The people would always vote a handsome candidate, Imagwe thought. He was pleased to fleetingly see three different campaign posters of good looking men taking over every wall and poll in his imminent city. The Governor of his own state, he would never like. He often told his brother Junior that their state Governor has the ugliness of a bush rat.
Intentionally, he stretched his average hairy legs to reach his father who was focused on driving them through the crammed metropolis to their new building.
“Oshok, what problem do you have now?” His father asked absent mindedly.
Imagwe frowned and shot an eye on every other person in the car before piercing his eyes through the wound down glass. He mouthed Celestine Omehia and stroke three times on his arriving moustache. If Uncle Stephen was sitting close to him in that car, he would have hailed him Big Boy and offered him a knuckle to chop. This city was exactly where he wanted to be and for once, he had appreciated the decision of his passive-looking father. Busy humans in one area, living life, digging it hard and not faking it. Some of the street roads were moldy but the express way was fine, if he was driving, he will hoot shortly and go ahead to hit a girl’s buttocks so that he can rub it urgently and say, “I’m deeply sorry miss.” But he doubt if his father would ever let him drive again after what he had done to his Peugeot. Motorcycles maneuvered through every corner of the city he could sight. One almost crawled over a young man’s leg making him let out a shrill curse, “You dey craze? Fire burn you there.” Imagwe smiled and remembered Uncle Stephen again. The young man was neatly dressed and was holding unto an envelope as a certified job seeker, like his Uncle used to do.
“Honey, is this the Mile III you told me about?” Mrs Oshoke asked her husband.
“Yes.” He replied curtly and focused.
“We will come and buy things here tomorrow, Adesua.”
“Yes Mummy.” Adesua answered and pinched Junior who occupied the middle of the back seat. Junior retaliated and they soon began to play roughly. Imagwe hauled for them to drift from him addressing them as little children. Later, Mr Oshoke drove into a street named Anozie which Adesua read out loud as if everyone demanded her I-am-here attitude.
On the bold and heavy Nokia phone which Imagwe quickly grabbed from his father’s waist, his voice delivered, “Hello, do I have a communication partner? Over! This is Golden Imagwe Oshoke aka zero-is-something speaking from the oil state of Nigeria right in the heart of the city, the streets of the city. I live in the street Uncle Stephen that means I live in the hood. Haha! I’m hoodie mehn! Arrival time, 5pm. Take note! Copy and paste that sah!”
“Golden no one is on the phone with you, we know that.” Adesua jeered and jumped down from the car that had just crawled into a black gate. The house was a storey building painted with brown all through. Inside the gate, the large space before the building was well cemented and neat from too much sweeping. The house keeper who opened the gate greeted them and helped their mother with a big box that Imagwe actually wanted to take from her. He loved occupying the brave first child and first son position for his mother all the time. From the age of ten after his parents had a colossal squabble over him, he had sworn to always live for his mother. He had been too overwhelmed by mothers’ supreme love, watching her from the bedroom, yelling and professing a bright future of him that his father should see despite his unscrupulousness.
They did not move from their own state with anything but for seven boxes of clothes of which four belonged to the two females of the house. After they had walked into the warm, furnished and flower decorated parlour and Mr Oshoke had finished talking with the house keeper outside, they heard, “Adesua you have a room upstairs, Golden share a room with your brother, the other room will be for visitors. I and your mother prefer to occupy this room downstairs.” He pointed at a door beside the stairs and adjacent to the kitchen door.” Imagwe could see the well utilized land crafted into a building, he could also see how his parents wants to make sure that they catch him sneaking out and in.
“Excuse me Sir? Why should I share a room with children, they are puppies and I am their older brother. I get one room. Thank you and you should have been the Governor over there for us to have more rooms even for Mummy’s brothers. You were the SSG of the state why didn’t you poison the Governor and take over. How cowardly.” Imagwe jabbed and ran upstairs with his overladen luggage, jumped into one of the rooms and shut the door loudly. The rest of his family downstairs heard the turn of the key in the knob and realized that that was it. Adesua and Junior went upstairs silently.
Mrs Oshoke cried, “Honey, he is ok, our boy is ok. Amen. Amen”
“Look at him short like me just like that but having the thoughts of a mafia. Gloria, look at our son in a reduced trouser, big clothes and boots yelling at us.” Mr Oshoke added tiredly.
“Noah maybe it is our fault, maybe God is punishing us that we had him out of wedlock, oh!”
Noah went back to himself as a young man, shagging his sister in the lord Gloria at the top of a desk in a Secondary School building beside their church after a youth meeting one evening. Gloria had pleaded that she did not want to do, that they did it just yesterday but Noah was needing her the more and had eventually parted her legs leaving her to let out gasps of ah ah ah ah.
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BIG BOYS STORY, Chapter two @yourlibraryforreals