That Lonely Black Boi

[6] Night-After Pills

|Imran Adebayo Ibrahim|

My vision was blurred as my head throbbed in pain. I stiffened to my bed very well aware that I was partly awake and partly asleep — sleep paralysis — God, maami wata, ojuju and madam koi-koi demons in had followed me to Atlanta to torment me. Sweat had already covered me like a sheet, all my effort to call out someone's name was in vain. I knew I had to open my eyes and face the demon that awaited me.

Opening my wet eyes I saw it was no demon, in fact an angel was floating above my cold, wet and stiff body. The girl I met at the party last night was above me, floating and smiling at me. I couldn't remember her name at that moment because I was too in love to grab her name. The sleep paralysis was perfect, I watched her in awe and I just let myself be carried away by the mysterious forces holding me. She began to brighten and I couldn't help but smile.

Even during that state of numb agony a nursery rhyme flashed across my aching mind — You Are My Sunshine — she was my sunshine truly. Doctors said vitamin k is good for the body but as she brightened again, I knew that instant it was no vitamin k but vitamin-sickness.

"Wole! Wole! Wole!" She called me gently and I was surprised she knew my tribal name. Slowly the light I saw dissipated and I was left in darkness.

"Wole!" My mother yelled, slapping my face like I'd kicked the bucket.

My eyes slowly opened in a whiny flutter, right in front of me was an angry Nigerian mother. "E kaaro mummy." I greeted harshly, yawning due to the sleep that was still laced on my face.

My mom eyed me on the bed before opening my window fully. "Kaaro. You should thank your stars you woke up after I slapped your stupid face, if not I would have emptied this water on your face." My mother said, showing me the chill water that was supposed to be on my face.

I frowned, "mummy, we are not in Nigeria anymore. American parents don't slap their children." I knew I was pushing it, but it sure was worth it.

My mother walked closer to me, ready to give me another wave of slap. "ṣọra." She warned before heading to the heap of dirty laundries I had brought from Nigeria.

Who brings dirty clothes with them to another country? Me. Initially, I didn't want to change my location — I hid under the umbrella of; my-clothes-are-dirty but my beautiful and dutiful mother insisted she'll wash them once we get to Atlanta.

"These weren't the clothes you bought from Lagos. I'm not washing more than I promise." She announced, sorting out the actual clothes I wore in Georgia. "I told you I have retentive memory, I always took—"

"—Took first place in highschool all thanks to your functional brain." I finished it for her since she always said that whenever she was scolding me or whenever I ace my exams — saying I got it from her. The only DNA that was replicated to mine from my dad was his good looks.

She flashed me a smile, showing her naturally gaped teeth. "Wash up on time and don't forget to perform Salah, it's past seven, you're late already." She said walking out with my dirty laundry.

"Okay ma. I love you." I yelled.

I heard her chuckle from the hallway, "you'll hate me if I come back and you're still on your bed." She yelled back.

She was such a killjoy. I forced myself up, a nerd's gotta do what a nerd's gotta do.

*

"Imran! Imran!" A soft voice woke me up from my deep slumber. I controlled my lips to avoid me from cussing at the person who had the guts the wake me; maybe it was the acute headache I felt that numb my lips. I tiredly opened my eyes and without staring at the mirror I knew I looked miserable — I had drooled all over the book that I planned to read — no wonder library books reek. My eyes were puffy and painful and I could still feel nauseated.