FRAILTY 3

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The day after the fight was a Saturday and Tayo woke up at seven am to sneak out for a smoke (the morning hit cast a rosy perspective on the rest of the day.) He’d be back home before eight when his mother usually came downstairs to prepare breakfast. He needed this high to face the “family breakfast.” As he approached the back door, stoned and ravenous (he’d smoke three wraps of grass) hoping to rush a bowl of cereal before sneaking up stairs, he heard his parents. They were at it again. Their angry words filtered down to Tayo who paused to listen. Dr. Omotayo accused his wife of neglecting her children. He called her a bad mother and blamed her for the accusations he’d heard their children fling at each other. She scoffed at him and told him, that if Tayo had become an “amugbo” (junky) then it was a result of a lack of male guidance in his life. “What about Timi?” He shot back at her. “Is she lacking male guidance?” Tayo moved away as the tempo of their voices increased. “What’s new?”

His father seemed really worried about Timi though, he thought as he opened the cupboard to bring out the box of cereal. As he tried to pour the cereal into the bowl, he noticed a slight quiver in his hands. He surmised that he’d been under a lot of mental stress. Pictures of Taofeek, Laky and Zauditu kept revolving round his mind as he battled guilt, remorse, shame. He’d tried to get in touch with Taofeek but it seemed he’d changed his numbers. Only the weed helped, it helped him forget. Right now he was crazy high. Suddenly he heard a loud bang from up stairs, and then Timi’s scream and immediately his head expanded and filled with air, the cereal bowl dropped and smashed. Somewhere in the recess of his mind he knew his father had killed Timi in anger. Dr. Omotayo was capable of a lot of violence but he’d never been violent with his kids just his wife and may be his girl friends. Tayo always thought it was only a matter of time though.

However in the fore of his mind, Emperor Haile Selassie felt like basking in the glow of his adoring subjects. He stepped out to the streets and waved regally as they all started at him in awe and reverence. He felt his head with his hands and realized he was without his crown. Why should he be? After all he was god. He admonished his subjects in his quiet regal manner concluding that if you want something done you need to do it yourself. He turned just to his left and saw his crown. He picked it up and perched it royally on his head and continued his walk. He came upon an open bar where a group of men sat welcoming the day with shots of alcohol. He shook his head sadly at them and recited a poem by Ras Sam Brown, “what is ganja”. When asked what all that meant and who he was, he explained that I and I, Haile Selassie the black Christ had resurrected”. They shooed him away and advised him to stay away from Igboó. He shook his head pityingly at them.

“The herb which you so irreverently and ignorantly speak about is actually a gift of god to man, it rids the mind of social and psychological hang-ups by altering one’s state of consciousness, revealing the true nature of the world to the inner consciousness”.  The store owner across was opening up her store for the day and paused in shock as she beheld Tayo. She screamed and grabbed her breast “Is that not Tayo?” He always bought provision from her.  She took off in the direction of his house. By the time she returned with his parents, Tayo had disappeared. The estate was large and they spent almost all day looking for Tayo. Meanwhile Emperor Haile Selassie still had a long way to go. His subjects had begun to recognize him and he knew that any street he didn’t pass, he risked disappointing his subjects. They waved, hailed, genuflected at him. Some women even burst into tears. He longed to embrace them, wipe away their tears, and show them that emancipation was now. But he figured his god like aura would probably overwhelm and kill anyone who came too close. So he stayed aloof but connected with them in the spirit.

Twelve hours later they caught him. He sat by the roadside smoking a joint when they saw him. Emperor Haile Selassie was in a meditative mood. He wanted to take off his cloak and crown but he couldn’t because pilgrims were still coming from far and wide to pay homage. So he lit up to commune with the spirits while he fulfilled his earthly duties. Timi saw him from the back of the car and screamed. His father stopped and called the ambulance at his hospital within the estate which had been on stand by. While the family sat in the car waiting for the ambulance and praying Tayo wouldn’t run off again. Oyinda suddenly flung the door open and raced to Tayo not minding the dirty broken paint bucket on his head or the filthy torn garri sack tied around his neck and flowing down his back. Tayo saw her coming too late. He got up to run but she was too close. She grabbed him in bear hug. He squeezed his eyes shut as he fearfully waited for her to drop dead. Seconds later he still felt her embrace. He peeked from under his lid and lo she was still alive! Behold, the golden child! The angel held his hands and walked him to his chariot where she sat with him, as they journeyed. He sat transfixed staring at her as she spoke in an alien tongue. Suddenly he felt a sharp prick. He fell into slumber before it really registered. That was all.

Two days later, he’d come around to the smell of sickness and disinfectant. He was in a hospital. Psychotherapy and medication were used by his father to promptly control and treat this psychological reaction. They never really talked about it but his father had a “man to man” “doctor to doctor-to-be” talk with his son about the simultaneous strength and frailty of the human mind. Reminding him also as a “doctor to be” that the effects of marijuana on brain waves are still unclear and inconsistent.

Despite the humiliation of bending, Tayo missed getting high. Evidence of his psychological dependence reflected in his increased negative moods. His sisters didn’t know how to handle it, his parents were never there. All that was three weeks ago.

 “Na me first bend?” he thinks defensively as he collects his shawarma. He walks on to his favorite spot, a deserted corner of the estate park. He rubs his hands together in glee as he prepars for his “quiet time”. He set his food and drink aside, opens his book to the marked page and lights a joint.

THE END


                                                                                                                   Rio