The Burning Wick

Chapter 3. Children Of Closed Doors

The ember morning broke like an aborted yellow yoke over Uwani along Zik's Avenue. The faulting brown roof of house 9 rose to its morning routine signature. The prematurely awoken cockerels from hidden sharky cages chorus their uncoordinated striking sounds that bite in the ears of its listeners struggling to escape the clutches of stuffy rooms, mosquito bites and tired nightmares.

Like it was a responsive morning call, skirmishes of babies cry and wimping from random distant houses, synchronized Catholic morning mass from a distance; all chased the morning calls to unveil its basket of offerings for the new day. John Okonji flung his tired legs from the dark corner beside the bed, where he slumped a night before after an evening romance with Ogogoro (Dry Gin) at Mama Ndubuisi beer parlour. Snorting like a pig seeking food in his dreams with strands of saliva drooling from one side of the mouth to appease the ripped carpet.

His wife Helen had just woken up clearing her eyes from her sleep with the back of her hand as if it were a night battle of hopelessness and despair. She looked down to her five children on the floor on the mattress where they lay, in a two room apartment with luggage cramped up every corner. Fears welled up heavy on her chest like a nightmare had returned by dawn. Tears managed to gain footings in her eyes but short-lived. A deep sigh escaped the silence that negotiated with the snorting percussion of John Okonji, her drunk husband by the corner as expected of a man betwitched by drunkenness.

“Lord, I did not ask for this; Don't leave me this way.” she muttered to herself. As if Charles, her first child, heard her prayers from his dreams with a picture of an umbilical cord pager connection, he struggled to get up from the mattress with eyes half way open and close. “Good morning mommy, hope all is well,” said Charles. “Morning my son, all is well,” she replied, “Just thinking of your needs as you prepare to return to school, to include that of your siblings,” she replied. “Mommy, I would like to start working right away even if it is farming and doing a car wash business to support you. We have more than enough hands for this to include myself and my two other brothers even if we are not yet matured enough for the weight of the burden before us, we shall make this a duty. My other siblings can as well take turns to learn skill as they await university admissions to include Johnson and Kingsley.. We can all do this with or without the support of our father.m,” Said Charles. A child with words too big for his age.

The children woke up in turns while tired feets, sagging door hinges screeches, chorused whispered voices brought the once sleeping public yard compound to life like a football team heading at one goal post. The dust stained rumpled quit notice was recently served to the Okonji for a year. Rent still lays bare on the table by the mirror in the room, same with school fees owed notice for Ruth and Chioma; the two last children of the Okonji also bare on the table.

Johnson and Kingsley went ahead to fetch water to fill the big “BASF drum of water” by the entrance of the door. Out of recklessness ,Kingsley missed his step because traces of sleep still remained in his eyes. He matched their father John Okonji who laid like a log of wood by the corner of the bed on the floor as if it was a weight of a sledge hammer lowered in his intestines, John Okonji groaned in a loud sensation of severe pain. “Yeeehhh!” He shouted. “Sorry daddy I missed my step,” said Kingsley. John looked at Kingsley with a mix of pain, insufferable sleep and unforgiving gin in his eyes and with a restraint from doing something irrational to his most beloved son, “If I load you confusing slap ehnn? Are you saying I am too small to be noticed? Isigi Ebea, (Meaning Your Head there)” Said John Okonji

If hunger had eyes, it would be the way John Okonji Children scanned every pot, plate and polythene bag to see what they could salvage in the house because in the quiet of the night, rumble never slept in the stomach. Stomach worms and acid were always taking selfies like siblings while the host remained bewildered as to where the next meal would come from. Rumble that someone a few feet away could hear thunder, rumble that is tailored fitted, patient, polite only to later remind you that hope of a decent meal is only but a luxury.

That day as usual, Helen divided a loaf of bread into 5 places as if it were the last supper procession humblely observed by inner circle devotees.

Helen cut the loaf of bread as if it was communicating with her to mind the curves and crumbs likened to the precision of tailor cutting expensive lace as Helen made discretion her guide. Charles is always there observing how she does everything with precision as if everything revolves around number and quantity like a quantity surveyor. From dark corners behind closed doors the wick burns bright.

As if they all had an outing event for the day.. The children rushed their ration of bread with the little butter spread left in its container which Helen had thriftily managed for a family of 7 over the space of 6 months.

Charles was planning to return to school in the University of Nigeria while plans were underway for Johnson to gain Admission to Unizik in Anambra but due to subject of financial constraints Johnson was taken to sign for a mechanic apprenticeship to fix auto gear and auto breaks of all type of almost vehicle along with Tricycle.

Despite the obvious signature of poverty and insecurity carried in the heart of the five children, they knew the Wick will always burn out something worthwhile on the other side.

Charles Okonji chose to be more subservient and took turns in a series of agric projects looking for buyers for farmers produce as a middle man which he did with humility to till the soil with a decent pay. Johnson Okonji carries that weight of diligence on a shoulder so light that things are likely to fall apart. Before trying out an auto mechanic and spare apprenticeship.

Sooner things started falling in place as if they waved their inherited life their father handed them a good bye.

Charles also ventured into cars washing for some extra cash which Johnson enjoins him sometimes whenever he closes from his place of work. Soon money was coming into the family purse to support their mother one time dreams and tears.

With a finger touching the tip of the tongue for saliva to count a large sum of money at the close of a business day, Johnson watched Charles count his money for the day as they prepared to set home at dusk.

"Twenty, thirty, forty.. fifty, sixty, Sixty thousand five hundred naira" Charles concluded.. "Brother Charles, your hand is looking good today o," My brother what can the son of a poor man do if not to double his hustle, I have been saving up this money for 2 months now for my return to school and to support the family with part of it because we are not born with a golden spoon, so it would be nice to afford a copper spoon even if silver spoon is far from us for now."

Johnson replied, "You are right, our mothers case needs serious intervention.. I have also saved up one hundred and twenty thousand naira (#120,000 naira) lately to support our mother with her business, bills and to clear a few debts she owed. May God in heaven keep that woman long enough for us,""Amen o" my brother replied Charles.The children of closed doors appear to be having more doors opening with baskets of good news. Yet that wick in the dark corner burned with a dance of flicker like it was a reminder that good things are a reward for grace, time and diligence.

Closed doors now seemed to be opening new ones. From a dark corner, “The Burning Wick,” advances, protested with a dance of fire