Hi Readers,

I know the weekend wasn’t so pleasant with all the terrorist attack. And I find it hard to believe Kofi Awoonor died in one of these attacks (sometimes I forget these people are human).

So, Remember how I told you about a funny story on Friday? Well, This is it; It’s Moskeda’s Purge, and I hope it cheers y’all up. Enjoy 😀

Send entries to loonpurge@gmail.com hola me on twitter @sunkit1

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Suya of Revenge

Aaaaah! Suya!

This story cracks the hell out of me each time I remember it. Okay, so on this particularly evening, I was with my sister, my cousin, my aunt and my dad. In those days, my dad was a terrorist and I mean this with a big grin. He terrorized us for a while until we learnt the art and switched it back on him. That was to be years later, though.

That evening, we were just from church. My dad was driving and on our way home, he stopped at this junction to buy some stuff from a store across the street. We ladies sat back in the car but whilst waiting, a nice aroma, scent, smell, whatever you call it, came wafting in and invading noses. If we were cartoon characters, we would have floated right out of the car and followed that aroma. Our heads followed though, and turned to a suya spot which was just beside us and we all began to salivate.

“Let’s buy suya!” someone said. I can’t recall who. But we all agreed and put our kobo-kobo together to come up with N25 which was something in those days. Being that I had plans to sample the product, I got down and went a’buying. I sampled and waited as the guy cut and wrapped the order but as I stretched my hand to pay, I heard my dad’s car start and before I could turn my head, I saw them driving off. I was surprised but I did not panic. “They will come back,” I said but as I saw the car zooming off far away, the tail lights going further and further, I was like, “wait o, these people have forgotten me.”

“No, it’s not possible,” my other voice said. “They will come back.”

I waited for like two minutes and when I didn’t see the car heading back up from the darkness, I allowed myself to panic. My next emotion was anger. I was angry at my fellow suya lovers in the car for not informing my dad that I was not with them, I was angry at my dad for not noticing my absence, I was angry at the long distance I had to walk to get home and the fact that the only cash in my hand had gone into the now useless suya; but I was angry most of all that no one would tell my dad that I was not in the car until he noticed my absence which might probably be when he got home. Long and short of the whole story was, I was screwed.

I started heading up home, the once lovely street not looking so lovely anymore. In those days I loved busy streets at night. They gave me hope that one day I would grow up and live independent like the adults who roamed around them with no care in the world. But for that moment I had to settle with being an adolescent and slapping the street alone. I hastened my steps and started nursing thoughts about eating the whole suya spitefully but I held back and decided revenge would be a suya eaten cold.The plan was to go home, eat it slowly in front of my not-helping accomplices without sparing them a piece and after I was done, I would painfully relate my trekking ordeal.

So, with a renewed purpose I urged on, even looking forward to walking by the lonely and creepy cemetery road that led to my house. I walked for like seven minutes (wasn’t really checking my watch) and got to this bridge that meant a landmark for me. That’s how I do in my life. If I want to walk from my bedroom to the kitchen and I feel it’s too far, I pick a landmark. When I cross it, I feel elated and find strength to finish my journey. The landmarks are just mentally marked points though. No soul searching or any weird thing happens there. Please, it’s just from the bedroom to the kitchen.

I crossed the bridge landmark and from afar, I saw my dad’s car racing towards me and I was like“this does not look good.” My dad drives like a movie star. I love that man. When he’s mad, he and his car become Fast and Furious.

The car scarcely made a turn as the passenger door flung open for me. I got in and my dad, without a word, snatched my precious Suya of Revenge and flung it over the bridge. I swear, I could hear it splash into the water. I looked at him aghast and my anger was refreshed but I said nothing and went into heavy sulking mode. I exuded heated fumes from my pores and hoped he choked on them but for where? The man was still driving like 007 oblivious of what I was thinking. Throughout the ride home, all I thought of was my suya, my suya, my suya of sweet revenge and malice. I wanted to strangle somebody. Dad first!

We got home and I stormed out of the car and slammed the door. Now, why did we slam doors in those days? Did it help our point? Nope. But just last week I slammed the door at my husband. It felt good, suffice to say.

So, I slammed the door of that car and went to my bedroom. All the culprits were there… looking very guilty and I think, very foolish. I had a picture… no, a recording in my head of me lining them up and telling them how it was doing me. But I didn’t. Instead I asked them why they abandoned me.

“We told him you were not in the car but he didn’t hear us,” my sister said.

“You couldn’t shout?”

“We shouted. We were saying, ‘Sally’s outside, Sally’s outside’ but he didn’t hear.”

My dad had hearing issues. He can like to be deaf for Africa.

You can be going like:“Daddy, please can you pass that spoon.”

And he’ll be like, “Ehn?”

“The spoon!”

“Ehn?!”

“THE SPOON!”

“Why are you shouting?”

And you reach for the spoon and take it and he goes, “What were you even saying sef?”

So they may have been right. The old man didn’t hear then. But I wasn’t letting them off easily. I still told them my mind sha. Trust me to always say it how it’s doing me. I told them. I can’t remember what I said but I said it and went to sleep angry. The next day, we brought the incident up and it was all laughs. Later on, my dad and I laughed about it too and he explained why he did what he did. He said he was simply pissed. I understood. I made him pay me, sha. I think he’s still paying; it never ends.

What pained me most about what happened that evening is that I missed that sweet suya.

LESSON: Don’t go buying suya unless you’re sure of your transport back home.

Sally is a writer and that’s all she basically does. She’s Phlegmatic but would prefer to be known as Melancholic. She is just trying to make sure the world reads her work or she will set its citizens ablaze
she blogs at www.moskeda.wordpress.com
follow her on twitter @moskedapages
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