It all happened so fast

It was like every normal day, Chima came over to our house. His presence was like a breath of fresh air and a great relief from stress for me. I had always anticipated his coming.

"Mekus! mekus!" He would usually tease me, Patting my little head with his palms. His fragrance transmitted a sort of energy that was inexplicable.

"Hope you're reading your books?" He frequently asked, his grin never seeming to fade.

"Yes." I would reply, my face wearing a light smile.

"Liar," he would say, lifting me up as though I were a 4-year-old child, thrusting me into the air.

I would laugh at the slight thrill of being thrown high into the air—reminded me of my Dad, triggering memories of the good old days.

"Alright Emeka, leave Uncle Chima alone." My mum would say.

In Nigeria, it's a tradition to call elderly ones who are close to you "uncle," even though there's no familial relationship between the both of you.

Sad, I would walk away leaving the both of them to attend to their business.

"Don't worry, we'll talk later." He would say as I hesitantly walk away. I knew 'later' meant till infinity, of which could be weeks.

Uncle Chima was my mum's student, and she was his academic supervisor as at then. He always paid visits to our house to receive academic guidance from my mum. He was like an escape from the harsh reality of home, the joy in my sadness; the smile on my worn out face.

Asides his companionship, he always brought something every 10-year-old would love: Candies! And not just candies, but my favourite, kit kat.

Sometimes he would come over, only to meet me in a pool of my own tears after being scolded by my Mum who was quite tough on me back then.

"What's the issue?" He would ask, his soft voice like the sound of the subtle ocean waves.

"I— I—" I would stutter, struggling to let my words out.

Source

"I understand. Come here." He would pull me closer to him, placing me on his warm thighs. He had this fatherly scent that made me comfortable around him, that manly stench.

"You know your mum doesn't hate you right?" He would ask, wiping the tears off my face.

"She's just stressed out that's why. Endeavour to complete the tasks she gives you, so that she doesn't have to come back from work to meet the same things she previously ordered you to do." His words had permeated my heart, as usual.

"If I was your mum, I would do the same, to be honest." He continued. This statement struck a chord in me, leaving me with the calmness that it wasn't a thing peculiar to only my mum.

"Serious?" I would chip in. My voice finally free from the intermittent sobs that made me stutter while trying to express myself earlier.

"Yeah, I'm serious."

What amazed me the most was his composure with words. He acted like a sixty year old man who had the key to a child's heart.

"I've told you before right?"

"Told me What?" I would ask, my eyeballs fixed to the ceiling trying to recall what it is he could have possibly told me."

"My story..." he gently prompted after observing the look on my face.

"You've never told me your story" I said—If he ever did, it would be encrypted in my head like the coded programmings of a computer.

"When I was small my both parents were tough to me. They would scold me as hard as you can imagine. I felt like they hated me... One day I woke up to the news that they were no more, I lost them to a road traffic aaccident..."

"Hmm," I exclaimed, not being able to hide my disbelief. Suddenly, I was flooded with the thought of losing my mum. I couldn't imagine a world without her.

"I relocated to live with my uncles in a different city." He continued, "it was at this point that I realised there's no place like home. The love I thought my parents gave me didn't seem enough for me but it was the only love anyone on this planet showed me..."

I could sense a slight crack in his voice. Almost like a scar, a traumatized one hidden by the stealth of time. A scar I couldn't fully delineate.

Life was so simple with Uncle Chima. I mean, really simple.

One day, my mum came back from work, her smile wasn't there as usual, only this time, there was a stealth about it. A Calm, expressionless face—one I hadn't seen before.

"Emeka please get me water." She gestured to me.

"Okay," I hurriedly got one for her.

She fell on the chair, sinking into it as though she was overwhelmed by life.

"What's that?" I asked in a low tempo.

"I just lost my job."

For a moment, I stood still, my gaze fixed into the thin air. I didn't know the words to say: sorry? What happened? I just didn't know.

I silently took a seat close to her. Glancing at her intermittently, as We tried recovering from the shock of my Dad's passing that was barely even up to a year, then this? How cruel could the world be?

Silence became our daily prayer, and for the first time, I didn't hear my mum shout or scream at me—it was supposed to be a thing of celebration, but this time, I suddenly wished she could return to her usual venting. Her silence was a subtle reminder of the misfortune that had befallen us.

"I'm coming, let me get to the office." She told me after days had passed. She had tried rectifying the whole issue at her place of work.

I tried shaking my head off the reality I had just been immersed into, so I tuned into cartoon network on the television, and fixed my eyes on the glimmering screen till I got carried away by a sudden wave of sleep.

I woke up at evening, darkness had plagued the house. I strained my eyes as I saw an image crafted into the darkness—a monster, I thought.

"How are you?" I heard a voice arising from the same direction, before realising it was my mum.

"Oh!" I let out a faint laughter, a laugh of relief. I walked closer to the chair, and there she was, in the same position yet again.

I was about having my seat next to her before I got hit with another shocking news...

"Chima is dead!"

Another wave of reality hit me like the storm on a winter night. First my Dad, then my Mum's job, now Uncle Chima? So many series of devastating events occurring in the blink of an eye. It was as though nature had teamed up against me.

I missed uncle Chima, those little thrusts, the stories that we both shared... his fatherly scent, and even though his fragrance was no more, his memories lived on.

There was a re-emerging silence. But this time around, it was a permanent one. One that lingered.

I pondered at everything that had happened since the start of the year and it corresponded to the phrase...

"When it rains, it pours."

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