Before the trend

Cheik

muscles stood out, erect, daring and daunting: bones cracking under their thick skins. Over and over again they fluffed blows, some targeted and others miscued.

No one knew the cause of their altercation nor was Cheik any interested in such hideous fact- finding. As the shadow-cast beneath the Dogo-Yaro tree emasculated the reason behind the intense swaying of muscles as well as the insatiable bloodlust that rang through their small galloping red heads. Cheik was first-hand swift in sticking a broom piece into the ground. It was an old myth around his clan anyways, a superstitious belief that barraged most of their childhood days. They must have also been bound steadfastly to the “deeper the broom is stuck to the earth, the fiercer and the longer the battle lasted” belief. So, he pushed down the broom deeper and deeper into the earth, enjoying every moment of the odious frenzy. The fight had overshadowed his sense of compassion as he watched the two red-head lizards battle away virulently.

The flapping of tails, the wagging of heads and the swift manoeuvres of stiff and erect bodies entertained him greatly as he sat and watched from the spectrum of the massive root, the Dogo-Yaro tree in his father’s compound provided. His mind raced fast to the days where everything was normal, distracting him a bit from the feisty gladiator-sport exchange performed right before him. He remembered when he could stroll up the school and stroll back without much ado or fear of someone conscripting him into an infernal course, or the terror of the booms and rattling of guns and the other several heinous bombings. However things have changed in Aruko, his clan, in the past few years of political madness, which has succeeded in crumbling the entire country. The country was not at war, yet, the desolation and the emptiness struck a great resemblance with a nation, experiencing decades of unending wars. The neighbouring towns and clans were now empty. Lots of people have deserted their natural homes and their farmlands to the chunks of IDP camps, erected in the pocket of towns. Safety was what mattered as streams of pedestrian refugees barraged the unsuspecting onlookers. His mind went blank instantly at the thought of supreme mortality pervading the once peaceful towns.

He turned around and saw the persistent fatality still holding sway between the red-head lizards. The fight had gone ghastly, bloodier than the first glance. One of the lizards, probably the younger of the two bled through its nostril. At that rate, he lost interest in the fight. The initial colourful spectacle that animated the fight now appeared drab and macabre. He knew he had lost interest in the infernal fight. So, he decided to end the mortal combat between the pair. He grabbed the broom that he struck to the ground, pulled it out, and broke it to irredeemable chunks and pieces with indifference, hoping that the savage fight would come to an abrupt end before he could allow his thoughts to roam hauntingly free.

He wondered why they were still here. The town was empty now, yet his mother had remained recalcitrant and stonily unmovable, jettisoning every urge to move like others.

She had slipped into a terrifying delirium and queerness, since the crisis began. She talked to herself more often and did abnormal things at irreconcilable pleasure, especially since she lost Baba to one of the incessant terrorist attacks in Aruko. Life was no longer the same.

He turned his attention to the fight again, hoping to see the end of the virulent brawl but he was visibly mistaken and shocked as well- because he found the creatures still locked in eternal combat. It became clear to him that the only entity that had the power to stop the fight was him. So, he stood up gingerly, bearing to raise his starved hollow body up before picking up a half-rotten tree branch and then dispatched the warring creatures.

Something struck him at that point. He wished he had the power to stop the various unprovoked attacks that had besieged his clime.

Fabro

The first day in school was not delicately spicy. A racy noon marked by the impropriety of boorish students. He sat forlorn, urging himself to check out the ongoing training for the national sports festival but he was neither stirred nor shaken. He was disinterested in life: the life that has dealt him virulent blows at different times and spaces. He could recall that some months back he was cooling off his head in the DSS guard- room. It was nothing short of cruelty as he could remember being served with bread of sorrows and water of affiliations. No one knew his story in his new school and no one cared either but he had not forgotten the fact that he is the first, last and the only child of the erstwhile Senator Smith.

His father was a senator of the fourth republic and he was renowned for his radicalism. He made various scathing criticisms for the unjust overtures of the federal government. He was fearless and so many hailed him the lion of Aguda- a name that his wife and son would come to regret forever; for his life was truncated violently and sooner.

Fabro remembered how it all played out. He was in a black Mercedes Benz with a metallic texture and behind him was an SUV with tinted glass. The car followed him into the compound. Abu, the crazy security man never took his time to understand that father never trusted the arcade. So he assented to the criminals, who walked straight to him and shot him thrice on the chest. He never survived that shot because he died on the spot. Life became miserable and a gliding cinema of horror. There, Fabro began to understand that the life of a politician is within the foothold of destruction despite the power he wields or claims to wield.

After weeks of his death, his political enemies through the activities of the anti graft agency swooped in and confiscated all his property, and froze his accounts as well. Something that was aimed at banishing his relevance and his name from the political landscape of the nation- however, that did not bother Fabro’s young shoulders at the initial stage as he felt the comfort of stringent mourners streaming in and out of their house. They encouraged his mother and him as well to be strong and resilient. At some point, he became bored by their hackneyed expression of the death’s inevitability. That clichéd expression ceased to move him- it rather irked him to his bones. Some were kind enough to avoid the statement “death is inevitable” in order to assure them of the better future ahead of them, especially him. They comforted them without recourse, assuring them that the senator’s death might be a blessing in disguise. As time rolled by however, he discovered they all lied because life after his father’s death was nowhere close to blessing whether overtly or covertly. The blessing was neither glaring nor in disguise. The truth was that his father’s death unlocked layers of sorrows like a silky onion peeling disaster time and time again.

His father’s demise was so hard on his mum. They had been each other’s first love, so he heard. And they have succeeded to let the flame of their love kindle recklessly as they grew together. Their love grew with their age. So, separating her from him or him from her was as heinous as letting them know each other in the first place. His mum lost her mind after his father’s death and that cost her her position in the central bank. She was laid off pending on when she regained her sanity as she had made irredeemable mistakes over and over. Parting with her was a terrible sweet sorrow because from whichever angle they looked at it, she was an invaluable asset as far as national economic policies were concerned.

Friends that gravitated about, assuring them of assistance seemed to have faded to oblivion. They neither heard nor saw them after a few weeks of his father’s demise. Those who were relentless soon stopped visiting after his mum’s psychological and emotional distortion. That was when he realized that some of them lurked and pranced about because they felt some romantic benefit will sprout between them and his mother, who they believed was a beauty on another class, quite different from anyone else. But who could blame them? His was something else when beauty was mentioned. She glowed from her dark skin. She was full and hefty, with an amazing height that always set her apart wherever she went. However those beauties could pass as nothing but vanity now. Who needs a beautiful but insane woman? No matter how relentless your love could be, beauty with an empty mind would definitely test you! He always thought to himself, each time he saw his mom, gyrating in her obscenity.

The government promised to take care of her and the family until she gets better. And so they did, for at least five months before political demons overruled such gestures, labelling it a recurrent national waste.

After that new policy, life became uninteresting. Abandoned by both kith and kin, the battle to rescue his family from eternal ruins fell on his young shoulders. He wondered often what his young shoulders could achieve. Fortunately, their house, which could pass as a mansion at the centre of the federal capital city was still theirs for the taking. However, feeding became the issue. They barely afforded two square meals. It was that terrible. But no terror was compared to the sudden appearance of Sir X, his Mom’s younger brother. He struck out of the shadows, where he has been doing his battles, illicit battles. He was practically the son of the devil and the devil knew very well, how to take care of him. He appeared and disappeared at will. He did terrible and unimaginable things without recourse to posterity or history. As far as Fabro’s young stretched out brain could remember, he knew he was the leader of a notorious drug cartel. He has been marked by several agencies as the most wanted on their various blacklists.

His appearance around the house was sudden and brisk. He looked Fabro over, without saying a word before proceeding to the sitting room, where he watched his sister with maximum rate of sympathy. He knew life had knocked the wind out of her sails. He pranced in his usual manner, making him believe he wanted something badly but the trick was finding out what he wanted. He paced up and down and then glided towards him. He got close and looked him in the eyes for a few minutes then rubbed his hair softly like a maiden tending to her pet cat. He pushed his hands away from his hair in gentle protest, holding steadfastly to his infernal and accursed wrist. He wriggled his hand, twisting his in turn. Fabro let out a muffled grunt, resisting every urge to show him that he is weak. He cackled and then sauntered off through the door, shrinking into the empty distance ahead of him. That was the last time he saw him in a while.

He walked into the sitting room and discovered crispy wads of money lying on the glass shelf that housed some of his father’s memories and mementoes. The currency was indistinct and vague but he was sure it was not naira. He was soon drawn to the spectacle of those currencies as he inched closer to catch a clear glance.

“Fabro...” a familiar voice impeded his quest. “What is the matter with the WC...? It is not working!”

“The WC...?” He stuttered, visibly shaken, hoping she did not find out about the wads lying on the shelf.

“Are you alright?” She queried, sounding all too pleasant.

“I am fine...” he stammered again, grabbing the money and hiding it behind him.

“Is there something about you?” She probed, smelling suspicious.

“I am perfectly fine...” he answered, forcing a smile from the darkest part of his bitter heart. “I will go and check it out now!” He affirmed, stuffing the wads that he later discovered were one thousand dollars into his back pocket. His mom’s eyes trailed him all through till he disappeared through the long corridor leading to the rooms and the toilet.

He was glad his mom did not see those monies. That would have aggravated her condition. The memories of her younger brother haunted even the most noble in their family. He was happy he had averted a major stress but he never knew he would land into bigger trouble. The DSS had trailed Uncle Smart to the house and arrested Fabro the same evening. They interrogated him, probing ferociously on the whereabouts of Sir X. They threatened virulently to shoot as they cocked the chambers of their gun once or twice in his face. They exposed him to what they called benign torture. But in all he refused to bulge. He refuted all knowledge of Sir X’s whereabouts, wishing they knew how miserable Sir X made their lives by his sudden appearance and disappearance, here and there.

After all said and done, he was released when they realised he was as much of a victim as the nation.

Uncle X’s money sat idly in his pocket for several days. It was an act of God that he pulled off the trousers the money was before his arrest; otherwise the case would have taken a different turn, more than whatever he might have bargained for. For days, he wondered what he would do with the money. He wanted to go and throw the money into the nearest canal in town but some rational parts of him reminded him that he needed the money to solve some pressing issues suffocating his mother and him. He had dropped out of school for a while now because of school charges, which outweighed Uncle X’s money. He allowed his head to settle and when it was clear and devoid of any sense of irrationality, he decided to put the money to a wise use.

His father promised him a worthy education and he chose not to back down from that dream even in his absence. So he chose to enrol in one of the affordable federal government colleges in Abuja. He also stocked the house to mom’s amazement and used the rest to buy his painting material. Since he was a born artist, he decided to give professional painting a shot. That will help, especially with the housekeeping, he thought to himself.

He was surprised at how useful he made Sir X’s blood money look. Mom sniffed around the covet activity going on with him. She had questions to ask but he was sure he had no answers to any of the looming questions.

Sitting on the corner of the school field, forlorn and watching the training of the national sport festival has animated his stay at the federal government college. He was practically less benevolent with regards to friendship as he always had issues to grind with his soul and only loneliness could grant him the utmost leeway to solving the issues as well as making peace with his soul. He was practically lost in thought; lost in time; lost in space; lost in environment that he did not know the school coach was beckoning on him. He had screamed and barked towards him but he was less interested in the world itself to pay attention to the inhabitants thereof. He must have been frustrated because he felt a strange soft hand dunting on his shoulder. He was knocked back to the realm of temporal space.

“The school coach has been calling you!” the intruding voice shouted.

“What...?” He scurried up from the tree stump he sat on. “What does he want with me?” he asked again, expecting no answer really.

“Find out yourself... loser!” Came the unfriendly voice before dashing off.

“Loser?” really?” he felt like dashing after the lad and bringing him down to moral obeisance but something in him cooled that idea off when he looked up and saw the stern stare in the coach's face. “What does he want?” he posed that same question to himself, dragging his feet behind him. But when his eyes met the coach’s incidentally, he knew there would be trouble, if he did not hasten.

His blood shot eyes accentuated his athletic physique. Fabro wondered why men that indulged in sports were muscular and assertively bony. He watched his black lips struggling to pour the infamy trickling down his stern looks.

“Do you have a short underneath?” He barked.

“Sorry?” He answered incredulously.

“Do you have a short?” He repeated sternly.

“Yes I do...” He muttered under his breath.

“Change into it and get on to the field!” He ordered and moved away.

“But...” before he could finish, he was already half way through to the field, with his whistle caressing his lips. He forced air into it, making it to blare irksomely at the same time. Fabro studied him and wondered what kind of coach instructs an untested player to get on to the pitch. He sure has not seen him play before. What then gave him the unprofessional impetus to drag him into an unsolicited training? He wondered.

He wanted to walk out and defy him but that better half of his soul, who he always trusted and believed in, and would not lead him to ruins, prevailed upon him to obey him. He began to slowly change into the infernal PA short before glided unsteadily like a lizard into the pitch, where he discovered that one of the good players and the highest goal scorer has been halted by an unexpected injury. He was thrown in to deputize for the injured player. He took his time to move into the pitch and take his position, much to the disappointment of the already infuriated coach. He ignored him and his attitudes, something that has been associated with him, since the death of his father. He stood, morbid, and unyielding although he was not nervous but he pretended to be.

He wanted the coach to regret choosing him when he was not ready or even interested in the stupid games that could add no value to his life and present predicament. He was quite a player but he was sure he was all rusty and he was going to punish the crazy muscular coach with it.

Phew! Blasted the whistle of the coach. He saw the ball roll towards him. He was turned in between decisions, whether to allow his shenanigan to prevail on him or should he just enjoy himself with the ball on my feet. In the end common sense prevailed. He received the ball with some gusto trapping and that was it- a resounded applause by the coach.

“That is what I am talking about.” He heard the coach say, or barked more or less.

He knew that was enough motivation, the applause of the coach. He took that on his stride and beat one, beat two and then the huge bully from the senior class before unleashing a ferocious shot that flew quite maliciously across the reach of the keeper and on to the weak net. The cheer and applause saturated the pitch. There were dramatic times at their celebration and all. The match continued and Fabro played like he was a big name signed to a premier league club.

At the end of the game, he had scored two goals and made a superb assist that got everyone on their toes. He was aloft the clouds, carried high by the impressed teammates, who felt he was a big deal, a real marquee addition to the school team.