We were not as rich as our neighbours the Salamis, but we were happy; my daddy took very good care of us. My mummy always says our daddy was an honest man. He worked in a place where there were many white men. Sometimes his white friends would come to the house with him and they would play with me and Oyigwe, my elder sister. At other times they brought and gave us wraps of guddy-guddy, trebors or chocolates.
People said my daddy was handsome, and that I looked so much him; he was tall, fair and strong like a soldier man.
On most evenings when he came back early from work and was less tired, he would tell me fascinating stories about faraway lands.
He told me the story of a place called Hiroshima in Japan. He narrated to me the frightening things that happened after something called an atomic bomb was dropped there.
I saw the bomb exploding in my mind’s eyes and it really scared me.
My daddy also taught me how to pronounce many new words in my Idoma dialect. And in return for all these stories, he would lay face down and ask me to scratch his back and crack his knuckles. Afterwards, he would cuddle me in his strong arms as we would go to sleep in the big iron bed he shared with my mummy.
My mummy was a caterer. She knew how to bake different types of delicious cookies and cakes. Most of the time, she would ask me to accompany her when she went to supply breads and meat pies to the corner shops near our house.
Mallam Buhari, the elderly salesman at the counter in one of the corner shops was always nice to us. My mummy told us that he was from Sokoto State. She said people from that part of Nigeria are usually peace-loving and that most of them are traders.
I noticed Mallam Buhari preferred to speak Hausa more than English most of the time. He always smiled whenever he spoke to the people that came into his shop.
“Anz haw iz my little prend, tozzay?” he would ask me in his funny accent as he handed to my mummy the money’s worth for whatever pies she had supplied to him.
“I am fine, thank you sir”, I always replied; that was how our mummy had taught me and my sister to respond when talking to elders.
“Bery gwud bwoy. Here, tsake theez along anz share wiz ya sister when you gez home, ko?” And he would give me some Nasco biscuits.
On my ninth birthday, my mummy baked for me a cake in the shape of a football. It was a very beautiful cake. I wouldn’t let anyone touch it because I wanted my daddy to return from work and bless it first. He had promised me earlier that morning that he would take all of us to the park upon his return so we can ride on the horses and to see the caged animals.
I sat on the cushion by the window all day, anticipating the familiar sound of my daddy’s Vespa machine as he rode into the compound.
Now I cannot remember how long I sat there waiting for my daddy, but I slept off.
When I did open my eyes again, two men were standing inside our parlour. One of them was smartly dressed in police uniform while the other one wore a plain shirt with a pen sticking out of his pocket. They were talking to my mummy who sat on one of the cushion chairs. She looked afraid.
I wanted them to go away because they were making my mummy afraid.
The one in uniform smiled kindly at me. But I refused to smile back.
My mummy put her hand to her mouth and she started to cry quietly. My sister who sat beside my mummy started to cry too.
I quickly went to my mummy and put my arm round her shoulder because I didn’t know why she was crying.
“A car just knocked your daddy down on his way from the office, Otseme”, my mummy told me through her sobs.
I rubbed my eyes to clear the remaining sleep and to try to understand what she had said. I looked towards the cupboard by the television and I immediately recognized my daddy’s helmet. It looked as if something had damaged it, and I even thought I saw something like splash of red colour all over it. I also noticed a battered box still wrapped in a new foil with ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO DADDY’S BOY’ written on the side.
Suddenly I understood why mummy and Oyigwe were crying; something really bad had happened to my daddy.
My heart started to beat very fast.
The man in police uniform put his big hand on my shoulder. “Your daddy will be fine”, he said to me.
I started to cry for my daddy.
End.
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Leekwid @myself
I suppose I'm an easy-to-get-along-with kind of person. I'm passionate about writing, maybe because I'm equally a voracious reader. I remember now I started experimenting with story writing while in primary school. While in Secondary school, a friend who'd be ready to do anything to listen to me reel out one of my many fictitious tales in our free periods, suggested i try putting these stories into book forms for others to read. Well, that singular suggestion did something wonderful to my inner man as i suddenly realized I'm cut out to be a writer. Agbenu And The Forest Spirits, an adventurously exciting folktale published by Apex Book, Lagos in 2007 was my first effort in traditional print within Nigeria. I have been writing seriously since then. I hope to published wonderful novels in the years to come. And I also hope I find happiness and fulfillment with the Naija Stories community as a veritable tool for further developing my writing skills. RegardsGo to Leekwid's profile, and read more of his/her posts.
“she went to supply breads and meat pies”
I don’t know. I think there’s something not quite right about that line. Maybe na my grammar no reach.
Sad nice story. Well written.
Well done Liquid.
Thanks@Seun, I appreciate your comment, and i promise to give it a closer perusal with a view to making correction(s). thumbs up : )
@Seun, me saw it now. You’re right, bro; somfin wrong with that tense. No mind me joor. But hop say the entire wrk no bad, sha?
@myself…
E NO BAD AT ALL.
I said so.
your story is so touching, when an honest man gets killed by a reckless driver its sad anyway good writing and i pray u find fulfillment someday
@mikeeffa, God bless u, comrade. It’s most heart-warming when heroic men honestly appreciate a good wine when they see one…
Awwwwwww… Hope he didn’t die sha? Nice story.
Sad nice story like @seun-odukoya said.
Thanks for liking@lancaster
@myself, this was a very good story. You did great work in capturing the simplicity and innocence of the MC’s childlike voice, and I liked how you let the reader figure out the tragic ending.
Well done – please accept 20 points.
@Tola, gracias! I’m honored.
Really touching, the innocence of the MC is really amazing too, loved the way you expressed it. Good work
Thanks a zillion@Tolu, it really warms my heart that my piece was worthy of ur time
as usual, i’m a fan. i love the simplicity
Oh Sally…I’m honored u like it.
Written from a child’s POV aided it’s simplicity…Nice one Lee…Well done…$ß.
Thanks@Bubbllinna. Happy u like it.
The writing is real good, though i consider all tragic works as bad literature.
@Kaycee, but tragedy’s an integral part of the condiment that brew up this huge cosmopolitan existence, bro. To me, a truly good literature should capture the very essence of humanity, both in adversity and in good times.
Bro, by all means write tragedies if you get a kick from the tragedies of life. Just try to warn the rest of us, by maybe tagging, so we would leave you and your tragedies to people who love depression and woes.
Me want to be happy, always, don’t need to be reminded of that particular part of reality.
Why do you think writers of humour are more appreciated.
@Kaycee, I suppose I’m a rounded writer; I have refused to write in the box or confine myself to a particular side of the room. And, whoever told you a humorist cannot at the same time present the best of tragicomedies? For the record, I would happily suggest you get a copy of my published book Agbenu And the Forest Spirit, as I’m most certain it would convince you I’m a very good writer of humor as well. After all, if every writer write humor don’t you suppose the whole writing thing would eventually become too monotonous?
I assure you, I won’t be reading agbenu and his forest spirit. But that is not the point. I didn’t say you should not write tragedies, I said u should let the readers know before they read, so that those who don’t enjoy tragedies will be forewarned.
Besides, yea, I will prefer only comedies to be written.
Lord of the manor kinda thing here? I’d say my daddy’s car is bigger than yours, friend…
@kaycee, HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
@ Kaycee, For the record, go back down memory lane and u will be able to deduce if truly it’s only humor-mongers that are appreciated in the hall of literature.
This is really beautiful. Well written and well told. Welldone ‘yourself’. Lol.
Hehehehe…’yourself’ @geeseberry (oops!) goosebeery, thanks for d compliment. Lol
every body will not read comedy so please write
@mikeeffa, it’s because of honest men like you that literature has attained the very lofty ground on which it grandly stands today. We shall not allow a few self-acclaimed Lords of the manor to kill our collective creativity in diversity.
Awwwww. I hope the Dad didn’t die sha? So sad, what a terrible birthday gift.
Kudos to a job welldone @myself
@Lancaster, thanks for liking. As for whether the dad died or not is actually left for the reader to decide. Lol
He must not die oh. Well, I think I heard the police officer saying “He will be fine”.
He must not die oh. Well, I think I heard the police officer saying “He will be fine”
@lancaster, I’m presently toying with the idea of developing it into a full novel. But, writing from a young child’s POV can be tricky, you know.
Again, in the event that I decide to develop it further, I really cannot ascertain what may become of his daddy (since subsequent events, as they unfold in the story, should determine that).
But, do you really think I should develop Waiting For My Daddy any further?
Cute story… Nice.
Beautiful, exuding the innocence of a child, tragic and touching, I like it. Great work!
@francis, I’m truly humbled and encouraged by ur review. And I’m always open to constructive suggestions with a view to improving on my craft. God bless.
I liked the story, liked the telling and all but I didn’t feel the emotion sha….but i fink its just mme sha!
Well Done