From the Watchman's Tired Eyes

 

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The cloud remains gray and thick. The wind blows as though too eager to send the night away. One could hear a pin drop in the absolute silence. Then a faint sound of a rooster from afar saying, kookoorookoo! with doubts in mind. Then again, there is silence. As if the band is ready, waiting only for the bandleader testing the microphone, the animals begin. The roosters with gladdened hearts sing in call and respond. Faintly there is the crackling of plates from the next compound. Mama Shade must be up washing dishes and preparing her kids for school. The cloud at this time has become timid, as though the earth is bullying it. The gray cloud gradually becomes lighter with a bluish hue. Far away is the crackling of a megaphone, the tireless imam is back, calling for prayer. From all directions, one can hear the footsteps of devotees answering the call. The wind has receded. The roosters are now singing louder, and the goats around bleat at intervals adding to the rhythm of the singing roosters. Soon, the birds joined the choir with its unique voice.

The sky is brighter now; it’s the color of what we call sky blue. Plates are now crackling in many homes nearby. Not only Mama Shade has some dish to do. Someone is hacking firewood, that must be Mummy Tutu; her husband has not come home since last Year’s Christmas. The poor housewife must make some magic and make her kids happy. The meal she wants to make is on credit, but at least her flames of burning firewood are kissing the sky like fireworks bringing joy to her earth. My alarm chimed at 6:00 am. I am fully awake by my window and didn’t have to press the snooze this time. Awake, noting the new day with the ears of a music composer and the eyes of an astronomer. As the day brightens, the choristers’ voices and energy fade. A child is crying somewhere nearby. It’s time to go to school. Another child laughs from some distance away. It is Tutu and her sister. They are glad that something is cooking. Last night, they had gone to bed with their bellies full of sour garri.

Many voices erupt faintly from each house. My alarm chimed again at 6:35 am, cutting my attention from the roaring car engine in the neighborhood. I went to the alarm app and discovered how I had set these times permanently, as if I owned each day. What pride? What arrogance? The day is brand new! Singing birds are gone. Car engines have taken over, school buses now hoot around. It’s time to make use of the day. The neighborhood is fully awake with children’s voices, mothers’ calls, and fathers’ radios blaring the news. The birds are back, and roosters are starting all over, but this time they own the stage no more. Humans have taken over.

            When I opened the door, the breeze rushed at my face, kissing me good morning. The smell of fresh leaves, morning dew, and aromas of cooking foods tangled with the air. The sky now has two parties; on one side is a set of gray maidens that continue to move forward, saying, ‘....no retreat, no surrender.’ The other party remains clear and static, wishing for the angry gray hue to have a rethink.

 

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The sun shines, being the referee for the warring parties. It stayed, intervening. It shines and shines, trying hard to make the parties soften their pedal. The street comes alive. Everyone is hurrying to work, with some drivers driving as if lost in thought of what the day will bring. Working-class women go to work while the housewives calculate the money their husband gives with doubts, not sure of what the prices of rice will be today. The Gen Zs are everywhere, glued to their phone. Some raised their camera at every suitable spot for selfies, some were seeking content to set the social media agog. They seem not to worry about the economy. What brings joy to them is data and more data. They ignore the sun that is still above settling the sky maidens. The sun, the judge of the moment settling the dispute of the sky maidens, shines on all heads yet pushing man near his end. Humans murmur about how scorching the sun is. The gray sky is settling down in its fury, ready to take her place. The sun urges it on and on and on. It flags its shades on the earth. Then the earth darkens and darkens. When it dawned on Man that the day was dwindling to be a wrap, they called the sun to stay. But the judge settled the dispute, restoring peace. He doesn’t have to come back and listen to Man’s yells, ‘Keep your thoughts till tomorrow,’ he says as he rolls away to the clan where its service is now needed.

Honks feel everywhere as people go back home. The working-class mother is thinking of how to pick up her kids from the daycare. Then when she gets to the street, she shops along her paths home. Then begin the clacking of the pots, spoons, and dishes. The housewife is cooking something, hoping her husband comes back early from work. The men will go to the bar to cool their heads off from the sunny day. They will argue about the economic situation and the prices of fuel. Someone says Bovas filling station sells cheaper fuel. As they drink and merry with their profit of the day, each thinks of how to be the first customer Bovas will see the following day. The Gen Zs do not bother, they are on TikTok, and to them, the world never goes to sleep. The grayish sky is back.

 Man heads home. Cars jeer into the streets. Children welcome their parents back home. Aromas fill the air with the generator screaming on the street. Many sit outside enjoying the splendid of the stars. Children ask questions about the stars like ‘Is that God’s torchlight?’ The light comes up and all homes shout ‘Up Nepa!’ Bulbs shine everywhere, giving light, giving hope, not scorching as the sun’s, but man has to pay for what the sun gave for free. News is in the air. Soon, the doors shut. Mama Shade is calling Adamu to lose the Rottweilers. It’s time for a security check. Squirrels, owls, and crickets, all with sonorous singing voices, take the stage. Then the news is out. The sky is dark, and all is calm. Man goes to sleep, hoping to be counted lucky for another brand new day.