Purloining The Forbidden Meat

Purloining The Forbidden Meat

My parents didn’t earn much when I was a kid.
But in hindsight, they gave me the best tutelage
their paltry income could afford.
Many things were written off as luxuries and we
only afforded them on red letter days. Karl Mark
posited that religion is the opium of the poor but
for my parents, it was more than that; it was their
breadth. Dad was a devout whose puritanic
ideologies have helped in his becoming Sunday
school teacher. Mum was prayer warrior.
Oftentimes, the parish priest showered them
encomia in his sermons and urged the church to
be challenged by their devoutness and devotion.
Being a Puritan, dad was a hands on
disciplinarian. He would flagellate any erring child
with his koboko. We never really got along
because I feared him more than I loved him. I’m
not even sure I loved him.
The first Christmas we celebrated was when I
was 7. I was euphoric because now, I would have
my own tale of Christmas to share among my
friends at school. We would soon discover that
Dad decided to celebrate Christmas that year
because the Priest would be visiting.
Mum bought chicken and cooked of course Jollof
rice. When the priest arrived, the food was served
and Dad started his garrulous prayer of thanks
taking some ten minutes.
I masticated my Lilliputian piece of chicken
thoughtfully and ate every grain of rice on my
plate. If Heaven was real, I must have lived it
that Christmas – but not for long.
Power blackouts were very common then (and
are still common) and at night, NEPA ‘took the
light’ as we usually said in local parlance. Dad
was in his unlit room listening to News and I
sneaked in to steal his phone which had a
flashlight. My siblings were asleep and Mom was
having her shower. The timing was just perfect for
me to purloin a piece or two of chicken from the
pot. I tap toed to the kitchen housing the chicken
lighting my way with Dad’s phone and I began
I was on the second piece when the phone rang.
It was so vociferous and I became so unsettled. I
knew I had invited the devil from hell and no
amount of pleas would placate him.
Dad came to the kitchen with his koboko. That
night I committed two grievous offences: taking
his phone and purloining meats. All I could show
my friends at school were lacerations of my
father’s beatings.

2 thoughts on “Purloining The Forbidden Meat” by Olaniyi Olayemi (@OlaniyiOlayemi)

  1. Funny @ Olaniyi.Hope you had learnt some lessons of your youghtful escapades? I love the story.

  2. Very funny!some fathers sha!…sorry for the koboko, next time learn to put the phone on silence…thats if there will be “a next time”…nice work!welldone

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