Of Tales and Lores

Mirror, Mirror

Toyosi slapped at the buzzing mosquito at rested on her leg, frowning at the blood stain it made from killing it. The downfall of staying in Baba's house. Mosquitoes ruled the night, chasing people to the comfort of their houses.

But she could not go inside because of the stifling heat that waited patiently for her. They were currently experiencing blackout so all electric appliances were useless. Which made her choose outside even with the mosquitoes.

Another slap could be heard from beside her and kissing of teeth.

"These mosquitoes eh, they don't have the fear of God in their body. If not for the fact that NEPA decided to punish us, they wouldn't even see my brake light," Jumoke said.

Toyosi chuckled slightly at her cousin's lamenting. She could be so overdramatic. Like NEPA, National Electric Power Authority, cared about where they supplied power.

"Why are you laughing? See my fresh fine skin. Before we leave here, it will look like I have measles or something."

Toyosi shrugged, brushing the dried blood off her. She looked at her cousin. She had squeezed her face in annoyance, slapping at her legs and rubbing it. The kerosene lantern on the floor between them, gave her skin, the colour of roasted groundnut, a dull glow.

"Go inside and rub repellent. Don't let it ruin your 'fine girl' in Fountain Academy."

"To start looking for it in the dark. And let one of Baba's juju get me? God forbid," she said vehemently, snapping her fingers over her head as a sign to ward off evil.

"How many times will I tell you, those stuff only work on you if you believe in it."

Jumoke held her hand up to stop her.

"Please Toyo, don't start. You and this your smart talk. Are you listening to what you are saying. Please, I'm not one of those your followers on your Instagram page."

"Sorry," Toyosi said, shrugging and bringing out her phone. She wanted to make another video to post on her page tonight but she had been waiting for power to come back on.

There was a shuffle of feet in the house and the wooden front door opened to reveal an old man, probably in his eighties, walking with a limping gait. His wrinkled earth coloured skin was dotted with age spots and he wore a shirt and trousers with local print patterns. His wrinkly face broke into a smile at the sight of his granddaughters, revealing his teeth that had been yellowed by tobacco.

The two girls got on their knees, a sign of respect to the elders in the Yoruba culture.

"Ekaale sir," they chorused in greeting, as it was normally said in the evening. Baba preferred speaking in their native language.

A river that forgets its source will surely dry up, he always said.

"Awon omo mi, my children, how are you," he replied.

"Fine sir," they answered.

"I'm going out for a meeting. When your parents come, tell them I will be back later. Are you hungry?"

"No sir," Toyosi said.

"Okay, but there's remaining Amala if you want. I'm leaving now," he said, his Yoruba thick and fluent unlike the children's that always had a bit of English punctuating their sentences.

He opened the iron bars that acted as the gate for the porch, to keep the goats and chickens from other houses away from it. He had already begun his walk before he paused and turned back.