STROKE OF LUCK - Original Fiction (Part 2)

They say seeing is believing but I really disagree, you would too if you have seen what I have. On Twitter, so many people say, “Nigeria is not a real place”, because of the bizarre nature of things we see daily, but the truth is that some of the ‘regular’ bizarre stories are discussed and talked about, some even make jokes about them, but then there are some things you witness that you can’t bring yourself to even believe what you have seen, talk more of telling it to others.

...CONTINUED
Read Part 1 here

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My prayers were answered when I heard a knock on our burglary proof; it could only be the Mbanefos that would knock by 11 pm, so I raced to the door, flung it open and it was one of the Mbanefo children, the youngest. He asked if any of us could drive, it was like an insult because, in my nuclear family, there was only one driver; my dad. As I was about to probe the young lad about the case of the double scream, the iron lady appeared in the verandah with her big rechargeable lamp. It was as if it was a car with a thousand bright lights that appeared behind me.

_{Source: Pexels}

As the rays extended towards the opposite verandah, the tall frame of Mr Mbanefo was on the floor, visibly struggling for his life. My mother pointed at the padlock of the burglary proof and the message was passed, the cryptic gesture was her way of saying, “I need that padlock open”. After searching for a couple of minutes, I was prepared to go back to report that ‘operation find the key to the burglary’ was not going well. Like what can only be described as magic, when I got back to the verandah, the iron lady was on the other side of our own burglary proof with our padlock still locked.

That was when Mrs Mbanefo caught my attention; she was dressed like one of those smaller masquerades that accompanied a bigger one. The scarf on her head loosely matched the multi-coloured skirt she was putting on and the lemon green long-sleeved top ensured you could not take your eyes away from her. The iron lady was leaning over on the opposite burglary proof talking to the amateur masquerade, the conversation was like one of those times when she would come to borrow things from us, It was clear they were talking but I could not hear them. The only sound audible enough was the laughter from the woman of many colours.

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It was as if she got tired of listening to my mother because she stepped back from the burglary and sat on the plastic chair beside Mr Mbanefo, the man was shivering on the ground like he was cold, but it was not a cold night, and his hands were moving funnily. Watching from behind our own burglary proof and theirs did not give me the best view. My mother looked back to me and said, “Lighter”. I went into the kitchen, came out and Mrs Mbanefo was already puffing on a cigarette and I didn’t even bring a lighter, I couldn’t find it. It was as if they concluded their conversation in my absence because the rechargeable lamp was switched off and my mother never speaks to anyone she can’t see.

“Let’s go and sleep, nothing is happening here”, my mother said dryly as she opened the padlock from outside. We left Mrs Mbanefo out there; you didn’t need a rechargeable lamp to understand the movement of the flame as she went hand to mouth with her cigarette.

“Stroke of luck”, she said trying to hold her laughter. “Anybody that asks, tell them he died from stroke”, Mrs Mbanefo concluded.

That was the last time I saw Mrs Mbanefo, she disappeared with her children that night or the next morning, I can’t really say.