Oil is Thicker than Blood
Femi Morgan
My friend Kamaludeen-I don’t know how to pronounce his name very well slept with his school girlfriend and one of the thousand sperms won the race, resulting to a baby boy. He is just 19, although he has a face like a twenty five year old. True, struggle and suffering makes him old.
Kamaludeen always had his way around things. He was a hustler. He knew the nearest joint and the married women who sneaked out to sleep with other men. They paid him to keep his mouth shut. He was generous with his poverty and when he had some small change, he flung it around and told us that “life cost nothing after all”.
I always disagreed with him-life was worth something, it was worth the buying and selling and the waking up, the sleeping, the lust that makes this cycle going.
But now that I am a little of age. I think I will want to agree with him.
So one day when the roof of our class could not save us from the heat, I saw Kamul sit with Titi, Titi, the comely girl that I had been eyeing for all my life. When we were younger, we used to bath near the roadside leading to the Baale’s house. Even before that, our mothers were friends and we used to pull each other’s hair. Now, she is talking to Kamal the hustler and not me the patient. I thought the patient dog eats the fattest bone.
I had tried to let her look at my side. I had read hard every morning in order to answer questions from Mrs Apata, the crazy civics teacher, but she still didn’t look at my side. Really, not my sides, it’s my groin that troubles me. It aches anytime I feel her presence. After the classes, I put myself in further doom by going to play football with my friends-after all I could transfer some groin power to something that may make me forget. When the bell rings. Realisation dawns on me. I am as dirty as a rag and will only watch some clean looking lad walk her home-she, giggling and shaking like a cocoon morphing into a butterfly.
No one thought that Kamal would capture the butterfly. She was the daughter of Deacon Alphonsus Bamidele, Charismatic Christian Deliverance Ministries, known by drunkards as Shakara Church.
You don’t have to be suspended in suspense. Kamal impregnated Alphonsus’s daughter. The whole town became a place of football chit-chats. The questions were coming from whoever-even those who have waited for the day Shakara people will be put to shame. The drunkards sang “ titi alpo ti da iyawo alpha-alufa ti di alufansa”. They also sang “Titi Jesu yo fi de, Iyawo Kamal ni yo je-titi e n she Mary eni to fun loyun ti gba kan e” ( Titi, wife of Alfa, Alfa has become worthless”, “Till Jesus comes, the wife of Kamal shall she be-Titi is not Mary,mother of Jesus, the person that did it has accepted it” . it became like the drunkards anthem especially when both pious fathers-Titi and Kamals father passed.
I began to thank God that my groin did not put me into trouble, that the blood from my brain and my heart disagreed with my penis. Perhaps if I had my lonely moments with her, the story would have been different. Titi was like a tall lanky gazelle-if her parents were not saints, some old men would have come for her hand. Her neck stood out from her body, her tiny frame carried a voluptuous breast that her bra could not hide. Her tight fertile buttocks showed the shape of her panties, even when she wore a skirt. Whenever she leaves her house for some errands for her mothers, you could feel the eyes on her-from the chinks of window pane, from the eloquently wealthy holes of red bricks, from the metallic contraption of the nearby Megida whose chewing stick pauses at the merriment of fantasy unreached but hoped. She knew that men wanted her but her mother’s cane also waited for her too. All came to noth when she won her stomach lottery.
It pained me more, when Kamal did not run away. He said he did it. Both parents who had started to curse God through their Christian and Muslim divides were shocked. Alpha Biteru and Alhaja Iyabo were shocked. “ what has the child of the living God got to do with the children of perdition” Bamidele Alphonsus claimed in anger. And Baba Biteru who could not suffer insults for nothing responded “your infidel daughter must had seduced someone in the bigger townships and now my son is your most promising victim- In sha Allah, you will not succeed”. They didn’t throw blow but their arrows were swift like the vicious Shaka the Zulu. It was worded warfare. The wives of both men were also engaging themselves with their arsenal of insults, curses and satiric songs. The Biteru family were from the Islamic non-tolerant sect of Rufi Jalla Jalailo and they were dumbfounded when he claimed his act-Kamal told me. Alpha asked Kamal how he knew where the hole was and which hole was it and Kamal said “ I knew it through some magazines you always read in the dark”. It was embarrassing. Kamal didn’t know that he took my price.
As her stomach began protruding in competition with her breast, as her faced glowed but beauty chanced by spittle and vomit, she began to gain weight like a gluttonous snake. I began to lose interest. I lost interest finally.
Pa Alponsus pushed her out to go and bear “the bastard incarnate” as he called her protruding stomach in Kamal’s place. The good Muslims were surprised and angry. Very Angry. At the mosque that day, The Chief Imam of Iluyide preached that even the religion that preached forgiveness did not forgive and that infidels who claimed all sought of spiritual power were doomed. The mosque was filled with a lot of people, perhaps to hear the gradual doom of a man who was quick to rebuke the simple lapses of those who skipped prayers. For God’s sake, the mosque was behind the bishop’s house, the church was behind Kamal’s house. That was how the events that took place between Kamal and Titi was accomplished. They were both sneaky people.
The whole place was tensed. On Sunday, the elders of the town visited Pa Alphonsus Bamidele and he treated them with respect for only a while, before he started to bamboozle the poor pagans with Big English and speaking in tongues. The elders were bound, casted, bound and casted all over again till they left in disappointment.
Bamidele Alphoso was a more civilized man, he did not preach at Shakara but it seemed as if the prayers of the day were directed to Kamal ‘s father. “ all the enemies of my household, telling evil men to visit me-Perish!”, “whether you like it or not victory is mine-prayer in Jesus name”. The members took the prayers up-or the victims of their prayers up seriously. Baba Kamal did not want to die, after church service, my mother and I saw him saying with all sense of fear “lia la, I lan la”-he didn’t stop, he didn’t count how many rounds of lia la he had gone. He didn’t mind the dryness of throat and thought repetition will cause. It was better than death.
….
Elections came around the corner and rapidly the discussions changed in the rustic Illuyide. Kamal had decided to contest for councilor. I began to imagine what his government will look like. I and Kamal skipped classes often back then and by the time we were through I still made five credits while Kamal made two. He could hardly comprehend Civics later government, other subjects but he had keen interest in biology. How come he has ambition?
Titi gave birth to Idrissu or Idris-So the boy was named. He looked like Kamal from head to foot, like a miniature limited edition of Kamal. His head was like a disfigured football pitch with little grass struggling for lack of moisture. Kamal had all the repercussion of a life of struggle, His eyes were reddish when he smoked and pale brown when he didn’t. His forehead had permanent creases like an Ankara cloth that has lost its true texture. He was muscular and tall and looked older for his age. And if you think Kamal is not handsome take a look at Pa Biteru. The parents of Titi did not come, Shakara church people went and said Amin to Muslim prayers, with a huge scorn written all over their faces. I went as a friend. I was waiting for my Jamb results, Kamal was waiting for his political party friends and chieftains to come. The baby had become bait.
After all the naming and the gross extortion by Islamic clerics from Mushin, party chieftains began this elaborate partying. There was a local Fuji band shouting “future councilor” and singing songs of praise with the Islamic psalm. Kamal took a swig from the bottle, he had not seen me, so I went to meet him. He was happy I came and he said he was going to come and pay me a visit at home. He got a lot of money from the ceremony. His party people were the ones that dashed him almost everything for the naming-Including the white flowing Agbada he and Baba Kamal wore.
Alfa Biteru had compromised. He said that “we give thanks to God for sparing our lives to witness the naming ( I don’t think they were thankful when the pregnancy was announced) of our grandchild”. They said that It had been appointed by God to happen and that Titi was” a good child” ( After they had called her a prostitute and had placed several curses on her during the announcement. After they had said she was come to destroy a blessed Muslim family). They said a lot of people had lost their sons without a a grandchild as a heir of their heritage but thank God theirs was different (very annoying to those who had lost their son’s lately especially Uncle Shina, who recently lost his 30 year old son). Above all “ in all things, we should give thanks to Allah (SAW) for blessing us. My son is contesting for councillorship, he has shown responsibility by accepting his duties as the father of this child, He will do well in government. He will accept the advise of the elders and take responsibility for his actions”. Biteru had become a good PR man, now that his son is vying for Councilor.
He, “Kamal, the councilor” came to visit me. “You are lucky o-I heard you passed Jamb”, I wasn’t in the mood-I was broke. I said “yes”. So what are studying at the University, when you go there? “Political Science” I quipped. “So why not the law you wanted to do, you know you observe a lot” he noted, “yes, I agree,so I had thought that since all the rich children had been bribing their way to study law-No more space for poor man”. We both laughed. The tension seized. I told him I was considering Journalism instead. Kamal said “all those people who know a lot but have no money to show for it-they trouble everybody with their English, but their wives trouble them”. One of them was our tenants-the wife used to beat him well well for not providing for his children. When you get to his apartment, even pure water is scarce, you can only get to read free copies of newspapers” he explained. I changed my mind, I would consider a change of course then-Political Science.
Kamal told me he wanted someone “with sweet mouth like me” to convince people especially old classmates of ours, friends of my father and their friends about his baffling ambition. He said “If you do this for me AND TITI, I will forever be grateful”. I asked “what is your manifesto”, I was baffled with the reply. “ nah to make you CD Youth Chairman and share the money come your side”. We agreed that for the campaigning he would pay me a stipend of Five thousand Naira monthly until the day of the election, I was broke I needed it. I was not helping him, I was helping Titi- it was the least I could do to HELP THE POOR GIRL.
He was happy that I agreed to work with him and he said he would pay seven thousand weekly instead. I started to regret. I should have asked for seven thousand, perhaps he would have paid me ten thousand.
……
My father, Durojaiye Adelakun had passed on when I was eight years old. I was called Jaiyeola by him when I was seven and the name stuck. He left us a lot of debt and a lot of family members who were ready to deal with my mother. What is left of the wealth that is named after me is just an empty two bedroom flat-a prison for my mother especially when one knew what one once had. Lydia, my mother began to count her days not by calendar any more but by mid- week and Sunday services. The church built a makeshift stall for her and in return she signed an unuttered and unwritten agreement to clean, sweep and go to church. My father was a philosopher of some sought, he died “not knowing the lord” like my mother will say. As for me, he was a short uncompleted sentence in the developing paragraph of my life but the little I knew of him; he was a jolly good fellow-full of smiles.
So I wasn’t surprised when Mama Jaiye started to scream and call the house down on me for campaigning for Kamal. She said I wanted to kill her and that I wanted to follow the wayward life my father lived. I had learnt one or two things from my community-Women don’t use their knowledge of history for anything positive, they only have it as an arsenal to insult you. Yes my father was a politician, the most important and most influential, only local government chairman that emerged from Iluyide. Mama locked the door and started to call Jesus to come and save her son. But her son was Durojaiye’s son, so I found a way to go out-the window.
Days changed clothes, weeks changed panties and the elections came. I was at the University of Lagos, studying Mass Communication when I heard that Iluyide has a new Councilor. It was not Kamal. I checked the local vendor. It truly wasn’t.
It was Biyeoku. He was the former council from the other township. They said he was into black market oil trading. I was not myself. My mother had mentioned several times that Biyeoku did not like people from Iluyide and that he and my father were never friends. Biyeoku “Ijaya-Baba”. Area boys called him fear that carried pound sterling around-they called him God and Money and he spent them drinks upon drinks, Marijuana upon Marijuana but never raw cash.
So I came home to see how Kamal was doing. He was not sad. I was surprised.
I wondered and he explained that he would not have won even if it was God that conducted the elections. I asked what the party was doing to challenge “Beyi beri-beri” a name my father christened him before he passed on to glory. He laughed a very wicked laugh and told me “ you see, politicians like your father are wicked people, they asked me to step down that I was too young but I refused.” Kamal looked away. He continued “ so one day-You know politics is the only job I have, they told me to come to the Local Government to sign an urgent document. I rushed off without bathing that day. As I got close to the palace, I was walayed by hoodlums and the beat me black and blue-look at my scars” he showed me his chest where blunted cutlass had hit him and it was then I began to recognize the roughly sown scar on his head. I was dragged by these thugs to the nearby police station where I was forced to sign a document I couldn’t even read. The pain was too much to read anything. I was like five chapters”. “I thought I would die” he grinned a very existentialist one.
Some days after recovering, he was paid a televised courtesy visit by Beyioku and was given 1 million Naira, the party also covered his medical bills. By the time he got home, Beyioku, the generous had given him 15 litres of petrol and 10 litres of kerosene and a lot of food stuffs. He began to wonder. Had Beyioku, his father’s distant cousin changed his ways. Had he come to acknowledge the bond that family share. Kamal Biteru was a fool-somehow, he was street smart but was not power smart. Things started to improve in their lives again with constant support from their fathers cousin. When the Alphonsus realize that things were changing. They came first day, to pay their daughter a visit. Second day, “to play with their in-laws and settle differences” and a week later “to borrow Kerosene for their old stve and their locally made lantern through the divine positioning of their daughter. Pastor Bamidele, now preferably called now, rather than Alphonsus started to discuss politics with his son in-law.
City of Words is slated for the 31st of March 2012, at Cafe Chrysalis, 23 Ilaro Street, Old Bodija(Behind 411 Club), Ibadan.
Hyginus Ekwazi is scholar at the Department of Theatre Arts at the University of Ibadan. He is a film critic and the author of the Award winning children novella,I Have Miles to Walk Before I Sleep, winner of the ANA Cadbury Prize 2010.He has won the Association of Nigerian Authors’ Poetry prize with almost all of his four poetry collectionsDr. Ekwuazi’s poetry collections are Love Apart (2007); Dawn into Moonlight (2008); The Monkey’s Eyes (2009); and That Other Country (2010). He is a famous critic of the Nollywood Movie Industry.Hyginus was also managing at the Nigerian Film Coporation in 1998. He has also written innumerable papers on the Nigerian and African film, one of such is in the Africa Media Review Vol. 5 No. 2.1991 ©African Council for Communication Education Towards the Decolonization of the African Film by Hyginus Ekwuazi*
Ayodele Olofintuade is one of Nigeria's creative writers. She is the author of Eno's Story, a children's story book that was shortlisted for the NNLG Prize for Fiction in 2011. She is also a creative Writing teacher, an editor and a reviewer at the Daily Times NG. Ayodele has several works in progress one of which is a sci-fi novel.
Dtone Martins is an alternative and Jazz artiste ( A live Performing Artiste) who has been in the music scene for sometime now. He is referred to in some Lagos circles as the progenitor of modern love songs spiced with tradition.
Babatunde Ogunseinde is an alternative music act who has performed in different literary events across the country. He has also perfromed alongside Beautiful Nubia, an afrocentric music icon who is also a poet. Babatunde usually brings back nostalgic feelings with his music.
Both passionate and energetic music acts will be at Artmosphere, this month.
Spoken word Poets, Servio Gbadamosi and Femi Fairchild Morgan will be the anchors of the event.
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