The Sacrificial Lamb BY …Itodo Samuel Anthony

The Sacrificial Lamb BY …Itodo Samuel Anthony

When I was about 10, my dad travelled to Kano and came back with one sharp knife like that. Then we cooked corn, it probably was August, and my elder sister wanted to split this cob of corn in two but it was too tough. So I suggested she could use a knife, Pa’s new Made in Kano knife…and my younger brother brought her the knife.

In the process of splitting this cob, my sis cut her hand. There was blood all over the place, that knife was sent by the devil himself, it was sharp as hell. This wasn’t one incident we could cover up, so we told our father when he came back, my sister’s bleeding finger was always going to betray us anyway.

Pa was furious. But sis had to be properly treated, so first things first…after which came Judgment Day. Who told her there was a knife there? Pa asked. My bro said it was me. Exhibit one. Who gave her the knife? I said it was my brother. Exhibit two. Now the sentence.

Pa took us both outside, under the cashew tree and plucked a whole branch. It was so thick you’d think he wanted to erect a NEPA pole or something. Then he started flogging my younger brother. I was already feeling the trauma vicariously, as my bro kept screaming “Wayoooo”. It didn’t take too long for me to reach a decision…I wasn’t going to go through that shit, no matter the cost. When it got to my turn, as my father beckoned me to step forward, I fled. He kept calling for me to come back but he was only talking to the back of my head. I ran like my life depended on it, and in fact it did. It was the first time I was defying my father, at least so openly, but I wasn’t thinking about it.

I decided to stop when I had run almost two kilometers from home. I climbed a cashew tree in my new habitat and contemplated the fate cooking back home for me. Then after a short while I decided to stop worrying and just enjoy the freedom that moment afforded me. Looking back now I think I learned this ability of not worrying about anything for long, especially things I couldn’t change, from a very young age. An ability that has served me so well in life.

I camped at this filling station where a neighbor worked. I watched Aunty Mary sell fuel for hours and I decided to engage in mundane stuff like counting the number of vehicles that drove past, observing their colors and plate numbers…just stuff. Then nightfall came and Aunty Mary was closing and even I had to go home to roost. I walked back to the junction close to our house and ran into my sister (the one who was lucky to be cut by a knife and got no punishment for that) and my younger brother who had paid the price for his sins…they were looking for me…a rescue search party. They said Pa said I should come home, he wouldn’t flog me again.

I went back home and snuck into our room. Pa was in the living room, pretending to be unaware of my triumphant homecoming. Nothing like “Kill the fattest calf and get the finest robe, for this son of mine was lost and he is now found, he was dead and he is now alive. ” None of that dramatic shit. But shortly after Ma served me fufu and my favorite egusi soup…I think the closest thing I got to a fat calf was a big fish head in the soup. At all at all na winch, according to Plato.

After chowing, I was just looking at my younger brother who was used as the sacrificial lamb and thinking to myself, too much sense cannot kill me abeg. Till this day, the sense has not killed me.