All Fun and Games

A story by CHII ỌGANIHU

Alero and me walk home together every day. We live in the same compound at Number 5 Etiti Lane, off Isaiah Eletuo Street, Oyigbo, Rivers State. My mother made me cram the address when I started walking to school by myself.

Even though Alero is two years older than me, we’re in the same class because she has repeated Primary 4 twice. Her mother wanted to change schools for her but she refused because she doesn’t want to go anywhere without me. She’s my best friend, Alero. I won’t let her repeat this year.

We’re going home earlier than usual today because the teachers said they have an nprom…nprom-two meeting with government inspectors. It’s important, so they dismissed us after Morning Assembly. We’re happy because we haven’t spent our break money yet. My daddy always gives me 20 Naira to buy snacks and Alero’s mother gives her 10 Naira. We put the money together to buy our favourite breaktime snacks: two donuts and one FanYogo, which we divide into two. Sometimes if we also want sweets, we only buy one donut for 5 Naira and use the remaining 5 Naira to buy sweets. Today, we’re going to spend all the money on sweets and biscuits and chewing gum when we get to the big shop before our street, so that Alero’s mother won’t know.

We take the narrow appian way that passes beside the underground refuse dump they call Down Below. We don’t like to take the main road because cars are always driving fast there, and one time, machine jammed Izuchukwu’s younger brother in front of my eyes as he was crossing the road. They had to bandage his legs. So Alero and me always go from the small gate at the back of the school where the only traffic is people walking. This way is longer, but I like it. So many things to see. And we get to gist with our schoolmates who go the same way. 

We’re with Obinna them their group today. They are kicking an empty can of Maltina down the path, passing it back and forth to each other like football. Obinna is the leader of the group and Augustine is his friend. And because Augustine is a twin, his twin sister Augustina goes with them, too. Augustina’s best friend is Chinasa, so she’s also in their group. I’m not sure how Junior fits in here but he’s always around them. We like to go with their group sometimes because they play a lot and do fun things. Alero and me walk a little behind, swaying our joined hands together.

We are drawing close to the unfriendly green house with a “Beware of Dogs” sign when Obinna starts whistling to the dog lazing in front of the house. 

“What are you doing?” Augustina asks sharply.

“I want to play with it small.” Mhef, mhef, he continues whistling, walking towards the dog. This is the only dog we’ve ever seen around that house. It’s small and the only thing it does is sit by the gate and watch people pass.

The dog sits up as Obinna gets near. It gives a cautious bark but Obinna takes something out of his pocket and throws it to the dog who jumps for it and starts munching. Everyone laughs. Obinna strokes the dog’s back and throws some more. We don’t see anyone around and the house is very quiet. 

“Do you know that if you take the eye-shit of a dog and rub it into your own eyes, you will start to see spirits?” Chinasa says.

“Spirit kwa? Where did you hear that one?”

“My uncle told me! He said it has happened to many people before! Even in our village.” 

“Story-story? Story!”

“It’s not a lie o, I’ve heard it too. Don’t you know that dogs can see spirits?”

“That’s why they bark in the middle of the night.” 

“They bark in the middle of the night because something disturbed them.”

“If you don’t believe it, you can try and see.”

“Oya nau, let’s try.”

Augustine and Junior hold the dog down, the poor thing barking and thrashing while Obinna removes some of the discharge from its eyes. He holds the eye-shit up on one finger. “Who will test for us?” 

No one volunteers, not even Chinasa. Obinna laughs and brings the finger to his eyes. We hold our breaths. 

“Do you see anything?”

He looks up and down, left and right, and shakes his head. “Nothing.”

I hate to be a chicken, so I take Obinna’s finger—there’s still a little eye-shit remaining there—and rub it into the corners of my eyes. I blink several times to see if there is any difference, but there isn’t, so we confirm to the rest of the group that the dog’s eye-shit thing is not true.

“This dog sef na butty. Correct native dog dey see spirit.”

“You wan come change mouth now. Dog na dog.”

We keep arguing until we get to the small junction after Ezeiruaku Street. Usually, Augustine and Augustina break off here and head right towards their street while the rest of us continue straight. But today, Chinasa stops them. 

“Wait. Let’s go like this today,” she says, pointing at a dirt road to the left. “Let’s follow that road small and see what is there.” We do this sometimes, take side streets and hidden footpaths just to see what’s there. But I don’t know what Chinasa wants to see down this road; it’s just a big bush and no one lives there.

Alero says what I’m thinking but Chinasa cuts her off, “There’s a rubber plantation there. Don’t you know? They call it Odo Rubber.”

“Odo Rubber is inside-inside, Chinasa!” Augustina says. “I don’t want to stain my uniform.”

“You’ve seen me that wants to stain my uniform, nau. I just want to look. We’ve never gone there before. Abi you dey fear?”

“Wetin you get na mouth,” Obinna tells Chinasa, but he looks interested. “Let’s not go far, sha. We can just look small and turn back.”

I glance at Alero and she shrugs. I can tell she wants to go. Which means I’m going, too. We had planned to play swell and watch Aki and Pawpaw films if NEPA brings light when we get home, but going to Odo Rubber sounds just as fun. No one expects us to be home this early, anyway. My parents will be in their office at Express and Alero’s mother will be at her shop opposite our house.

We start towards Odo Rubber but Junior does not move. “My mummy said I should not go anywhere after school.” 

“Nyy nyunyy shaid I should nyot go annywhere after shcool,” Chinasa repeats, crossing her eyes in mockery. “Are you a baby? Is your mummy here?”

“He doesn’t have to go if he doesn’t want to,” I say, because I don’t like how Chinasa always tries to make everyone do as she says. It’s why people at school call her Gbaza Queen; you must know when she’s around.

Junior chews his lip for a moment and then joins us. I think he hates to be chicken, too.  

“First person to turn back, im mama!” Obinna dares us, turning the whole thing into a bet. Suddenly, we are all eager to go. The honour of our mothers is at stake. We seal the bet with a slap of hands and skip down the road, laughing and talking over one another. 

At first, we don’t see many interesting things. The road is quiet. There are farmlands with cassava and maize and other small crops, but it’s mostly bush. The rubber plantation is far far away and we can only make out the top of the trees from here, erect and even and inviting. 

When we’ve walked what feels like a good way, we are surprised to come upon a bend in the road where there’s a wooden shack and a man roasting a goat. The place looks like all those peppersoup and isi ewu joints. We greet the man and he mumbles back but his eyes stay on the goat he’s roasting. Beside the shack are two women arranging tubers of yam, placing them in neat piles on the floor. We can see a basin of freshly peeled yams in front of them, cut into small pieces for boiling. The women don’t look at us.

As we pass the shack, we spot a big mango tree in a farm not too far off the road. We can see from here that the mangoes are ripe. We eye the shack people but they’re not looking at us, so we quickly slip off the road, wading our way through weeds and shrubs.

The farm where the mango tree stands is fenced in with short cassava sticks. The fence is low and we have no trouble climbing over it. Some of the sticks are tied with red and white pieces of cloth but we avoid those sections and try not to touch them. People tie things like that in their farms to scare thieves away, and we know that most times it’s not even real charms. We look towards the road and find that the farm stands almost directly behind the shack, and we pray that the people there do not see us and come to chase us away. 

The mangoes are fat and ripe and huge. The golden-red kind my cousin Nonye calls Number 3 mango. They’re a bit too high up the tree, though. Augustine is the tallest of us, so he picks up a stick and starts poking the leaves and branches, trying to shake off some mangoes. 

A few mangoes fall and we scurry about to pick them. I see one hidden under ugu leaves in a corner and rush to pick it up. 

“Whuuuruf!” something barks into my ear, shrill and sudden. Like a dog. I look around but there’s no dog there, nothing at all. The others keep searching the ground for mangoes like they did not hear anything. I think maybe I did not hear well, so I bend again to pick up the mango. 

“Whuuuruf… rruf… rruf! Whuuuuruf!” The thing barks again, louder now. Startled, I shrink back and bump into Augustina, who’s squatted down looking intently under some weeds. I glance at the others and turn back to Augustina to ask if she heard anything, but she’s no longer there. What I see beside me is a tuber of yam. I had not noticed it there before. “Augustina, Augustina,” I call, but she does not answer.

I dart out of the corner in time to see Chinasa’s finger connect with a mango on the ground. As soon as she touches it, she turns into a goat, black and small, and bleating. I cannot believe my eyes. The hairs on my body stand and my legs start shaking. 

Alero! I have to stop Alero! In my hurry, I stumble onto another tuber of yam on the ground and nearly fall, but steady myself. My frantic eyes catch Obinna’s, and I can see from his wild wide eyes that he can see what I see, hear what I hear. 

The women who were arranging yams at the shack are heading towards the farm now, towards us, sack-in-hand. Obinna unfreezes first and starts running, jumping clear over the cassava stick fence. 

I dash towards Alero who is at the other end of the farm. “Don’t touch it! Alero, don’t touch the mango!” I scream, but I am a breath too late, and I watch helplessly as my best friend shrinks into a goat. 

One of the women has entered the farm. She picks up the yam that was Augustina and puts it into her sack. The second woman stands outside the cassava stick fence, hands on her hips like she’s set for anything that crosses that fence. They’re both smiling.

Alero is bleating at my feet. As if from a distance, I can hear more than a few goats bleating now. The woman inside the farm looks at me and takes one step. I grab Alero and start running.