Your Birth Day

BIRTH DAY

You returned to Enugu on the 23^rd of October 2009 after your father’s burial.  You didn’t want to talk to anybody in your neighbourhood yet because you were tired. Your eyes were still heavy with the many tears you shaded for the eight days you stayed in the village. You left your mother and younger sisters at the village to escape the evil hand of the bad people over there as you were the only son of your father. Besides, you wanted to get to Enugu and prepare for your birthday that was to come on the 30^th day of October. You wouldn’t allow your father’s death and subsequent burial spoil your birth day. It was a very important day for you - your 27th birthday. 27 was a significant year in your Zodiac and you were determined to make it remarkable. You had drawn a red and black scorpion tattoo on your left biceps. You had planned to unveil the beautiful tattoo on that day. You also planned to adopt the nick name – Jupiter – for yourself in consonance with your zodiac planet. Joan your girl friend promised to bake you a grey cake shaped in your zodiac symbol. It was to be your biggest birthday ever.

 You walked straight into your room and slumped on the bed facing the window like a tree chopped down from the roots. Then you noticed that your window had not been properly closed for the eight days you had been away. Cobwebs now hung loosely on the frame of the window and dangled like a badly fixed PHCN wires as the breeze from outside moved them. The room stunk dusty. You didn’t border to clean your room because you knew Joan will soon come and help you with the arrangement as soon as you called her. You couldn’t bear the choking dusty smell so you decided to get busy with cleaning the room that was formerly your father’s as you were now the man of the house. As you opened the door to the room, something inside of you was expecting to hear your father’s voice from behind say; “James what are you looking for in there?” but the whole house was calm. The voice didn’t come. The door cricked and swung open. The entire room was in disarray. You meant to start with the cloth strewn bed. Then your eye went over the rust eaten black box that stuck out from under the bed. It was that kind of metallic box you used in primary school. It was not locked. It was the box you were never allowed to fiddle with while Daddy was alive. You sat on the bed and drew the box out from under the bed.  As you opened it, a community of cockroaches scampered for safety. One cockroach crept out of the box and you crushed it with your left foot. The box was full of papers that now looked brownish as if they were heat with fire. There were deposits of black rat shits that looked the shape and size of rice seedling scattered everywhere in the box. The papers were receipts and invoices and school fees receipts and repot cards. The first one on top was the receipt of the old Philips television that was in your sitting room before. The receipt said the TV was bought N25. It had some holes here and there on it and some cockroach larvas clung to it. You emptied the box upside down and more insects dispersed for safety. Right on top now was your Primary school report card with your name boldly written on it in a sprawling handwriting of a learner. You smiled at what your hand writing looked like then. No wonder your then primary school teacher aunty Chichi called it the struggling of a hen for food. You flapped the report card on your left wrist and screwed up your face against the dust it emitted. In the first page of the report card you saw an assignment you did with the teacher’s mark of good that stood like the NIKE sign across the paper. You smiled and whispered that you always took the first position in the class. Then you saw your birth certificate. It was brown now and some parts of it had been chopped off by the cockroaches, maybe. It now had jagged edges like a rat eaten rag. Then you dusted it and cleaned the surface with your palms. The date read 22nd February and the year had been chopped off. Your head felt swollen as you saw the date. You looked up at the name; it was still James Chineme David. That was your name. it was only your father that called you Chineme. It was like a dream. You had always celebrated October 30th as my birthday.

“Oh! God what do I do with this tattoo” you screamed and fell backward into the bed. You didn’t hear your phone ringing; you wouldn’t have picked it if you had heard it. Your head felt heavy and tears ran down the two sides of your eyes like a leaking tab. As you felt the scorpion tattoo engraved on your left biceps you sighed and thought about Oluwole. “There they can change the dates and even bring my age down.” You thought. You lay there thinking till you slept off.