KNOWING

 

From where I'm sitted at my family's verandah, I hear the caretaker tell someone that he'd be traveling soon, oh, today he says. But, there is something he doesn't know. There's going to be an accident. How do I know though? 

Well, I just know, I saw it , somehow. I may not have seen what it was crawling on my skin, the thing that made me knock down my walking stick.

But I saw it. 

I can't see the children running past me now, but I know. 

The night when robbers stole the landlord's T.V set; I saw them. What they had were toy guns as they left their hideout, and headed for the landlord's flat. I can recall the color of their shirts, one, two, three, four, five of them; no matter how faded they were.

The morning that Mama Chi gave birth, I knew she was not carrying a baby like she thought, but twins. Two girls.

I have lost count of the times I have known things like this, but never told anyone.

"Mr!" I shout, a little louder than I had wanted to. I don't think he hears me. "Mr Caretaker" I try again, wondering how best to tell him this thing that I know. It is today that I finally break my code of silence.

I want to call out to him again, but I hear someone shuffling towards me.

It's the caretaker, dressed in white and brown Ankara jumpers.