Good people; Bad decisions

On Kàyéfì lane, everyday begins with a cup of tea. For some, it is the green tea. For others, black. For another, herbal and then for most people, the chocolate milk tea. Each tea has a lot to tell about the one who makes it and the one who drinks it. It is often said that a man is what he eats. Just in case you were wondering, drinking is a form of eating too. Therefore, a man is what he drinks. Today, everyone is having their usual cup of tea but not everyone is drinking because they want to. This morning, a man is holding a cup of mint tea and forcing it down his throat because of his new wife. She had troubles sleeping next to him all night. Justin Utam was a very stout and tall man. Whenever he walked in, his footsteps shook the ground. And since he was an electrical engineer working in the electric company, he was always at work, hard at work. So whenever he slept at night, he snored so loud, pillows could not drown out his voice. Eva, his wife could not take it anymore so she sought advise from her friend and neighbour next door. And so, Tóní Sanya, gave her a packet of mint tea. As a form of kind gesture. But, not all kind gesture are genuine. There are lots of hidden agendas beneath the bright smiles and neighbourly concerns. Everyone on Kàyéfì lane drinks a certain of tea in the morning. Depending on what mood they are in and when no one is watching. Do not be deceived by the mug or its content. Some teas are not just tea. How do you know someone may be hiding something? They seem evasive and paranoid. They most times mistake your words for something else. They get jumpy all of a sudden. They try to hide everything with a smile; a smile that never reaches the eyes. The eyes are a mirror to the soul of a man. When you look into a person's eyes, you can see so much more than the irises. Carol Díyà was a good wife. In fact, she was the model example of what a wife could be and ever be. She cooked everyday for her family, cleaned the house, tended the little garden and kept her house and bedroom in order; perfect order. So when her husband started getting all jumpy and secretive, she knew he had to be hiding something. She knew he was having an affair. She just didn't know with whom. In spite of that, she made bean pudding and freshly baked bread with a cup of hot chocolate. She served him with the finest of her chinas and even fed him. "Carol, you really don't have to do this. I can take care of myself." Jídé protested as she stuffed another piece of bean pudding 'moi moi' in his mouth. "No, you can't. Even if your life depended on it, Jídé! I am your wife and it is my duty to look after you. No one else can." She smiled but it did not quite reach her luminous grey eyes. "My mother's still alive." Jídé smirked and c****d his head, lifting his cup to his mouth. "You're no longer her son more than you're my husband. We have been married for the past twenty one years, Jídé. She doesn't know you anymore like I do." Carol cut a piece of bread neatly, dunked it in his hot chocolate and held it against his lips. "Does your mother know how much you love your bread fresh and being dunked in hot chocolate?" She whispered sultrily. "I've been living with you for the past twenty one years and you have baked the bread and dunked it in hot chocolate or some other way.. I'd say I got used to it." Jídé shrugged, biting it off her hands. "I know what you're doing. Trying to deny how much I've changed you. From a shallow village boy into an amazing, proper man." Carol flipped her hair over her shoulder. Her hair was brown, long and wavy just like her father's. He was Latino and her mother was Nigerian. "I thank you for that. If you don't mind, I could eat much more without you feeding me and ranting in between." Jídé replied stiffly. Carol almost let out a gasp but she, like most times, smiled courteously. She kissed him on the cheek and wiped her hands clean with the kitchen napkin on the dining table, stuffing it into the pockets of her apron. "I have to go wake up Mariá." She said more to the photograph sitting on the topmost part of the shelf than to Jídé. "You should have done that ten minutes ago instead of force feeding and trying to squeeze words out of me." Jídé murmured into his cup but Carol heard him loud and clear. "Please turn off the kettle. I don't want to overcook my tea." She said stiffly before bounding up the stairs, taking it two at a time, her heels clicking loudly and annoyingly. "Fine!" Jídé replied from a mouthful of bread and bean pudding. He was typing away hurriedly as he chewed savagely, leaving crumbs on the table. Carol insisted on proper dinning but Jídé would not have it so he ate with his hands instead. Of course in Carol's absence. Like now. He licked each finger on his left hand and typed with the other. His eyes were unfocused and hungry and his lips twitched. Carol watched him from the stairs like a predator. He was right. He had not changed a bit. He just gotten used to her. And found someone who accommodated his barbaric ways. Ndiana Bassey enjoyed being single, wild and independent. Ever since she moved to Kàyéfì lane, things have been so much better. She got a job; a well paid job. She was working with the biggest beauty company in town and did some freelance work of her own during her free time. Whenever she was in, she always had friends over and this seemed to upset her neighbours. Especially the ones next door. Living in a Penthouse was not as glamorous on the inside as it appeared on the outside. In Kàyéfì lane at least. The paper thin walls didn't give as much privacy as one would expect, according to Ndiana, that is. Others were fine with the walls but one thing they were not fine with were the weird noises that came from her room every night when she had a man over. For the past six months, men have been dragged into her room each night and they hurried out in the morning with either a missing sock or mismatched buttons or inside-out shirts or unzipped trousers. Yes, Ndiana enjoyed being single but her neighbours really hoped she would take her enjoyment elsewhere. This morning, like every other mornings, a man bolted out of her room but this time, naked and rather scary. Mrs. Sadiqi was coming down the stairs in her night robe to collect her daily supply of eggs, Tóní Sànyà was coming out of her room for a walk with her dog, Jídé Díyà was rushing off to work with Mariá running after him. Carol was walking briskly, she breezed past Tóní who rolled her eyes, holding a portable black bag. And Chima was coming from his early morning run. When they saw a crazy naked man yelling something no one seemed to understand. He looked so terrifying, and his eyes were blood red. He was holding a knife, a bloodstained knife. "What is going on here?" A voice reverberated across the hallway. Everyone looked back at once. It was Mr. Sadiqi. "Do you speak arabic?" The crazy man asked in arabic. "Yes I do." Mr. Sadiqi replied. "Why are you naked?" He frowned. Mrs. Sadiqi gaped in wonder. She never knew her husband spoke arabic. Until now. "I swear I didn't do it. We were having fun last night and this morning I was laying next to her.. Her fingers, toes and breasts were gone." He sobbed and his body trembled. "Was there anyone who came into the room?" Mr. Sadiqi asked intently, his eyes narrowed to slits. "Would someone please explain this drama? Why can't you just interpret?" Tóní popped a bubblegum. "There's been a murder!" Mr. Sadiqi replied in a grave tone. "Oh my God!" Mrs. Sadiqi squealed. "What!" Carol's hands flew to her chest. "Ndiana is dead? He killed her?" Chima arched his eyebrows. "We need to have him arrested..what are we waiting for?" Jídé cleared his throat and took out his phone. The naked man lunged at him and everyone jumped back in fright. Mr. Sadiqi descended from the stairs and pulled the man away from Jídé who was now stained with blood. "We are not going to do anything." Mr Sadiqi said in a firm and authoritative tone. His wife gasped. "Yet!" He gritted through his teeth. "He didn't do it..he woke up next to her this morning and she was dead. She was also dismembered. Fingers, toes and breasts. Her wrists had been slit too." "Jesus christ!" Tóní winced. "And why would you know he didn't do it?" Chima asked, hands akimbo. Sweat dripped off him like water. "I believe him. There was no forced entry and he didn't wake up until this morning." Mr. Sadiqi shrugged. "And who the hell are you to determine that?" Jídé fired at him. "I'm sorry about your stained new designer suit but we have a mental situation here. This man is in shock." Mr. Sadiqi retorted coolly in a sarcastic tone. "I'm calling the police!" Mrs. Sadiqi yelled, tapping on her phone screen rapidly. "It's going to be fine, I promise." Mr Sadiqi said to the naked man. "You need help." The wailing of the siren jolted everyone to reality and other neighbours started coming out of their apartments. Two policemen came rushing in and in that moment, the crazy naked man sprinted out the exit door. The policemen yelled over their intercoms to have the exit blocked. They got there nearly in time. Just before the crazy naked man leaped up on the electric fence. The electricity current flowed through him like fire through a barbecue and smoked him whole. When he fell on the ground, he let out a sigh and sank into oblivion. Right above him stood a woman with a cup in her hands. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was open. Her penciled-in eyebrows almost reached her forehead. The look on her face could not be fathomed just as Ndiana's "killer" could not be fathomed. Ndiana Bassey was despised by almost every woman in the condo. And on Kàyéfì lane too. She was usually indecently dressed, vulgar, playful and smug. So, every woman kept her husband as far away as possible from her. But they did not realise the person they should have kept away was her because if there was one thing Ndiana Bassey understood, it was temptation in big,bold red letters. If men didn't come to her, she went after them and they fell, hard and fast. Two weeks after her gruesome murder, she was being buried in the town's cemetery. How she was buried was a shocker to everyone on Kàyéfì lane. Ndiana always traveled home during the holidays but no one ever bothered to know her home. Sadly, Ndiana was an orphan and she buildervisited the orphanage where she left from to look after the the children and treat them out. So while her neighbours wore smug looks to her funeral, the people from the social services in attendance cried their eyes out. It wasn't until after their tributes that her neighbours realised she had a soul. A soul that should not have been ripped out of its body. At least, not so soon , not like that. Ndiana was lowered into the ground to rest, the clouds turned black and thunder and lightning struck across the sky. No one had anticipated this. Everyone was hurrying home, a from the cemetery. Just as they had always run from Ndiana Bassey when she was alive. The rain came down furiously on everyone in attendance. While some were getting into their cars and others looked for a place to hide while others flagged down taxis, one woman, walked home in the rain. No one had seen her at the burial and no one saw her leave either. And she intended to keep things that way for some time