ON that replayed night – 1980, the clouds were dense and sagging over Banji’s house again.
It was about a year since his housewarming. About this time, he’d be marking anniversary.
He’d got to repair his whole roof since the storm caused wreckage last time. He’d got that done that time.
But then the storms were back again with the fury of that first night. Like this was no first rain, but second.
Like second day.
Now they took their hymn in Yoruba, Wá Bá Mi Gbé.
It says, ‘Abide with me’. Though, the storms still fumed.
All of a sudden, the cloud sheets tore; as a frightening bolt cracked through sky.
Then ice bags up there in the night, came pouring down in hails and water.
And a storm raged.
No there were no easy streams, or anything short of a torrent. It was African thunderstorm, yes – and those years, it lived its name.
Everything flew in those wild currents. The trees, the logs and sheets of roof.
Anything could be lifted of its root. Even a fatted calf drowned.
But then, something else happened. And it was second time.
Morrow’s family had stopped talking and singing.
They were saying night prayers to go to bed... with that closing hymn they took.
But nobody could leave for their room. They stayed there in the living room, quivering.
Yes, this was Banji’s family but it wasn’t his.
His two lovely sisters were still ‘sisters’; and their kids, ‘nephews and nieces’.
His brother’s children had drawn the line, and then stayed as foster kids.
He couldn’t call them adopted, for they took him as uncle.
This was Banji’s family; but it wasn’t his.
Now as that large house stayed together as one, the winds blew on. Then suddenly, it threw a massive load over the structure.
Over the whole roof of Banji’s new house.
Yes, the roof sagged low, the ceilings leaked. The waters poured in from every corner.
It was just the same film of ’79, replayed.
For it was the self-same weight.
◘◘◘
People do say that reality at times is stranger than fiction. But Morrow’s life had been more surprising.
For when the winds blew against the new household those two times; each of the time, it was a whole roof of another man’s house that it pulled down on Morrow’s.
And to cap it all up, it was the roof of the adjacent apartment he rented while he built his house.
It was that old house whose roof swallowed his, each time.
Banji walked out by daybreak to see the damage. And he was hit beyond words when he noted.
That apartment he once lived in was completely roofless... again.
Then again, the heavy chunk of roofing sat a crumpled weight over his house.
That first apartment of his in town was a one-storey building and he’d lived on the housetop.
It was there he first sheltered his brother’s children, while he built his from that place.
It was that house that flied close.
Now it was frightening to the 55-year-old school principal that this strange thing happened twice.
The first time was strange enough, that a whole roof was pulled off at the force of a storm.
But Morrow was a civil man, and he reasoned this could happen. Especially with the tropical winds of that jungle.
So he’d picked up and repaired his roof without overthinking things. Then his former landlord repaired his, too.
But then this time, Banji stopped. He looked around and people were heading near.
Everyone went to him, started comforting and lending a hand. A contact list here, a carpenter there.
His household went out to him too, and helped.
That time was 1980. And some fresh wind poured close.
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