December 25, 2000; Abeokuta.
Whoever believes Christmas is the birthday of Christ must be living in fantasy land; a land peopled by fat, heavily-bearded, sack-carrying men in oversized red habiliments. To me and people of my ilk, Christmas is the official excuse for the slaughter and consumption of millions of hapless and helpless chickens worldwide. I am yet to be convinced otherwise.
I grew up in a large compound which quartered two houses. The first is a face-me-I-face-you storey building with ten rooms on each floor, five on both sides of a long corridor, which ended in a row of two kitchens flanked by bathrooms and toilets. The second house, the one we lived in, is a two storey building. Each floor a glorified face-me-I-face-you the landlady delights in calling a 3-bedroom flat: two rooms each on both sides of a short corridor and a kitchen, toilet and bathroom. Ours was the ‘flat’ on the ground floor.
I am the fifth in a family of six children, all boys. Being a ‘Boys Hostel’, our ‘flat’ was the home of blistering activities anytime, any day. At Christmas, it is not uncommon for our neighbours to come around and ask for one of the boys to help kill one or two Christmas fowls. And the boys were always willing to help, for you were guaranteed a plate of rice -the type depending on how well-to-do the neighbour is- and two big pieces of chicken. I didn’t ever have a chance to kill fowls for any neighbour; I was way down the pecking order. But I would get my chance. And I did.
My chance came with a large dose of opportunity.
A beautiful nurse had just rented one of the rooms in the first building. Her name was Remi and because she was some eight years or so older, I called her Aunty Remi, or just Aunty. Aunty is one of my teenage-years recollections of a beautiful woman. Tall, full-bodied, fair–skinned, lovely face and graceful movements, her eye brows were always dark as though she permanently wore eyeliners. She resembled some disowned Arabian princess who happened to find herself in Nigeria. I hate to admit it, but I was in love with Aunty Remi for a long time.
Shockingly, all my brothers detested her. Maybe because of the way she carried herself, elegantly and assuredly, like some sophisticated turkey, or because of the fact that she was almost a loner. I was her only friend in the compound and from time to time, she’ll send one of the smaller boys in the compound to fetch me, whenever she needed me for one thing or the other. So when she bought a fowl for Christmas, I was the natural choice.
On the day, she’d sent Deji, one of the boys in the compound, to get me.
“Bankole, you can kill a chicken, abi?” She asked me, her eyes piercing into mine like some nanny trying to decipher a weeping child’s inner thoughts.
“Yes, I can.” I answered in a voice barely audible to even me. How could I have told her I’d never killed one before? And, what’s the big deal about it? After all, I’ve seen my older ones kill fowls times without number.
“Ok. Come and help me kill this chicken,” she said, leading the way towards the balcony where the bird was tied. The fowl was so big I thought it was an under-aged turkey, only convinced it wasn’t when I heard its coos. Aunty went back inside and was soon back with a knife, a small bowl of water and a tray. With Deji as my sidekick, I went for the fowl.
When I approached it, the knife in my right hand, I could swear I saw a what’s-going-on frown scurry across its unblinking eyes like a rat in a sparse room. With neck strained and tilted at an angle, a cluck cluck sound escaping its oesophagus, the fowl stood, waiting; watching. It seemed wary and confused. With Deji’s help, I grabbed and laid it on its side, the way I’d seen my brothers do severally. With my right foot pinning both feet to the floor and my left doing the same to the wings, I strained the fowl’s neck and applied the knife. Slowly at first but when the up and down movement of the knife didn’t seem to have any effect, I increased pace and added more force.
“Fra, fra, fra,” the knife went until suddenly, I cut through the throat. The sudden burst of blood accompanied by the fowl’s violent struggle startled me. I threw down the knife and unconsciously stepped off the bird, like someone who suddenly realised he’d stepped into an assembly of soldier ants. By so doing, I freed it.
The fowl laid on the floor, blood gushing from its neck, its feathered-mass twitching like someone in the aftermath of a high voltage electrocution. As I stepped back in awe, contemplating finishing the job, the fowl suddenly started rolling on the floor, its claws scratching everywhere in a struggle for life. Then it stood, balanced on one leg, head bowed -a result of the severed throat- and started on a pirouette, like a drunk masquerade at a new yam festival. Midway through the ‘chicken dance’, the fowl stopped and took flight as if imbued with life from some indeterminate place.
I took to my heels, forgetting the mess I’d created, and ran past Aunty Remi who was watching proceedings from a yard behind.
I didn’t wait to see what else happened but I was told Deji, a full six years younger than me, grabbed the fleeing fowl and finished my job. The shame of the misadventure made me swear I won’t eat out of the chicken when it was prepared.
The fried chicken lap, sitting gingerly on the mountain of fried rice Aunty sent Deji to give me later in the day, changed my mind.
***
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Comments
Da Writing Engineer @banky
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This is beautiful, full of candor, and above all, hilarious. I would be laughing for a long while after this.
Lol! It was detailed and I agree with you on the xmas thing, it’s rather a chicken festival.
@Onireke, thanks man. I am glad it made you laugh. I still laugh over the episode too!
@ablyguy, thanks man. Na so o. Na real chicken festival!
This is a great story. Every thing is ‘on point’. Great detailing, and the pacing is just perfect. i could go on and on.
Well done!!!
@Ope, thanks man. Thanks so much for the kind words. And by the way, why didn’t you enter too? Hope no problem sha?
No mind me. Thought I didn’t have a worthy enough story. You need see as I dey bite finger now.
Eh yah! You’ve learnt a lesson niyen: no matter how horrible your story is, never give up on it. A little polish could turn a really bad story into a shining gem.
There are other contests to come even outside NS.
Cheers my man!
True talk Oga @banky, true talk. Mr. Lawal, I made that same mistake with last year’s Commonwealth Short Story contest. Regretting now. Doesn’t matter what you think of your story, it’s really what other ppl think that matters…Like Oga Banky said, never give up on a story. At least not until many ppl, as in MANY, have told u its rubbish, and even then sef…still don’t give up.
@gboyega, Exactly.
Nice one… truly the writing architect not just engineer! It’s a lovely story with descriptions out of this world!
Dowell, thanks for the kind comments; I am humbled. Thank you.@
Fine Work, but I think you spent too much time describing the structure of the buidings.
Good luck.
Scopeman, ok. Maybe, maybe not. Thanks for reading and thanks for the good wishes. Good luck to you too, man.@
@Scopeman, hmm, you sure open my eyes to a lot. If I had the bucks I sure would hire you as an Editor or something…without it still, would beg soon…:)
@banky, kai, you did some good job here man! I don’t share your view of Christmas as ‘Chicken-mass’ but what the heck, who cares?
Humour always gets me, any day. I knew the way it would end at some point but that was only because the works of people like @seun spoiled it with something similar…
Kai, like everyone else, I am still laughing. Well done man.
@Sueddie, the similarit to seun’s story is one of the products of the non-fiction thing. And that’s where style comes to play cos no two writers can write about the same event in exactly the same way.
Thank you for reading. I am glad I was able to make you too laugh with this, its a plus for me already.
Nice work. I have been through similar experience too but your narration brought back the memories. I haven’t killed a chicken ever since…the image of that bird in the throes of death haunt me still.
Thanks Midas. Now that you have ‘touched’ this, I hope it makes it to Ikhide’s table as part of the top ten. I don’t believe in all this voting thing, sentiments too much, hence, my reason for refusing to canvass for votes on NS.
Thanks man, thank you.
Sure, it’s golden already. Well done!
Yeah it is. Thanks man. Whatever Friday brings, I am so glad to have made it thus far. It’s a great boost.
Banky!!!
Kaycee!!!
Maximum respect sir!
Another beautiful work out of the few. Chop knuckle jare. I loved this all the way.
@gooseberry, thanks for finding this a good read. You sure have brought a proud smile to my lean face. Thanks!
love this. good writing. I’m still reading but u and Seun seem to be tops on my list.
@osakwe, thank you for taking time to read this and enjoying it enough to post such glowing comments. I am humbled. Thanks.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Banky, as always…
Ray.
@Raymond,
Bossman!
I hail o!
Banky
What can I say, when you keep doing this for long, you get really good at it. Can’t fault this, great story, great scenery, beautifully told. I killed a lot of chicken in my time, you just painted a how-to-kill-a-chicken picture in bright colour, abi na how-not-to. like the humour, deep. I see the veterans are doing good.
@Fred, Bossman! Na you o! Thanks for the comment.
Ha! Read Mr. Odukoya’s story before this so that sort of spoilt it a little, but nice angle man!! Good job! The chicken dance part still has me laughing like a complete dunce..hehehe. Also, there was some past/present tense clashing in the beginning but it got better as you moved on.. so anyhow Good Job!
@Gboyega, I agree with you on the past/present tense issues. My parents still live in the apartment and I, somehow, still consider it as home. Maybe my subconscious mind couldn’t relegate the supposed flat to the recess of forgotten times.
Thanks for reading man.
Masterpiece…I look up to you
Materpiece ke? look up to me?! I am just a regular guy like you trying to get ahead in the art and science of creative writing. Thanks for the flattering comment sir, I hail o!
Beautiful. Beautiful.
I mean every aspect was thoughtfully and skilfully rendered like a wonderful symphony from a well selected orchestra. I have never read any of your works but this alone commands my respect.
Nice job man. Keep improving your art.
Thank you @chemo. ‘A wonmderful symphony from a well-selected orchestra’n hmmnnn. Thank you again.
Interesting piece. Just had to read this after learning of your victory in the contest. Well deserved feat.
@technobayo, I am glad you liked this. Thank you for taking time to comment on this. God bless you bro.
Dat chicken sufa 4 ur hand o.
Hahahahaha, no b small tin. Finally na u win the trophy. I believe it’s worth it.
Hehehehehehehehehehehe! Chickens are easy,try turkeys now.hehehe!