The Cab Weaved through the old city, exposing different views of the familiar terrain as it went. The streets buzzed with life, people went about their different activities.
While a boy crossed the road before the slowly moving taxi with sagged pants and blocked ear, a lady attended to an elderly man in a drug store by the left. Two middle aged women chatted few inches away by the roadside. To the right, before a restaurant, a young couple engaged in a tight hug. A taxi packed was before them, and he was sure it was waiting for them. The young man grinned widely like he struck a gold bar. He could relate to the feeling. The boy's grin seemed to be contagious as his cheek widened at the sight.
The taxi took another turn, taking his thoughts from the present to some past memories. He checked out the buildings that manned each side of the street, recounting the memories they held. From the buildings that housed his schoolmates, football buddies, friends and rivals to the duplex that housed his first love.
Thinking about that with a smile, he could remember visiting the house with even the silliest of excuses he could muster and occasionally sneaked in. Reading novels was the last thing he would do, but if borrowing books would guarantee his access into the building, it sure was an interesting thing to do.
The taxi took another turn; it was the final turn before he would disembark. The homely building with an off-white painting slowly appeared on the horizon. The cab wheeled past the popular KenKeno's building; he looked through the low fencing of the yard built with bricks and metal fabrications atop it, like every other yard in the estate.
The not much spaced plot which housed Ken's family had two old SUVs at the garage. The only person that might be there would be the housekeeper. The old couple would be relaxing somewhere in Manchester.
Ken, now he remembered, he hadn't apologized after his harsh utterance at the lounge. He knew Ken must have forgiven him, a good trait he possessed. He easily let go, but he still deserves an apology from him.
The cab man applied pressure to the breaks, and brought the vehicle to a halt, interrupting his thoughts.
"Oga, we don reach," the old man announced in his hoarse voice.
He made a mental note to properly apologize to Ken. He pulled his wallet and extracted some cash from it. He handed it over to the cab man. He counted the notes and smiled. "Oga, thank you oo. God bless you, sir," The notes were more than supoosed.
He pulled the door of the cab, grabbing his backpack with him.
The serene environment which served the older generation's housing taste looked welcoming. A gentle breeze brushed through the flowers and his face. The trees scattered across the neighbourhood gave shade against the sun and kept the yards cool.
An elderly man relaxed under a tree shade at the yard across his father's. He waved at the elderly man, who squinted in a recognition bid. He left his box behind and strode across the street with his backpack, headed towards the elderly man.
He stopped before the yard's low fence. Smiling, "Good afternoon, Pa Ifedili," he greeted.
"Good afternoon, my son. Kedu k' I melu? How are you?" Pa Ifedili returned his smile.
"Great, Sir. I can see you are having a personal session with nature."
"Ohh! My son." The elderly man smiled. "It feels great. Much better than this eehm, air . . . What do they call it again?" He held his hand on his forehead, trying to remember his line.
"Air conditioner," He suggested to him.
"Yes, that is it," he said, "let me not bore you. I know you must be tired after your journey. Go have some rest, my son."
"Thanks, Pa Ifedili." He made his way back across the street.
Clint clanged the metal barrier behind him, walking into the not-so-spaced yard, like every other one in the estate, pulling his box behind.
A Knock On his door woke him from his sleep. When the knock sounded again, he stretched himself and sat up from the bed, half awake, "Come in!" He said yawning.
"Enyinnaya!" His mother called.
"Mum!" He called back smiling.
She hugged him and pulled back to observe him, "Nwa m. Kedu k' I melu? How are you?"
Clint laughed at the way she observed him. "I'm great, Mum."
She watched closely, "are you sure?"
"I'm good, Mum. Stop. Stop that. It's embarrassing." He grinned.
"I only want to be sure my son is well. I got worried on your sudden and short notice." she explained, "Thank God you are okay." She sat beside him.
Clint rested his head on her shoulder. Cinnamon cologne filled his lungs, a scent he had gotten accustomed to from childhood. Just then, he discovered how much he had missed her presence.
She caressed his hair. "You are an adult Enyinnaya. You are very heavy." She complained.
"You are sixteen," he laughed.
"I'm old."
"You are still my mother."
She laughed, relieved of her worries. "How is business?" She asked.
Clint pulled away from her shoulder. He nodded at his mother, looking into her eyes, doing his best to look convincing.
"What of KenKeno?"
"He's good, Mum."
"Iyke?"
"They are good." He smiled lazily.
"Chukwu daalu! Thank God!" she said, holding Clint's face up by his jaw. "What happened to your face?" She rubbed her finger against a faint dark spot by his right eye.
"It's nothing." He gently freed his face from her grip.
"Okay. Let me go and make dinner." She stood to her feet.
"Dinner Is Set," Manaria announced from the dining table, interrupting the father and son moment.
"Let's eat dinner before it gets cold. Food tastes better when hot," his father suggested.
There goes the old habit —hot food, Clint thought. "I'm famished right now."
He led the way to the dining table, where his mum was already seated, while the young girl who introduced herself to be Oma earlier in the day dropped a bottle of red wine on the table. She made a trip to the kitchen again while they got seated.
"Clinton," His mother called.
"Mum,"
She rolled her eyes. "She is still a small girl."
"Mum!" Clint protested. Thankfully the young girl was not around to hear that, "I don't do kids."
"I didn't say that."
"You . . . ."
A deep rumbling sound from his father's throat stopped him from completing his words. The young girl emerged from the kitchen again, and took a seat beside his mother.
His mother's action annoyed him. As she dished out the local delicacy which consists of white rice with ofeakwu; a local dish made with extracts from cooked palm fruits, garnished with dried fish, stock fish, beef and cow skin, prepared specially because of him, his thoughts wandered to his memory in the house.
It was during his second year at the university, on a particular afternoon, during semester break. New to his game, after weeks of convincing Clara, she finally accepted him, a combo to his boring break. He could remember her. The tall dark-skinned model that crept into his heart from the very first moment she stepped into the house.
Clara had caught him on several occasions staring, which made them awkward around each other. He could remember seeing the inexistent red flush on her cheeks and how she moved uneasily around him.
That very break, he took it as a task to get her under his charm, very sure that the likeness was mutual, from the recurring events. It proved a bit tough, as she seemed to be aware of his games, but nobody said no to Clint.
Julia spent her school break at her sister's place and he was left with his occupied father and not so busy mother in the house. Getting busted that very afternoon was the last thing he expected from his mother.
Though nothing was happening between them when they got caught, a scene of Clara sitting on his lap while they kissed was enough for him to make promises in exchange of keeping his secrets from his father. The promises included staying away from Clara.
He could remember protecting her by shouldering the blame and the lectures they got afterwards. They had to patiently sit and listen to his Mum speak for minutes, which for him seemed like hours, telling them about how young they were to engage in sexual activities. Afterwards, not only was the rest of his break very boring due to the incident, he would be held at ransom.
From the look of things, Manaria still held him to ransom or maybe, he was yet to get over the image created by his younger self. He shrugged.
"Your food will get cold," his dad's words cut across his thoughts.
His eyes met with his Mum's; she smiled at him. He made a mental note to free himself that night, before digging into his food.