her head.

“Calm down”, He laughed. “Just pulling your legs…here, listen.” And he put one earpiece into her right ear.

“I like this song, sounds familiar.” 

“It’s On top of the world by Imagine Dragons”.

She nodded her head slowly to the song; her eyes were closed as he watched her. The other earpiece was in his left ear.

“I told you the view was great from here.”

“What?” She opened her eyes and looked to the direction of his gaze.

The sun was now halfway dipped in the horizon of the clouds; a fiery semi-ball of golden yellow, spreading its glowing streaks across the Lagos evening sky and highlighting everything in its path like a phoenix rising from its flames. It was a most beautiful sunset.

In that moment he knew it was right; the setting, the music and the sunset in her eyes. She suddenly had certain vulnerability about her as she looked back at him.

“So you are one of those guys?” Her voice was suddenly very low.

“What guys?” He leaned forward as if to hear her better.

“Those deep—“, She closed her eyes.

He kissed her there without waiting to hear more. He knew what she was about to say but it didn’t matter now. Her lips were soft like none he had felt before. She may have been caught unawares, yet she kissed back matching his rhythm. The music kept playing in their ears.

The moment she saw his eyes she knew it was going to happen. Heck if he didn’t kiss her already she would have boxed his ears. He was a deep soul no doubt, she had never done deep before but she liked him and didn’t mind. The kiss was passionate, almost too good to be real and by the time they separated she literally couldn’t feel her legs.

“Just like honey drops…” He murmured.

She giggled softly.

Are you coming to the park tomorrow?” He whispered and attempted to raise the bangs over her left eye but she stopped him.

“I don’t know, maybe. Why?” She whispered back.

“I want to see you again”.

In response, she kissed him again and the only thing on their mind was their entwined lips and the music playing in their ears. Over the course of the next few weeks or so they would meet at the park and watch the sunset…every evening.

                                               

                 ***************************************************************

Temi sat down by the bed reading her sister a book. The beep of the ECG was now a part of her life; it had been for two weeks now. Its lulling sound reassured her that her sister was still ‘alive’. She looked up from the book and regarded the peaceful look on her sister’s face. The Band-Aid which had been changed recently ran across from the back of her head and covering the left eye as well. The doctor had said the cerebral oedema caused by the accident had reduced and all they could do now was hope.

In the same room, a few feet from the first bed was another visitor, she too was visiting her fiancé who was also hooked to a life support machine. She often listened as the other woman in the room read a novel to the unconscious girl on the bed. She read the novel every day; it was titled The Book Thief. Her fiancé had been in the same accident and was also in a coma, like the visitor across all she could do was pray for a miracle. She switched on the 4^th generation limited edition Ipod he had always been proud of and placed the phones in his ears; his favorite song On top of the world by Imagine Dragons was playing. He smiled briefly in his coma but remained unconscious.

On the white-coated wall of the hospital room shared by both patients hung a huge art painting of a verdant park against the backdrop of a beautiful golden sunset. However neither visitor paid it much attention.  Instead, they were more worried about the condition of their loved ones and the strange phenomena that unfolded before them.

Two weeks ago, not long after the surgery an orderly had tried to move the male patient to another room and was halted by the loud warning screech of the ECG machines flat-lining, it seemed to be protesting the separation. It wasn’t until he placed the beds back together that the machines were restored to regular rhythmic beeps indicating life.

The doctors had observed that the machines strangely recorded not only the same readings of pulse rate, heart beat and brain activity for both patients but they moved in unison together as though they belonged to one person. It was unanimously decided by both families that their beds would remain close together if it would keep them alive.

What was really surprising though is that neither patient had known each other before the bus accident which occurred at Muri Okunola Park. The accident claimed the lives of four LASTMA officials, a woman, her twin sons as well as their nanny and a few other passers-by.

Although Zik and Oyinkan had managed to survive, unknown to their families, they remained trapped in the subconscious limbo of an alternate world; a false reality where they meet every evening and fall in love again and again to the eternal melody of beautiful sunsets and delightful sounds.

THE END. 

My Near Death Experience

PG18+ SNL
Be warned, the contents of this post contain scenes of nudity, sex and strong language. Reader's discretion is advised.

I know from the title the lot of you will start imagining astral projections and recounts of ‘undecided’ souls trapped in some smoldering spirit-filled limbo between heaven and hell. And probably an angel tour-guide that shows me around before telling me how it’s not my time and God has bigger plans for me and mankind and blah blah blah…

Sorry to disappoint you there, my story is not fucking celestial or even that remotely colourful for that matter. Heaven knows I would rather stay with the angel if that happened, assuming she was female that is. *Deep sigh*. One would think I had learned my lesson after what I have to tell you. Anyway read and judge for yourself; life indeed is just a pot of steaming hot beans, the kind that scalds your tongue deliberately and still expects to be finished.

A few days ago I was at the office cafeteria, it was lunch break and I was having yamarita and fish stew when I observed a curious programme on TV. The presenter was discussing the cultural implications of African traditional practices and the topic in question was Magun! Yes magun and if you do not know what magun is at this point then you probably aren’t Nigerian or even African at all. But I will in my kind understanding manner do the honors of explaining it.

   You see sex is basic, just as primitive as feeding or fleeing from danger and our primal instincts just want us to go out there and fuck ourselves as much as possible; like the free spirited danshiki-wearing bohemians of the mid-sixties. But as rational beings the organised society doesn’t want us to indiscriminately propagate our population with sex-crazed orgies otherwise our planet's limited resources will suffer, so what does it do? It puts checks in the system to control it. Religions ask us to first be married/ committed to certain person(s) or suffer eternal damnation, Science tells us about natural selection, STDs and contraceptives while African tradition…well African tradition has magun.

Magun is a hex placed on a person usually by their partner or parents (for teens) so that they do not have sex until they are married or with only their recognized spouse. Anybody who has sex with such ‘hexed’ persons dies immediately. The curse is often placed at the ignorance of the ‘host’ albeit on a few occasions they might be aware, such as in the preempted assassinations of amorous dictators. Of course it’s not surprising that victims of magun are often men since the hosts are usually women.

So back to the programme, the presenter had two guests on her show; a lady medical psychologist and a male pro-magun advocate. Of course the ‘learned’ woman did all she could to debunk the ‘myth of magun’ as she put it. She went on to describe it as, and I quote “a false psychological fear instilled in women to discourage promiscuity in a patriarchal society”. Trust her to elevate it to a feminist cause. But I knew better. My hands trembled slightly as sweat popped out on my forehead. Thing is, I was having a memory jolt…which brings us to the crux of this story.

Flash back to eleven years ago when I was a sophomore at Uni. Brash and exuberant, life was simpler in those days and I only had three things to worry about; studying, alcohol-fuelled parties and girls. I worried about only two though. Your guess is as good as mine.

One weekend my friend Abbey invited me to his cousin’s wedding. I am not big on weddings, but trust me a proper Yoruba wedding is not something you want to miss out on especially when you are on the first guest list. We soon arrived at Ipetumodu in Ife North, his hometown and venue of the wedding. In spite of the language barrier and culture difference, I promised myself that the whole experience wasn’t going to be lost on an omo ibo like me.

I had originally planned to stuff myself with enough amala and ewedu soup, get drunk and dance to all the fuji music I could barely understand. However I hadn’t bargained on meeting Simbiat. She was a friend of Abbey’s sister who kept bringing more food and drinks my way faster than I could put them away and by the end of our third dance together I didn’t need the Ifa of Ipetumodu shrine to tell me that this girl wanted to fuck.

That night, being the good wing man, Abbey left one of the small rooms in his family estate compound to both of us. Things went down faster than I expected, she gave ‘reverse cowgirl’ a whole new meaning. Let’s just say that some moves are better left for “more classy encounters”. But my stroke game was on fleek. Afterwards, the now humid room presented a stuffy situation so I opened the window a bit and lay back to catch my breath or cool off...or both. It was barely ten minutes later when it began.

I remember it clearly because the unpleasant experience still haunts me till this day. It started with a slow gust of wind that blew into the room through the window. At first it was cooling and I began to bask in its soothing comfort until suddenly, the coolness switched to warmth and then heat. Unbearable heat!

I stood up immediately to see if the heat came from a burning fire outside but when I looked out of the window, pitch blackness stared back at me. Even Simbiat sat up inquiringly, wondering what the fuss was about; she didn’t seem to feel the heat as I did. I became restless, I was in nothing but my undershorts yet I felt as hot as a blacksmith’s forge. It soon occurred to me that I was generating the heat from deep within my being, like a self-serving radiator!

Then came the thirst. Looking back now, it seems natural that since I was burning up I should be dehydrated. Except that my thirst was nothing biological or even physical but I didn’t know that then. I searched the room crying out for water but the mini-fridge was empty. I overturned the tables and everything in my path, I was now hysterical and Simbiat was scared. She ran out of the room calling out to Abbey and in my ‘madness’ I ran after her, barefoot and yelling.

Fortunately for us a small group of men who had stayed up to discuss after party hours heard us and came to find out what was wrong. Abbey soon joined them. I explained the heat I felt and my discomfort but they were puzzled. One of them touched me and said I felt normal another even joked about Simbiat being too hot for me to handle and they all laughed. I don’t blame them; after all I was merely clad in my boxer shorts. Nobody takes a naked man seriously.

It wasn’t until I opened my mouth and let out a loud cock crow that shit seemed to get real. At first everybody was quiet, like they were trying to figure out what had just happened. Including me. Did that sound come out of me? My vocal chords? Wait, did I just crow like a chicken?

“KooKoo-ROOKOOOOO!!!!”

There! I did it again, I just sounded exactly like a rooster on a barn roof.

I became scared; my body burned, my mouth was parched and now I crowed like a chicken. I did not know what to make of it. The people who had once surrounded me immediately backed away in fear, like I was Sango wielding a charged thunderbolt. Except that this deity crowed like a chicken.

I attempted to run, run where? I wonder…but before I took two steps I found myself catapulting into the air and completing a full-circled somersault, landing painfully on my feet. I was never good at gymnastics or basic front flips; in fact my best try was a clumsy cart-wheel. But that night I did the complicated twist with the finesse of a trapeze artiste at an amusement fair.

By now I had drawn more attention to the moonlit compound of Abbey’s family home. People were watching me with keen interest like they would a drunken tiger; they didn’t know whether to be worried or amused. I remember thinking “this is how people run mad”. And I just had to have a freaking audience for my own transformation. I wanted to get away from all those eyes, the prying curiosity. I took another few steps and catapulted once again, this time completing two circles in mid-air before landing. Damn how it hurt!

As if that wasn’t enough I let out another ear-piercing sound:

“KooKoo-ROOKOOOOOOOO!!!!” This time it was louder.

It was involuntary, I couldn’t help it. Mind you I was still hurting from the burning sensation and unexplainable thirst. People were too scared to come near me. Not even Abbey or Simbiat. I couldn’t even find Simbiat in the small crowd anymore. I stood up to run again and felt my body gearing itself for another world class somersault when strong muscular hands held me and pinned me to the ground.

Then I heard a man’s voice shout “Dimu maje ki o salo!”

The voice was authoritative. Soon several other hands grabbed and subdued me. He said a lot in Yoruba which I couldn’t understand then but I later found out he was telling them not to let me run or somersault again. I attempted to struggle but they were too strong so I gave in, weak and fatigued.

This simple action would save my life.

Someone put a leaf into my mouth and I tried to spit it out but the person insisted, pushing it further in. I chewed it; it was very bitter but I felt I had no choice. It seemed to contain a minty after-taste and I realized my thirst was being quenched, so was the burning sensation. I soon passed out.

The events of the following days remain fuzzy as I fell into a deep sleep for almost a week. During that time I had horrible nightmares. I remember waking up at intervals to different faces of man and beast alike. There were occasional chants in the room and once or twice I may have perceived the sickening smell of incense but I am not so sure; I couldn’t tell dream from reality anymore. Needless to say my friend Abbey narrated the whole story to me when I was up and a bit stronger.

You see the reason for my strange behaviour that night was none other than magun. By now you may have guessed correctly that Simbiat was the ‘host’ and I was the unsuspecting victim. She was something of a village hoe; yes even small villages had them too. Her philandering ways were a cause of serious concern for her family and as a result her deeply fetish father put a magun hex on her to teach the next man who slept with her a lesson…the next man, who unfortunately happened to be me.

There are different types of magun. There’s the type that causes the victims to remain conjoined together in mid-coitus. This is less fatal and merely done to embarrass or expose guilty parties; a condition which scientists have simply labelled penis captivus. But traditional experts know better.

And there’s the one I suffered which is extremely fatal, known as either the crying cock (pun probably intended) or flying monkey. Heaven knows that if I had completed my third and final somersault that night, it would have been the pits for me. Thanks to that fast thinking Baba.

So while I lay unconscious for days in Baba’s room, Abbey’s family reached out to Simbiat’s father who remained obstinate about it. They pleaded on my behalf, explaining that I was just a clueless foreigner. Even the village Baale had to intervene before he agreed to reverse the spell using several unnameable potions and herbs. And that was how I survived.

This recollection left me shaking and drenched with sweat, and by the time I came to, I realized the whole cafeteria was staring at me. I looked down at my plate wondering what was wrong; I had upset my food and stained my Thomas Pink shirt. The TV programme about magun was over. My hands were still trembling when I got up and left the room, conscious of the many quizzical stares boring holes into my back.

The next day I came to work to meet a query from my sectional head asking me to explain why I scared half the junior staff at the cafeteria the previous day by crowing like a cock. I had no idea that my reverie had crept into the real world by way of vocal expression. My flashbacks were not usually that intense.

I answered it offhandedly, blaming it on some juvenile setting of my mobile alarmclock. Deep inside me I knew I might have to start looking for another job. Besides Abbey, his family and a few priests, not many people knew about my great secret and if my boss was going to press further I might as well find a new job. I am that cagey about it.

So that’s the story of my near death experience, I told you there were no angels or celestial tours. Either way I hope you were able to learn a thing or two? Good luck in the world out there; life’s just a big pot of scalding-hot beans.