The Chronicles of Azuka 'Episode 4' - Pat Ashinze

watch_later Wednesday, 6 March 2019

It was Saturday. A Saturday that was privileged to be weathered by a clementine atmosphere. Noontime was handing over the baton to eventide.
The school environs were calm and less fussy as compared to the normal five operating days that typically represented the hustle and bustle of a tertiary campus. The male hall of residence - Azuka's hostel, however was agog with liveliness and adrenaline.
Azuka leaned against the doorpost of the hostel entrance, watching his hostel mates preparing football sets on the jaggy field. The sets were five in number and there had to be a tussle between each of them. It was for pleasure mainly - sheer, sweaty and teasing pleasure.
Azuka's phone bleeped. He looked into the screen to read the Universe fact application daily update. Azuka loved being current with information. Good men are wise. Wise men have information. Information is power. Information is knowledge. Azuka was wise. Azuka is good.
The application offered montages and galleries of geographical knowledge that was oblivious to Azuka's infinite memory. Azuka was wowed. So all the hydration that the Sahara desert needed to become a flourishing greenery was just about one-seventieth(1/70th) of the bulk of the Atlantic ocean. Wow. Waoooooh. Facts are good. Good men get facts.
Having had a revealing peek into his loyal android device, he cradled it in a fatherly manner, dusted the backside that looked soiled, locked it and tucked it in into his breast pocket.
The football match was getting tenser. Azuka positioned himself to a more comfortable pose.
Then something made him vent.
_“Haba! Which kind goalkeeper be this??!  Why is he running away from shots? Why is he blocking his manhood when a freekick is coming through?? Isn’t it his duty to save shots: come heavy, come soft? Ha ha!, he is even putting the blame on the defenders, when it’s so clear that he has all the faults to answer to! This is just ridiculous!”_ roared Azuka in jocund delight.
_Oga, sharrap joor!_ A voice nearby responded. It was Cletus’s, the hostel jester whose mouth had no remorse or reverence for anybody.
_You just dey talk, dey talk; which wan you sef sabi do? Abi no be you, Azuka?? You wey be sey your legs go dey shake like person wey get seizure on top sey you wan kick ball!! See sef, no be Azuka dem suppose name you. Na Uzoma!!_. jeered Cletus, the bad mouthed Calabar boy.
Azuka replied back earnestly.  _Cletus! What was that for? All I did was give a sincere criticism! So, why would you mock me like shit?! Is it a crime for a man not to know how to play? Besides, as you can see, I am a good football analyst! I watch football and make concise assertions. So, just leave me alone!!_
_Shioor, yeye guy! Ball, you no fit play. Tennis? Network not available!.. Even the software games sef, na humiliation you dey always bring come home. You are a totally boring loser... Abi you don forget dat day wey you score own goal abi shey na home goal, kon dey jubilate till referee tell you sey na 2nd half una dey play, sey una teams don shift sides. He he, Werey guy!!_
This time, everyone in the common room busted out in frantic, irrepressible laughter.
For a few seconds, Azuka was speechless. The mockery had pierced his mental marrows. True, he had score a own/home goal but it was out of ignorance not negligence. He had used some codeine on that day though but notwithstanding, it was totally a mistake.  Azuka had forgotten that it was second-half time and that the goalposts would have switched concurrently also. Arrrgh. A bad day it was indeed. Now, Cletus was scratching old wounds with his uncircumcised tongue. Cletus had the usual habit of making Azuka look miserable and stupid before others. Azuka remembered how Cletus had once mocked Azuka's scoreboard marks in public; amongst a plenitude of girls for that matter, saying that: _Azuka's scoreboard mark was a scientific proof that evolution could go back in reverse._
Damn it! It was maddening and debilitating. It was impolitic and undignifying. Azuka's was liquefied on that day - throughout the week to be sincere.
But this time, he must say something. He must do something. The mockery was becoming too heavy and too frequent for him to reciprocate with ignominious silence. He was not taking defeat. Good men fight for their peace. Azuka must fight. With words. No blows or traumatic measures intended. For justness' sake, Cletus was twice his size and build.
Good men fight battles they can win. Azuka was wise.  
Deepened and fidgeted by fury, Azuka launched an organic rant at the top of his mildly baritone voice  –
_“I swear, Cletus! You will pay for this!! You think sey you fit talk anyhow bah. You think sey na your mouth sabi yanga pass abi?? Nobody messes with me. …You wretched, inconsiderate, shapeless and uncivilised swine! By the way, Cletus. _Just make sure you marry an intelligent and virtuous woman because, truth be told - no good child deserves to partake in inheriting your filthy genes._
… Like rapture come down, there was a deafening silence on the entire field. Azuka had said something new. Something destructive and superseding. Azuka had trashed Cletus, the bad mouth. The field had girls to testify to. Everybody guffawed and laughed so hard. This was the top of it. Cletus had being buried alive, by Azuka's tongue.  
That day, that fateful and clementine Saturday;  Azuka won the rights to the hostel's respected persons list. Cletus never said something outlandish anymore. Not to Azuka. Not to anyone anymore.
Like Christ's last words in Golgotha _It was finished._

Azuka wants us to know that it is okay to scream back at the world when we feel oppressed and molested. Azuka wants us to know that silence is not always golden. Azuka wants us to tease and joke with sense. Azuka wants us to know that
_The world is for the Outspoken._

Written by:
Pat Ashinze,
For The People, 2018.

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