The Ranting of A Young Nigerian In This Rattling Lockdown

Of course, I must stay at home. I actually have, for the last two weeks. But my eyes and the eyes of my three younger siblings have almost yobo. We have just finished soaking the garri that kind Iya Risi gave us in her own attempt to play philanthropist in this corona era. Of course, instead of begging on the streets or hawking moin-moin for our stepmother under the affectionate cover of the sun after school, we now have to stay at home under the welcoming atmosphere of our fighting father and the woman he would have properly married had it not been for the strange invasion of our land by foreign disease. We still have to call her stepmother though, it was what Father instructed.

We have to stay home where there is no food in place of the food our generous federal government gives us in school. It is always very poor and tasteless, and it speaks of mediocrity and lack of concern for our health, but our headmaster, Mr. Kilomodemo insists that, in all things, we must learn to give thanks. Ah, school! I miss school already! Yes, the chairs are bad and have in no small way dislocated some of our joints, but home is worse – there are no chairs at all! None at all, except the raggedy, swinging woven chair Father acquired upon my birth. He would always speak of how he often sat on the chair with me in his arms and hummed me a classic as a child.

Omo to m’oya re loju o, oshi yoo tamona pa a

Omo to mo baba loju o, oshi yoo tamona pa a

Iya to jiya po lori re

Baba to jiya po lori re

Omo to mo Baba loju o, oshi yoo tamona pa a.

Our stepmother brought in her son from another father on the permission of Father late last year. He was five, the age of my second-to-the-last sibling, when he came in, but he would call me by name even though I was two years older. Stepmother would boast that he was smarter than the four of us (my siblings and I) combined and would allocate the whole room that used to function as our store to him. Stepmother’s son’s name is Seyi, the same name our most efficient Governor bears. Yes, our Governor! He had come down with the foreign disease. We heard rumours that he got it after meeting the young man that promised his fiancée assurance, and some other people who just returned from the land of the coronalist – sorry, colonialist. Thank God our State’s Seyi has survived and is now in good health unlike Stepmother’s Seyi. Stepmother’s Seyi has recently started to complain of fever and difficulty in breathing, and had been sneezing his lungs out for days now. Stepmother would keep him company in his room and would not take him to a hospital for fear of her fear being confirmed. Her plan has been to pray Seyi into good health.

But for the power outage, Seyi would have been treated to the best of anime on TV. Stepmother has continued to pray for Seyi while complaining that the heat in the house is compounding his fever, but we don’t think Seyi will get well because we doubt that God normally answers wicked people like his mother. Stepmother has also not been able to care for her son adequately because water is an issue. Of course, without electricity, water will definitely be a rarity. The last time my siblings and I had a clean, satisfactory bath was one week, three days ago. Had there not been a lockdown, Stepmother would have gone to the community water source, Chief Bamubamunimoyo in the next two streets from us with many empty kegs although she might have had to pay Chief, the self-acclaimed Good Samaritan of the community, through her nose. Which is worse, having to sacrifice greatly for her dearly beloved son’s treatment or having to sacrifice her dearly beloved son in protest of exorbitant charges on water?

We have all given up hope on the sanitizers sent by the federal government reaching us. It would be easier for a cow to go throw the eye of a needle than for one bottle of sanitizer to get to us. Let us not even talk about the billions and billions of naira, along with food items we heard our wealthy capitalists donated to our leaders as part of efforts to prevent the hunger we now experience. Stepmother has hidden all food items in her son’s room and carries the key to the door of the room around. It’s why my eyes and those of my three siblings are about to yobo. Too much garri is truly not good for anyone. We have no idea which of the leaders in our local government kept all the food items meant for us all. How they are not expecting God to judge them and punish them is disturbing to me.

So we’re on lockdown. The heat is crazy. Electricity is not poor; it is just not there. There is hardly any peace or quiet in the house because Father and Stepmother are always fighting over who’s failed in their responsibilities. There is no food other than garri, although we’re better than many other families in our neighbourhood. This year’s Easter is the first we’ve done without the aroma of fried chicken from our neighbor, Mama Nkechi’s kitchen. Seyi might have the strange disease and we’re unsure if he will recover like his namesake. Who knows, we might also have the disease and we’re just asymptomatic at the moment? Have we been tested? No, we have not, like many others in our country who are uncertain of their status. We heard of street fights because of relief materials. Father too joined them and got his head bruised, but that’s why, at least, we will still be able to eat garri tomorrow.

May it be well with our lawmakers who got themselves new cars when those of us on whose mandates they got into office struggle for food and water and sanitizers. And may God give wisdom to those financial heavyweights who are wary of donating millions and billions to our unaccountable government. Amen.