The Truth About The Little Lady

By Ikenga Chronicles January 11, 2018

The Truth About The Little Lady

— Beloved Moses

Quiet was the color of the Sun every morning,the Moon and the Stars would play deaf and dumb to the sound of the piano played continuously by Kola. He looked up to the sun and gestured towards it, putting his finger on his lips,he was telling the sun to keep his secret.

Every now and then voices were heard from Kola’s house, sometimes they’d be moans of pleasures, and at times that of agony and pain. Who dared to ask about the incident that went on in the mysterious mansion across the street? Who dared to poke their noses in matters that could mean a letter to kick the bucket? Who was brave enough to dance with the devil and kiss him with justice?

Kola, the man in his forties whose work was to invincibly walk on streets made with gold. He had the world to himself and the world had him to herself. He was the god that hunted gods forgetting that there is a God. The name Kola would never be found on the lips of any man. I am sure that by the time you are reading this, I would be at heaven’s gate searching for my name, looking for a ticket to waltz into the Hall of Saints.

He was said to have a wife and a daughter, but they were known no more. No one knows what became of them, and those that did know, had sold their knowledge for the the things naira could buy.

This story I’m about to tell you I know well, and it’s probably the only story that you’re going to ever know about Kola. He has his riddles mysteriously coded, but for this riddle I have searched the Pacific for the answer, and the answer I will tell.

I will tell you the story of the Little Lady.

Abimbola, the dark haired girl from Odua’s lineage, the girl who wanted to go to school, it was quite unfortunate that her mother’s rich nephew would be the devil himself.

Abimbola, like a chandelier hanging from heaven’s rooftop, bright with dreams and beautiful with skill had aced her WAEC exams, but she wanted more. She wanted to be the first seed in the garden to grow and be harvested, the sixteen year old girl from the small village of Aruowa located in Oyo town had stood on her mother’s neck that she wanted to be a doctor at all cost.

“A doctor mama, a doctor, I will come back to our village and build a very big hospital mama, but please send me to school,” Bimbo would tell her mother with tears in her eyes, and Iya Bimbo would reply with reluctance in her voice, “Motigbo, sugbon ti e gbiyanju lati ma so ede yoruba die”.

But soon enough, Iya Bimbo’s eyes would not be taken away by the chandelier. Soon dreams about being ‘Iya dokita’ entertained her fancies and she wanted her dreams as much as her daughter’s to come to pass while she was still alive and she would make sure of it.

The devil somewhere in the picture was staring at the chandelier with a baseball bat in his hands ready to break anything that reflects futuristic light. Iya Bimbo struggled to come up with her daughter’s transport fare and sent her on her way to Lagos to the mysterious mansion across the street. “Bimbo, moti pe Kola, omo aburo mi to wa l’Eko, O ma gba e sodo, wa de ma lo si ile iwe”, the naive lioness had told her little cub, sending her on her way to hell’s gate.

Kola accepted her in good grace, fed her well. Abimbola must have thought to herself; “I have arrived in paradise.” But unknown to her she was the chicken being fed for Christmas day.

To her despair, she had been informed by Kola to work her way to school and to food by being his plaything every night. She refused, the village girl with the village ‘agidi’. But after two weeks of starvation, and a couple of days to JAMB registration, She decided to go into the world to feed herself, but she was soon to feel the sting of poverty’s scorpion and the bite from hostility. It came to her that Lagos was full of helpers who only see through a woman’s skirt–who’s only agendas are to know you and become a stranger minutes after.

Sex wasn’t enough for Kola, he needed something to hit so badly, and Abimbola’s skin were soft enough to be a punching bag. Every night the same thing would happen over and over again, till Bimbo decided to get more money from the helpers who have special 3D glasses to see which buttocks were big enough and whose breast was ripe enough to suck. Odua’s chandelier had been brought down, what use is a star if it doesn’t shine?

Bimbo was afraid of visiting the the hospital to treat her face, how many times was she going to fall off the staircase? Maybe this time she would tell the doctor that she started taking boxing lessons. Who would believe that the bones barely held together sitting at the other end of the doctors desk was taking boxing classes? But, wasn’t she? Her darling uncle was making a Mayweather’s career out of her in addition to Kim K’s porn lifestyle. She wasn’t saying anything, Penus have become her school, and she was learning how to be a doctor in her own way.

The Policeman just wouldn’t leave her alone as he forced her into his office. She had her make up on, but paintings had started to fail her. The injuries and pain were past emotional, the physical wasn’t also ready to be buried.

“Take my card. If you ever need me, call me,”the finals words the Policeman would ever say to her.

The Sun, the old fool, silent again watched as Kola slid his knife through Abimbola’s neck, and the sun closed its eyes to her blood pouring out from her dark haired skin.

Kola had connections in the Police department. If only the Inspector had listened to her and dropped the case, she would still be alive. If only I had listened to her, and I had not asked too many questions she would have seen the letter from her mom that arrived a few days after her death telling her that she still saw the bright chandelier in her dreams.

–Inspector Fadele.
The Mosaic World