The Chronicles of Azuka 'Episode 3' - Pat Ashinze

watch_later Friday, 15 June 2018

It was midnight. The sky was starless and the moon was on a date with darkness.
On ground, the electricity was not running. The atmospheric heat was hellish and hot enough to cook any food if placed outside with the right ingredients, thanks to the hostel generator that has been decrepit and out of function for about three weeks. Heaven knows why.

Azuka was in bed, cupping his mouth with his hands as he choked with wry laughter.
The laughter was stubborn. It came from the anguish that his roommates; Eric, Abefe and Sodiq were passing through.
The anguish was from Azuka. It was intentional and for this, Azuka had slept on the floor to make his intention _equitable_.
The heat was enough uneasiness but the unwholesome flatulence that remorselessly gunned out from Azuka's  buttocks was another agonizing augmentation for the room folk.
Eric, the Ajebo Lagosian lamented.  _Zuka, ow far nah? This is not fair, nigger. What the… Arrrgh_
Abefe, however took the matter native, rattling off in coarse Yoruba invectives with a tacit Ilorin accent: _Eleribu leleyi faa. Zuka, o ni lakaye faa. Oniso oshi. Omo ale jati jati_
Miraculously, Sodiq was dead. Metaphorically. To both the heat and the unwanted farts. Sodiq's had always slept like a dead body, getting barred from any sensual inteference of any kind.
As long as awareness was concerned, it is only God that wakes Sodiq up.

Azuka feigned a courteous slumber, downpressing his laughter with instinctive dexterity as he rolled and twirled on his big mattress. He endured the hideousness of his own missiles with scatological precision, ensuring that the farts were silent and ample. Azuka was sharp. A sharp man is wise. Azuka is wise.

Azuka blamed Aunty Bimbo's beans. He knew it was the beans. He remembered buying and eating Aunty Bimbo's beans package late last night before retiring to bed.
He had ordered a full take-away package and long loaf of Jogodo bread. Aunty Bimbo liked Azuka very much. She had dashed him the last two boiled eggs that remained in the saucer also. Azuka was a regular customer. Regular customers deserve tip offs. Azuka was sharp. Azuka was lucky. A sharp man is a lucky man.

But Dr. Charles Okonkwo, The medical practitioner that spoke regularly on Zoe Radio FM had once advised the populace that proteins are indispensably vital for the body. The doctor said inadequate protein can cause Kwashiorkor, something-itis and something-pathy. Azuka loved his health. He did not want to be like Deborah, the bricklayer's 12 year old daughter whose legs and hands looked like chewing sticks and her belly swollen like an inflated tyre on steroids.
He must consume protein. Eggs are proteinous. Beans too. And Isiewu. And kuli. Azuka was lucky to be informed. Lucky men are wise.

It was now in the morning. Azuka stifled his anus. Enough with the farts. He had to sleep. He had to garner strength. There was a class in the morning. Prof. Arigbagbowo's class. He had to go. He must sleep. He was already into sleep. But one more proteinous explosion before total somnolence. Just one.
_Toooooooommmmffff_. It was fast but loud this time. Abefe cursed Azuka this time in pidgin english. Azuka was deep in sleep. He heard the curse in his sleep but he was already too tired to reply or do anything. He knew the curse was pidgin and that it came from Abefe, the Ilorin boy with the long tribal marks. Azuka hated the marks. Heck, the person that etched them must have had a poor handwriting.
Tufia… The curse can not do him any harm. Azuka was a good man, a sharp one for that matter. Curses don't catch sharp men.

Azuka wants us to have commonsense. He wants us to eat proteinous food with sense especially when we are going to sleep. Especially when we have roommates that know how to curse and cry. Azuka wants us to be sharp and considerate with flatulence. 
Azuka wants us to have mercy on others.
Good people have compassion.

The end.

Written by:
Pat Ashinze,
For the people, 2018.

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