The night gives surreal feeling, the eerie whispers, scare. The compound is dull, quiet, housing a lonely soul. I live alone with no lover, friend, or family. Although one or two neighbors are living around when night falls. The house stays like a graveyard, and when the noise chimes, I switch on the television. I stay alone in the house, consumed by anxiety. I hate it because, in the morning, my neighbors walk around the house as if nothing had happened. It never bothers to question them because I fear they will label me possessed or mentally challenged. The compound is wide, no onehears each other’s voice when they scream in their rooms. So, I did not scream.
As usual, night falls, Icover myself under the duvet and closemy eyes. I can tell it will be a while before I fall asleep. Most times, I watch movies on my phone before sleeping, lying sideways only to doze halfway butawoken by a loud thud when myphone falls to theground. The whisperings begin, starting from greetings, flutteringaroundthe compound. I hesitate, staggerout to the living room, stoppingat the bar at aside. The noises are comingfrom the room; for a moment, my heart skips and my breathing slows. The living room is dark but there are tiny streams of illumination. I switch on the light to see clearly. There is nobody in the living room. I rub my eyes to check if I can still see. It isquiet and I walk to the bar, sitting onthe long chair. My tongue begs for the alcoholic liquor, my hand gripsa bottle of champagne from the cubicle. It pops open. For a moment, it drowns the creepy noises outside. There is a moment of silence in the living room offering relief, then my worst nightmare continues.
I pour the drink into a glass cup,watch as it fills up the glass. The noise does not stop fluttering. Soon, it begins to sound different; sometimes like a cat meowing, then a dog barking, coalescing with other sounds in an unending torrent. I gulp down the first glass cup. The sour tastesmacks my cheeks. I squint, lettingout tears. The noises are getting worse. I pour the drink again, half-filling the glass cup,shivering coldslitheringthrough my spine as the curtain dances to the side. I stare at the closed window,the fan hangsoverhead,my mind spirals onwhy the curtain is moving. The alarm strikes whenit ishalf-past an hour. There are a series of goosebumps spurting across my skin. I grab a bottle of whiskeyandhalf-filledtheglass. The liquid goes down my throat in a rush, my face conceals a series of emotions. My sight blurs. I sway, feeling dizziness wash over me, and numb to the ground. The room blanks.
When dawn breaks, there is a loud thud on the door and I mutter under my breath instructing the person to walk in.
“Ah, Nonso the door is locked,”the voice says.
The voice sounds familiar. I stand on awobblyleg. I look around the strange surroundings, my head throbbing. When I stop at the door, I bolt it open and my sister walks in. She sniffs,scrunches her nose.
“Nonso, you are drinking again. Ah. What is happening?”she asks,tears trickle from her eyes.
I want to tell her to stop crying but I push the door, andfall on the sofa.
“Nonso, Mama is dead,”she says.
I stop to wrap her words around my head.”Mama is dead,”I say.
“Yes. Mama is dead. I got the call not long ago. Our father died years ago… Now, Mama is dead. My husband battered me again. I finally said it was over. I left our daughter with him, Nonso,”she says in quick successions as if someone is rushing her words.
“You finally left him,”I say in between a series of uncoordinated breaths.
I want to tell my sister that I am not so much of a drunk but my lips refuse to part away from each other. I have been drinking because I needed tostop hearing the noises that come every night. Her eyes are somber when I stare at them. I can see her face, taking in the bruises on it. I walk into the bathroom,standingunder the shower to wash off the smell ofalcohol. She stares at mynaked bodywhen I walk out,yelling that I shouldtie the towel around my waist. Nkoli is five years olderthan I am. Iknow she has seen me naked on multiple occasions when we were little. She said it was then, but now I am an adult. I tie the towel around my waist,walk into the bedroom to get myself dressed.
#
Later, I sit in the living room, tearstricklingdown my cheek as Nkoli stares into my face and looks away. I do not know what is going on in her mind, but I can sense she doesn’t want to say a word to me. She remains mute, herface bearsno expression. It is what Mama had taught us while growing up; to allow anyone to mourn or cry. She said crying relieves pain and heals peoplefaster. I wipeoff the droplet, watchingNkoli. The room remains calm. She is holding her phone tight, silencesaturates our presence. The scent of the last cologne I had used lingers in the room.
“You said your husband is beating you?”I ask, my mind wanders, sinking into the creepy noises I always hear in the night. I mumble under my breath.
Nkoli looks into my eyesandstrolls closer. I sit on a long sofa, sherelaxes beside me leaning her face inches close tomine. “Yes, Nonso. I am tired,”she says. “I plan on fighting very soon for the ownership of our daughter in court.”
I smile. She has grown so much since she married her husband. I remember telling her to quit the abusive relationship during her second year of marriage, but she said, “No”implying her husband loves her. I had asked her to let me sort it my way with the young men I had arranged to beat her husband but she said No. The love she has for herhusband looks likeithasdied.
#
I dress,departing from the house and abandonNkoli behind. Before I take my leave, she is in the kitchen cooking.I walk in andpats her on the cheek. My sister has become my best friend. She is five years older, and during our younger years, she was just two years my senior in class. I was far above my peers and she was a year below her peers. The compound is serene, I move,glancingat the backyard. It isthe exact place I think the noises come from, butthere is no sight of creepy humans or animals. A woman is standing there. She is Mama Femi.Sheis washing clothes heaped inside a basket. She greets, her voice soft, and I return a compliment by waving. We live in an expensive apartment and I thought they could afford to get awashing machine instead of herdoing the strenuous job every day. She is a housewife but the jobs she does anytime I see her are exhausting. I will fight for an employed woman or man on a salary pay, doing her kind of strenuous jobs. The other day, I saw a social media post on how men saidpeople should not interfere with a couple’s business. Irefrain from saying anything to her husband.
A soft breeze blows through,leaving behind a soothing sensation,my hair feelslush. It issunny, the uncanny breeze is surprising. I open the car door,sit in the driver’s seat, andhum to Beyonce’s ‘formation’ as I drive out of the house. Her songs in my playlist are taking turns to play. A car honks, jolting me to reality and I stareahead.I had almost hit a car ahead of me. My car scratches the side of the car. The car stops and a woman walks out of it, yelling nonstop. I know I am wrong, myhands still in the air, wavingsoshe willstop being angry.
She is still hurling invectives, then I reclinemy headto thecar seatand sigh. A man standing on the culvert begins to yell at her, saying she behaves like a sex worker or a woman who doesn’t have a husband at home. He says why should she be talking to a responsible man like me in that manner. I look down at my outfit, glaring at my well-starched shirt, mysuit hanging at the back of the seat. Ipeerthrough the car window again. My eyes meet with the woman, Iwink at her, tellingher to ignore him. There is a pang of mean guilt written all over my face with awave of embarrassment. There is a gridlock,cars are honking for us to make way for them. I sigh, rubbingmy palms. She smiles, flipsa paper into my car through the open window, and walks toward her car. I heard as the engine started.
I glance at her car, it begins tomove and I start mine too. My gaze dropsto the paper lying on the front seat of thecar and I look away, and ignore. I stop at a gate, honk, astubby dark-skinned man opens the gate. I slowly drive-in, after flickeringaninvitation card to his face and he waves me in. Thecompound iswell arranged and reeks of beauty. My best friend is doing his house warming and also his baby dedication.
I walk out of the car, lookingat people in the compound, sensing theair of the music that blares slowly. The event decorators are busywith the designs and floral arrangements, andthe audio technician makes modifications to the sound systems. They lookcoordinated. A voice whistlesmy name, I turn to looktowards the direction of the voice flinging a bunch of keys in my hand. It is Tobi,he gestures, instructing me to come upstairs. I climbed the staircase. The room is intoxicated. The chatters are funny, same as their voices that givesome kind of eerie feeling. Something is settling about the atmosphere as I watch them laugh in the terrain. There are bottles of drink on the table. My eyes flicker to a white bottle, trying to make out the name written boldly onit. I glance at a poster on the other side of the wall,the word ‘Friends’ written on it. A lady walks out through a door leading to another room. It is dark but the neon light bulb illuminates the room. She bolts the door, I lend her asmile and pull offmy gaze.
Tobi walks close, asmile on his face and we hugeach other. He lookshealthier from the little paternity leave he had taken from the office. “How are your wife and babies?”I ask, smiling. A huge smile lingers on my face.
He pats my shoulder, smoothening myarms. “My man. I am happy. And my house is finally a reality,”he says smiling.
I smile too. We have been a co-worker for some years and he tells me everything that goes on with him, even his deepest secrets. We are alike in many ways, differing only in our sexual lives. Sometimes, he tries to cajole me to the club because I do notlike hanging out with him whenever he asks. He knew I clubbed. My relationship with the women he introduced me to, alwaysends on a platonic level. I am a queer man but he is oblivious about my sexuality. Idon’t know how he will react if he finds out. I am not ready to reveal the secret to him. My parents died with no knowledge of my secret, same as my sister,now, we are living in the same apartment. I empty the thoughts off my mind,glance at a lady walking close, and she hands me a glass of wine.
I smile. She smiles too. People are gradually strolling to the living room, thenI hear the MC call Tobi and his wife. The guests have arrived, occupyingthechairs outside. The lady grabsmy arm tightly andwe walk to a big bar beside the living room. Two buff men are sitting on a chair with two ladies opposite them. One of the ladies is giggling. I smile,one of the men extends his pale hand for a handshake before the lady drags me to a seat.
“Shouldn’t we all be downstairs for the celebration?”I ask.
She adjusts her skirt,pointingto the television. The activities happening outside are being aired on television. I let out a quick gasp. She walks back to her seat, returnswith a bottle of champagne, then fills her cup and does the same to mine. We begin to talk,she asks about my relationship, I brush the topic aside. I take in her features noting the way her brows crease, herpupils dilate when she tries to blink. They are fascinating. The noises in the living room are getting louder but still cannotmuffle the noises outside. As I chat congenially with the woman, it occurs to me that had I been heterosexual, I would have asked her out.
“Are you gay?”she quips in between our discussion about fashion.
I jolted abruptly, spilling the glassof wine on a tray carried by a middle-aged waiter. She had asked a waiter to drop some of the liquor and a bottle of alcoholic barley for us. The glass cup falls to the ground,the content spills along with scattering pieces of broken glasses.
“I am so sorry,”I tell the waiter, helping her to cleanup the crimson stain on her attire. It didn’t spill on anyone save for the waiter.
I occasionally turn to glance at the lady until I am done attending to the waiter. I turn towards her, expecting her to say something but she remains mute. I smile. “I don’t think I ever asked for your name,”I say.
A smirk appears across her face. “Yeah, I am Onyinye,”she says, staring fixating.
I glance at the empty glass cup in my hand,half-filledit withthe bottle of barley liquor. I gulp down the content. She stands up and walks away. Irequest a bottle of water to curb dizziness, butIsleepoff on the sofa after.
By nine P.M, I am awoken by Tobi. He had been worried about me driving the car home but I told him that I was sober enough to drive. He argues but eventually relents after much persuasion. I drive home with bloodshot eyes,at every traffic stoppage, sometimes, I doze off and would be jolted awake by angry drivers honking and screaming, so I woulddrive like a normal human. On getting home, thegateman opens the gate,and I drive-in. It’s 11:28 P.M when I arrivedhome.
“Welcome back oga,”the gateman says, closingthe gate.
I parkand lift mythumbs up atthe gateman and he smiles sheepishly.Soon, he walks into his boys’ squatter, leaving me tothe serene compound. The estate is silent, afamiliar breeze wheezes over my head. I stagger forward, grippingmyself tothe same spot I had been standing earlier in the morning when I was looking atmy neighbor’s wife.
Now, I feel the windmoves swiftlythrough the air, and throughbleary eyes, I see the dark sky amidst the full moon acting like it is about to rain. As I totter to the door, I see a figure adorned in black hovers past me, then another in red-colored apparel also follows, and suddenly, indistinct shapes of varying colors begin to float along. They arelook-alikes. I am not quite dizzy, and can tellit isnot hallucination. There is a broken bulb hanging over the wall of thedoormat, the entrance to my apartment starkly dark unlike other parts of the illuminated building. My lips are dry, and Idamp them with my tongue. The wave of scare-mongering is meant to hold me but it hovers away. I feel fatigue wash over me, mylegs quiver,struggling to support my weary body. I feel uneasy with palpitating headaches. I inhale a quick breath,soothingmy aching muscles.
I shake my head, close my eyes,open them, hoping the figures are a figment of my imagination but they hover. A clear illumination by the moon accompanied by distant voices sings a melodious lullaby.When I look into the sky, the moon swiftly hugs the cloud, dissolvinginto totaldarkness. I stagger to the door but before I get there, my knees buckle,almost stumblingto the floor. The bulbs in the building blink and they gooff. PHCN has terminated the power and the building grows darker than before. The voice calls again, soundinglike my sister which prompts a heavy sigh. Again, the voice begins to soundlike my father. In between a few seconds, it sounds like my niece. I turn, seeing an image ofnobody, save for the sparkling image that hoverspast. The voice sounds once again, coming through the door, sounding like my mother. There are goosebumps all over my skin, running temperature, and palpitatingheartbeat.
A woman stands across but I am oblivious of her. I take out my phone, at the time, and slotsit into my trouser pocket. At second glance, the woman becomes conjoined bearing another image of a man. Their faces are familiar.
“Who are you?”I ask.
“Who are you, both?”the womanly voice corrects bearing a smirk on her face. Her voice is like Ma’s own.
“Ma,”I say. I don’t feel tipsy anymore. I only feel tired.
“Yes,”they reply.
I heard a second voice blend with the first, then I realizedit sounds like Pa’s own.
“Wow! Pa,”I exclaim.
“Yes,”they reply smiling but their smiles are not genuine.
Whenever I reply or ask one a question, they reply bearing the spirit of oneness. I move close to hug them but escape through their forms. I run towards the door,knocking and the spirits move like a rush of wind crackling in their state of formlessness. They seem to be myparents but I amscared of spirits in any form. They might also be the evil spirit that cried like animals in the night, and I don’t think my parents will disturb me if they are them. The door creaks open,flashes sear into my face. The person behind the light speaks and I realise it ismy sister. She is disappointed in me for getting drunk again. I stagger into the living room,fall to the ground andshe bolts the door.
Mayor With A Difference 