SHORT STORY: HOME SWEET HOME

 By Solomon Timothy Hamza

  Photo Credit: iStock

HOME SWEET HOME

The loud drawl of Baba's motorcycle announced itself even before he veered the motorcycle into our compound, disrupting the quietude of the cool evening. Just as the motorcycle came into view, it gave three jerky movement, coughed out billows of smoke and stopped. Baba's dark skin was glistening with sweat as he came down from his bike. He hissed and looked up. Our eyes met.

"Ehen, Swatchet come here."

Ah God. Why did I even return home this early? Now this is the price I have to pay. I stood up from my sitting position; a big mango tree standing in the middle of the compound, slapped my buttocks thrice and sauntered over to where he stood. He was shaking the old and rusty motorcycle and observing the plug engine.

"Now what is wrong with this stupid bike? Now that Christmas is close by."

He hissed again and instructed me to push the bike inside while he attended to my younger siblings who now had gathered around, renting the air with 'baba welcome'. Their greetings became intertwined with the bleating of the returning herd of goats, closely followed by Che - Chet my immediate younger brother. He joins them in their welcoming spree, allowing the goats to start poking their noses into open pots lying outside, waiting to be washed.

"Just leave it under the tree, I would check to see what the problem is."  He called after me as he took turns hugging the children, not minding their sweaty bodies and dust ladened feets. I checked to see if he came with something, anything. Nothing. That meant we would be wearing the same old christmas clothes that we wore last year, the year before and the year before that.

"Is your father back?" Mama asked coming out from the kitchen hut, smelling of smoke with her eyes reddened and teary. I nodded and sneaked away before he called me back to assist in checking let me see; Baba's motorcycle infamous name. 

The motorcycle got the name 'let me see' due to Baba's constant bickering about the bike uttering words like 'let me see if this bike has not torn my trouser' or 'let me see what is wrong with this bike', and so the name stuck. Everybody else in our village Afana called the motorcycle 'let me see' even Kazachad whose father doesn't own a bicycle tire.

I returned home when all the shops by the junction were closing and the sky was dotted with innumerable stars. My five younger siblings were sitting on a mat under the mango tree around a firewood; the light silhouetting their shadows on the ground. Baba was sitting on a bench with Mama outside their room. I greeted them and joined my siblings.

"Baba Joshua would not be coming over this Christmas," Baba announced. Baba Joshua always brought his family to the village during Christmas with plenty of nice things for us. With him around, we do not have to worry about meat or chin chin or  soft drinks.

I swear by my grandmother's grave, this would be the worst Christmas ever. I said to myself.

I looked up and noticed Baba looking towards my direction. Did he read my thoughts?

"He said he wants you Swatchet to spend the Christmas at his place in Kaduna." I felt my heartbeat rising.

"I told him I would ask you first," he continued." Swatchet, over to you. Would you like to go to Kaduna to spend the Christmas?"

Chap, let thunder strike me if I say no.

"Yes Baba," I replied trying hard to conceal the smile that was threatening to split my lips in twos.

"Good. I would let him know and start making preparation for you to leave before they start rising the price of fuel again."

"Okay Baba."

 And who said God doesn't work in mysterious ways? Leaving this dry village was my top priority. That night during prayers, I said the loudest amen.

I didn't know waiting was harder until that week. I spent my morning watching white dust encircle the air before settling on roofs, turning everything green & alive to cloud like gray. I spent my afternoons watching children coloured white on their faces and feet return home and my evenings visualizing Kaduna in my head while waiting to receive the news of my departure from Baba. The news had reached the ears of my friends and anyone who cared to listen that I was traveling to Kaduna to spend the Christmas there, so when Baba told me to get ready to leave the next day after waiting for three long days, I couldn't conceal my happiness. I went to bed with the words ringing in my head and a small smile on my face.

I woke up the next day before anyone else and walked the fastest to the motor park so that Baba wouldn't change his mind and cancel the trip, clutching my small ghana must go bag to my chest like an opportunity.

"Welcome Swatchet," Uncle Joshua hugged me in the motor park. "How was the journey?"

It was hectic. Four hours of being gridlocked was hectic. Swallowing my saliva to appease my stomach while other  travellers drank coke and buns and groundnut and whatever they could lay their hands on with hunger holding my stomach hostage, stabbing through it and pain seeping out  slowly was torture. Being stopped by policemen who would only let you go if you give them something wasn't the type of journey I anticipated. But I said fine.

From the motor park in Sabo to where my uncle and his family resided in Angwan Boro was like another journey. I was too tired to even utter a word. I was given food and water to bathe with and I went straight to bed.

I woke up the next day feeling like a baby. There was no one else in the room aside me. I took the chance to glance through the room and assess it. The room was too small to be used by two of my cousin brothers as I was being told. I was about getting up when I heard a knock and Joshua, the first child of the house walked in.

"Good morning, bro," his shirt was wet with patches of water over the front side and around his armpits.

"Good morning. Where are you coming from?"

"We went to fetch water," I rose my eyebrows up.

"You fetch water too?"

He nodded. "Yes, water board didn't give us any water so we had to fetch."

Thank God I wasn't asked to go with them.

"Daddy said we should let you rest, but maybe by tomorrow you would engage in the household activities," I shrugged, "as long as there are no farm works," Joshua laughed softly. 

"Trust me, you would prefer the farm works to the chores here."

And I did prefer the farm work to the unending house chores in the house and there was no escape route. It was like we were living in circles: Wake up, eat, do chores then sleep. No going out unless you were being sent on errands because there are bad boys loitering around. No watching of movies beyond two hours because it was prepaid meter and watching too much movies consumes more light. We were always in the room, the boy's room while my other two cousin sisters had theirs.

On Christmas day, it was from church to the house. We remained in the room till evening, coming out only to greet visitors and return back to the room. By evening, Baba Joshua took us out to Ostrich. We returned three hours later and went back to our rooms.

"You guys don't share Christmas food here?" I asked David, the oldest amongst the children.

"No, unless you visit," back home in Afana, Christmas food was always coming in from different households that you have to choose the variety of food you want to eat. We come out in the evening to watch matches between communities, then there would be party which starts in the evening and ends at dawn. Joshua told me you have to pay money to attend all those places and they were too young to attend parties. Too young to attend parties at 15 when Che-Chet my 12 year old brother could dance from evening to sun up during the New Year cross over party? Just great.

"Sometimes, when I go to the village, I wouldn't want to return here," Joshua continued. "There's such freedom and togetherness that this place lacks. There's also this feeling of feeling at home. In the village when two households fight, the case is taken to the chief to settle and they reconcile. My mother doesn't talk with two other women in the compound because they quarrelled. When we visit the village, I forget all of that."

I saw past my nose and the countdown to leave Kaduna started all over again. After two weeks of self-imprisonment in Kaduna, Baba Joshua  informed me that I would be returning back home. I pretended to be sad but my heart was doing backflips like the masquerade in our village that comes out to dance during the festive periods. While fingers, ears and toes were still frozen with the harmattan cold, I began to prepare for home. On my way to the motor park with Baba Joshua, as dry wind blew my face and whistle past my ears, the thought of home came rushing to me; how my siblings would welcome me, what Baba & Mama would say I have become suddenly fresh. But that was my least concern.

When I got back home, my siblings must have anticipated my return like the second coming of Christ  for they ran towards me like a buffalo stampede when being rounded up by a pack of hungry lions. 

"Brother Swatchet is back!" The place seems to be shaking as their feet kissed the ground, raising swirling dust behind them which after a while fell  back slowly on our feet and the ground - it's home. My siblings clustered around me like ants trying to pick a morsel of fallen rice back to their cave, marvelling at what I brought back home from Kaduna. When they were done, the incessant questions started darting out from their mouths in quick succession.

"How was Kaduna?"

"Did you enjoy the Christmas there?"

"I heard Kaduna is a big town. Did you travel round Kaduna?"

I just smiled and stared from one person to another. "Trust me, there is no place like home."

                                                                                  

Solomon Timothy Hamza is a Nigerian writer. His works have appeared or are forthcoming on Brittle Paper, Nnoko Stories, Ice Floe Press, Shallow Tales Review, Eremite Poetry, PROFWIC Crime Fiction Anthology Volume 1 and FiFWA bi-Monthly Anthology 2021. Aside reading or writing, he enjoys listening to music and exploring new places.