Hard times

wrapped some brown dry grass in a sheet of paper, lit it up and smoked. He soon couldn’t stand erect anymore. He collapsed on the floor, only regained consciousness later in the evening, when he remembered, much to Tunde’s dismay and annoyance, what had happened. He was now hooked to Indian hemp. He began bringing his friends to smoke in the room he occupied. Everyone in the house soon lost the luxury of having fresh air around. Tunde did his best to warn Dimeji of the implications of his acts, but they all fell on deaf ears. Tunde’s father even threatened to alert the police and have Dimeji arrested. Dimeji laughed, gave a sarcastic applause in response.

Tunde’s patience soon snapped. He made plans, and as time went on, he demonstrated what he had in mind. Dimeji returned from a smoking spree one Thursday afternoon, and saw his belongings outside, the entire house silent and, under lock and key.

“Where is everybody,” he kept screaming until he got tired. Not even a voice did he hear in reply. Beside his belongings was some money. He counted it and realized it was an amount just enough for transport back to location of the bridge he had come from. A man in his seventies, who lived in the neighborhood, came around.

“Are you not the one that kept denying us fresh air here?” said the man. Dimeji kept mute. “Tunde’s father is my good friend. He and his family vacated this place because of you. And you have the effrontery to still come here?”

“Do you know where Tunde and his people are?” Dimeji asked the man.

“So you can go there and start your pollution job again?” The man asked alarmed, visibly angry, and being a retired soldier, and bent on making good his words, left with the threat of getting some soldiers to teach Dimeji a bitter lesson. The last thing Dimeji needed was some rugged soldiers descending on him like a swarm of bees. He knew deep bruises, swollen face and bloody eyes would be the result, so he began to pick up his belongings as fast as he could. He then ran off, boarded a bus fast and once again was destined for a residence under a bridge. What next now that he had blown his chance? Dimeji did not know. And sadly, the more he kept living under a bridge, the more his potentials idled away, due to prevailing hard times.