Hi guys. It's another interesting piece by Tobby Davies titled July 1. I think a shed a tear or two.

It’s been twenty-two days since it happened and I still
feel like it was just yesterday. Today the 23rd of July,
2015, I had acted in the school play that we had been
rehearsing for before it happened. I had dressed in my
costume, a Yoruba traditional attire that was supposed
to help me portray my character as a woman who had
just lost her husband. I remember walking across the
stage with a melancholic air around me as I got ready
to play my part. The minute I laid eyes on the audience,
my face metamorphosed into the appropriate
expression for the role I was to play.
As I stood on that stage surrounded by the other
actors, the emotions took over and I deliver my lines in
a manner that surprised even me. I made to leave the
stage and saw my sister Bolatito beaming with a look
of pride on her face that clearly said  “that’s my sister”
even as the audience applauded. Apparently I wowed
them with my acting skills but in honestly I know I
played my part because it only felt too real. Initially, my
intention was to act and nothing else but my emotions
got the better of me.  It all boils down to the
unfortunate event that occurred in our house twenty-
two days ago.In the face of it all, tears rolled out of my
eyes and charted a course on my dark cheeks as the
vividness had made everything seem so real as though
I was really a woman that just lost her husband.
It happened on July 1st, “Wo mo ti n lo” was the last
statement Dad said to me on his way out, kissing me
good morning. I knew Dad had been awake longer than
he should have been because of mom’s constant
stomach aches. For some reason, this pregnancy was
more problematic than when she had been pregnant
with me or Bolatito. That is what dad used to say and
who could blame the baby for misbehaving when he
was just about to enter the world eleven years after his
nearest sibling. Mom wouldn’t listen to dad’s constant
admonitions to take things easy as she would always
reply him
“ I used self-medications and your during the time of
Boluwatife and Bolatito and they came out beautiful
girls. There is no need to make this baby boy’s own
different. I will be fine.”
Dad was leaving too early, earlier than his usual time
but he explained there was an emergency and his
attention was needed. I didn’t envy his life as a doctor,
he worked long shifts and had little time for himself as
he sometimes got called during his off days.  As
Bolatito and I dressed for school, mom explained there
had been a ghastly accident and one of the victims
lost a lot of blood; Dad was needed to perform a
surgery. I was a bit pissed that Dad left early as he
always made sure that Bolatito and I left with him in
the morning. We hurried that morning so that we could
make the school bus, Bolatito was forced to her food
as we dashed out. The morning activities were soon far
behind me as school activities took over and I linked
up with my best friend Anita.
Perhaps if I am a more superstitious person, I would
have known something was wrong that day. It was one
of those days nothing seemed to go right, Anita and I
got punished on the assembly ground, I grazed my
knee during Sports and Bolatito came crying during
lunch period that she had misplaced her money. The
bad omen didn’t end there as I later found out in class
I had forgotten my Geography assignment at home and
got five strokes of cane from Mrs. Dojutelegan’s. I was
really glad when it was the end of the school day and
all I just wanted was to be home but Bolatito and I
were in for another surprise. Mom wasn’t home,
Bolatito who was extremely hungry since she
misplaced her money and I had spared her only N50
naira of my own N150, she felt mom’s absence
stronger than I did.
“This is the first time mom will not be home. Where
could she have gone to?” I shrugged my shoulders to
indicate I had no idea as well and we decided to sit in
front of the gate and await her arrival. We had been
sitting there for about thirty minutes all through which
Bolatito was complaining bitterly of hunger when we
saw Uncle Tade’s car draw up. Uncle Tade is mom’s
younger brother and his visit was unusual. Uncle Tade
never visited and when he did it was usually weekends
not during a weekday more so in the afternoon. He
parked the car and got down, his face devoid of
emotion. We greeted him and he replied with a
nod and Bolatito ever the talkative began explaining
that mom wasn’t home.
“I know, get in the car, I am here to take you to her.”
he cut in and headed back towards the car without
another word.
The last time we had seen him was about four months
ago at his wedding. Although we rarely saw him, he
was a likable person because he was always smiling
and just like dad, always trying to solve other people’s
problems. We entered the car and the ride began in
silence. There was something about Uncle Tade’s
expression that didn’t encourage conversation and I
think that was when I first began to get worried. We
took the turning that led away from our school and got
onto the bad road that led to dad’s hospital. The road
was bad and full of potholes with the car making a
strange sound every time it fell into one suddenly. The
road was even made worse when following the total
ruin of the other lane, road users had turned this into a
two way road. It was not the most pleasant ride and I
wondered how dad managed to do this everyday as
cars, motorcycles, tricycles and even pedestrians
contested for space on the tiny road.
“I wonder when the so called elected government that
is meant for the people will fix this road. People keep
looking for ways to cross themselves through this road
every day. These roads have claimed more lives than
childbirths recorded in the local government. The day
they build this road will be the day I will start believing
this government is for the people.” Bolatito and I
looked at one another at this outburst, unsure of what
to say. In the end we kept silent and figured it wasn’t
aimed at anybody.
At last we got to dad’s hospital and I saw uncle Tade’s
wife, Aunt Dara standing outside. I noticed her eyes
were dull and teary as we got down from the car and
she hugged us one after the other.
“I thought we were going to see Mom, why didn’t you
say she is with dad?” Bolatito queried. Uncle Tade and
Aunt Dara exchanged a look and my feeling of
trepidation heightened. We walked into the hospital
and saw Father Alfred, the church pastor talking with
another man I couldn’t identify. I knew something was
wrong immediately and finally spoke
“Where is mom?” I directed my question at Aunty Dara
but she didn’t have to answer as mom herself walked
into the room we were in. Like Aunt Dara her eyes were
red rimmed and as she sighted us, she burst into tears.
“Hush now Simi, you have to be strong for the children,
you are all they have now. Consider your condition.”
The import of the words took some few seconds to
sink in before I shouted
“Where is my dad?” Aunt Dara came towards me trying
to hug me but I turned and fled the room, the tears
blinding my eyes.
It was not until three days later that I learn’t what had
happened. Dad had lost his life on that same road that
Uncle Tade had been complaining about bitterly, Earlier
that morning, a trailer with a container had fallen on
dad’s car and crushed him to dead. The man that
saved lives could not be saved.
As I perform this hour, remembering how mom had
told me not to take the role. “It will only make you sad
my love” She had told me. But I wanted to be sad, I
needed to be. Being sad is better than how I
feel, empty and alone. I just want to cry and never
stop.