THE ANGER OF THE NIGHT Part 1 by Mide Benedict

I knew there was nothing I could do to avoid walking straight into what into what was laying ahead of me; it was a dense and dangerous darkness for a loner to embark on. I was, however, left with just a choice which was to proceed. It was at this moment that I galloped into the short footpath that would at the end lead me to my place of residence. This single step I took in a shimmy and stumbling manner was the beginning of the short odyssey into an ever referential point in my life.

I was unsteady and at some point, my dilating eye balls would peruse rapidly at opposite directions and at the same time would be partially fixed towards the direction I was heading so as not to stagger into the bushes at both sides of the footpath.

That particular footpath I trended was habitually left in solitude and severely at the mercy of scary sounds that emanated from crickets and other unfamiliar creatures that took charge of those hours. Most of the time these sounds became intense when the hand of time was moving closer to the mid of the night. Though that was not my first time of passing through that path, and also not the first time frightening thoughts would rush into the cupboard of my imaginations; those kinds of thoughts that roamed the mind of a being who has been cobwebbed by the hands of solitude, and has become scared, shaky, counting every covered step and thinking of the remaining ones ahead. One of such moments when walking through a lonely lightless path in the heart of the night was like walking in a jammed and compressed prison with red-eyed snakes and toothed ants ready to strike through your mind. Those other times were similar to this night, except that there was a little difference; my imaginations were fleshed and things, that night, existed not only in the rowdiness of my mind but also within the confines of my sight.

The environment was not in any way clear to hold onto a confident vision! This was because the road path forming the proceeding patches that were beyond me appeared light-slaughtered. I was only able to see what was ahead through the aid of some stumbling lights that flung across my eyes. These lights came from vehicles most especially traveling cars and erring commercial Okadas that were still going about their business at that hour; despite be discouraged to do so at such hour. With the reflections from these vehicles' yellow and less illuminating bulbs, I was able to see more of what laid various feet beyond my every standing point. This, however depended on the time it shun. At a point I looked back to see if I would still be able to see Oyinkan’s house, but it was already far behind me and that made me smile a bit; knowing that I would soon be home.

Usually, visiting people was not my way or thing, not even a bit. I was one who liked to be alone. Hence, the thought of visiting only came once in a while when I felt it was necessary to do so, and Oyinkansola's case was one of those necessary times. Oyinkansola was a friend of mine and she had disclosed to me through a short telephone phone call in the early moments of a Tuesday that she had been in bed, consumed in an utmost state of depression. “It’s been on for days, she disclosed to me, (three to four days) and this was not for any other reason than the burden her dying CGPA had relentlessly placed on her mind.

For hours, I was with her and as she continued to wet her face with tears, I knew I had to do something, say something, or worse make something up that would at least mollify her drowning spirit. Being depressed and refusing to be out was no way to seek a Lazarus' miracle for her CGPA. It would only make the situation worse or at worse, worst! After this thought, I began to console her and tried my possible best, however how little it seemed to make her understand that the situation could still change if she believed and possessed a determined spirit. Thinking my words would stop her eyes from bleeding, she continued and it even became worse. It was after a little more effort that she agreed with me and gave a falling smile, which for me was a-good-to-go.

When I told her, "Oyinkan, I will like to leave now.” She rebuffed and requested, with a gesture of insistence that I slept over at her place till the next day greeted the new sun. But I refused. Why wouldn't I have refused, when I hadn't so soon forgotten what had trapped a colleague of mine in the realm of fatherhood. It was just a night, only a night when he decided to sleep over in a lady's room and that night his future was brought closer to him. He became a father. What! Fatherhood? Fatherhood! At that age?! "God forbid I became a father at that age!" Her place was a little fetched from my own, so I decided to leave all the same as quickly as I could and the door afterwards received a shake of exit. Every human has his/her set codes, no matter how bad or good he/she may be. I had my own too, and it didn’t include sleeping in the room of my opposite sex. I knew well the implication of some delicate touches which could lead to a severe blood rush.

I tried to hasten up, so I could at least get to the main road before what I had always imagined would come forth for the ground and swallow me. These were the thoughts that usually roamed my mind when in such a place. I didn’t like walking at such odd hours; the situation called for it. And it was at that moment that it came like a sound shadowing insanity, like the drum of terror sounding with horrified tones accompanying its unfaring progression, panging me with fear and drowning my heart with loud darkness. And of course it was a dark night already and what could have been worse, worse than I had pictured; what could have been worse? The situation was worse, it was terrible; severely terrible, it was horrible; severely horrible, it was... it was worse, worse than I had ever imagined from when I was of little age of what could happen as I walked at night!

"Why have you done this to me, you wicked witches of the night?!" The voice sounded as if it emanated from my ears, so close, so frightening; for I heard every word that was called out into the air. I knew it was not my imagination, I knew with utmost conviction that it was a voice, and was not that of a woman, but a man, and it was not that of an ordinary man but of a disturbed man and not of an ordinary disturbed man, but of a mad disturbed man experiencing torments from something; from someone, and from somewhere!

"I have in the past stolen, I have raped, and I HAVE SACRIFICED TO THE WORLD BENEATH THE EARTH!!!" It was that last confession that silenced my doubt that I could still withstand my fear. And then it happened that that same fear which initially made me look back and forth as I took each step down the road, was the same fear that pumped power into me that instantly, without thinking twice, I ran incessantly from the voice of that one whose identity to me was vacuum. I didn't mind the lightless state I was in, my eyes were now open.  The fear that drove me tore my night blindness into pieces like a fierce lion pouncing on its prey. 

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I waddled across the tiny bridge that led to where my hostel was situated. The road was very familiar. On a normal day when I crossed the bridge, my hands would hold tightly to the wall supporting the bridge. I would then walk over it slowly, trying my possible best not to fall into the small stream that split the road. But that night, that very night full of gnashing hollowness, I ran over it in a flash like manner, and slipping into the mud-covered road, I brushed my left hand against the elephant grasses that were at the left-hand side of the muddy road. I was unsteady. The race was so intense that I didn't know when I ran passed the church that was directly before my house into the somehow tiny corridor that led to my room. I could have woken some of my neighbors up, I could have disturbed some persons reading in the night, but all these, all those thoughts weren't at that moment my concern. That which most concerned me was the opening of my room with my key which I held uncomposedly in my shaky right hand. However after must struggle, I was at last, able to get the key into the lock and the door was open. In fright I jammed the door and Gbaaaahhh!, it gave a loud sound which seemed like that was it, since I was in, but that was not the end.

The room was a very small one and as usual there was no light. The most intense part of this usual state of lightlessness began on Monday last week when three men from the power holding company came around and claimed we had been absconding from paying of supply bills. But instead of us conceding to this act, which we knew very well it was true, we rebuffed their claim vehemently and this eventually led to a noisy scenario. As the shouting continued, one of the three men who, well, to be personal, I would have thought to be the quieter of the three men due to his unspeaking and silence maintained gesture, went to the pole, erected his ladder and placed it against the pole to relieve us of the stress of waggling our tongues for much longer on a debate we knew our victory was baseless: that was how it came to be; our cable was cut down, but we showed less concern for this act of his. This was, of course, because we knew there were other options to explore in getting back power other than paying the bill. Once they were gone it wouldn’t be difficult to call an electrician to fix it up, but soon the unfortunate occurred. It was as if the more time the supposed quiet man used on the pole, the more trouble he caused.

We stood and watched how each edge of our cable dropped from the pole to the ground; the space usually occupied by a cable which laid between another pole and ours was now empty. One after the other, he took his step down the ladder and on getting down, he pulled out his glove. The supposed quiet man held one edge of the cable and began pulling the cable as we all watched him in silence, unable to fathom the shrewdness that was contained in the man. He did this until he had rolled all into a giant band and was ready to take it away when he said for the first time, “You know where to find us.” And ended it with a smile on his face. Some of my neighbors tried to start a revolt after this but all their agitations were like pouring water into a basket which flows and continuously enters into the ever famished soil; till that night, no repair had been made.

But even without the vacuum of the electrical pole, power supply was a wish-it-well thing: most of the time we would remain without power supply for days and if there was no power cutout from the power company, there would be power failure from the old and untransformable transformer which when damaged always took not less than two days to be repaired.

Since there was no light, all I wanted was to be in bed, coiled together like a smoked fish in my blanket. Despite the situation of the room, I knew the position of my bed, its length, its breadth and the space it occupied but that knowledge did not stop me from nearly hitting myself on the carpeted room floor in an attempt to fall flat on the bed like a cut down tree. I pulled myself together instantly, and started to unclothe my bed with one hand; rolling myself off my blanket to the left, I pulled it with my right hand and in seconds the blanket was out. 

I sank straight into the blanket and suddenly, blankness of memory struck me on the head: I was not able to recollect what had occurred in some few minutes past; it was like a mind oblivion. I couldn't remember as much as I should. I knew something much had caused my still pounding chest and heart, as well as my gasping for breath, but it was gone; it or they, whatever! But all gone! All I could notice was myself in bed, with my head thrust into my pillow and that was all. Blank!!! Scaringly blank. I tried to sleep, but unexpectedly my memory came flooding back into my mind like water released into an empty tank and that made me more scared.

                        

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