ON THE RUN (EPISODE 8)

There was a pause, much too long, as if they couldn't decide. Were you expecting someone? The look Dede read on Ireti’s puckered face. He got up from the bed, ready to open the door. Ireti quickly stopped him, placing her hand on his pumped-up chest, sending a sensation to his brain. All went on holiday, Dede’s sense organs save his eyes, that looked at the Ireti’s smooth chocolate skin, scanning from her bangled wrist to  the beauteous rose flower tattooed on her shoulder.

The knock hit the door again, but was quite reluctant, one that tells nobody was in. Arms akimbo, Salewa stood in front of Dede’s room, looking far into the street whether she’d see him coming, also wondering where her friend was, having seen her car parked in the garage. With a corner of his eye, Dede peeked at the door, then shifted back his focus to Ireti, who licked off her glowing red lipstick. His breathing became loud, owing to a move contemplation. Ireti yanked him closer, sunk her tongue into his mouth, cancelling all the fear Dede housed.

Confidently, Dede grabbed Ireti by the waist, travelling with his hands around the softer, rounder parts of her. Squeezing them like he did when he consumes an hefty 200 naira bread. Even as her mouth was busy, Ireti still moaned like a cat, enjoying every note Dede sent through her spine to her brain, just with the magic of his fingers. They shuffled around the room as if they were dancing salsa. Getting Ireti’s back propped against the wall, Dede groped between her thighs to her waist, then tried to unbuckle her belt.

“Hey hey easy.” Ireti said, softly, unbuckled the belt herself.

Dede was restless, the buckle was much like an hindrance in getting to the promise land. Zip! Her jeans fell freely to her knees, leaving on her a lilac lace briefs. Hanging on cloud nine, Ireti moaned in pleasure, drifting along the wall, enjoying the rhythmic motion of Dede’s fingers.

Salewa ambled along the lawn to the main house, still pondering where on earth her houseboy was, as it was quite unusual. Away from home this sunny afternoon? No, never! Her thinking was brought to a halt when she heard a crashing sound from the BQ. Dede in? Eyes bulging as she asked herself. She turned around, angry, pacing towards Dede’s room.

“Oh God! Not this time.” Dede muttered as he bent to pick the pieces of the mirror on the floor.

Ireti, whose back had swept the mirror off the wall, pleaded Dede not to put a comma in the romantic sentence they were writing.

Ireti knelt closely behind him, locking her arms around his belly. “Dede come on now, don’t you know you have turned me...”

“Dede! So you’re in? Open this door now!” Salewa yelled, hitting the door thrice.

**********************************************

He had never come this close to death, Sanmi walked directly towards the man with the pistol. Turned his neck around, peeked at his soldiers, then faced the armed man again, who signaled him to keep his mouth shut, placing his index finger across his lips. Come on closer, more closer, the man urged Sanmi on, directing him with the hand that held the pistol.

Heck, if at all death would play a fast one, it shouldn't be from the choking smell oozing out from his grimy turban, wrapped like a skyscraper around his head. He smelt like a smoldering mosquito coil, Sanmi stifled, coughing as he got to the man with the pistol.

“Shush! Me no English. Go small small, you run, me fire, you die.” The man with the pistol sounded more like a northerner, Fulani to be fairly specific.

Not at gunpoint, Sanmi understood every bit of what he said, even though they were broken. Watching his steps as he moved in front of the man, and the gun pointing to his skull, Sanmi pondered on the exact place he was going and who he’d meet there.

Dusk, the soldiers had relaxed well enough, some had even slept and woken up, yet their commander hadn't returned. They rallied around, to the north, east, west, some yet traced Sanmi backward, to the south, where they had departed. Still, Sanmi was nowhere to be found. Sanmi and the armed man had walked approximately two kilometers, cutting across the forest into a hamlet. The turban hamlet, Sanmi called it, seeing every Tom, Dick, and Harry carrying a skyscraper on their heads. No doubt, it was the rebels hideout.

“Aboki, dan Allah, I wan piss.” Sanmi turned around.

“Kai! Go Nigeria soldier go. Me shoot, you no go now now. Go walahi.”

More like chewing sand, Sanmi preferred to be shot than trying to decode the wrecked English the rebel spoke. Sanmi, placing himself on a safe side, kept moving before the illiterate angrily pulls his trigger.

Twenty two steps after, his bladder raised another alarm. “Aboki, dan Allah, me wan piss o.”

“Kai! Dan ubanka, you want peace in Sudan?”

The rebel roared, hitting Sanmi, on the head, with the butt of his pistol. Sanmi groaned and fell on the ground, his blood dripping to his neck.