It was a beautiful Thursday morning in one of the ember months, Kunle woke up feeling dizzy and gasping for breath, his face was covered with his perspration. He has just awaken from a nightmare, he sat at the edge of his bed for a while trying to recall what the bad dream was all about but he couldn’t. He tried harder to probe into his memory but the only thing he could remember was him falling freely into an abyss, what happened before or after this fragment of his dream was inaccessible to him and any attempt to probe further was met with a pounding in his head in protest. He could hear the heavy pounds in his chest now. He closed his eyes trying to calm himself and concentrate, but there was still nothing, everything remained completely blank.
Kunle was overcome by a sudden instinctive sense of danger he could not explain, he has never felt this way before, this strange feeling made him squeamish. He made an attempt to get up on his feet but failed, his body felt like cement, his feet were numb. He was left with no other choice than to lie on his back for a while. With his head on a pillow he fixed his gaze on a portrait of Jesus Christ in his room. His father had decorated his room with different wallpapers of Jesus Christ and few art paintings when they moved to their new apartment few years ago. The room was partly illuminated by rays of light peering through the window frame. He doesn’t know whether to share his dream with his mother who was just a door away or to wait for his father to return from work at nightfall; the duo has different interpretations and opinions about dreams. He contemplated on this for a while and finally made up his mind to go with the latter.
He made a conscious effort to take his mind off the present and its unpleasant feelings. He was soon lost in his thoughts. He remembered the time they were living in a two room apartment. A moderate size living room and a bedroom, their living room was sparsely adorned with old but neat furniture and earth color curtains, an old black and white television sat on a stool close to the window. On one side is a large portrait of his parents and his baby picture on the other side. There is a recliner in the corner of the living room where his father loved to sit and relax in the evening before retiring to bed and sometimes on weekends when he’s at home and not busy.
He remembered the day his father slipped and fell off the chair while trying to adjust his position; his mother busted into laughter and sheepishly apologised later. A lot of memories are tied to that chair, he chuckled. His father had told him a myriad of stories on that chair; his childhood stories, Yoruba origin and the legend of Oduduwa, the mythical creatures in Ooni’s palace among others. He had recreated a number of the stories in his mind, he even dreamt about some.
Kunle! Are you still sleeping at 9 o clock? his mother’s voice from her room brought him out of his reverie, his head throbbed but he was alert now and the numbness was gone, he got up from his bed with a response to her mother’s call.
To be continued...