BIFOCALS and Other Short Stories
By Udenenwu John Chike
As the voice from the mosque rent the air that morning, shattering the tranquility of the approaching dawn, the man sprang to his feet with the briskness of a frightened tiger, rolled up the tattered remains of what he calls his mat, and opened the creaky door of his filthy little apartment to the pure dew-cold air of another new day.
He was not a Muslim, and so not one of those with whom the Imam was fervently pleading to disengage themselves from the amorous embrace of slumber and come pay homage to Allah.
Whatever sense or meaning there was in the Imams singing call was beyond his comprehension. But for a man who daily had to traverse this expensive jungle of concrete and metal called Lagos before getting to his place of work at the other end of town, he could only be grateful to any alarm, whether mechanical or human, which arose him early enough to get there on time.
These after all, were the days when companies handed out sack-notices with easy breezy magnanimity. A little offense like a few minutes lateness could easily be amplified to the magnitude of a capital transgression that could cost a man his job.
He gave no thought to breakfast, not because he was not hungry, but because, after a protracted conflict between the high hopes of feeding his family of seven, thrice daily, and the sobering meagerness of his daily pittance, a silent accord had since been reached to banish breakfast for good…. .
(…an extract from a yet-to-be published Short story Book)