"I am the law!!!" that is how he handles Daniel's feeble attempt to 'stand up to daddy'
at lunch in school, Daniel's class buddies would sit together, hunched up over miserable fish-rolls as was the name of the tiny pastries 50 kobo could buy for a group of five. Some would tell wild stories of how they talked down their fathers, it was always a wonder.
his father's towering build and his continuous bellow "I am the law", each interjection giving the poor boy a smarting smack across his opening mouth that kept it flipping open and shut intermittently. This proved more how ridiculous those lunch hour stories were.
a sudden slam of the door!
hand still poised in mid-swing, a final attempt to shut the weak protest Daniel had mustered is interrupted.
"enough! you animal!"
bewilderment of cause was the response as the huge bald 100 kg weight of Pastor Sam shifts to turn face, encroaching on the little space between the tiny figure of his wife and his first son's bedroom door which she shut after her.
she shook violently, even her voice had tremors,
"you have battered that poor boy enough! haba! don't kill him for me ooo"
This, was the first time Daniel had seen his mom challenge his hulk of a father, so his 'runaway' plan was temporarily abandoned as the noise from their apartment turned to a more shrill and feminine one. At least the neighbouring flats could manage some sleep now and they would have, had events not turned rather bloody that heated afternoon of September 12, 1965.
"help! he has killed her ooo"
People in their ones and twos abandoned their afternoon leisure after hearing the crash of glass, followed by the cry for help which certainly was Daniel's voice.
the next morning....
it was still just dawn, that time of the day when the dark of night just starts to give way to dim light of a new day.
the small unruly mob, gathered in scanty clutters to hear the end of the matter. "death by firing squad!" yelled one squeaky-voiced man, who looked so worn and faded, one could still see the damp of dew in the flimsy clothes that stuck to his bony chest, as he vehemently protested to his mini-audience why the man should die, as if he had a stake in it.
one of the Junior officers, who had been laboured to get Daniel's statement, couldn't help but take a peek as he abandoned his seat across the ruffled teen, whose rough scrawling seemed so intent on venting some venom.
"he thinks everyone is good except his own family, talks about church members and their children like they are saints"
The officer, who really was more of a correction personnel than armed militia could not help the condemnation he felt for this Man who was locked up 6 inch wall away from the front desk area, where the statement was being penned by the aggrieved son.
musing over the parts of this boy's write up that were striking, 'Ali' the correction officer wondered if the statement should be accepted, as he suspected that details of the events of the previous day according to the boy, would probably be laced with venom and the boy would grow up to realise he may have added to whatever just penalty his father should normally get.
YOU ARE READING
State of WarShort Story
Stories of a father who has to keep a mask on everyday to ensure his son and daughter keep his law. A doting wife turned to mental slave within the African context and the petty desires of a woman that rule her.