Tuesday 12 - I just wanted to loosen the cobwebs inside my head with one of those solutions from the breweries, smarting from the rigging that had taken place the previous day, when the black ‘ugly’ girl turned up. When I said hullo, she just smiled and pulled a chair close to me, and placed a slender hand on my knee. I struck off along the conversation path, but all I received as responses were giggles, pats on the back and an occasional gurgling sound and a wild gesture.
I thought she was funny. At one moment she thrust her right thumb between the forefinger and the middle one, then made a fist and showed me, wiggled the thumb a few times. She made animal sounds and suddenly, I realised that she was so deaf she couldn’t hear if a thunderbolt cracked near her. I had, however, understood her message.
I took six more bottles of beer on board and we hit the road. It was nearly midnight. I went about the bedmatics slow but regular, the deaf girl beneath me making a considerable amount of sniffing and whimpering. For a moment, there was a blur of adrenaline and a surge of current up my loins. Then the
voltage shot up to near 200, jerking in my legs.
Wednesday 13 – When I woke up the next morning, all the Hamas militants were stomping and firing missiles inside my head. I had to level off two beers to settle them.
Sunday 16 - I found my friend; you don’t know this one, a stranger in his own house. I was dumbstruck, stunned into sadness, to full for words at my friend’s condition. He looked furtively about and lowered his voice conspiratorially.
“I am telling you this only because you are my friend,” he cleared his throat which seemed suddenly to clog with grief. He swallowed the tight knot in his chest and continued, “I caught her …my wife with another man, on election day. But they were not doing anything, I mean…” My friend shook his head and held it in his hands.
“You see this?” he passed a forefinger over a two-inch scab on his forehead and some columns of fingernail marks streaking down his throat, “she made them.”“What, you mean you fought?”
“In her brother’s house, that is where I caught them. The brother was in Douala during… When Bamenda came down to mark the GCE, this man was here.
I had always suspected her to be going out with that teacher. So, I followed her that night, it was quite late, and I found them sitting on the same sofa, so very close to one another. And my wife, she was giggling…and,… I just flew at her and rained blows on her head. She too, has scars…”“What about the man, what did you do with him?”
“I would have killed him, but he fled.”“Are you planning to live with your wife after this?”“I…” my friend held his chin and stared at his feet. I saw that his eyes were filling with tears. He looked away then said, softly, “no.”
Monday 17 - Internet is the death of man. I went surfing on it, recently. Beside me sat a bespectacled, moonfaced youth constantly clicking the mouse to move some of the nastiest most nauseating pictures I have ever seen in my charming life. Had they been those of men and women sparking it out in any way, I wouldn’t have minded a bit, but men having sex! Wahlai? God in heaven.
Others were displaying their ‘sexual’ organs in the most uncut postures. Yet, others were licking and lapping theirs! Goose pimples sprouted all over my body, a cold shiver ran down my spine, my blood curdled, then suddenly, a wall of sodden heat crushed on me. I hoped that my son had not connected to this website.
The young man who was sitting beside me seemed to sense my uneasiness, for he glanced at me from the corner of his eye and turned his face away from mine. Jesus! Is this what children are browsing for on the Internet? Anal sex?
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