Fire and The Forgetful
Fire was speedily forced out of his Good Books for a permanent stay in the Black, where it has continued to occupy Top Position! Do you know why? Of course, it warmed his soup, roasted his corns, fried his plantains, parboiled his rice, grilled his meat - indeed, cooked him his meals and helpfully arranged him hot-water bath in a freezing weather. The same fire was to choose him for a Personal Reminding of how it turns massive structures and other valued property into punching bags in the absence of A Supervisor.
Meanly, our man was mistreated by fire on the 14th of August, 2020, in the event kindling in him a blinding hatred for Fridays and the Innocent Number ’14’. I have not stopped shedding tears of fellow feeling for him: Mr. Afunanya Anozie: strong, huge, dark; a little above thirty. One would unfailingly say that Age was still on his side at the time of the incident and he equal to the task. But fire overpowered him, made him go down on his knees and went ahead to deal with him like The Demons had The Seven Sons of Sceva of Paul’s Period. How did it happen?
Very simple. Mr. Afunanya Anozie was as eager as every other farmer to clear his portion of land for The New Planting Season. Hiring men for the labour involved was the best option. Three Stalwarts would not find it tough nor herculean to cut down the elephant grasses, shrubs and weed on his stretching acres of farmlands. Oddly, they had charged him a quite high sum of money: either N10000.00 or N9000.00. Mr. Afunanya himself was unwilling to pay even half of the amount, naming N4000.00 as what he was prepared to release to the men. No agreement reached they left while Mr. Afunanya began to consider alternative actions to take. Easily, it occurred to him that he could solve his problems with a matchstick. Simply, a matchstick!
“Just strike the thing and toss it into the farmland and watch it progressively devour all the grasses of The A Bit Friendly and The Unfriendly in their lodgments. So, it was that Mr. Afunanya Anozie did as his thoughts had suggested to him, torching the grasses on his farmlands. Luckily, everywhere was dry to aid the burning, all the green lives in them wearing True Flame, all diminishing in mass, red at their tops, some soon to be ashen. While Mr. Afunanya stood by and monitored the exercise with his God-Given Eyes, nothing went amiss…
“All to The Glory of God!”
Actually, not for any Environmentalist of this Twenty-First Century and Mr.
Afunanya clearly knew that. Then, exploding from some appreciable distance were Shouts of The Festive and Congratulatory Voices and Mr. Afunanya, by no means a stranger to Public-Type Excitements and The Crowd’s, obeyed his predictive curiosity with his then itchy feet. From his supervisory stand by the side of his feasting-on-fire farm, he darted off to the homestead of Henry Echem where the din had owed its manufacture.
At Mr. Henry Echem’s Quarters, Mr. Afunanya met a newly purchased cedar-wood draught, for which Mr. Henry had gathered Celebratory Friends… A piece of property of perhaps, half the amount which the three hefty men he would have contracted for bush clearing in his farms had demanded.
In a matter of minutes, Mr. Afunanya had grasped what had unfolded earlier and what could if not would. Proud-of-himself Henry
Echem had already shared valued kola-nuts with his six indulgent friends; also to them released a sizable tin of English Snuff none could individually exhaust its content after the tenth helping. Then from a nearby bar Mr. Henry produced two cartons of Stout Beer, on the spot paying for them. As he had wished it, the contents of a carton should start going round as Entertainment Stuff while the other carton would entirely go to whomever emerged The Final Winner of rounds of Draught Contests among them!
“Whuuh! The gods of Wonderful Entertainment are here…
To this voiced wish of Mr. Echem all glowingly consented, with Afunanya by degrees falling in love with the spectacle, his own served bottle of stout beer already half-empty. The stage was set for the contests. Two young men, Godwin and Humphrey sat down for The Alcoholic Trophy. Humphrey thrashed Godwin with A Three-Nil in their games. He had availed himself of his knowledge of the likely positions of the moved wooden shapes several stages before a move. Avidly, Humphrey was to continue exploiting the skill, when he had Mr. Adams, Mr. Taagbo and the one they called Governor as his next opponents, besides an Alhaji Umar Member of The Clique. One more challenger to be edged out and Mr. Humphrey should be free to leave the scene for his Conqueror-Receiving Home with a carton of still cold stout beer!
Just then, a Steven Nwa - really, A Unique Player in the business at hand smuggled himself into the raging battle, being by custom opposed to passive participation in draught contests. Indeed, there had been very few times he chose all through draught-playing time to remain a watcher of the locked horns and mere occasional pointer to the made good pushes and bad ones by a set of players. Mr. Steve Nwa had been consummate user of crowned seeds in daughters, if you like, The Sacrificing Type in the game, who would not mind forfeiting as many as four or five shapes, simply and solely to secure A King and subsequently police his opponents’ shapes.
Steve had a guest at home to entertain and had come out to do just that by picking up a bottle of his choice drink, when he learnt of the competition and started yearning to be part of it. In the end, he begged for and got the turn of one Mr. Isaiah Hand, Current Contender for the bottles against Humphrey. Mr. Isaiah Hand was only too willing to surrender his turn to Steve, convinced that he would “lick up” Mr. Humphrey Agu and after the victory release at least two bottles of The Stout Stuff to him. A realist to the core, Humphrey could not pretend he owned enough skill to grind his new opponent, whom he had long known, long locked horns with, repeatedly lost to and at his approaching figure often crumbled. A new dramatic surge of disinterest in both The Game and The Stout Beer swept over him and of all the things he wanted at that moment, an instant disappearance from the venue was tops!
“I hope nothing’s gone wrong,” said Steve Nwa in a sufficiently concerned tone shortly after he sat opposite Mr. Humphrey Agu to face him and the latter suddenly rose to leave.
Mr. Humphrey’s reply was “Not in the ultimate sense.” He had carelessly forgotten to check a co-worker from whom he was to receive some official documents not later than 3:00pm…
“And, already, it’s quarter past three!”
With that Mr. Humphrey Agu breezed off from the place, hardly waiting for the others’ sympathies.
Respectful Afunanya had waited for Humphrey to be out of earshot before dissolving into laughter. He knew nothing had been forgotten by Humphrey. The Smart Guy was pointedly avoiding an encounter with Mr. Steve Nwa and his certain humiliation through defeat. He was still laughing, choking with it, breaking into fresh paroxysms of laughter, holding his ribs, trying the last glassful of stout beer and actually voicing this cowardice of Humphrey to the rest when piercing shouts from his own quarters came: eerie shrieks of people probably looking back at A Scene of Horror!
Mr. Afunanya’s discerning mind was simply peculiar. In the same manner he had espied the true thoughts of Mr. Humphrey Agu, he sensed that the shouts certainly had a lot to do with the burning grasses in his farms. In this he was correct when he took off like a jet plane to the scene…
Too late, The Fire had felt quite free to exit Afunanya’s farmlands and raze two buildings down to the ground, even as Mr. Afunanya was watching with cascading tears. One of the houses a prestigious property of his best friend, Irving Rich, and the other the only prized possession of his worst enemy, Amachi Dickson!
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