It's 8:00pm, I'm in my room.

Alone.

Something terrible is about to happen right now, I don't know what but I can smell the evil in the air.

*  *  *

Earlier in the afternoon by 3:45, I heard the knock from my sleep.

I was vexed at whoever was knocking so insistently, I had been craving for this sleep all morning.

I tied my wrapper around me and stood up to go answer the door.

It was my friend and neighbour, Banke.

I sighed. I couldn't get angry at Banke, we were way past all of that.

I let her in and locked the door behind her.

"Mama, how far na?" She greeted jovially.

I wondered at the cause of her good mood. "Fine." I replied dryly. I was still much sleepy.

"Why you kon dey tie wrapper like mama na?"

"I sleep naked, shey you know no ni?" I queried

She dragged out my chair and sat down on it. Brought out her phone and started pressing. I was grateful, I wasn't ready to engage in any chit chat right now.

I went right back to my bed and slept. In between she asked me questions and I answered as sleepily as I could.

After some time, she joined me on the bed and slept off.

8:00pm

Something woke me up, I wasn't sure what it was. But I couldn't sleep again.

I picked up my phone to check time. "Wow! 8:00pm" I exclaimed, I didn't we had slept for that long.

I turned on my data and went straight to WhatsApp.

As I went through statuses, I saw a link to a Facebook post on one of the statuses. I clicked on it. It took me to Sima Essien's wall.

As I read through the story of the girl whose body was found with a radio in her stomach, I felt goosebumps rise in my arms.

"Nawa!" I exclaimed in my mind.

Banke was still sleeping. I looked around for my charger, I needed to boost my battery because our light was uncertain.

A call came in.

My heart gave a quick flip. "Is this a joke?!" I wondered aloud

The caller ID read Banke's name. I looked around for her phone, I didn't see it.

I picked. "Hello?" I said cautiously

"Babes how far, you dey house? I dey come your side now."

My heart crashed forcefully against my chest. "Banke?" I asked

"Yes na! You dey sleep?"

I looked at the sleeping form by my side, there was no one there again.

Then

.. they took the light.

©Tee ha na

Last Christmas, you saw guys on a supersonic cruise level. 

Everybody is on wheels; theirs is four and yours is two — just your two harmattan roasted legs. You're wearing an undersized trouser, a dress bought for you four months before Christmas, before things start to get costly during festivities. The pitiless sun punishing your forehead while the breeze blows your i-don-tire-for-your-hand my-papa-dash-me polo from side to side.

A black chasis, golden wheel G-wagon stops beside you, afterall money stops nonsense, and you are nonsense, so you stop. The glass winds down and you see Chinedu, your course mate that abandoned school. You hail him. He tells you to call him 'Edu Malaysia', and that he has blown. 

You cry, wail and ask him to show you the way. He says one Baba Ijebu dey run am. He will show you.

You grew up in a god fearing home; your mother, an indaboski and a woman of fight and war, the leader of the Battle Axe of God, the prayer warriors of your church, and your father, a very calm man, very typical of a Sunday school teacher that he is.

They ask you to wait on the Lord, and you said no. Why will you listen to them? Shebi you have inherited your father's big gbola and can now do what he, your father, can do with it? Abi you haff suck plenty bress of different shapes and not just your mother's own? Damn them! 

With your friend, you go to Baba Ijebu. He said you should bring small human sacrifice. The one who bore you. You agreed. 

Your mother ends her 21-day dry fasting that same day. She sees you in her vision trying kill her. She says god forbid, and fires spontaneous prayer with unknown tongues for effect.

The Baba's shrine catches fire and his mirror breaks. He too falls down with partial stroke. You run away from the shrine. Power don pass power.

The next morning, during morning devotion, your mother claps ferociously, stamps her feet, rolls her waist right in your face and sings: "Satan don fall for ground oh, march am, march am!"

And you keep your face like a pile of brown shit fired with a catapult.

Alex Excellencia