Fiction ~ Cemetery Joint ~ Jerry Adesewo
Pic: Aminu S Muhammad |
December 31st, 2008 was the last time I
ever went to a joint, club or bar. That day, I had joined three of my
childhood friends to Impression, a popular joint in Kubwa
where I had bitten more than I could chew. I am not really a ‘beer person’ but
I do enjoy the fellowship of my friends. I am always on the drinking table with
them, in the name of brotherhood.
“Relax man. You don't need to drink beer,
but we don't want minerals or malt on this table.” Santos, our ringleader told
me. “We are big boys and we have to appear as such. You can at least take Smirnoff. It
is softer than any soft drink you can think of.” He added as he
signaled to the barman who re-appeared a few minutes later with four cans
of Smirnoff which he placed before me.
I took the challenge and before you could
say, Jack Robinson, I had downed all four cans and requested for more. “Na wetin una for
don tell me before be dis. No be to dey force
me drink alcohol. This one na bottled palm wine.” I
said, and my friends all laughed; Santos labeled me a JJC while the others
commended me for daring to be a man.
What followed that bravery I could not
tell, but I was informed when I regained consciousness the next day that I had
messed up the entire joint, harassed the ladies - slapping their buttocks and
pinching their breasts. Obviously, I had gotten too drunk to remember this
story even now, not that I doubt its authenticity though. That was the last
time I touched a drink or went to a bar. “I don't have the anointing for
drinking,” I would say jokingly to my friends whenever they proposed that we go
out for drinks. That was four years ago, until frustration forced me
to make a detour. This time around, it was the Cemetery Joint, behind Apo
Legislative Quarters.
February 14th is always Valentine’s Day,
and being a work-free day for me, I was home all day, expecting my girlfriend
who had agreed to spend the day with me. “What’s your plan for Valentine? Are
you coming over tonight or tomorrow morning?” I had enquired the previous
night. “No baby. I can’t spend the night. You know daddy won't allow me to stay
the night out unless for a very cogent reason he approves
of.” Dizot replied, promising to be the one to wake me up the next
day.
In the last two years of our relationship,
I have never had any reason to doubt Dizot’s loyalty and commitment to our
blossoming affair. And that was why we were talking about exchanging marital
vows. If there was any reason to not meet up with an appointment, she would
call to explain the situation of things. But this time around, not only did she
fail to call, her line was switched off. Out of desperation, I put a call
through to some of her friends.
“Hello Uncle Jimmy, bawo ni
day yin?” Biola responded from the other end. Without paying any attention
to her greeting, I asked if she had seen her friend today. “Yes now. I just
left her house a couple of minutes ago. She’s fine.” She added. Ordinarily, I
should be happy that my Dizot is fine, but no. I was pent up with anger, I felt
cheated. I felt abandoned. I concluded that Dizot had chosen Valentine’s Day to
dump me for another lover. My sense of humiliation got the better of me. I wept
and cursed and pulled down everything in the house. I turned the settee upside
down, pulled down my shelf and lay dejectedly on the pile of books whimpering
like a hungry child.
I remained in that position for God knows
how long. Then, I heard a loud bang on the door and dashed for it in the hope
that Dizot had finally arrived. I opened the door full of excitement, but was
instead blessed with the smiling faces of my friends. I stared blankly at them.
“What’s the problem with you, man? You
don't pick up your calls anymore,” Kanayo queried as they pushed their way in.
“What’s happening here? Jimmy, abi you dey relocate
from here without telling us?” He added on seeing the mess I had made
of my room.
“You are, funny, man. You mean you do
this to yourself because Dizot didn’t show up? Abeg no fall my hand
jo. Wetin?” Finyo yapped, after I had explained what had happened to them.
“You know what? This room is too messed up
and stuffy for us to settle down for any meaningful discussion. Why not change
into something nice and let’s go out for a drink. It will help you get over
your frustration. Then we can think of the next step to take. I am sure
something must have happened for Dizot to have behaved like that.” Kanayo
offered.
For the first time in four years, I heeded
their call without persuasion. I threw caution to the wind, dashed into the
bathroom, ran a quick shower, got dressed up and followed my friends out on a
harmless drive around town.
After driving around the city, like some
‘Johny Just Come,’ on a sightseeing adventure, Santos suggested, “I think we
have done enough of sight-seeing. Let’s settle down somewhere and take one
bottle each before heading back home?”
“Brilliant idea,” I was the first to
sanction Santo’s suggestion, much to the surprise of the others. “I need more
than a bottle if possible. You know now.” I added. We branched off to Apo
legislative quarters area, behind the Gudu Cemetery, to one of the most
patronized joints in Abuja.
“Give us pepper soup and Smirnoff,
please,” Santos announced as we took our seats under a big mango tree. The
large open space that was the joint was fenced by rocks and different species
of trees, of which mango trees featured prominently. The trees provided enough
shade such that it was even possible to patronize the place in the day time
without fear of the sun. It was still early in the evening but the trees
whistled so loudly as though they were responding to some supernatural orders
from Mother Nature. The shrill sound of a dog barking somewhere nearby
penetrated my thought. I had a strange, unsettling feeling I could not explain.
I was not sure the others felt the same way like I did. They seemed oblivious
of any effect the environment was having on me. They were in their own separate
world.
“No Smirnoff today, guys”, I announced.
“Make it palm wine, please. I ordered the attendant lady standing by our table.
She muttered a quick okay and walked away, switching her backside a bit
forcefully, with the intent of drawing attention, I was sure. As she left, Santos’s
eyes rested on her backside. “Santos!” I cautioned.
“Forget that thing, guy. Today is lover’s
day. What is wrong with topping my palm wine and pepper soup with a pepper-less
soup like that one?” Turning to me, Santos added, “What do you think Mr Lover
boy?”
“Is there really anything called love?” I
asked, rather than respond to Santos. That was the unique thing about our
group, we were known as The Intelligentsia because whenever we
gathered, it was always an opportunity to engage in brilliant banters on
topical national and international issues. The deliberations that ensued were
soon punctuated by the arrival of a tall pretty girl of about twenty-one years
of age. She was an example of a fairytale angel. Heads turned in her direction
as she walked towards our side of the joint as though she was on a
predetermined mission.
While my attention had been diverted for a
bit by another one of my friends whom I had met at the joint on our arrival, I
felt a soft touch on my right shoulder and as I turned around to see who it
was, a soft voice accompanied the touch, “may I join you, please?” I was
speechless. She looked like Hema Malini, the Indian Bollywood goddess. “Oh yes,
please, feel free,” I responded, almost stuttering as I dusted the vacant chair
next to mine for her. The others also starred in utter amazement at the
stunning beauty that had just graced our table.
Her name was Violet, she was an
undergraduate student of International Relations of the University of Abuja, we
learnt, when eventually she introduced herself to us. She was not only bold but
brilliant too, I thought to myself. Soon, she was making meaningful
contributions to our conversation, we were all happy to add her to our group.
But it was soon time to leave as we had spent about two hours without realizing
that time had hastily passed since our arrival at the joint. “Time to check out
guys, it's getting late,” I announced, looking at my empty wrist. I had
forgotten to wear a watch after hastily leaving the house earlier on.
Violet, accepted the proposal to spend the
night at my place after agreeing to a fee of N20, 000. I had never had a cause to
price a hooker before, but Violet was such a beauty to behold; I was willing to
part with N50, 000 if only she demanded it. My friends too all had their own
catches. Soon we were on our way back to our various homes in our separate
cars; Violet was however the one driving my own car. I was too drunk to drive
as we later realized, and she had accepted to drive me home after confessing
that she could drive. Once we arrived at
my house, Violet, without asking me for direction led me straight to my own
apartment. Even in my drunken state I could swear I didn’t tell her which my
apartment was mine. My room was as scattered as it had been the previously. If
she was surprised or angry, I couldn't have known. Like a guardian angel, she
led me to the bathroom where we had a cold bath before heading for the bedroom.
However, while in the bathroom, I discovered that Violet was transparent. I was
seeing through her to the opposite direction, at first I had thought my drunken
mind was playing Ludo with me. But it was not a game as I later found out the
following morning.
I was awoken from sleep by the wailing
voice of the doorbell, I was still dizzy so couldn’t get out of bed at once
till the wailing of the bell became unbearable. When I opened the door, Kanayo
walked with that weird friendly smile on his face. “Superman Jimmy. How far
man? Sure you had a rocky night with that damsel. I jealous you o.” he quipped.
It was then that I remembered Violet. “Violet! Violet!” I called as I dashed
into the bedroom, she was not there. I checked the bathroom and kitchen but she
was not there either. I returned to the sitting room where I found Kanayo
looking through my CD rack. “You must be a superman. How did you re-arrange
your room between last night and this morning? You get time for your guest so?”
Kanayo teased.
At that instant I was sweating profusely.
I hurriedly scanned the entire house again but she was nowhere in the house.
Everything in the room was back to its original position before I had gone out
the previous day. “I’m in trouble, man,” I blurted, “Wait Kay, how did you
get in here? I asked, confused.
“What do you mean how...? I got in through
the door, of course. And you opened the door yourself. Wait, what is happening?
Where is she?” Kanayo’s agitated words further compounded my woes.
*****
Jerry
Adesewo is a poet and fiction writer. He is a
notable art administrator and cultural expert; he is also the Director of the
Abuja based, AROJA Theatre Company, General Secretary of the Abuja Chapter of
the Association of Nigerian Authors. Adesewo is widely traveled.
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