IT was late February and a time when seasons change in western Nigeria.
The harmattan cold of late December through January had gradually turned warmer, till February seemed quite hot. And then the rains went back.
It was wet season again in the tropical greenland as the clouds kept swelling with huge promises.
Yes, there had been the first downpour at the villages and towns since the end of harmattan. There’d also been some little drizzle for early planters of corn.
But it was the end of shine and the start of rain, as some countryside like Ede looked to March. Those were the years of forests and farms.
Now, farmers were gearing up to the fresh planting challenge. Then Morrow was retiring to reap from his land.
He’d been spending a lot of time cleaning the house since Wura left him. He got new furniture and mopped his floors plenty times.
So, every chamber in his large house sparkled. Even the clay walls were mopped clean.
Still, Morrow hadn’t got the time doing this to wipe off Wura – to wipe out her trace from his place.
He said he was cleaning things to clear his head. And if she got wiped off, then let it be.
He said those words every day he cleaned. For Wura hurt him to his soul.
Then a morning came and the man woke to nothing in particular. There was nothing more to clean, and he found no interest working.
So he woke that morning and just sat in front of his house. Looking at the skies, and everything that passed by him.
He wished he would find a company. Whether it was his brothers or their children.
Yet he couldn’t make anyone sit all day. Everyone had got things to do with family.
So the man just sat there, and whiled away the time.
The clouds were darkening and Morrow stared in the sky. It would be one of those pours that’d mark a new season.
Yes, the clouds hadn’t moved on when the thunders struck; and suddenly, that black morning poured down rain.
Morrow was just standing up to turn in when he saw a group of girlfriends seek shelter.
They were smart youngsters, like girls in their prime. And they ran to him for shelter.
Morrow saw them and offered help. They were going to take refuge outside – around his veranda, standing.
But the old one called them in as the waters were much.
They went inside and he made them feel comfortable. The girls talked together and shared small details.
The rain went on till it was cold; so Morrow gave his guests mufflers to wrap themselves. Then he went in to let them talk.
Now through the small time in that warm house, only one of those girls took this meeting beyond ordinary.
Oki was the prettiest girl in town and the fairest her host had ever seen. Yet it was her who saw him first.
She was closing to twenty and dreaming of future. Was tall and refined; fine and so fair that her eyeballs were green.
It was the first time this traveller would see such eyes, such bright keen eyes.
Still it was Oki who saw him.
Oki hailed from a great household downtown; so she wanted to meet a great man.
Her clan was quite rich in the days. So much their name meant God repaid their loss.
Still this man looked different from her folk, as her clan reeked of magic while Morrow seemed clean.
So she wanted to go with this one. But the gentleman didn’t see her.
Still, the 50-year-old saw beauty, some young beauty, who refreshed his depth of soul.
He wanted to live. Wanted to start all over. And meet a woman with Oki’s nature; then grow again with family.
Now the rain ceased, so the girls waved Morrow bye. But he’d kept Oki’s details, without even knowing.
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