Living With Mice - A Short Story by E. E. Sule
- By E. E. Sule
- Published January 3, 2010
- Fiction
-
Rating:
E. E. Sule
E. E. Sule is the pen-name for Dr. Sule E. Egya. He teaches Creative Writing, African Literature and Modern Literary Theory in the Department of English & Literary Studies, University of Abuja, Abuja FCT, Nigeria. He is the author of Impotent Heavens (a collection of short stories); Dream and Shame (a collection of short stories); Naked Sun (a volume of poetry); Knifing Tongues (a volume of poetry); The Writings of Zaynab Alkali (a critical book, co-authored with Umelo Ojinmah); In Their Voices and Visions: Conversations with New Nigerian Writers (a book of interviews), and What the Sea Told Me (a volume of poetry). His poems, short stories, literary and scholarly essays have appeared in journals, e-journals, anthologies and literary magazines in Nigeria, the USA, Germany, Spain, India, the UK, Senegal, etc. He has read his works to audiences both in Nigeria and abroad. In 2007, he had a nine-month writing residency in Senegal where he worked under the mentorship of the world class Ghanaian writer Ayi Kwei Armah.
View all Entries by E. E. Sule
Baba left abruptly, not looking back. The other men stared at him as he walked out of our door-less, half-crushed entrance. Muhammadu was not disturbed by Baba’s discourteous action. He smiled and shook his head. He took his time to light another cigarette. He inhaled deeply, and then exhaled the smoke towards Papa Peter and Baba Bulus.
Papa Peter reacted: “Come, why you dey smoke put for my face? You well so?”
Muhammadu turned to him, “Oya, bring ya money. Is pive mons! You no fay por pive mons!”
“Na because I no be policeman you dey ask me for money?”
“Za rent! You’re occupy my house. You fay ya rent!”
“No shout on me, Muhammadu. You know say you be small boy.”
“Who be small boy?” He turned to Papa Ofure, “You hear am kwo? You be caretaker, you bring zese mad feofle come my house…”
“Nobody is mad here!” Egahi shouted. He had been staring at Muhammadu with indignation.
“You, bring ya money. I don tell you say you no stay in zis house pree op charge.”
Tanko caught our attention. He was walking from where he stood near the latrines to his room, his countenance downcast, his slippers making a loud slap-slap noise. He seemed inwardly agitated. I looked towards the latrines and saw his kettle on the ground.
Egahi was talking to Muhammadu, “Do I look to you like someone who will stay in your house free of charge? You should be happy that I’m living here, by the way. Muhammadu, I’ve warned you to be careful the way you talk to us here.”
Muhammadu ignored Egahi and turned to Baba Bulus. “And you, Mallam, ya own is two mons only.”
Baba Bulus gave him a withering look. Then he turned his face away, hissing loudly. Muhammadu smiled, shook his head and took a long drag of his cigarette.
Baba Bulus turned to him and said, “I tell you say my roof dey leak. Rain don dey come again. If you no repair de roof, I no go pay any money. I go use de money repair am. Shikenan!”
That did not seem to bother Muhammadu. He exhaled his smoke with a relish, his eyes half-closing. Then he chuckled, shaking his head, exclaiming, “Zese feofle por my house!”
“Ehm you, Mr. Caretaker,” Papa Peter turned to Papa Ofure. “Tell am say make he see,” he pointed his finger in the direction “Our bafroom dey fall. One day person go dey baf and the room go fall for him head. Why e never repair am? We don complain tire. Ask am, make he tell us now.”
Papa Ofure stared at him, mute.
Baba Bulus added, “And our latrines don dey full. De second one, shit don reach de mout of de hole sef. You want make we dey shit for outside?”
Muhammadu was shifting from one leg to the other, inhaling the smoke and exhaling it towards Papa Peter and Baba Bulus. The smoke irritated Papa Peter. He kept waving it away with his open palm. Muhammadu momentarily folded his arms across his chest. He was staring at Papa Ofure.
Papa Ofure, addressing his neighbours, said, “Make una tell am na. No be him dey here?”
Very uneasy, Tanko came out of his room, half-trotting. Egahi burst into laughter as he saw him. Tanko went for his kettle on the floor near the latrine. I heard one of the people standing there tell him that Aunty, very pressed, had entered the latrine. It was his turn to enter. Tanko exploded with anger, shouting that he was also pressed, that he could not even stay in one place because of that. He was shouting in Hausa, “And who is inside the second latrine? Does the person want to spend the whole day inside? Is the person shitting or eating?”
They were pleading with him to calm down. He stiffened his body, contorting his face; then he relaxed and leaned on the dusty wall facing the latrines.
I turned to the men under the tree who were also looking at Tanko, amused.
Otor, my age mate and school mate, emerged from their room, holding the tail of a dead mouse. He walked straight out, to the gutter. It occurred to me that if the mice in our house were edible most of the children in our compound would not have been malnourished. Mama’s pot of soup would not have lacked meat, as it always did days before Baba’s payday.
Egahi was talking to the landlord: “Y’know, the real problem is that the two latrines and one bathroom are not enough for us. See how people line up to shit,” he pointed there. “Muhammadu, listen to me, see the population of us in this compound; see what you have for us as latrines and bathroom. You should know that this is unreasonable.”
Muhammadu retorted, “No tell me nonsense! You feofle has flenty flenty wives and chindren. So you shit flenty. Is my pault? Gonment say do structural adjusmen programme, marry small, born small chindren, but see za froblem you cause por yaself.” His voice sounded really angry now.
“God punish you with your govment!” Baba Bulus burst out. “How many children your father born?”
“Twenty-five!” Egahi shouted, laughing. “Is that not what you told me, Papa Ofure?”
Muhammadu was cowed into silence. He exhaled his smoke, staring at Papa Ofure.
Papa Peter said, “You be small boy, you no get sense…”
Muhammadu interrupted him, pointing his right hand, the cigarette stuck in the fingers, “No insult me because you no get money to fay. But you must to fay. You hear me? All op you must to fay. Two mons, three mons, five mons, and you, Egahi, seven mons!” He turned to Egahi.
Egahi had opened his mouth to reply when, again, the loud slap-slap of Tanko’s slippers drew our attention. He looked really agitated.
In a tone full of mockery, Muhammadu asked in Hausa, “Ehm Mallam Tanko, can I have your rent?”
Tanko stopped suddenly. He turned to the men under the mango tree. Shooting his index finger towards Muhammadu, Tanko blurted out in Hausa, “May Allah’s curse be upon you for bringing such discomfort on me! If you had built more latrines for us I would not be undergoing this unease. May Allah curse you!”
The other men burst into laughter.
Muhammadu had a good laugh and said, “May more of Allah’s curse be upon you for…”
The remaining words stuck in his throat. Tanko rushed straight for Muhammadu’s throat. Though taken unawares, Muhammadu managed, with one hand, to free his neck from Tanko’s furious fists. He was not entirely lucky. Some fingernails had dug into his neck. The fists settled for the neckline of his riga, squeezing it, dragging it, tearing it. Muhammadu’s free hand let the newly lit cigarette go, finally. He used it judiciously, landing a heavy blow on Tanko’s jaw. Tanko slapped Muhammadu hard across the face. Papa Ofure, suddenly realising that he had to separate the fighters, tried to throw himself between Tanko and Muhammadu. He held Tanko by the arm, yanking him.
Baba Bulus was shouting, “Tanko, leave Muhammadu’s cloth. Leave de cloth na.”
“I’ll kill this bastard!” Tanko swore in Hausa. “I swear by Allah I’ll kill this son of a whore!”
“You want to kill me? You want to kill me?” Muhammadu felt with his left hand the torn neckline of his riga. He furiously pulled off the riga and threw it down. A couple of spliffs rolled out of the riga. “You want to kill me? I will teach you a lesson today?” He was pushing Baba Bulus who now stood in front of him, preventing him from reaching Tanko.
“I will kill you! Son of a whore!” Tanko was yelling on top of his voice, pushing Papa Ofure who was preventing him from reaching Muhammadu.
“Hey, no killing here,” Egahi shouted, lending a hand to Papa Ofure.
Papa Peter stepped back, saying, “Abeg leave dem make dem fight. Na him Hausa broda fit fight am.”
Egahi succeeded in holding Tanko by the waist and pulling him.
Tanko kept shouting, “I’ll kill that bastard, I swear by Allah.”
Women and children had crowded around them, shouting and making a din.
Baba Bulus let out a loud shout, stepping back from Muhammadu. The towel on his waist went loose and dropped on the floor. He stood momentarily naked, without underpants. I saw his penis as he dashed down and picked his towel. Some children shouted with excitement.
“Knife! Knife! Knife!” Papa Peter shouted.
I turned to see. Muhammadu was charging towards Tanko with a pointed dagger.
Muhammadu gave a fast blow. Tanko dodged to the right. The dagger stuck on Egahi’s left arm. Totally letting go of Tanko, Egahi gave a sharp cry, squatting, sitting on the floor, and splaying his legs. Blood began to snake down the arm.
For a moment, everybody stood frozen, staring at Egahi twisting on the ground.
In that instant, a slender woman came out of the second latrine. Tanko rushed towards the latrine. I saw a drop of shit on his left leg as he disappeared into it.
Papa Peter reacted: “Come, why you dey smoke put for my face? You well so?”
Muhammadu turned to him, “Oya, bring ya money. Is pive mons! You no fay por pive mons!”
“Na because I no be policeman you dey ask me for money?”
“Za rent! You’re occupy my house. You fay ya rent!”
“No shout on me, Muhammadu. You know say you be small boy.”
“Who be small boy?” He turned to Papa Ofure, “You hear am kwo? You be caretaker, you bring zese mad feofle come my house…”
“Nobody is mad here!” Egahi shouted. He had been staring at Muhammadu with indignation.
“You, bring ya money. I don tell you say you no stay in zis house pree op charge.”
Tanko caught our attention. He was walking from where he stood near the latrines to his room, his countenance downcast, his slippers making a loud slap-slap noise. He seemed inwardly agitated. I looked towards the latrines and saw his kettle on the ground.
Egahi was talking to Muhammadu, “Do I look to you like someone who will stay in your house free of charge? You should be happy that I’m living here, by the way. Muhammadu, I’ve warned you to be careful the way you talk to us here.”
Muhammadu ignored Egahi and turned to Baba Bulus. “And you, Mallam, ya own is two mons only.”
Baba Bulus gave him a withering look. Then he turned his face away, hissing loudly. Muhammadu smiled, shook his head and took a long drag of his cigarette.
Baba Bulus turned to him and said, “I tell you say my roof dey leak. Rain don dey come again. If you no repair de roof, I no go pay any money. I go use de money repair am. Shikenan!”
That did not seem to bother Muhammadu. He exhaled his smoke with a relish, his eyes half-closing. Then he chuckled, shaking his head, exclaiming, “Zese feofle por my house!”
“Ehm you, Mr. Caretaker,” Papa Peter turned to Papa Ofure. “Tell am say make he see,” he pointed his finger in the direction “Our bafroom dey fall. One day person go dey baf and the room go fall for him head. Why e never repair am? We don complain tire. Ask am, make he tell us now.”
Papa Ofure stared at him, mute.
Baba Bulus added, “And our latrines don dey full. De second one, shit don reach de mout of de hole sef. You want make we dey shit for outside?”
Muhammadu was shifting from one leg to the other, inhaling the smoke and exhaling it towards Papa Peter and Baba Bulus. The smoke irritated Papa Peter. He kept waving it away with his open palm. Muhammadu momentarily folded his arms across his chest. He was staring at Papa Ofure.
Papa Ofure, addressing his neighbours, said, “Make una tell am na. No be him dey here?”
Very uneasy, Tanko came out of his room, half-trotting. Egahi burst into laughter as he saw him. Tanko went for his kettle on the floor near the latrine. I heard one of the people standing there tell him that Aunty, very pressed, had entered the latrine. It was his turn to enter. Tanko exploded with anger, shouting that he was also pressed, that he could not even stay in one place because of that. He was shouting in Hausa, “And who is inside the second latrine? Does the person want to spend the whole day inside? Is the person shitting or eating?”
They were pleading with him to calm down. He stiffened his body, contorting his face; then he relaxed and leaned on the dusty wall facing the latrines.
I turned to the men under the tree who were also looking at Tanko, amused.
Otor, my age mate and school mate, emerged from their room, holding the tail of a dead mouse. He walked straight out, to the gutter. It occurred to me that if the mice in our house were edible most of the children in our compound would not have been malnourished. Mama’s pot of soup would not have lacked meat, as it always did days before Baba’s payday.
Egahi was talking to the landlord: “Y’know, the real problem is that the two latrines and one bathroom are not enough for us. See how people line up to shit,” he pointed there. “Muhammadu, listen to me, see the population of us in this compound; see what you have for us as latrines and bathroom. You should know that this is unreasonable.”
Muhammadu retorted, “No tell me nonsense! You feofle has flenty flenty wives and chindren. So you shit flenty. Is my pault? Gonment say do structural adjusmen programme, marry small, born small chindren, but see za froblem you cause por yaself.” His voice sounded really angry now.
“God punish you with your govment!” Baba Bulus burst out. “How many children your father born?”
“Twenty-five!” Egahi shouted, laughing. “Is that not what you told me, Papa Ofure?”
Muhammadu was cowed into silence. He exhaled his smoke, staring at Papa Ofure.
Papa Peter said, “You be small boy, you no get sense…”
Muhammadu interrupted him, pointing his right hand, the cigarette stuck in the fingers, “No insult me because you no get money to fay. But you must to fay. You hear me? All op you must to fay. Two mons, three mons, five mons, and you, Egahi, seven mons!” He turned to Egahi.
Egahi had opened his mouth to reply when, again, the loud slap-slap of Tanko’s slippers drew our attention. He looked really agitated.
In a tone full of mockery, Muhammadu asked in Hausa, “Ehm Mallam Tanko, can I have your rent?”
Tanko stopped suddenly. He turned to the men under the mango tree. Shooting his index finger towards Muhammadu, Tanko blurted out in Hausa, “May Allah’s curse be upon you for bringing such discomfort on me! If you had built more latrines for us I would not be undergoing this unease. May Allah curse you!”
The other men burst into laughter.
Muhammadu had a good laugh and said, “May more of Allah’s curse be upon you for…”
The remaining words stuck in his throat. Tanko rushed straight for Muhammadu’s throat. Though taken unawares, Muhammadu managed, with one hand, to free his neck from Tanko’s furious fists. He was not entirely lucky. Some fingernails had dug into his neck. The fists settled for the neckline of his riga, squeezing it, dragging it, tearing it. Muhammadu’s free hand let the newly lit cigarette go, finally. He used it judiciously, landing a heavy blow on Tanko’s jaw. Tanko slapped Muhammadu hard across the face. Papa Ofure, suddenly realising that he had to separate the fighters, tried to throw himself between Tanko and Muhammadu. He held Tanko by the arm, yanking him.
Baba Bulus was shouting, “Tanko, leave Muhammadu’s cloth. Leave de cloth na.”
“I’ll kill this bastard!” Tanko swore in Hausa. “I swear by Allah I’ll kill this son of a whore!”
“You want to kill me? You want to kill me?” Muhammadu felt with his left hand the torn neckline of his riga. He furiously pulled off the riga and threw it down. A couple of spliffs rolled out of the riga. “You want to kill me? I will teach you a lesson today?” He was pushing Baba Bulus who now stood in front of him, preventing him from reaching Tanko.
“I will kill you! Son of a whore!” Tanko was yelling on top of his voice, pushing Papa Ofure who was preventing him from reaching Muhammadu.
“Hey, no killing here,” Egahi shouted, lending a hand to Papa Ofure.
Papa Peter stepped back, saying, “Abeg leave dem make dem fight. Na him Hausa broda fit fight am.”
Egahi succeeded in holding Tanko by the waist and pulling him.
Tanko kept shouting, “I’ll kill that bastard, I swear by Allah.”
Women and children had crowded around them, shouting and making a din.
Baba Bulus let out a loud shout, stepping back from Muhammadu. The towel on his waist went loose and dropped on the floor. He stood momentarily naked, without underpants. I saw his penis as he dashed down and picked his towel. Some children shouted with excitement.
“Knife! Knife! Knife!” Papa Peter shouted.
I turned to see. Muhammadu was charging towards Tanko with a pointed dagger.
Muhammadu gave a fast blow. Tanko dodged to the right. The dagger stuck on Egahi’s left arm. Totally letting go of Tanko, Egahi gave a sharp cry, squatting, sitting on the floor, and splaying his legs. Blood began to snake down the arm.
For a moment, everybody stood frozen, staring at Egahi twisting on the ground.
In that instant, a slender woman came out of the second latrine. Tanko rushed towards the latrine. I saw a drop of shit on his left leg as he disappeared into it.