Talk to Victor Alao on the Fictionville blog
The abattoir lay undisturbed among the cacophony the meat market produced. It lay singular and deserted, devoid of human activity except those associated with the clatter and muffling sound animal bone and meat gave. It reeked of smells which made passers by realise how naked their noses were and made them give it a covering of their palms to shield it from the stench it produced. The ground surrounding it was wetted with blood flowing with varying degrees of thickness. People who passed in front of the place hurried their legs into the fastest motion it could muster in order to escape the odour produced therein. Only one man could stand and face the abattoir. Buga. Buga lived in the abattoir, dined in the abattoir; everything about him was concerned with the abattoir. His body was even perfumed with the smell of the place, which made people do their best to avoid him. Nobody bothered disturbing him or even volunteered to help him get a better place. He preferred things that way; he lived in a world of his own. Towering above the true tall ones who were constantly made minute by his height, he looked more like his body wanted to stretch to the sky. His shoulder was inclined at an angle which when a straight line was drawn through it, one was sure to get an acute angle with the floor. And that did a lot to explain his bouncing walk, which made his face protrude forward as if it was disjointed from the body. He was constantly protected by a touch of flies, which hovered round him, following him everywhere he went making sure people kept their distance. From far off his face seemed to possess dots all over, it is on closer view that one would find out that the dots are nothing more than a scattered gathering of warts, which had made Buga's face their home. His voice was hoarse making deep repeated breaks in between his words. Fathers cursed their sons telling them their life would be like Buga's own, mothers implored their daughters to avoid any man who seemed to possess one of Buga's traits. Brothers dealt with each other by hiring Buga, sisters dreaded anybody who looked like Buga. The list went on and on. Buga enjoyed popularity among the people of the market. Even first timers got a taste of him when he bullied them for reasons they could not fathom. He was crowned king of the abattoir, no one challenged his powers and all who stood in his way had a story to tell.
The meat market occupied its mass of ground on the pedestrian sidewalk making its presence known to all. It colonised everywhere colonisable on the sidewalk extending its power down, deep into the remains of the ground, which the sidewalk acted a boundary for. It was an ocean of noise, which was constantly stormed with voices ranging from deep hoarse cracked ones to the thin shrill ones. All had the same aim; to call on customers to buy meat, which was constantly supplied by the abattoir. The meat was always laid bare on a table whose years had been eaten away by decay and moist. The meat was never cleaned as blood usually dripped from its sides inviting flies, which perched and made meals out of it. Whenever customers complained of the flies, bloodied hands were used to swat them out of the customer's sight. No sooner had the flies left; they brought with them a large number of cohorts, which feasted on the meat. This made customers tired of even asking the market women to do something about the fly situation. They became used to it. Of all the conspicuous things going on in the market place, the most inconspicuous of them all was Shotingo. His voice added nothing to the ocean of voices. Many did not even know he stayed at the meat market. No sooner had some people seen him they forgot him. For others he became etched in their memory. He was a tiny man with a tiny stature. Some always said he failed to grow up when other children during his time were growing up. Others said gravity pressed his weight down. Which ever it was, he was an exceptionally tiny man. Short people saw him and called him short. The only joy he had was when he saw dwarfs; he could call them short. Children often mistook him for their mates. It took a thorough search for one or two strands of beard for them to be convinced he was not one of them. People who Shotingo amused with his height usually brought for him their children's clothes, which they had outgrown and gave them to him. His sight was a huge joke to some people; they counted him as God's reject. It was even once rumoured that a woman who was wailing and mourning because her child was just killed in a motor accident in her presence saw Shotingo and burst into laughter; forgetting the pains the loss brought. No one respected him. To people, he was just one of the liabilities the meat market could handle.
The air brought the message faster than any gossipmonger could. In reality, no gossipmonger was needed. The air's voice was enough. Soon things started happening. Market women left their wares to their children leaving stern promises of whip lashing to the child that leaves the wares unattended. The children who remembered how the last whip lashing went promised not to leave the place. But as usual, curiosity got the better part of them as they made solemn promises with the “good” ones among them to watch over the wares for them. In exchange, the “good” ones were going to receive the full gist of what the air told them. The men at the abattoir abandoned their meat cutting; they too obeyed the air's calling. Customers who came to the market were even forced to join the air parade as they made their way to the ground the air called them to. Soon they started trotting in pairs to the ground where the action was taking place. Between themselves, they shared words; each asking the other what was going on. Within minutes, the truth revealed itself. In person. Towering before their very eyes was Buga roaring at the ground. Those in front who could get a view of the true situation before he was declared mad called out to heaven to send help. The ones who were behind upon enquiry into what was happening clamped their hands to their heads declaring upon the able-bodied men upon them to come out and help. They called the situation pathetic. Shotingo and Buga were about to have a fight. “HE WILL KILL HIM.” “THEY WILL NOT BE ABLE TO GATHER HIS REMAINS.” “BUGA PLEASE DON'T DO THIS TO HIM. SPARE HIS LIFE.” “SHOTINGO DON'T LET HIM TAKE YOUR WORTHLESS LIFE.” Such were the shouts that rang through the crowd. “YOU MUST BE MAD,” Buga declared to Shotingo. It really looked like Buga was talking to the ground. “You are very stupid,” Shotingo declared back his voice barely reaching the onlookers. A resounding HAA flowed through the crowd making people call more on the able-bodied men to separate them before it was too late. The men blatantly refused. They knew Buga too well. He never let the chance to show strength pass him by and anybody who stood in his way was shown his strength. In anger, Buga hunkered down to pick Shotingo who jumped trying to escape Buga's grasping hands. In the process, he hit the organ between Buga's legs making Buga crouch on the floor like a baby with his two hands grabbing the hurt organ. People started murmuring. The obvious was about to happen. They were so sure. Buga was going to kill Shotingo. People advised Shotingo to run away. But Shotingo seeing Buga's state clipped his legs to Buga's neck and delivered efficient blows to his face. Buga unsettled the dust below him as he struggled and cried for help. It took able-bodied men in the crowd to separate him from Buga's face which looked like a puffy mask due to Shotingo's blows. Praises and choruses of Shotingo's bravery was sung through the crowd. “Just look at him. A whole Buga.” a woman confided in her fellow meat seller. “I thought I was the only one that saw him.” “Can you just believe…?” The remaining words were lost. She could not believe what her eyes beheld. Her mind was made up. Her opinion was sure. Children no more regarded instructions. Discipline had lost its place. Her children despite the whip lashing threat had made their way to the fight ground. She made a promise in her heart to deal heavily with them. Soon she found out she was not the only one. Different women had located their children and gone after them to give them the much promised whip lashing. She hurried towards them not wanting them to escape.
“ARE YOU MAD?” Buga bellowed at the man, his face pointed towards him while his warts darted themselves towards his eyesight. “You must be crazy. Get out of here or I will call Shotingo for you. Idiot.” he replied hurrying his presence out of Buga's sight leaving his mouth wide open to the air. “Close your mouth flies are coming,” he commanded “Pig!” he declared “Where's Shotingo?” he asked into the air and scampered himself to as far as possible from Buga. Buga did not get it. He wondered why no one respected him like before again. He turned and made his way to the abattoir. Even if he was no more respected among the people, he was still the king of the abattoir.