“He has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s”, that was the answer the bald headed doctor gave us. My uncle, Opeolu lolled on a bed with his eyes open. People in the neighbourhood often wondered how he kept his job with his eyes usually closed and sore.
He was the one who went house to house squashing our family name on trays of burnt cigarettes and drowning his memory in bottles of cheap spirits. Many times, he would stoop to the lowest level of begging us- his nephews for money. He usually asked for twenty naira, to buy cigarettes. Anytime, he went back to his bungalow, his wife who kept up conjugal appearances would always complain like the children ones of goats. One of those days, she had come moaning that he had forgotten he had children to care for. It all started when he forgot to carry or share the burden of providing their school fees. The only things he offered them were his presence and the house his father left him. These were the crazy things addiction could do to a sound mind.
But you should come see him when he is not under the influence. He would give us riddles to solve and talk about his old days at the ivory tower. He would fill us in on details only men of the press knew. That was when he didn’t smell of a mix of alcohol and cigarettes. Else, he would give us funny new names like “Baba-fi” and tell us stories of how everything started.
That was all once upon a time. His stories now are no more his own. In a cubicle filled with the familiar antiseptic smell of hospitals, he lies the new shaking “Jagaban” once and now in a feverish tremor but not dead.

2 thoughts on “Tremor” by Somefun Oluwasegun (@SamoluExpress)

  1. namdi (@namdi)

    Quite short. Not bad, but more details would have helped–my view.

    1. Somefun Oluwasegun (@SamoluExpress)

      @namdi thanks for dropping by. This one is a flash

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