Hi Friends,
This is the second and last part of the Jackal. Please do take time to read it, leave a comment and pleaseeeeeeeee upvote. Thanks.

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#2 The Jackal

My Mummy likes me,
My Daddy too, I know he likes me,
Everybody likes me because I am too… much

I cannot deny it, everybody likes you. It is their generous liking that has made your stagnant eyes quake with hunger because no one has just the right amount of food to satisfy your ‘fine appetite of delicate imperiality’. They like you so much you can pass by in bedraggled, smelly clothes without anyone probing you, they have given you the sole right to whatever, wherever, whenever.

It is their strange likeness for you that have earned you the name “Imbecilic Cecilia”

You know, I have begun to see too much. Your creamy, albino skin with patches of white like specks of flour on butter, more than ever, glows in my memory. Only now do I notice that your hair isn’t black like most girls, it’s thoroughly brown, but this 'Brown' bears shimmers of gold that smell of solid dust. It’s funny how I now deliberately pass through the video shop every night while going to Mallam’s kiosk to buy Meti, just so I can watch you dance publicly to the various songs blaring from a loudspeaker.

Your dance, it is surreal, a mystic blend of pop gyration and the gentle sway of a spirit possessed Arugba. The mystic tenor of your movements reaches its peak when your favourite song is played. You sing along, making sure to invite your invisible companions to your frivolous worship,

Bad Baddo Baddest,
Omode meta n sere

I don’t see anyone coming to join you, but as if waiting for this signal, your whole body begins to twist vigorously, each member develops a dance step that froze the sun. As your loose breasts are moving left, right in a tantalizing showiness, your buttocks are following, adding the flip-flop feel to the left-right.

I used to believe that it was for this free public performance that I stood transfixed to a spot for a long time, watching you smile out spittle from your lips. I used to believe that this was the same reason the boys in the area hailed you and called you into their 'bq' to perform for them. I used to believe that the gnawing yearning I felt in my heart when I saw your tattered clothes expose telling thighs and hairy armpits, was because of my necessary humanity.

But when I walked into my room, saw you and my friend, Aba, on my bed, tangled with a scintillating cord of chaste moan-full chastisements; when I saw the way my friend reluctantly unplugged his passion from your socket of wetness; when I saw him pass an #100 note to you, and heard you say “Uncle Aba, thank you”, even as he asked you to come tomorrow; when my response to Aba’s “No worry, tomorrow go be your turn” was a simple nod and a near exultant anticipation, I stopped seeing you as part of us, and I started seeing you for who you really were: an errand cloud.

Jackal- a person who performs menial/routine tasks
Meti- what steamed bread and egg is called in Lagos.
Bq- boys’ quarters

So, guys, I would be very grateful if I got your support on this. Thanks.