by Uche Peter Umez
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The Way We Are
#1.
You remember when we used to play in the rain?
As if I could ever forget.
You used to chase me a lot then; I’d run and hide myself somewhere
But I always found you.
And then we’ll roll in the squelchy sand.
Those were the days of innocence.
How old were we then?
Hmm. Twelve, I guess.
Twelve, yes.
You remember when I –
I remember every damn thing. That was then.
Do you think you might have felt something?
We were too young to feel anything.
But I felt something…
Stop kidding yourself, you couldn’t have felt something. We were just twelve-year-olds, being unnecessarily curious and playful.
But everyone thought I was precocious.
I thought you were mischievous
What do you make of me now?
Being thirtyish and single hardly fits you.
Very funny. This potbelly doesn’t suit you. You used to be all brawny.
Well, blame my wife. She thinks I have to be fattened up like a broiler.
How is she?
Fine, I suppose.
If you had a choice, would you have married at all?
I’d rather have another beer. What about you?
You’re skirting the question.
But you know some questions provoke doubts. Waiter, hey! Serve us another round.
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#2.
You talk as if you don’t believe in God
I believe; it’s just the hypocrisy of people that bangs my brain.
Don’t judge, you are not God.
C’mon, ever since the law took effect, even eunuchs seem to have become judges.
This whole I-am-different-from-you thing is madness. People have a right to speak their minds.
How so?
I think it’s a welcome development to even criminalise those others.
It is a vile thing the government is doing, I think.
I disagree. It’s not being straight that is vile.
Hmm. I didn’t know you could muster such hate.
Wait until your child becomes – Hello? Oh, lovely, Nneka! Hi sugarbunny?
Look at how you are smiling mumbo-jumbo. So who’s Nneka?
My new catch. Heavy duty babe, mmh, you know how I like them.
What about the other one in your office?
Man miss better thing o, big-rounded mama. Her husband was transferred. I’ll check Ezinne up anytime I happen to visit Abuja.
I’m surprised your wife has never found out.
What will happen if she finds out? Am I not a man? Please! By the way, you sound like you wouldn’t mind having your shit-hole rammed by your fellow man.
You’re being funny, right? Tell me, have you not rammed a woman’s behind yourself?
Uh, that’s different.
C’mon, a shit-hole is a shit-hole. A man’s is no less tender than a woman’s.
Bros, you’re losing your Africanness o, what’s it with all this American talk. Please! Let’s enjoy…see that woman…over your shoulder…see her bumper, chai, ekwensu emelam ihe ojọ. May I invite her over?
C’mon, no one has ever stopped you from pleasing yourself. Enjoy.
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Neighbours
I watch from the balcony as they kick-butt him out –
twice, he’s dropped off my kids at school
when I met a flat tyre and my spare was burst
now a pickpocket you’d think
as they strip him clean
I watch him tumble in the mud a mule
his coffee skin takes on the buff of red
I watch him flail, watch him thrash
he looks roughly like a bedraggled bat
I watch him writhe under a welter of fists
a howl like a twister
rings out from his lungs
At once!
I think of scaling the balcony to rescue him
but –
I’ve never noticed how different he is
until now
until I hear
(they say)
he is unlike any man
and I squirrel back into my study
to pray
to pray against accidents on the road.
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Uche is a poet and short fiction writer. An Alumnus of the International Writing Program (USA), Uche has participated in residencies in Ghana, India, Switzerland and Italy. He was one of the winners in the Commonwealth Short Story Competition in 2006 and 2008 respectively, and has twice been shortlisted for the Nigeria Prize for Literature in 2007 and 2011. His latest children’s book Tim the Monkey and Other Stories has just been published by Africana First Publishers, Nigeria.
