Wet Sheet by Benjamin Edem Oku

They say the final moments before one dies, the brain replays important scenes that occurred in their lifetime even as the heart gradually loses force and collapses. One can see the soul leave their body, a final motion of surrendering to death. I had always been an upholder of this statement, wearing it boldly around my neck as a laurel of wisdom amongst my peers, especially because granny had been first to let me into this dark mystery. "Old people don't lie", I would tell them. So here I was wondering what his mind must be replaying to him on the edge of death, even as I stared into his dead-struck eyes that seemed to have outgrown their sockets. His outstretched hands pointed towards my direction. Was he asking for help or notifying the rest of an intruder? My mind just couldn't figure that out majorly because fear had gripped me so hard that I froze at the spot where I hid with the dustbin right next to me.
My twelve year old eyes had just witnessed the death of a man on a front seat view. This was nothing compared to what I had watched on the sharp television we had in our parlour - our view had most times been impaired because the television had served well beyond its supposed duration and sometimes needed a couple of bangs on its box before it could boot -  nor was it in anyway like the deaths we feigned when I and my siblings Etim, Effiom and Arit, would perform our best replica of the Nigerian movies we saw on television. I had grown a keen interest in always being the one to play the dying part and Arit would always repeat the same words again and again, faking a cry as she shook my body. "No ooo, don't die. Come back!!!". So I had gotten the notion that dying seems simple and not gruesome. But as I watched this body grow cold, every notion I had picked up along the road, came flying out of the windows. Horrifying sight. I wished more than anything that I had defied my adventurous character and ignored the cry I heard as I passed by the short bushy track from the dump site my siblings and I had discovered few weeks ago. I wished more than anything that I had obeyed dad's instruction and disposed the waste earlier. At least this would have taken away his order of no food for me unless I disposed the waste, not minding that the clock had just hit 9pm and the sky had turned grayish-purple with no trace of the moon, nor the stars.
My father had always appeared a basic and casual man on the outside especially considering his short statue and slightly protruded belly that was a bold manifest of his love for beer. We had become accustomed to seeing his face buried in a newspaper, cursing the government. "Can you imagine this? They keep claiming to recover looted money from past government officials, yet no proper account as to how this recovered money is used. This country is doomed. I fear for the young generation". He would curse and take sips of his favorite Star lager beer on Sundays. He never went to church with us because he saw religion as a work of fairy tales that strike fear of afterlife delusions into a man. He was a man of proven facts. But when I look back at this now, one feature of him stands out. Discipline. Mr. Etim was a custodian of discipline, a fierce campaigner against social immorality and so this wore a telling look on us, his children. He would always make sure he punished us for what he called "juvenile delinquencies". His presence was the fear factor in the house. Mother would always threaten to report us to him anytime we initially deferred her instructions. This was enough to send whoever that was into immediate action. Everyone dreaded dad's 'brain setter', his belt. The terror that clouded our minds whenever we laid on the table in the center of the parlour, awaiting the strokes on our bodies every time our news of stubbornness got to him. Mum always sat just close to us, waiting to swoop into our defense whenever she felt the beating was too much. Those were our lucky days. However, our luck ran out on few occasions.
On one of such days, mother had gone to make her hair at one of those salons where there was more talking than plaiting and she had carried my sister, Arit along. Dad had left for work, so we the boys were left behind with instructions to tidy the house as we were on holiday. I was in our room, playing ludo - a game played on a flat, often glassy board with woody edges, where your journey from an imaginary house to paradise, is mostly dependent on the numbers on a pair of dices you roll out - with Effiong when Etim, my eldest brother, came in looking excited.
"You uncovered six five and you're counting six four? Ehn Archibong?" Effiong yelled while giving me a soft knock on the head.
"Oh sorry. I forgot". That was a blatant lie to cover up being caught in the act of cheating.
"You guys should quit playing that game. Let's go and play ball at Asikpo's compound. He just signaled me that he bought a new ball". Etim said while searching for his favorite football jersey.
We didn't need a second invitation as we immediately changed into clothes we assigned to playing football. Soon, we were at Asikpo's compound which shared same fence with ours, with a backyard just large enough for a playground. A couple of other boys from the street had also gotten the signal as they joined in the play. Since I was the youngest, I had always been assigned to one of the goalkeeping positions. Asikpo and Etim who were both age-mates and the oldests, had always been the captains of both teams. We were still on the field of play when dad returned from work earlier than usual. He had forgotten an important document and so came home to pick it up. Upon getting to the house, he found no one around, the rooms had still been left messy, the dishes had piled unwashed in the kitchen.
"So this is what these boys do when I leave this house. Okay, no problem". He entered his room, took one of his leather belts and hung it on his shoulder as he walked towards where he had heard our voices shout "goooooaaal". I had been the first to see him walk unto our football field, so I quietly left my position, walked to where my slippers and was about to put them on when Effiong yelled at me.
" Archibong! What are you..." He couldn't complete his statement as his eyes met with our father's and he also went in search of his slippers. Soon all three of us left the field with bowed heads, walking distances behind dad, already sweating profusely because we knew what would soon befall us. We hadn't expected him to come home that early. One by one we marched into the house, with I and Effiong hiding behind Etim. Dad was so furious and angry that immediately we walked into the house, he didn't waste time ordering us to lie flat on the floor like dead logs and there was no point begging him as that infuriated him the more. He had pushed aside the centre table, creating enough space for three of us to lie. The strokes came haphazardly, switching between our bodies as he flogged us so hard that our screams filled the entire compound and that of our neighbours. This sent Mr. Offiong whose house also shared a fence with us, running towards our house wearing a singlet over his upper body with a wrapper tied around his waist.
"Etim, you will kill these children o". He stressed the last word in the Nigerian way of emphasizing a statement as he held unto dad's belt, giving us enough time to run out of the house amidst tears and intensively rubbing our buttocks in a bid to sooth the stinging pain that had gathered there.
"There are ways to discipline your children. You're taking this too far". He added.
"Rubbish. I will not allow my children turn into societal hooligans. It starts from now. If they cannot fear me enough to obey my direct orders, then what happens when I'm not around?" Dad fired back as he walked angrily into his room, got the document he came for and left the house, threatening to deal with us more when he returned. I had labeled that day as being the worst day of my life until this night.
The realisation of sudden crawling movements on my legs brought my senses back. I immediately moved my hands to pat the ants crawling over my legs, away and in the process, rustling the small bush where I hid. Immediately, flashes of eye-blinding torches landed on the spot where I hid.
"Who goes there?! Who be that?!" The men who wore matching red berets on different black polos over black jeans, asked fiercely in a way that sounded a mix of fear of being caught and threat to whoever dared to eavesdrop on their sacred activity. Immediately, two of them began walking towards my direction, one wielding a machete and the other an axe. Instinctively, I took to my heels, leaving behind the empty dustbin as the men approached closer to my spot.
"Pursue that boy. No let am escape. Catch ...." That was all I heard one of them whom I had identified as the Capone - leader - of the gang ordered as I ran through the bushy track as fast as my legs could carry me, with my slippers flung to wherever I didn’t mind, sending waves of leaves scattered on my trail. This bushy track led to the back of the only government primary school in the area, whose depleted structure stood waiting for a push to completely collapse. It stood as a constant reminder of failed promises by hungry politicians who during every election, singled out renovation of the primary school as one of their major projects. A repeated campaign punchline that seemed to work the magic every time the elections came rolling in.
The last chairmanship election campaign held in this very primary school, was one I vividly recall as I had just turned eight years old at the time and my father had carried me on his neck as we rallied with the crowd that had come all out to cheer the aspirant who bore same name as mine - the main reason I was very excited. Echoes of "Archibong is our man. Archibong Edem, is our choice" filled the air as people gathered in the school's football field awaiting the presence of the aspirant. There were different attires that carried either the aspirant's name or face, on display by different groups and associations. Women whistling, men shouting and struggling to be at the front of the crowd. Like me, some children were on the necks of their fathers or brothers. It didn't take long for the man of the hour to ascend the podium amidst loud cheers and sycophantic applause.
"My brothers and sisters..." He begun reading his carefully written speech that he had sincerely hoped would get the people psyched. It didn't fail as there were loud cheers and whistles at paused intervals of his speech. As he finished, echoes of "Archibong, Archibong!" erupted. Everyone was shouting and striking their fists in the air. I shouted at the top of my lungs too. Then he did what many people hoped he would do immediately he finished his speech. He took two loose bundles of money and flung into the air just above the people. This sent the people into a frantic mode as they struggled among themselves to pick the falling naira notes. Soon, bodies were rolling on the floor, hands pushed each other, and it didn't take long before fight came up. The aspirant along with his entourage had gone into his cars and driven amidst security personnel, out of the school's premises. A couple of other top officials of the party also followed suite. They had achieved what they planned. Flash the money and you get the votes. Definitely, the majority was on their side now. All this had happened fours years ago, still the primary school's state was getting worse by the day. The windows had broken and were left hanging. Some of the doors didn't have locks. Most of the roof had surrendered to weather actions and the ceilings had been broken in every class. It was now home to human feces that left stench odour hovering over the school.
Just before I got to the school, I stumbled over an unseen stone and my remaining slippers I wore on one foot, fell off. Blood gushed out of my injured toe but I didn't care as I ran into the school compound and snuck into one of the classes through one of the broken windows, and hid behind the pile of broken seats. I was still trying to catch my breath when it dawned on me that I had just witnessed a cultism initiation process that had gone terribly wrong as the new convert couldn't bear the pains of the grueling initiation where he had been flogged on his bareback with a machete that had been placed on fire for some minutes. It took only six strokes from the gang's leader before his body failed him, sending him to the ground amidst loud screams. He had died instantly. However, what frightened me more was the fact that I recognised the face.
"So Asikpo decided to join cultism?" My mind couldn't seem to accept the thought. Asikpo was a childhood friend of I and my siblings. He was about Etim's age and they were both in the same class, SS2. His younger brother had been born same time I was born and so naturally, we had become friends especially since our mothers were friends. Asikpo looked way younger than his age and coupled with his very quiet nature, he got the name "babyface" attached to him by his peers. It just didn't make sense that he would want to be a cultist. There had been cases of cultism spreading into secondary school fold but nobody would ever think Asikpo had any affair with cultism. Now I had just witnessed him die by his own hands.
"Guy make we check this school, na him slippers be this. Na here him go enter". I was startled by the rugged voice of one of my pursuers. I tried to hide deeper behind the pile of broken seats and in the process, the seats let out a squeak. My heart skipped. I was so scared of what would happen if these men found me. Maybe they would force me to join them and partake in the same grueling initiation process that took Asikpo's life or kill me to make sure their secret would not leak. I didn't want to die. I started sobbing quietly. The tears dripping down my cheeks. It didn't take long before one of them entered into the class I hid and stood observing for some minutes. Time seemed to stand still as his eyes darted slowly here and there, searching for signs of me. In one instance, his eyes rested on the stack of broken seats where I hid and began approaching it. Fear gripped me like never before. Thoughts of me dying sent an uncontrollable wave of biological actions an over my body. My heart pounded faster as the seconds flew past and before I realised, i felt a warm sensation in between my legs. My pant had become wet with the urine making its way from my shorts down my right leg. As the light from his torch got brighter and brighter even as he slowly approached my hiding spot as though he was counting his steps, I closed my eyes, began sobbing loudly, praying a frantic prayer "God please I don't want to die, Jesus please, save me. God please..." Then I felt a stinging pain on my cheek. Then another slap followed as I opened my eyes.
"My friend, will you wake up now. You've wet the bed again. Will you stand up now? At your age, you still pee on the bed. I don't know if you're possessed by an evil spirit. Better tell me o, so I can take u to Pastor and he'll cast this spirit out of you now that it's not too late". My mother had woken me up with a slap. My eyes still half awake, relieved that it was all a dream but angry at myself that I had wet myself as I slept.
" Make sure you take care of this mess and dry those wet sheets outside. Today is Saturday and you're still sleeping by past 7am. You had better stand up". She threatened as she walked out of the room.
"I don't know what is wrong with me. At my age, I'm still bed wetting". I muttered as I got up from the bed, pulled the wet sheet from the bed and dragged it along the floor as I stepped out side shamefully, carefully peeping to make sure no one was looking. Unfortunately, my eldest brother had just walked into the compound carrying a gallon of water on his head. He looked at me with a mocking smile.
"You've done it again?" I looked away from him and didn't reply.
He laughed hard as he went inside the house,  repeatedly calling me the dreaded name. "Atok ikim ufok" (Bed wetter).

Benjamin Edem Oku is a young writer from the southern part of Nigeria. He is a student at University of Calabar, Nigeria studying Genetics and Biotechnology. Creativity and natural expression through words are his watchwords.