The song of us

Story two: Hope till the end.

Wheelbarrow pusher - A menial job whereby a person pushes the wheelbarrow loaded with goods on behalf of a paying customer.

Primary school - Junior high

Garri - Creamy or yellowish tinny grains processed from cassava

Sachet water - water packaged in a nylon-like material instead of a bottle

Yoruba - A tribe in Nigeria

Pidgin translation

You go fall oh. - You will fall.

You won chop? - Are you hungry?

No kill yourself oh. Your own better pass me. - Do not kill yourself. Your situation is better than mine.

* * *

He blinked a few more times as the strong wind slapped his face. It would seem he was frozen, staring out towards the large body of water that laid beneath him but in reality, he was lost. His thoughts wandered aimlessly and the only feeling he felt was that of exhaustion.

The moment he lowered his eyes, looking past his hands that rested on the iron rail of the third mainland bridge and down at the water beneath him, a dangerous and yet strangely reasonable thought crossed his mind.

Jump.

The longer he stared down, the more tempting it became for him and not even the hustling, treading of passers-by or honking of cars behind him did much to distract him from the crazy idea that brewed within his mind.

Strangely, he drew in a deep breath as he raised his eyes.

One more day... just one more day.

He told himself and soon after, his hands fell to his side as he stepped away from the edge, making a turn, he walked away.

On nearing the gates into the compound he lived in, he heard a familiar voice raging.

"Where is he!? Where has this man disappeared to once again!? Six months! Six months of not paying his rent!"

Quickly, he took several steps back and looked left right for a hiding space. Once he found a place, he hid away even if it wasn't the best hiding place. The man calling out for him was his landlord and though he had promised him on several occasions to pay him, he couldn't seem to gather the amount.

As a wheelbarrow pusher, he earned more or less than two thousand nairas in a day if the day was favourable. He could barely afford to buy himself a set of new clothes as the old ones were torn and few. He couldn't even afford a proper meal and eats less than two times in a day. Life was tough. Everything was right for him.

He was born to poor parents in the village who had more children than they could feed. They couldn't afford to send him to school and the moment, he was old enough to venture out on his own, he left for the city with all hope that someday, life will get better.

Ultimately, he strolled back into his one-room apartment. He took his seat on the small bed, resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his head in his palms.

He should have just done it today. He should have jumped. He should have done it last week as well or the week before that. He should have ended his miserable life a long time ago. Now, hope to him, was like bitter medicine, too hard for him to swallow.

A sigh evaded his lips.

The loud knock on his door forced him to raise his head. In a panic, he was already on his feet once more to hide. The knock came again

"Joseph, I know you're in there. I saw you come in. Open this door!" A female voice ordered from behind the door. For a moment, he heaved a light sigh of relief but right after, he was reminded of who the lady was, he grew restless.

"Open this door! Joseph, you promised to pay back the two thousand today. Bring that money now or I'll come with the police next time!" She threatened and his eyes dilated a bit upon hearing that. He was torn apart. He didn't have the money to give her. He ate from hand to mouth, could never have enough to save up.

The first few weeks he was in Lagos, he barely got a roof over his head but he worked hard enough to afford one. Seven years later, not a dime thing was different about him. His family back home believed he was doing okay since he lived in the city but they knew nothing of his plight. They required money and they troubled him for the little he had. As a result, his life barely made a change. Sometimes, he felt like he was cursed or perhaps, had he been able to afford a higher level of education other than primary school certificate then maybe... just maybe it would have been a tad better.

"Fine! Tomorrow, I'm showing up with the police!" She raved and then he heard footsteps and she was gone.

In relief, he slumped back on the bed.

He could stop all this and return to the village but he didn't want to. He left for a reason and that was to be different but no one was ready to truly help him. No one was going to ask him how he was faring or if he needed any help. He was a hard worker but at the same time, he was exhausted. Since he could lift something, he performed all sorts of menial jobs. Now 34 years old, there was no difference.

His stomach growled and he felt the hunger twist within. The last time he ate was yesterday's evening. He knew he had to eat something. Quickly, he searched for the small and last polythene bag of garri and grounded sugar he had left. He poured them into a bowl and tore open sachet water, poured the water into the bowl. He let the garri soak and only began eating after it had swollen enough to temporarily fill his stomach.

In the end, he threw his back flat on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He had to return to work. Soon, that was what he did.

* * *

He was back where he had been several days ago. His stare blank, his eyes lowered and mesmerised by the body of water beneath him. The evil thought filled his mind once more. Reason? He needed peace. He wanted to rest. Probably, there was a God but he had forgotten about him.

The alluring thought in his head grew stronger and louder. Slowly, he got himself ready to cross over the iron rail.

He felt a hand on his arm, looking to his side, he saw a child of about twelve years old. He was missing one arm and his shirt was slightly ripped at the edge. His hair was that of dirty brown, probably as a result of not getting a proper wash in days and his skin darkened by the harsh sun.

"You go fall oh." He warned like he knew the young man.

There was silence in their midst as they both observed each other.

"You won chop?" The young boy suddenly asked in a strong Yoruba accent and the man couldn't help furrowing his brows at the boy who seemed and behaved more than his age.

"No kill yourself oh. Your own better pass me." Having said that, he put up a brief and modest smile before he was on his way.

Joseph could not help but watch the young boy as he walked away. His gaze fell on the boy's missing arm once more and he looked away in embarrassment. He felt a wave of shame. The boy was right. What was he trying to do? He had his complete health and body parts, yet... how could he give up so soon.

Till the end, there's always hope.