Omo Omi.

It was approaching nightfall at the time I started walking back to my group. I was told by a mallam that the last boat leaves the dock around this time and I should hurry back or preferably run at this point. I took the part where he said to hurry and didn’t see it necessary to run, I was confident I wasn’t going to be left behind. I set off for my stroll back to our beach hut which was quite a distance so I decided to take it slow and steady. I was soaking up the ambiance of the beach, the sun was setting and I could see a hint of the moon. I’m sure it was brighter but not having my glasses really messes with my eyesight. As I walked, I could hear men and children groan. I turned to look over. I saw the mallam and other locals struggling with their banana boat from the shore, I stood and watched them struggle even harder until the boat reached shore and they all hopped in quickly. Before they could dash off I waved them goodnight and smiled. There was no response. I only got a look of disgust and the mallam shook his head in disappointment. I thought my thick accent was what threw him off but I tried my best to be polite despite the hassle it took for him to understand that all I wanted was a cigarette.

I continue my solemn walk down by the shore. Everything looked so beautiful, I could feel my eyes tinkle. I was in awe. The sky had hues I had never seen before. It was all marvelous. After a long walk, I finally approached the hut. There was nobody there, even the mess we had made of the place earlier there was nothing. I looked inside again in disbelief like I wanted it to be a lie it was at that moment I started to panic. My heart was beating faster than ever. I started running through the path we had come from through the bushes. The sound of snapping twigs filled the air as they pierced through my calluses. After running another 200m run my feet started having a heartbeat of their own. I could feel my bones tremble from inside. I was cold, exhausted and in pain but I wasn’t going to let that stop me when I was already so close to the deck. I run even faster powering myself with everything

that I believe in. As I got closer I raised my hands to signal anyone who was near. I yelled “help!” “Help me, anyone!” “Save me!”. On the deck I repeat the same phrases jumping and waving at the beach departing in the distance. I dropped to my knees and broke into tears. I could feel all my blood flowing to my head because of how angry I was. I dropped my head, stared into my sandy palms almost like offering a prayer to my creator but I wasn’t doing that. I was blank, I felt helpless. I reached for the placket of my shirt and reaping out the buttons right from the middle and yelling “HELP!” simultaneously. I let out a deep sigh while listening to the echo of my voice travel into the void.

Hearing my own voice ring continuously in my head was starting to drive me insane. I stand up, heading back to shore, I’d rather be by the water than the bushes I imagined I would end up wrestling an animal and I stand no chance. I take off. Taking sharp curves, moving fast, there was a little sense of confidence I knew I had to harness it. I hear a rattle in the bushes. I turn quickly, 360 degrees to observe my environment. It’s dark now, I used my feet to scout the sandy floor for any weapon to defend myself if I had to. Not a chance. I take deep breaths and continue. A figure suddenly jumps in my face, a squalid looking old stinky raggedy woman manifests herself before me. At this point I don’t know what to feel, she was still, staring into my eyes almost like she was trying to communicate with my soul and reach out to me. I felt like a lost puppy. She finally speaks,“omo omi” she said softly at first, I couldn’t make sense of it. I knew it was yoruba but I was unable to understand, having left the country at such a young age I didn’t have the opportunity to learn my local language. The space between us started to intensify and she started to weep so hard I didn’t know if to comfort her or stick to the path. She started pointing at me, reaching out to touch me and repeating the same phrase. Her eyes brightened with passion fueled with anger. I started yelling at her, “I don’t understand what you’re saying” “what does that mean?” “How can I help?” From being concerned my emotions switched up. I wanted to shake her and scream at her even more not like it would change the fact that she couldn’t speak English but it annoyed me that the first encounter with anyone in hours turned out to be someone so old and uneducated. She started heading back into the bushes where she came, I sure as hell wasn’t going after her. She spoke more Yoruba as she departed occasionally looking back at me and shaking her head as though she was extremely disappointed and had a strange level of compassion towards me. I’ve seen that look before I know the look, my mom looks at me that way when I’ve brought my new white girlfriend to a family dinner, which happened quite often. She disappeared into the darkness and I heard nothing after that.

Everywhere was void of sound. For a quick second I thought I had lost my ability to hear at the same time I didn’t want to speak so nothing lurking in the darkness would hear. I didn’t know if what I did next was stupid or just outright dumb. I clapped. I clapped hard. For about a minute straight I just clapped non-stop. I know for a fact that I’m not mad, it was just comforting to hear sounds. I didn’t care about anything. I was happy and I started to laugh at myself for thinking I had gone deaf for a bit. Comfort was a good thing to feel at this point. I started zoning into my happy place, taking deep breaths as I swayed my head back and forth. I remember how zen I was when I spent summer in the Maldives two years ago. One of the best experiences of my life. I remember every inch of that trip, being amazed by the universe and everything it had to offer. It was a nice escape from the hassle of New York. I could finally catch my breath and just exist and enjoy my surroundings. A state of mind without worry or fear of what was to come. I used these thoughts to brace myself for unforeseen circumstances. After all, what was the worst that could happen. I surrendered myself to the process.

‘In a mans life,

He has to go through things,

That change him,

That form him,

That make him understand

The idea of existence is vague,

Its beyond human understanding,

Letting a form of chaos take over,

For where there’s chaos,

There’s a lesson.’

I sat by the shore, pondering on my values most of which I didn’t completely understand but I chose to believe my truth was in there somewhere. I don’t like women, I don’t believe they’re an intelligent sex of humans, they whine and yell, overly emotional and passionate about stupid things, they’re child bearers; nothing more. Take my mother as a case study, the woman has never earned a penny in her name, she’s extremely needy(what the general public considers caring), talks too much and is almost like a statue next to my father. Powerless. Deep down I hate her but never could because — insensitive. I hate women in the broad sense, mere objects gallivanting and shaking their rear for male attention. I got chills, extreme disgust and sea breeze don’t mix well. I hear a high pitched sound that draws my attention. It sounded very much like I was at the Royal Opera House but in like the windpipe of the soloist. It was highly uncomfortable and strange. I decided to take it upon myself to explore. The angelic voice kept leading me to dead ends. I was wandering around in circles to absolute nothingness. Walking back to my initial “settlement” I see a flash of light from the right corner. I turn to get a better glace at it but it was gone. I didn’t want to fall into of state of delusion. “Angels aren’t real” I say to myself, “it’s impossible. Nobody has seen an angel, let alone live to tell the tale.” I started gathering some dry leaves, took them to the river bank, piled them up and sat with my legs across.

I sat for what felt like two hours. It could have been more, I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t feel blood flowing to my bum neither could I feel knees. I stood up to stretch and rearrange myself for the night. Scavenge then area for anything to keep me sane through the night. I stood up really slowly, turned against the water to the bush, stretched out my whole body. I turned back and there she was. The singing voice. In front of me. I held my gaze not to feel like a weakling but also to understand what I was in front of me. Everything was mesmerizing, captivating. She looked like she had just gone in for a swim and was coming back to shore, I could on see her head floating in the distance. However, the water was so still and I hadn’t seen anyone go in or out. I hadn’t seen anyone in hours since the old woman from earlier. It was bazaar. Her eyes were pale green. Every ounce of the reflection of the moon was illuminating her like the moon was shinning through her. And I was right! It was shining through her. She stood up and I could see her entire body. Glistening. It was truly marvelous. She beckoned on me to come since standing at shore was doing no good. I was hesitant but I couldn’t help myself. There was a magnetic force I could feel it. I wanted to run but I couldn’t. Her eyes were piercing me, through me, drawing my soul by a thin strand of yarn. I let loose and went in. When I reached her initial position she went further down or maybe it was a fragment of my imagination. I went deeper into the water I couldn’t feel the bottom anymore I started paddling my way through. I hadn’t turned to look back and when I did I regained consciousness. There was nobody in sight. I started sinking, struggling, gasping for air. In the middle of the ocean. In the middle of nowhere. There I was, drowning.