The hunger strike changes my rhythm and turns my atmosphere sour. I feel its devouring claws in my belly, ripping it apart. I hear its voice in every dirge, and with all its dirty tricks, it leaves my stomach screaming from the faithful fangs of ulcer.
It is strange how such an unseen hand can make one weak. However, there are times I try to beat this belly whipping menace with my own little tricks; with my back pressed against my bed, I would count the ceiling. I could tell each dent in the ceiling as a result of soaked water, then there are these four tiny holes from which water come hurrying down my room. I would literarily feel the texture of the ceiling; its smoothness and every roughness. It is still surprising to me how I could go with this mental ritual, until minutes grow into hours. With time, I forget the sharp pain in my stomach.
When the eyes are clothed in tears, friends sometimes serve as handkerchiefs. Indeed, it is right to say that true friends are like gifts on Christmas day- they make you Merry. In school, my best of friends are Stanley, Goddowell and David. One would ordinarily think that Goddowell and David could pray, given their names, but no. As a matter of fact, the only time I ever heard them pray was when hunger had its periodic visits, yet, I can say, these friends are a source of food when I am in lack.
Together, we take turns at cooking and we visit each other randomly and it keeps our foodstuffs more than the fated end. I could remember one Saturday, I trekked to Watt just to eat at Goddowell's, but his pot was as lofty as the sahara desert. Gladly, once we started our ceiling count, we heard the sound of Efik music nearby from a burial ceremony. That was our rescue, we dressed and went to the burial ceremony, wept like we were the family members of the deceased, but our rehearsed tears did not prevent us from fulfilling our agenda; we ate to our satisfaction, and in the end, we had our well fed 'aproko paper bag' to go home with. Truly, "burial rice nai sweet pass".
Just when our second semester examination was about to start, BOOM!!! The Corona Virus struck like our school hunger. We were all happy that our exams would be shifted, but none would have foreseen it to be this long. Presently, I am at home, and instead of being the kid being cared for, I became the father of my parents. You wonder how?
See, my parents are presently unemployed. My dad was one of the victims of the recent First Bank lay off. So, as the eldest child, I had to step into my dad's shoes. Thanks to Corona virus that has, over night, forced me to become a father to my parents.
Thankfully, social media platforms help me conquer boredom. Surprisingly, even my dad who hitherto we hardly saw spend time on his phone, now clings to it as though his life depends on it. My dad is now very active on Twitter and Instagram. As a fact, he now participates in "give aways". So much for our principles when they are tested by the realities of life.
We all have been affected by this pandemic. Whoever says otherwise must be out of this world, perhaps, a visitor from Mercury. Even the gods are affected because their worship places have been empty. The few lucky gods have had their libations restricted.
I could go on with my corona life but I need to step out before the start of curfew, to book 50 odds in Bet9ja. My brother, don't blame me, that's how yours truly survives nowadays
