I stood outside Mike’s house, the cold harmattan air caressing my tear stained face. I was heartbroken. I had snuck out of the house, against my father’s “I don’t want to see your legs outside” to Mike’s house because I wanted to give him a little Christmas surprise.
I had gotten the surprise instead when I let myself into his house. I walked into two legs hoisted on his shoulder, his naked butt in the valley the legs had created and shouts of “YesJesus! Lord Jesus! Holy cow!!!” They had no respect for He-who-was-being-celebrated-today not to talk of me, a mere mortal.
I hadn’t reacted. The Holy Spirit must have come heavily upon me then. I let myself out and stood outside his house crying, more for the beating I was going to receive at home for disobeying my dad than for the pain I felt in my chest or even both.
When a Taxi stopped in front of me, I got in without giving thought to the driver in front. I was about calling out my house address to his hearing but he beat me to it.
“No 7, Murtala Avenue, Peak estate,” the driver had said.
My tears stopped abruptly. I adjusted my sitting position and said shaking, “Pardon?”.
The driver gave a short laugh and sped up.
Great. Just great. I wasn’t only going to suffer a broken heart today but might also end up dead. As that thought came to my head, I remembered the Bible verse that went “….children, obey your father and mother so that your days might be long…”.
“Forgive me father, for I have sinned,” I thought to myself. I tried again this time finding my voice. “Excuse me but I do not know where that is. Take me to the Redeem church at roundabout”.
The driver gave a hearty laugh and said, “But Adoabi, there’s no church today and you live at Peak Estate.”
There was only one person who called me Adaobi and what’s with that voice. Could I be mistaken? Did dad follow me out? It was dark so I couldn’t make out the driver’s face.
“Daddy?” I said out loud.
The driver brought the car to a halt and turned around.
No, it wasn’t in the words that escaped his mouth, “Next time, if there’s a next time, don’t share everything about you on Facebook”, it was in his face.
He was faceless.
About the writer
Aliogo Chika is a graduate Accountant who likes to think she can write when she’s not playing with figures.