We would all sleep together in the bedroom, but the next morning, we would find him on the floor in the kitchen, sleeping quietly. One day, we slept and woke up the next morning to find Ada’s scarf tied around his head, this actually happened on three different ocassions. On such times, we would laugh at him and take him pictures while he slept. He would wake up and discover the scarf tied to his head and his face would be strained in confusion and his feelings hurt. The other day he was wearing Chika’s skirt by morning. The other night, he just stood up, came to where I was sleeping and slammed a peeling slap on my face, I woke up immediately.
“Chidi are you crazy?”
No reply. He just walked back to his position and zonked out immediately. I was so infuriated but I tried to swallow it. The next morning, he denied everything.
“Me? Slapped you?”
It was no use arguing, because he did slap me, but it was in subconsciousness, so he wouldn’t know.
It wasn’t madness, Chidi was very smart. He was very jovial and playful too. When he was not asleep, he was just perfectly normal, totally sane like the others. We never saw it as a problem, mum and dad said some people were just like that. They call it Parasomnia, a disorder characterised by abnormal or unusual behaviour of the nervous system during sleep.
It soon was considered a big problem in the family as it soon struck a sour note.
That night, my brother Chidi, had gotten up from the bed and went out. I was awake, I lay down quietly and waited to see what he was up to that night. He came back and did not go back to his sleeping position, he headed straight to were Nnamdi lay. It was dark, I couldn’t see the small knife he had in his hand. Electric power came when he raised his two hands which tightly held the knife. Before I could shout, he had thrust the knife into Nnamdi’s chest. Nnamdi choked out some blood from his mouth, while the rest flowed from where Chidi had thrusted the knife, his eyes widely opened as he struggled to stay alive.
“Mummy! Daddy!” I screamed at the top of my voice. My scream chased out oblivion from all my sleeping siblings.
Chidi became widely awake, realising what he had done, his shaking hands, stained in blood. He opened his mouth. He was visibly shaking. Mum and dad rushed to the scene.
“Nnamdi!” Mummy screamed.
My brother was rushed to a nearby hospital. Fortunately, he was saved. A burning stare from my father went straight at Chidi who was crying.
But then, I wonder, who do we blame? Chidi? Or Parasomnia?