This 'face-me-I-face-you’ short story is a must read

14:24 - 19 August 2016

Add Pulse as a preferred source on Google

I had noisy neighbours.

And by noisy I mean incredibly loud. Everyone in the building knew every single that went on in their two bedroom apartment. And I had the misfortune of being opposite them in the ‘face-me-I-face-you’ room I rented in Ekiti during my NYSC program. I was forced to listen to their noise more often than I listened to my TV, thanks to PHCN.

Mama Yinka and Baba Yinka both had loud booming voices, and they exercised their vocal cords each day. We all knew what was going on in their rooms at any point in time.

We knew when they were eating; they made chewing noises like Screen Muncher. Their snores always caused the whole building to vibrate so we knew when they were sleeping.

We knew when they were having sex; Baba Yinka’s grunts and his wife’s moans could be heard all the way down the street. And we also knew when they fought. Oh, we knew when they fought. The whole street knew when they fought. Apart from hurling expletives at each other during these bouts, they also hurled objects. Be it the broom, wooden spoon, glass cup, shoes, umbrella, anything in sight was a weapon.

We were all used to the couple beating each other up; it was a frequent occurrence, five days out of the seven. And some of us (like me) took secret delight in the free entertainment they provided.

It was quite a sight to watch Mama Yinka flee as fast as her fat legs and bum would allow, while her husband followed in pursuit, his big stomach wobbling a few steps ahead of him like a pot of water that threatened to overturn.

On this fateful day, they started their wrestling bout as usual, and I came out to watch. Mama Yinka had her wooden ladle as weapon while her husband brandished his umbrella. When they finished throwing each other around inside the building, they took the show out to the street.

And that was when Mama Yinka decided she couldn’t endure whacks from the umbrella anymore so she fled. Whoosh! She took off down the hill that was our street, her husband and his stomach ran close behind her in hot pursuit.

And then something happened. Baba Yinka lost his footing and fell. And fell. And fell. He landed face down, and down the hill he went. With his huge stomach, he looked like a ball as he rolled down the hill.

When he finally rolled to a stop at the bottom of the hill and neighbours rushed to his aid, it was a gory sight. Half the skin on his face, arms and legs had been peeled off and he had lost several teeth.

In short, he was a bloody mess. By now Mama Yinka was far gone, unaware of the tragedy that had occurred.

By the time we got him to the hospital and he’d been treated and examined, the doctors came to tell us that Baba Yinka had broken two teeth; chipped three and he’d broken his right arm and left leg.

Sadly, I thought to myself that he wouldn’t be chasing and beating his wife anytime soon. Neither would I have anymore of the free entertainment they provided.

And this was the only way that the incident was a tragedy to me.