DAMILARE
I remember when Dami died.
A black car had pulled over at the small black gate of his fathers compound, it was the car of Dami's fathers igbo friend who lived on the next street. Baba Dami had emerged from the front seat of the car, his face was pale and he had his hands wrapped behind his butt. He walked into his compound, face down and was mute to the greetings of his tenants. Iya Dami came out from the back seat, she had her scarf tied to a knot around her waist, her eyes were damp wet and swollen like she hadn't slept in days, her hair was nothing to write home about, she walked helplessly and clung to her only surviving child Ope.
I was walking past when I noticed this whole event, I never knew what happened, but whatever had happened must have been tragic. So I was told that Dami had been sick, and he had died from his sickness.
Once or twice, I had seen Dami bare to his waist, he was all skeletal and always had a white substance rubbed on him. I didn't notice, we weren't talking.
When Dami was alive, he was an hyper-active child. I didn't like him because he was always insulting me, he was very sturborn and strong headed. Part of me was scared of him, for the dangerous words he could spit from his mouth, and the silence I'd have to bear and await the return of his mother. Severally I had reported him to her and she had always apologized on his behalf and warned him in my presence, but that never got to change anything. So for my own peace of mind and to maintain my sanity, I avoided him like a plague and went about my own business, he wasn't in anyway my mate.
Today I remember Dami, the thought of him just came to my mind. He was a young champ, a really young champ. I try to kick his sturborness aside and focus on what he would have become if he had lived. I'm sure he would have changed, he would have known the essence of life, he would have grown out of his childishness.
His death stung me like the sting of a scorpion, we weren't friends but I was hurt because he was a bright kid.
Dami was just eight, he was an only son and it has been seven long years since he left.
A black car had pulled over at the small black gate of his fathers compound, it was the car of Dami's fathers igbo friend who lived on the next street. Baba Dami had emerged from the front seat of the car, his face was pale and he had his hands wrapped behind his butt. He walked into his compound, face down and was mute to the greetings of his tenants. Iya Dami came out from the back seat, she had her scarf tied to a knot around her waist, her eyes were damp wet and swollen like she hadn't slept in days, her hair was nothing to write home about, she walked helplessly and clung to her only surviving child Ope.
I was walking past when I noticed this whole event, I never knew what happened, but whatever had happened must have been tragic. So I was told that Dami had been sick, and he had died from his sickness.
Once or twice, I had seen Dami bare to his waist, he was all skeletal and always had a white substance rubbed on him. I didn't notice, we weren't talking.
When Dami was alive, he was an hyper-active child. I didn't like him because he was always insulting me, he was very sturborn and strong headed. Part of me was scared of him, for the dangerous words he could spit from his mouth, and the silence I'd have to bear and await the return of his mother. Severally I had reported him to her and she had always apologized on his behalf and warned him in my presence, but that never got to change anything. So for my own peace of mind and to maintain my sanity, I avoided him like a plague and went about my own business, he wasn't in anyway my mate.
Today I remember Dami, the thought of him just came to my mind. He was a young champ, a really young champ. I try to kick his sturborness aside and focus on what he would have become if he had lived. I'm sure he would have changed, he would have known the essence of life, he would have grown out of his childishness.
His death stung me like the sting of a scorpion, we weren't friends but I was hurt because he was a bright kid.
Dami was just eight, he was an only son and it has been seven long years since he left.
Comments
Post a Comment