He goes to the city for Christmas, for the first time, with very high hopes. The buildup ensues with the attendant heightened expectations.

What happens to those expectations? Are they met OR does everything go up in smoke?

Watch out in Christmas in the City Lalasticlala

We were in high spirits, I and my twin sister, as we jumped into dad’s Volkswagen Passat, onto the backseat, while struggling for who would man the space between the two front seats. That space was special as it afforded its holder unhindered view of all that went on both inside and around the car – the person saw what the driver saw. As expected, I won this battle, and celebrated my triumph with glee, ignoring my sister’s snorts. I knew that reaction would only be momentary, product of her disappointment and frustration at always having to lose that battle. I wondered why she still tried anyway. I hardly saw the possibility of losing out any day.

“Don’t worry, I will allow you some time here later,” I turned to her, but she turned her face away.

Dad eased himself into the car, the impact of his weight immediately felt as his butt landed on the seat, with a depression motion. He was a big man, and had weighed a hundred and fifty four kilograms the last time we all climbed the scales. Mom had weighed sixty kilograms that day, while I had been two kilograms ahead my sister who weighed thirty-five kilograms. She hadn’t been too happy about it, especially as she appeared much chubbier than me.

Mom took the passenger’s seat, the impact of her weight negligible, as dad raised a worship song. We joined in, my parents’ eyes shut while ours – at least mine – partially so as I observed proceedings through a squint.

“In Jesus’ name,” called dad, scratching his stubble.

“Amen!” We all responded.

The irritation at his stubble won’t leave, and he will continue scratching it until he brought the prayer to an end. He had committed our journey into the hands of God, asking God for so many things that my mind’s eye couldn’t fathom how reasonable it was to ask one person to do so much simultaneously. The same God who was to silence all bloodsucking demons on the highways was also to battle everyone of the forces against our journey’s success; he was also to guarantee a good weather and ensure our car didn’t come in contact with a driver who was destined for an accident that day. This same God was to ensure dad’s concentration was unbroken; and I wondered how that will be possible when he wasn’t alone in the car, when he had his mobile phone on and when he had his fuel gauge to worry about. God had to be really powerful, I concluded in my thoughts, if he could do half those things dad had requested.

“Fasten your seatbelt, dear,” he told my mom while pulling his across his bulging tummy. I wondered how he could be comfortable with his tummy so wound.

My mom made a remark to that effect and we all had a good laugh.

“When I get a bigger car, my seatbelt would no longer be an issue,” dad said, in spite of himself.

“And I will be given this car then, dad?”

“Which one will be given to me?” My sister shot in before dad could respond.

“I was talking to dad,” I said, making a serious face like Oyewole when reporting issues to dad. Oyewole was one of dad’s apprentices in his furniture making profession.

“And I was talking to my parents,” my sister replied without missing a beat.

We exchange hostile glances, but that was all there was to it.

“We will together own all the cars,” said mom, “everyone of us.”

That appeared to settle it, for that moment, my sister drew in a deep breath, exhaled and reclined on the seat.

We were soon out of our street, and into the main road. Dad concentrated on the road now. I didn’t think he was a very good driver; at least he wasn’t as good as Oyewole who could drive, chat on his phone and discuss with his passenger at the same time. My dad had rebuked him several times for this; he would always say it was a bad habit. But I didn’t agree with dad; I thought Oyewole a better driver.

To be continued shortly.

We were soon out of the village. My sister was dozing off, mom too. The images were becoming blurry, I thought I could hold on, but the early morning harmattan breeze and the general inactivity around, barring dad’s driving, soon drew me in. In a few minutes, I was in dreamland.

We were nine years old, I and my sister. Fraternal twins, according to my mom, I was named James while my sister bore the name Jane. That was the only identical thing about us. While I was dark complexioned like dad, she was closer to mom’s fair complexion. While I had a lanky frame, she seemed to have inherited dad’s fats. Oh! I forgot this: another identical thing about us was that we both loved to talk. But while I could talk in any situation, she usually chose her audience. I loved soccer – whether it was playing or watching it, but she preferred the movies. While I actually found some of those movies interesting, she absolutely detested soccer, and would always wonder aloud what I and dad, especially, found so fascinating about it. There was no point explaining it, like dad would say; she would never understand.

My uncle’s wife was all smiles as she ushered us into their house. The sitting room was well furnished, I bet even better furnished than our own sitting room. And the heavily upholstered sofas had been presented to him by dad free of charge. Adorning his walls were framed photographs of different sizes, some portraits of himself, others of his wife, children and some of the entire family. The latter were varied in their portrayal of the different stages in the development of the family. Some were of both parents with Baby Toluwa, before the arrival of Ayo and Bola, while others had the parents with Tolu and Baby Ayo, with yet others of the entire family. I wasn’t sure we had half the number of family photos in their sitting room in our entire house.

“This is wonderful,” said Aunty Agbisi, stooping to hug Jane, “you were much smaller last time I saw you!”

“That’s how they tend to grow,” said mom. “I know I will be equally surprised when I see Tolu.”

“Maybe not,” replied my uncle’s wife, “Ayo appears to be the fastest growing.”

Dad laughed at this. “It appears so to you because he’s youngest…’

“And the growth rates of humans tend to slow down as they advance in years.”

“That’s by the way,” said Aunty Agbisi, “how was the journey?”

“It was quite uneventful,” said dad.

“Really? Even with those roadside delicacies availed travellers at Lokoja? My husband never fails to stop for them.”

My stomach churned at this. It had been a trip in hunger for me. I was moved to complain on several occasions, but had to hold my peace on sighting the cheerful, contented look on Jane’s face. I considered it demeaning to complain when Jane wasn’t. After all, I was a man.

“The kids weren’t quite up for it,” replied mom. “I think it had to do with their eagerness to arrive the city.”

“Oh, that could be it,” agreed Aunty Agbisi. She excused herself and moved our bags into one of their many bedrooms.

I wasn’t pleased at all; how could mom hint at such a thing when they never bothered to confirm from us? How could my longing for the city substitute my raging hunger pangs? I wasn’t pleased at all.

I noticed that Jane wasn’t looking too pleased too. Could she be having the same reservations as I? I wondered. Did she view mom’s words in the same disappointing light as I? I wondered if I could get the answers I needed without my parents’ curious glances. And Aunty Agbisi was back.

The raging thoughts still crisscrossed my mind when Jane spoke up. “I was very hungry for a major part of the journey!” The words sounded like they had been held up for too long, and were forced to break out when the pressure couldn’t be contained any longer.

I expected dad to issue a stern rebuke, I expected mom to decry her indiscretion, but none did anything of such. mom pulled Jane to tight hug and stroked her hair.

“Why didn’t you speak up? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“And I actually thought of getting something for you kids,” added dad. “If only you had spoken up.”

“You know she can be very quiet,” said mom, providing an explanation herself. “One would have expected James to speak on her behalf.”

My hunger coupled with the building anger within me caused me to retort: “One would have expected a good mom to speak on behalf of her hungry children!” It was, according to our Social Studies teacher, one of the qualities of a good mother to ensure her entire household was well catered for, feeding wise.

I felt my stomach churn as I awaited an angry rebuke from mom, but once again, she took it all in good faith.

“Does that mean you were hungry too?” Her tone wasn’t as concern-laden as it had earlier been in addressing Jane, this time I could bet it was tinged with sarcasm this time.

I was yet to answer; I was still weighing up the best way to express my grouse with her earlier supposition when dad spoke too.

“Are you hungry, will you speak up?” His tone wasn’t friendly at all.

It was the same tone dad used when angry; but why was he angry? And why was the anger directed at me? I was still contemplating on how best to reply when I felt a heavy arm on my thigh. With a start, I came to. I had been dreaming.

“Sleepy head, are you hungry?” It was my dad’s voice, but the tone wasn’t any unfriendly this time.

Mom was wide awake already, so was Jane too. I rubbed on my eyes, allowing a wan smile as the import of dad’s question dawned. A look through the windscreen showed that we were already in Ore, that little Nigerian town reputed for its roadside travellers’ delights.

“I’m hungry O!” I said in a manner that drew laughter from mom and Jane. “What’s funny?” I addressed the latter with an angry stare, “are you not hungry too?”

“She started complaining the even before becoming fully awake,” mom replied, “I won’t be surprised if the hunger pangs began in her dreams.”

I smiled coyly; if that was the case, I was a partner in crime.

Just then, dad applied the car breaks, and when the car had considerably slowed down, he drove into the premises of a roadside eatery. From the number of vehicles there, commercial and private, it was obviously a travellers' delight.

Jane was fascinated by this too, as she was soon reading aloud, the names of the various transport lines inscribed on the body of some of the buses. She had already counted six before mom asked us to get off the car. Dad was already out, yawning and stretching, before I followed suit. mom and Jane were last to get out of the car. The latter was still engrossed with her self-assigned task of counting the number of transport lines in the eatery's premises and would let nothing deter her.

"There are about eleven buses, belonging to eight companies here," she finally announced gleefully. I couldn't help wondering who had set her to the task of counting them.

"Yes, my baby," mom replied, "most of the transport lines plying this route stop over here."

"Why this particular eatery? Why not others?"

"Some do go to others, but it depends on the perks in it for the drivers," explained dad, joining in their conversation for the first time. Jane didn't understand him, her face showed as much; I didn't, too, but was doing my best to appear uninterested in the conversation. Dad explained more. "Some eateries provide special culinary packages for the drivers free of charge..." As if to confirm his words, that moment, a driver walked up to his bus, clutching a branded takeaway bag of the eatery. Between his lips was a toothpick.

To be continued...

Mom nodded at him, but we had already seen him.

"The funny thing is that, because of what they stand to gain, these drivers would never get past this place without stopping; not even when their passengers desire otherwise..." mom went on to narrate a particular incidence in which, due to the distance they had to travel and the bad condition of the bus engine which was making movement very belaboured, all the passengers - herself included - had decided against stopping at one of such eateries. In defiance, the driver had still stopped and gone for his free meal even when everyone of his passengers had decided not to step out of the bus.

By the time mom finished her tale we were already inside the eatery. The smell of assorted meals and snacks pervaded the hall. Dad pointed at an empty table and we hastily made for it. We were wary of being cut off by other eager customers. We had barely settled down when a waitress walked up to us. Like others, she was wearing a branded red T-shirt on black jeans. The waiters all had on red branded fez caps.

"Good morning, sir; good morning, madam. What are you taking?" She asked, with a smile, her glance darting from dad to mom's faces. Maybe she thought us, the kids, inconsequential.

"Ask them first," said dad, nodding at us. I smiled; that was my dad.

"Please, what will you like to eat?" The waiter turned to us, her smile refreshed.

"I will like fried rice and chicken," I declared boldly.

She turned to Jane, who in turn turned to whisper to mom.

"Do you serve noodles?" mom asked.

"Of course we do," replied the waitress promptly.

"Then a plate for noodles for my baby here and pepper spiced beans pudding for me."

"Just give me two wraps of pounded yam and oha soup," said dad.

"We have beef, venison and chicken; which would you prefer?"

"Bush meat," replied dad in a way that made mom chuckle.

The dishes were served and we were soon belching in satisfaction. In my estimation, dad spent more on the spot than he usually gave mom for the local market which came up once every four days.

Mom got us some mince pies and canned drinks from the show-glass counter just beside the exit door. I think it was strategically placed there to attract every customer exiting the eatery hall.

Five minutes later, we were back on the road.

Maybe it was due to the delicious lunch, maybe it was due to the cold and dry harmattan breeze, but an hour had hardly elapsed when I drifted into a deep sleep.

I awoke to the noise of roadside hawkers, as they milled around our car, everyone advertising his wares simultaneously. We had arrived the city.

"It's only bread I want to buy," said mom, to the discouragement of some of the hawkers. Others were undaunted.

A breadseller pushed his way through to my mom's window.

"This one na #200, this one na #150, this complete 3-in-one pack na #550, but I fit give you for #500," he announced breathlessly, displaying his bread loaves-laden arms.

Mom passed a cursory glance at each of the categories before opting for the 3-in-one pack. According to her later on, it made economic sense.

I tapped Jane awake, and gleefully informed her that we had arrived the city.

***

It was going to be a Christmas with a difference - our first in the big city. Who knew when we were going to have another such opportunity?

I had heard several tales about Christmas in the big city from my classmates. Majority of these tales came from one Ade Olubebe, whose dad worked and lived in the city while his family resided in the village. Ade, an only child, spent all his holidays with his dad in the city and never tired of relaying, or would I say boasting, to us about the special dynamics associated with festivities in the city. Just last Christmas, he had been to the zoo in the city, where he claimed to have seen lions, tigers, chimpanzees, gorillas and even snakes, amongst others. He had even claimed to have offered a monkey some bananas, a claim I found hard to believe even when I viewed a similar footage on TV. That had been the morning period of Christmas day. Ade had claimed that his dad drove him to see Santa Claus same day, and that Santa Claus had hugged him before offering him a big balloon and a Santa branded head-warmer. I couldn't argue against any of these; in fact, I secretly envied him. Now was my opportunity, my opportunity to experience and be able to relay some of those fantastic tales of Christmas in the city. It was my opportunity to balance up the equation.

My uncle was back from the office when we got to his house. He partnered his friend and former coursemate in a law firm, and was obviously doing well. Dad parked his Passat behind Uncle Idowu's Toyota Camry. Beside the house was another tarpaulin covered car, a Honda SUV. The latter, I would later learn, was only used on special occasions.

"Go and check who is at the door," sounded his baritone voice after mom had pressed the door bell.

We heard the sound of approaching footsteps and soon the door was drawn open. On Ayo's face, apprehension gave way to uncertainty, and then to realisation as he jumped into dad's arms.

"Are they here already?" Came Uncle Idowu's voice as he approached the door. He sounded pleased.

From my dad, Ayo repeated same stunt on my mom, who couldn't sustain his weight, before hugging Jane and finally, me.

Dad hugged his brother, a bit taller and much leaner, while mom curtsied in salutation.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Uncle Idowu said jocularly, pressing me and my sister to himself for a hug.

We muttered our greetings, smiling like the proverbial christmas goat. He was smelling good, like our school proprietor's brother when he came visiting from the United States and was asked to address us.

"How was the journey?" He asked dad after releasing us. Not waiting for an answer, he reached for the bigger of our two bags and turned to lead the way into the house. Ayo grabbed the second, was surprised by the weight for a moment, but coped quite commendably. He was our senior by two months, was slightly taller, but - I think - weaker.

"There appeared to be more cars headed the direction we were coming from," dad said, "more persons were leaving the big city than moving into it."

Uncle Idowu found this funny and chuckled heartily.

"As the earth remaineth, movement to and fro will never cease. My fate was decided the moment Peter Okiemute decided to appeal his sacking by the electoral tribunal. Hearing is billed for the 24th of December." He set down the bag just beside the passage to the bedrooms. Ayo did likewise.

My dad nodded understandingly. Obviously, he wasn't hearing that piece of information for the first time.

"Where's my sister?" mom asked, her face glistening from sweat despite the fan blowing overhead. We were now in the sitting room.

"She's busy with those soldiers of the belly; God willing, she will soon conquer them for our abdominal freedom."

It was dad's turn to laugh this time. mom had just announced that she would go meet Aunty Agbisi in the kitchen when the latter emerged. She was covered in sweat.

"My sister!" They simultaneously hailed each other, before Aunty Agbisi continued. "I am very honoured to have you under my roof." I wondered for a moment if she could see us as she and mom launched into . "Beautiful kids, come and greet me nau."

We went to her, barely uttering a word as she expressed her pleasantries. She hugged each of us no less than two times, patting our heads and faces each time. Her hands smelt of onions.

Then she curtsied in greeting to my dad.

"Ohamo!" My dad hailed in our dialect, meaning 'my female in-law'.

"How was the journey, sir?"

"If the journey wasn't fine, we won't be here."

The adults found this funny and all burst into laughter. Ayo was whispering something to Jane, something that made her frown initially before her face creased into a smile. I felt alone, no one was carrying me along.

"We thank God for that; hope everyone in the village are fine?"

I would have asked how she expected me to know that, but dad answered in the affirmative. Liar, I thought.

Aunty Agbisi soon returned to the kitchen, with mom of course, and the table was ready shortly after. We all took our seats to a delicious meal of pounded yam and egusi.

***

Continues Shortly...

***

The next day was the first of the two weeks we were to spend in the city. It was barely daybreak when my parents set forth for the village; they had already taken their baths before we awoke and we were awoken very early in Uncle Idowu's house for morning devotion. Ours in the village usually commenced at 6 a.m., but Uncle's Idowu's commenced at 5.30 a.m. As explained by Ayo, this was to enable his dad set off early enough for his daily engagements.

"The traffic could be a real heartache here," he explained, "the best way to beat it is to set out as early as possible."

We proceeded on our morning chores soon after, sweeping the sitting room and the verandah. Aunty Agbisi wouldn't allow us to do anymore work. This would be the pattern, save washing our dirty laundry, for the next two weeks. Breakfast was ready before we were through with bathing. Uncle Idowu was far gone when we commenced with eating breakfast.

That was the first day of our two weeks stay in the city.

The subsequent days were quite uneventful, but they provided sufficient fodder for my feverish anticipation of the excitment Christmas day will provide. The jingles beamed on TV, jingles of Christmas parties for different age categories. Several Santas were coming into town, according to the jingles; some from Ireland, some from Italy, some from Morocco...yes, Morocco!

That one got Ayo laughing so hard we initially wondered what he found so funny about the jingle. Hiis next words cleared the air on this.

"These people think we are fools," he said. "How can you have a Father Christmas from an Islamic country? Their media team obviously didn't think this out well."

I envied the extent of his reasoning, product of living his entire. So I loved to think. I saw it as a cognitive deficiency on my part not to have reasoned in that direction at all.

Yet I found myself not in total agreement with Ayo. Wasn't it possible that the Santa in question was from the minority Christian population of Morocco? This argument sounded reasonable to me, it was good for my mentally punctured ego. I put it forward.

"Village boy," he replied, resuming another round of laughter. Jane shot me a 'you think you know too much look', I winced mentally. He continued: "How many of those Santa Clauses do you think are from foreign countries? Let's take Royale Events Centre, for instance, do you think they can afford to import a Father Christmas from the United States? Do you know that they barely managed to pay their rent two months ago? Do you know that our currency has further depreciated against the dollar since then? How do you think such could import a Santa Claus even from Ghana?"

Ayo, who had barely spoken the past hour, chuckled. It hurt me, but I was learning to pick my fights. Yet again, an argument occured to me. How did Ayo get to know that Royale Events Centre were owing. He didn't allow me voice my reservations when he said.

"Incase you are wondering how I came about that piece of information, their landlord is a client of my dad."

It was perfect. I had no case again.
Ayo went on to explain how most of the Christmas parties were money spinners for the organizers. Aside the gate fees, they usually sought for sponsorship from more prosperous corporate entities. The latter meant increased ability to hire trending artistes, thereby guaranteeing more of the former as these, in turn, attracted bigger crowds. There was one of such that had one A-list and two B-list artistes. Ayo expressed his desire to attend this, but decried the outrageous gate fees. The only outlet was if his dad gave us the money. He vowed to do all within power to Uncle Idowu's support; he even said he would cry, if the need arose. To this I smiled while Jane chuckled.

His manoeuvres turned out successful, for two days later, Uncle Idowu informed us that we would all be attending the party.

"I am sorry for having been so unavailable these past few days, law business could sometimes be really demanding..." He began, seated with Aunty Agbisi on a sofa opposite that on which I and Ayo sat. Jane was alone, lying on another sofa.

"But it is hardly rewarding when not so," Aunty Agbisi interrupted, a smile on her lips.

Uncle Idowu chuckled. "Not always so, my dear, not always..." he appeared like one contemplating on whether to provide more backup for a point, but shook his head and continued. "After the case on the 24th, I will be as free as air. We have properly done our homework and believe the judgement will be in our favour. Our chambers would be closed same day, to reopen in the new year; that will provide us ample opportunity to visit the village. We should be there for a week, at least."

"That means we should leave on the 26th?" It was Aunty Agbisi.

"Yea, tentatively so. God willing, we should sleep in the village that day."

"Dad loves involving God in everything; where is the place of faith?" It was Ayo this time. Once again, I marvelled at the height of his reasoning.

"Faith without God is dead," Uncle Idowu replied, like to a colleague.

"No, it is faith without works," argued Ayo. His mom agreed with a nod and an askance stare at her husband.

"That's true, but I maintain that faith without God is dead. It may not actually be totally dead, but it would have taken another form, a kind of corrupted form. Pride, conceitedness, superciliousness, name it, braggadocio and so on. For faith to be faith, like we profess, it has to be founded on God."

Aunty Agbisi clapped lightly and rested her head on her husband's shoulder. Ayo smiled; he knew it when he was beaten. I wished the argument by Uncle Idowu had been made by me.

"My barrister, you may continue with what you were saying," said Aunty Agbisi.

"Oh yea. I have our Christmas day already planned out, but will entertain any reasonable inputs we may make today. Our church is, fortunately, one of those that don't hold Christmas services except they fall on Sundays. Therefore, I will be visiting a couple of family friends between 10 and 12 a.m. in company of my wife. Thereafter we would have an hour of rest after which we will set out for the zoo; from there we will go to Kaydeez Amusement Centre - there we will take some snacks and soft drinks before hitting the swimming pool - hope Jane can swim?"

Jane looked away immediately Uncle Idowu turned to look at her. I knew she couldn't swim, but kept that information to myself. The question hadn't been directed at me. I wasn't sure I could swim either. There was an old cistern behind the village Anglican church, where we usually went for "swimming", but I wasn't so sure anymore as its complete depth was barely above my waist level.

"Well, that shouldn't be a problem as there will be personal flotation devices for all. And the cameras will be clicking all the way.

"We should eat something from the Kaydeez Village Kitchen before going to Ayo's party..."

"Festive Trends Family Christmas Party," Ayo promptly corrected his dad.

"Whatever it is called," said Uncle Idowu forthrightly. "Do we have any inputs we'll like to make?"

No one said anything as he looked from face to face. His smile appeared mocking, like one trying to gauge the intelligence of his audience. I was dreaming already.

"There's obviously none," said Aunty Agbisi, arising from beside her husband. She yawned and stretched before slipping her feet into her slippers. "Let me quickly go and make the bed, sir."

Every eye turned in her direction as she exited to the passage. Then I noticed it: every face was smiling - Uncle Idowu, Ayo and Jane. Obviously, the latter two were also dreaming: they were dreaming about the visits to the zoo, the Kaydeez Amusement Centre and Village Kitchen, and the Festive Trends Party. I couldn't wait for the day to come.

I was rehearsing the manner I will narrate the account of my exciting Christmas in the city to my classmates the next day, when Uncle Idowu drove in. He parked the car and horned for attention. I was already up and ran to him. Ayo and Jane were inside the house, I was alone in the verandah.

"Welcome, sir," I greeted him.

"Gentlemen!" He replied, patting my shoulder affectionately."Where's Ayo?"

I told him.

"Ayo," he called aloud and Ayo responded from inside the house. Then he turned to me: "There are some items in the boot that we will be carrying inside."

Uncle Idowu opened the boot to reveal a sack of rice, a shoppers' basket of Cornflakes, Danish cookies, Peak milk, Milo, a bottle of groundnut, and some seasoning items, neatly packed and wrapped with transparent nylon. There was also a 20 litres can of vegetable oil in the boot.

We had these items moved indoors, with Ayo and I combining our strengths to carry the bag of rice. Uncle Idowu made a joke about the manner we were carrying it, but he made no attempt to assist us. Just when we thought the work was completed did Uncle Idowu set down two packs of fruit juices and a pack of Reil Sharp Wine. We quickly carried these in.

"Weldone guys," Uncle Idowu hailed us. He turned to Ayo. "Tell your mom that those items are from Lovely Petals Organization. You guys make have some fruit juice, but don't you attempt that wine at all."

I was wondering why when Ayo put the question to his dad.

"It's highly alcoholic. Sweet and highly intoxicating."

"Count me out," said Ayo promptly.

His dad gave him a thumbs-up and opened the car door.

"I will be back as soon as possible." Uncle Idowu shut the car door and started the engine. We watched him drive away in a billow of dust before Ayo turned to me.

"I am going inside; I wonder how you manage to remain outdoors in this harmattan."

I chuckled and followed him; if only he knew that what they called harmattan in the city was child's play compared to what obtained in the village. As we entered the sitting room, my mind wandered to the bottles of Reil Sharp Wine.

My uncle didn't return home until 7 p.m., he was in high spirits and spoke animatedly for most of the evening. Christmas was two days away and Peter Okiemute's appeal came up next day.

"The case is over," he told Aunty Agbisi as we awaited the 9'O'clock news, "we just got helped in a very great way."

"Got helped? Has it been struck off?" Aunty Agbisi asked for want of something better to say.

"Struck off? Good heavens! The hearing comes up tomorrow and we will do all within our power, God willing, to wrap it up."

"How did you get helped?"

"Evidence, my dear, evidence! We got video evidence from a very unlikely source that will surely, irredeemably, puncture whatever argument our opponents may come up with. Not even a partisan judge can overlook this this time."

"I hope the case isn't adjourned indefinitely."


Continues shortly...

"They won't dare. That's why we are investing in the media to make sure court proceedings are given as much publicity as possible. The judge would thread softly, knowing his actions would be seriously scrutinized by the general public..."

"My barrister!" Aunty Agbisi hailed.

Uncle Idowu only smiled.

****

Uncle Idowu left home even earlier than usual the next day. He said he had some tasks to accomplish at the office before departing for the court. These, explained Aunty Agbisi, included preparing the witnesses for the court and also finetuning the pieces of evidence to be presented at the court.

Some huge chunks of beef were delivered by a butcher at noon. Ayo explained that payment for the beef had been made as early as six months back. His mom belonged to a cooperative of ten women, who jointly bought and shared a cow every Christmas.

The preparation of this: cutting into smaller pieces, washing, spicing, boiling and, eventually, frying made us unaware of the passing of time. We had barely finished with this when Uncle Idowu arrived from the court. His triumphant smile and jovial tone said it all - they had won the case.

We all rejoiced with him, though I hardly comprehended the import of his winning or losing.

"Congratulations, sir," said Jane, without any inhibitions, "I was certain you would win."

What was wrong with her? For reasons best known to her, Jane hardly spoke in Uncle Idowu's house. And those few times were usually with Aunty Agbisi or any of us, kids. Her conversations with Uncle Idowu rarely exceeded the salutations level. Now she was saying what I felt was rubbish.

"Really?" Uncle Idowu asked.

"Yes, I dreamt about it; saw you rejoicing after the court judgement."

"Hmmm, you won't believe that I dreamt same, too. I had to do all to restrain myself from divulging my dream this morning." Uncle Idowu looked at her so lovingly that I started wishing I was in Jane's shoes.

He announced to us all that he would be having some friends over that evening, they were coming to do the victory celebrations with him.

These ones arrived soon after. We all, barring Uncle Idowu and Aunty Agbisi, retired into our bedrooms, and remained there until their exit after over an hour. The parlour reeked of alcohol after our emergence, two bottles of Reil Sharp Wine lay on the floor, empty. There were some glasses on the table, and some on the stools in the sitting room.

It was later that night that I discovered that there was a half empty bottle of the Reil Sharp Wine in the fridge. This was my opportunity to taste the wine, to savour that acclaimed sweet taste of it.

But I couldn't take the opportunity, not with Uncle Idowu, his wife, son and my sister all seated in the sitting room. I had to take my time. Against my wish, I fell asleep even before my uncle that day.

The urge for the wine heightened the next day, Christmas day. I couldn't say which was greater between my longing for the wine and my anticipation of the schedule for the day. The exchange of Christmas greetings didn't abate my longing for the wine. I was sure the urge would be over once I had had a taste. I was sure it wouldn't be more than just a sip.

The long sought opportunity finally came when Uncle Idowu departed, with Aunty Agbisi, to visit some friends. Ayo and Jane, who had taken their baths after me, were dressing up when I sneaked to the fridge. The half empty bottle was still there, untouched since the previous evening. I contemplated on how best to accomplish my mission and was about pouring some of the horse-blood coloured liquid into a glass cup readied for the purpose when I heard some footsteps behind me. Unsure of how best to hide my indiscretion, I pulled out the now uncorked bottle and quickly hid it inside my shirt.

"This harmattan has made me undesirous of most cold things," said Ayo, now in the sitting room, "I can't imagine, for instance, taking chilled water from the fridge."

That had nothing to do with me, I said in my mind. My problem was how to sneak off with the bottle without being discovered. An outlet showed up when Ayo went to switch on the television. Like one pursued by a thousand demons I dashed off to the bedroom. Of course, Ayo came after me, but not before I had gotten the bottle hid.

"What chased you off the fridge just now?" Ayo asked when he arrived the bedroom. "You should have observed the cold weather before going for refridgerated stuff,"

I seized the anchor he had provided. "Don't mind me; in such weather I had no business with chilled water." I actively willed him away, I was beginning to freeze beneath the shirt.

"Maybe you should get on a sweater," he said and moved back to the sitting room.

"Yes," I agreed, and had just pulled out the bottle when he showed up again. I was doomed...

Continues Shortly...

yes you have an audience. and that audience is me.. it's a nice piece sir.. ride and ride... merry Christmas..

Surprisingly, I was fast enough this time, much faster than I would have been had it been a worthy venture. In a jiffy, I had a shirt over the hand clutching the wine bottle.

"How about going out for some snacks?" Ayo suggested. His mom had given us some 'Christmas' money before their exit.

"Hope you haven't forgotten that we will be taking same later, according to your dad?"

"Yea, just thought we could kill some boredom while awaiting them."

I didn't share in the boredom; I had 'something' to entertain myself with.

"I don't really feel like it. How about going with Jane?"

"Let me ask her," he said and walked to his mom's room where Jane slept.

The shirt was still over my hand when I heard him and Jane move past our room, talking excitedly. They had gotten to the sitting room when Ayo announced aloud that they were going out. It was good news to my ears, finally I had the chance to have a taste of the wine.

I waited for some seconds after I heard the hearing the entrance door shut before uncovering my wine clutching hand. Finally here was the much awaited wine. As I lifted it to my mouth, I caught a whiff of its alcoholic component and was ill at ease. Uncle Idowu had said it was sweet, but I had once been told that alcohol both smelt and tasted sour. Curiousity soon got the better of me and I lifted the bottle again to my lips. This time, not even the smell would deter me as the chilled liquid hit my tongue. It tasted good, very good, much better than I had thought. I checked its label, it had a 40% alcoholic component. Was that too much or too small? It didn't matter, for I took a gulp this time. Another followed, and yet another, and before long I had halved what I met in the bottle. It was then I remembered my sister and cousin, who would soon be returning from where they went, and I ran to replace the bottle in the fridge, after yet another sip.

I felt good; sleepily so, and relaxed on a sofa to watch the TV. Then I felt a funny sensation going around my body and everything around suddenly felt like the din of rainfall while inside a coaster bus. I heard some knocks on the door, but wasn't sure who opened it. My cousin and sister entered the sitting room, but it later turned out to be my uncle and his wife. It seemed like I was in a perpetually swirling motion and my efforts to stop this only increased it. I was being spoken to, I was responding, I knew I wasn't saying the right things, but had no power to stop talking. My sister and cousin were back, too; and they were being questioned on my account. I saw all of this, I knew how it went, but I didn't see it till the end. All suddenly became blurry, then blank.

***

As my uncle drove us to the village next day, I couldn't help reliving the opportunity I had lost. I wished I could turn back the hands of the clock, I wished things had turned out differently. I felt bad, bad that my dreams had been truncated - not by anyone else but by myself.

I had told my uncle to mind his business, as his law practice didn't include pokenosing into other people's affairs. I had warned him to love his wife as there were many others who were ready to in his place; I had heard that line from Oyewole, dad's apprentice. I had urged him to be mindful of the pleasures they availed themselves in the name of celebrating Christmas, telling him that in the course of Christmas celebrations, many have greatly fallen out with God Almighty; that line had been from the Children's Section teacher at church. Uncle Idowu had been greatly surprised initially, Aunty Agbisi had been worried and Jane had burst into tears. Only Ayo had been expressionless. Uncle Idowu had soon discovered the reason behind my abberant behaviour. He had laughed as he showed the almost empty bottle to his wife, and had advised her to set her mind at rest as I was going to be fine once I awoke.

My condition hadn't deterred them from embarking on the pre-planned outing for the day. They were on the final lap of this when I came to. I had discovered to my chagrin that I was alone in the house. But realisation had gradually dawned on me, and with it a sudden urge to retch. I had barely made the bathroom before emptying the contents of my stomach. The unpleasant stench of this had almost prompted another vomit, but my obviously empty stomach had made this impossible. I was still contemplating on what to do with my putrid ejection when they arrived home...

My uncle had ensured that I was informed of all I had missed; he had also ensured that every one of my actions and statements were relayed to me. I had felt so ashamed that I hadn't been able to say a word till sleep overtook me that night.

I had been at the brink, the very brink, yet had ended up totally losing out. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all, I rationalized, or why had Uncle Idowu brought such drinks home. I wouldn't have had the opportunity, I further mused, had Uncle Idowu not placed such drinks in his fridge. Even his charge to us not to attempt the wine had been contributory to my fall; it had actually enkindled my curiousity. My disappointment gradually gave way to anger, and this anger was directed at none else than Uncle Idowu. He was to blame, I thought, he was to blame for spoiling my story. I looked up to the rearview mirror and caught his eyes on me. In surprise, I looked away; but felt even more angered by this little act of cowardice. I assumed a scowl and turned back to defiantly hold his stare this time, but he was no longer concerned about me. I returned to my musings... Of course, I had a story to tell; the story of how not to spend one's Christmas in the city.

**The EnD**

Nice one ohibenemma

Your short pieces is always a delight to read.. Merry Christmas in arrears and happy new year in advance

Interesting piece u got there,more grease to your elbow.

Reading....

cool

nice 1

will read in d next public holz

labaski:
yes you have an audience. and that audience is me.. it's a nice piece sir.. ride and ride... merry Christmas..

. You were a source of strength. Thanks for being there. This piece is dedicated to you, LABASKI!

kingphilip:
Nice one ohibenemma

Your short pieces is always a delight to read.. Merry Christmas in arrears and happy new year in advance

Thanks...thanks...wishing you same, sir.

gokay11:
Interesting piece u got there,more grease to your elbow.

Thank you; have you checked my earlier stories?

Bantino:
Reading....

Please, do share your views when through.

frankwells:
When my mate r collecting Dasuki gate,I will now read this long endtime story Seun abeg summarize am,we have lots of lazy students here

"Lazy Students" Congrats, sir!

Ohibenemma:
Please, do share your views when through.

21 gun salute sir. You're just too good.

Delivery, editing, grammar, storyline cum lessons, ability to hold keep the audience glued, etc etc 100%..

Wish i could write like you sir.

Bleep..... Too long

U mean like the Pacesetter 's "Christmas in the City?"

So, great. I love this.

mak u read first sha

Congrats, bro. Keep it up!