OYA Magazine OYA PROSE: Whip by Ajose Adeyosola | OYA Magazine

OYA PROSE: Whip by Ajose Adeyosola

By on September 13, 2017

By Ajose Adeyosola

The last words I heard was “Mo ni ibo lo ti n bo?! “Where are you coming from?! ” he shouted again.

I was not being rude, they thought I was but I wasn’t. It seemed as though thousands of air waves carrying signals of different messages rushed towards me and left all at once. My eyes felt like a bad camera as kept blinking to see if it would produce good quality image anytime soon. With my face stuck, it was perfect for art project I refused to do. A couple of mashed paper on my face and we’ve got a winner because as much as I tried, it just couldn’t be alive. My whole body weighed five pounds more.

Like his favourite music tape, I began to receive little sounds and it was gone again after the big 5 kissed my cheek aggressively. This time my voice tried to act but it’s performance of a retarded seal got it nowhere.

I realized my ears are the biggest pretender, acting like they don’t work until the words “lo mu koboko yen wa, bring the horse whip” was spoken.

It got that signal loud and clear. Being so good, it transmitted it to the rest and my legs was the fastest receiver, it leaped and sped round the chairs, my voice caught up and presented itself as a crazed tout “Aradugbo e gba mi, ba mi ma pa mi oh”. Stupid voice.It didn’t realize that calling on the neighbours to help made the supposed trip of death faster. It’s performance just made him angrier, being the lowkey man he is. The curtain was closed for performance once he calmly said “Fem! to ba tu pa ri wo kan, wa rin ran wo, If you make any noise again, you’d see what I’d do to you” I believed him and I obeyed but body couldn’t help but produce vibrations to the imaginary Egun song as that deviant performer couldn’t stop even after I had clasped the stage with my trembling hands.

I lost track of which one was louder, the sting of whip, the screams of agony or hot tears of pain. After he was done, still maintaining stern demeanor, he said “lo jeun”

I sniffingly ate my food which became more watery and more salty as I ate on. But my mother’s cooking felt like she touched me on my tongue and every morsel I took reduced my crying. It wasn’t enough to feel her on my tongue, I had to feel her on my body as she helped soften the pain using hot water and rag, but until I felt her touch internally with her soothing yet stern voice did I only feel a little bit better. Sleep wasn’t hard to find, despite the singing mosquitoes and torching heat, I found sleep easily.
The noise I heard outside overtook the power of my sleep and everybody’s. Couple of houses away were my friends in the midst of some angry people with an ignorant goat who had no care for the situation and just spoke out it’s own mind on how it was almost kidnapped. As I was starting to enjoy the story of the mischievous boys, I heard that voice again “Ajala, ma lo le, go home”
Laying on my mat again with tiny legs wrapped around my belly, the words “Ojo,, oleoshi, coward, lazy boy” kept ringing in my head. I was supposed to be their butcher with the hunting trait that runs in the family, it only made sense. But I was still nursing the effect of that familiar friend for a mischief I childishly committed and I said “Rara e mi o se oh, mo ti n lo le,I can’t do it I’m going home ” and immediately regretting not being able to taste the sweet sweet goat.
“To be je wi pe mo ba wo lo ni, iku oro pa mi ni yen. Ori mi o ma se (Assuming I followed them, I would have been dead by now, My head, thank you)’ The Theatre was opened again and had new extras of my teeth.
My sore back beat the cock. While doing my daily chores I met that face again, that straight, Stern face with chewing stick in his mouth “Ba wo ni ara e se se, how is your body?”
Well that’s by the way son! *Trying to imitate that incessant picture in my head* “Folarin, where are you coming from?! ”

__________

Adeyosola is a mass communication undergraduate who enjoys reading, watching movies and listening to music , mostly for personal reviews and critique. She writes poems and short stories which she publish on her social media page.

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