The Routine Man [Friday Fictioneers]

The Alarm went off with a thud movement on a bed, in a dark room. An outstretched arm tapped a bedside switch, the room was illuminated.

The figure sat up in bed, cupped his head in his hands. He entered the bathroom. He stepped out into the room. He wore his clothes perfunctorily: briefs, singlet, pants, shirt and a tie.

6:30am he went to his front yard to empty his trashcan, a neighbour shouted greetings from across the yard.

“Good morning, Mr Grey!”

“Morning, Maloney”

Maloney is an amateur gymnast who has for 3 year set his regimen by the time Grey wakes up and when he goes to empty his trashcan.

Grey went back inside, sniffed at a hot cup of coffee. Sipped gingerly and looked on at the grandfather’s clock that chimed away above the bookshelf adjacent to the dinner table.


This is a contribution to the Household of FridayFictioneers. It’s a joy to be among you folks again. All comments are appreciated. Thanks to for hosting us as usual.

In love with an Igbo girl

Ifeoma, my close friend since high school, had come to Ibadan to write an aptitude test and I’m visiting her hotel.
We talk about the past, friends and present events. Then, she mentions her intent to become another’s.
“I never would make you a good wife” she says giggly to my bemused expression
Outside in the yard, cloud gathers, it is going to rain heavily in the coming days. I can only do one thing.
“Ifeoma, will you share a blanket with me in the rains of life?”
We hug. Thunder cracks.
It rained in those days to come.

Back on the Road

The next morning, after the morning cry and rituals of a Christian family house, we were dispatched with a veteran to assist us get transportation to our various PPAs. In no time, everyone but I, had been settled. Orogun, we hailed to taxis but none had heard that name before.

Just when I was thinking of a sincere mistake from the NYSC officials and a possible reposting, we met a bike man who claimed to know the place but wouldn’t ply the route.

“ Na only, Oronigbe dey blow that way nah” he broke out in pidgin

“Oronigbe?” Is that a transport company, I asked in relief.

“Sho! See Kopa o, Company? Oronigbe na the errand boi of dem witches. Shey, uno understand?” He jibed in Warri accent

“Blood of J-e-s-u-s!” my guide spurted. Which made me smirked.

“I ‘o take you go, Aghofure Junction now, Na there the coven boy go come carry you go Orogun so, shey u dey feel me kopa?”

“Are you sure you wanna do this, with all this coven talks and witches” Veteran asked me

“Come off it, I heeded the clarion call remember?” I actually felt pity for his spiritual soul, which gets sensitive to every murmuring fool  than for my desolate soul.

After forty-five minutes at the Aghofure Junction, the errand boy of the coven arrived.

“Orogun, my ride!!!”

“How much?” I asked without much ado. But, he seems to be taken aback by my comment

“Kopa, you wan go Orogun so?”

Yes, that’s my Place of Primary Assignment

We had ridden on a tarred road for about thirty minutes when my butts hurt so badly. I complained, but Oronigbe rode on. “This place na no stop area, the witches here don chop craze tey, tey”

Moments later, I saw a pool of water ahead. I was thankful, that something would finally make me dismount and stretch my limbs but that proved to be a lie. As we got closer to the wall of water, Oronigbe rode through without flinching, splashing water here and there. But, at the other side, there was not a drop of water on us. I remembered my epistemology lecturer, Dr. A.G.A Bello, silly me, just a mirage!

The Coven boy was laughing hysterically as we rode on. A flight of bees buzzed afar towards us. I was scared shit. I braced myself for the worst. Oronigbe flipped on the headlamp, a blaze of fire flew off the lamp and engulfed humming nuisance.

We were at the middle of nowhere, our way to Orogun seemed endless. But, I cared little if we perished or lived. Knowing, the errand boy of the coven was up to the task.