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    A Bougainvillea Flower 1: 1, #1
    A Bougainvillea Flower 1: 1, #1
    A Bougainvillea Flower 1: 1, #1
    Ebook328 pages4 hours

    A Bougainvillea Flower 1: 1, #1

    By Edmund Rice

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    About this ebook

    Until a series of life altering misfortunes struck at his heels, Aventro Ight had remained unaware of the dark clouds eternally hanging over his head.

     When compelled by rural adversity to travel to Arcra to better his life, he had no idea what was in store for him until  he walked into a cosmic storm, and everything about his life took a dizzying twist.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherEdmund Rice
    Release dateMay 11, 2019
    ISBN9781393729679
    A Bougainvillea Flower 1: 1, #1

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      A Bougainvillea Flower 1 - Edmund Rice

      Dedication

      Dedicated To All Those Seeking Out A Means To Make Their Dreams Tangible

      With  Love to Angie

      INTRODUCTION

      Until a series of life altering misfortunes struck at his heels,  Aventro Ïght had remained unaware of the dark clouds eternally hanging over his head.

      When compelled by rural adversity to travel to Arcra to better his life, he had no idea what was in store for him until he walked into a cosmic storm, and everything about his life took a dizzying twist.

      Consistency is the last refuge

      For the unimaginative

      Oscar Wilde

      Congealed thinking is the forerunner to failure,

      Make sure you are always receptive to new ideas

      George Crane

      CHAPTER -1

      ECLIPSE TO HIS SUN

      I had a dream, which wasn’t at all,

      A dream!

      The bright sun was extinguished,

      And the stars were no more.

      Lord Byron

      ––––––––

      Banana Inn, Arcra Ghana

      TUESDAY, DECEMBER 24, 08:00 A.M.

      Krrrrk! the thunder roared outside like the feet of a million infantrymen. The morning, however, was ironically sunny. Despite this, thunder was growling across the skies. And anyone might think it was indicating the coming of heavy rainfall, of a storm. Possibly, it was a prelude to an imminent rainfall. But ahh, it wasn’t so.

      Wearing a neatly ironed White Chapel brief and vest, a brown-skinned man, who was known by those who know him as Aventro Ïght, pronounced ‘a-it’, was twitching on a straw bed in a cockroach infested single chambered room.

      The thunder growled again as he made effort at reading a concept of science novel, which title, JOBMANIA: FROM MECHANICAL TO DIGITAL was screeching ’Mania-Mania’ in his mind.

      Some sort of feeble feeling had wobbled its way into him, a feeling unusually feeble. It’d started with a nippy, lethargic feeling. And it’s been lingering. And since yesterday that the new moon had engulfed the gaiety of the night skies, he has been feeling that his mind has been anchored by something menacing, something spellbinding, something making him lose his mental power. And gradually he’d been feeling that his mind was collapsing inwards, like a mental breakdown.

      Two nights ago, he’d overheard her, Everyday Sunday, his host, gossiping, And everything I say he’s able to answer back. What sort of person is he? She’d been discussing with a woman that sells Tuozafi in the neighbourhood.

      Why not sober him then? The other woman had suggested, giggling.

      Will do just that! I’ll sober him so that he doesn’t become a threat to me! Everyday had said hoarsely.

      The following day, Everyday had entered the room with bits and pieces of rags in hand. Right before his eyes, she’d fashioned a miniature doll using a needle and thread. And he’d been curious, What is that for? Then she’d smiled a lie through squinted eyes, Simply don’t want my creativity to wither off, so I’m learning to make anything fanciful, as in dressmaking.

      He ignored her. Fancy a corn-porridge seller having mind to remain creative, he scorned. Christ, creativity just lost its value! And he continued interesting himself in his reading. Then Everyday had grinned, I’ll do you the honour of naming it after you. You’d like that wouldn’t you?

      And he’d smiled, A second me? Honoured? Thank you.

      The next minute, she’d named the doll ’Aventro Ïght’. And facing the wall opposite the rusty old fashioned four poster bed, away from his curiosity, focusing all her malevolent intentions on a needle she held, Everyday Sunday jabbed the doll’s head with the needle. Within seconds, Aventro was groaning, a piercing pain had arisen in his head. And Everyday smiled a smile of smug satisfaction. Got him! Then she gagged the doll with cellophane tape and placed it in the darkest corner of the dark room, and placed a heavy rock chip on its head.

      Aventro had thereafter felt mentally exhausted, and even till now, he’s been incapable of getting his wits together in quick time.

      Now as he attempted some reading, a crow clamourously  landed on their rooftop, angrily began batting its beak against the roof empathically. And the crow’s action resonated in his person, in his heart and nervously he switched from reading the Jobmania book to a fervent recitation of Psalm Twenty Three:

      The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul..."

      Aventro was considered, in his background, as a sort of unnatural person— his eyeballs, for instance, being normal in size, though, are widely slanted, so slanted that they extend to his earlobes. This he believes aids him to see what many persons do not easily see. He seldom turns about when he wants to see what’s happening behind him, whilst many ordinary persons must at least turn their neck sideways before seeing behind them. And before now, he believed he could well be developing an extra set of eyes at the most peculiar of all places on his body—the tip of his ear lobes. (He had ever occasionally experienced involuntary x-ray-like glimpses of events happening afar, even when he’s behind closed doors, and it had happened through the tip of his earlobes). And he’d been open-minded about it, believing that anything could be possible with the human being’s development, especially his...

      As the crow was batting its beak against the roof, he never considered it an ominous suggestion, the noise was simply irritating and a nuisance and whilst he prayed against its nuisance, he wished his ears’ eyes’d function so that he’d glimpse the sort of crow making his morning seem ominous.

      The door flung open, Everyday Sunday stormed in, apparently with a new found habit, cola nut gnawing. And she began sputtering cola debris from her mouth. Some landed on his face. Several times, he wanted to convince himself that it was a mistake. Several times, it seemed intentional and directed.

      He’d bought corn-porridge from her and purposefully hung around her, engaging her in chat weeks ago at the Banana Inn central lorry station in Arcra. She’d enjoyed his banter and jokes until her day’s sales were over. Then he’d showered glittering promises on her. 

      I’ve just graduated from the University of Nonuthinase, he’d hyped. "And very soon I’ll land a big life-changing job. The pay will be enormous and it’ll change our destiny ...emm I mean, change our fate! Is it a shop or a kiosk you need to be respected within your ranks? I’ll get it for you soon. Just say ’yes’ to all I’ve to ask."

      He spoke with oiled lips, but she held doubts of these guys she’s been very wary of here in Arcra. However, upon examining his outlook, she realized he had nice expensive brown leather boots on. His jean was crisp and luxurious. His watch was worth a fortune, possibly a Rolex. He’d all looks of quaint grandeur etched on him; his hair was oiled and impeccably groomed into sporting waves. Even his nails were manicured. He was of medium height and weight, and generally good looking. Every aspect of his being, except his weary eyes, indicated that he was worth his talk. But Everyday Sunday knew she shouldn’t mislead herself to repose faith in his promises. No. Not in today’s world.

      "I’ll establish for you a huge shop filled with assorted processed commodities. Believe me. My friends are Marketing Directors and I’ll turn you into a Wholesaler. You’ll be their Regional Distributing Agent. It’s difficult obtaining the Agent franchise, but I’ll do it for you....okay?"

      She’d been swept head-over-heels because she’s heard other shopkeepers referring to themselves as ’agents’ for big companies, sons and daughters of giant corporations. And she’d believed Aventro Ïght could achieve such for her also— no more selling corn-porridge for pesewas, her mind foresaw, wholesale distribution of finished goods will be much more dignifying.

      In exchange for what? she’d enquired skeptically.

      Aventro Ïght wanted to say, In exchange for a bowl of cornmeal porridge every morning. But on second thoughts and with a pinch of salt, he’d said quietly, So that I perch with you for the meantime.

      And she’d sagged with surprise, A place to sleep? I’m blessed.

      His eyes widely gazing at her. The point is.... I’m awaiting some products from abroad, when it does arrive, I’ll depart you, he croaked.

      Her eyebrows crinkled before his eyes, her dark face turned darker, Oh, so you’re saying you’ll use me to wait for your goods, right?! Then when you have them, you’ll leave me, just as you came. Is that not so eh?

      No no. I don’t mean it that way, he shuddered. What I mean is, by the time my goods are in, I’d have assisted you secure a wholesale depot for our sole enjoyment.

      He can do it, she further convinced herself. Nipping her lower lip,  she felt the iron taste of her blood. He can even be of use to me in some other ways too, her blood tingled, lust glistening in her eyes. She shifted an eyebrow, a bawdy look coupled with a romantic appeal flitted in her brown eyes, he could read her mind.

      If there was a woman in the neighborhood men have been avoiding, then it’s Everyday; not for any reason, except that she hasn’t got those attitudes most men desire in women—too stump stump in her manners, not flexibly romantic or charming, behaves more like a gymnast. And as a result, she has remained quite lonely.

      Kind God has sent me someone’s body sweat and odour, she’d fantasized, relishing an invisible odour and sweat gelling their two bodies together.

      Okay, she’d smiled, taking a slant-eyed look at him, slowly rubbing her left arm. God works in mysterious ways.  I trust in your ways God, thank you.

      Twirling her dry and stiff permed hair about a finger. But you must prepare to quickly find yourself a place because when my crazy husband returns from Niger, he’d not be so happy to know you, she’d giggled, her face time-consciously concealing a desire unconcealable.

      Aventro Ïght had no problem with that, he’ll be gone by then. But, where to actually?

      Subsequently, she’d taken him to her rented home in a very overcrowded neighbourhood at Banana Inn. And he became her roommate.

      For a while, the relationship had been well, but she sorely observed that her fantasies weren’t materializing; he has declined every subtle invitation to share her bed at night; all those extra spiced foods she had deliberately served him to induce his hormonal desires for her. Those impliedly suggestive allures, ’It really is cold tonight,’ to the blatant, ’I dreamt I was having a baby Aventro’...all had failed eliciting his response. Instead, he’d been sleeping on the floor during those chilly nights, and choosing to relax on the bed during the daytimes to read brain-teasing sort of novels.

      Having realized that he doesn’t in any way covet her body, her mood towards him turned gray. He’d greet, Good morning Everyday, but Everyday’d respond with a nod or a doleful, Hmmmm.

      And he’d begun feeling uneasy, a dawning feeling that she’s all too soon become fed up with his presence. Smartly he’d tried stealing some sunlight into her gray grumpy nature by buying her delightful chocolates, which seemed to have had opposite effect—the more she gnawed on the chocolates, the more she became moodier and moodier. And the clouds in her had kept on increasing day by day. Climaxing this morning, like the bursting of desmodium during a dry hot harmattan afternoon, she sparked up a quarrel. Shrilly accusing him of, Placing your toothbrush at the wrong place.

      And she dragged on this to the outside and created such a scene. It was some of the cotenants that intervened in attempt to resolve the issue. Yet, Everyday kept on nagging and nagging until something within impelled Aventro to reconsider his stance and discontinue his stay with this corn-porridge seller.

      Her single-chambered bedroom hasn’t been the sort of place Aventro Ïght would have preferred to stay anyway. It looked so much like the witches’ den—full of signs of poverty and squalor. Everywhere had an aura of untidiness and neglect lurking and creeping up on souls within. Nevertheless, due to the downturn situation in his life, Aventro had opted to cohabit with her while working out whatever he’d in mind.

      Her behavior and her environs were mirror-images—deliberately horrid and discourteous. Initially he did not want to depart, but upon she refused to send him his daily ration of corn-porridge as usual, he mustered courage and demanded for it. She obliged. However, she served him the corn-porridge without adding bread to it, then also to his dismay, the porridge also lacked the quality of sugar in it.

      He took such ’leave’ signal mildly though, swallowed his pride and gulped down the dry porridge without complaining much, except bahing.

      Later in the day, Everyday Sunday had turned up in the dimly lit room stuffed with cooking pots, barrels of water and colourless rags of various sizes. She was pensively gnawing cola nut, pacing up and down the room, and muttering certain incomprehensible words Aventro was gravely suspecting sounded like magical words.

      It’d started drizzling outside, and thunder was roaring, and it was a monkey wedding. Aventro Ïght uncomfortably switched from praying to reading another screaming preindustrial concepts novel entitled, The Fluid Economy. But instantly the filament bulb went off; and darkness sank him in. 

      Apparently, it was Everyday Sunday. She had turned it off.

      Slowly, Aventro rose from his resting place, heading for his scanty belongings already packed in a corner of the chamber. He quickly wore a black Calvin Klein jean and a striped blue Versace long sleeved shirt. Tucked in neatly and folded his sleeves to his elbows.

      I must leave, he said chestily, wearing his horse leather buckled brown boots.

      Her feet shuffling through the room ceased. The lights clicked to on, and he caught her gaze on him. Then her deafening, SO IS THAT WHAT YOU’VE BEEN PLANNING ALL THE WHILE, TO LEAVE EH?!

      What do you mean? he asked calmly, brushing his hand over his shirt.

      YOU INTENDED TO SNEAK AWAY FROM HERE WITHOUT PAYING ME FOR THE RENT! she bellowed again.

      Rent? his arms folding defensively across his chest.

      YES, I MEAN RENT!

      But that’s not b’n part of the initial agreement! he also stamped. Seeing her as being seriously thick, or rather too thickly serious, dogmatic.

      YOU COULDN’T FULFILL THOSE BIG PROMISES YOU MADE, SO YOU MUST PAY FOR YOUR STAY! she insisted, her eyes beginning to glow coal red and steamy.

      He wanted to laugh off her word ’Big’. But good judgment told him even laughter will not defuse the tension in her, then within the spur of the moment she made a dash to a table in the corner of the room. Upon it was placed a dagger alongside Aventro’s wristwatch. She grabbed it. I’m taking this in place for those your unfulfilled big promises! she yelled. I’m taking y’r damn watch!

      Aventro said little. She could keep it. And though outraged but keeping his calm, he instantly made for the door, and walked out onto the wetness of the weather, his luggage strapped behind him. But she followed, yelling, COME PAY MY RENT, DON’T STEAL MY RENT TOO AS YOU STOLE MY SPACE, THIEF, THIEF, THIEFER OF SPACE!

      However, he ignored her because he was convinced she was insane, possibly due to lack of sex and sexual tension in her.

      The past two weeks into this December has seen Ghana Broadcasting Corporation relaying news from BBC that some sort of electromagnetic dust, called cosmic rays, would be sweeping across certain zones of the Earth. And Ghana was one of such zones. So all residents were expected to be in raincoats, have no metals on body and must remain indoors in raincoats. All TV antennae must be disconnected from the AVs. All homes were to affix a copper wire from their roofs straight into the earth. And no TV or radio should be kept on.

      To ensure that this message seeped into the fibre of society, the Fire Service, Civic Education Department and Anything’s Possible Department had gone into every neighborhood with their announcers, and had drummed on the need for everyone to remain indoors as dusk approached today.

      Aventro Ïght had been, however, oblivious of the news, the warning, the official omen. He was trudging on, seeing merriment on many faces. People were carrying huge green shopping bags filled with goodies for family and friends. It was indeed Christmas season, and families were preparing for it. But he was struggling, and he struggled to the nearest branch of his secret bank and withdrew ½ the balance for self-maintenance. Not knowing exactly where to head, he made for the beach behind the Independence Square and found company in watching people obtain swimming-pleasure, jockeying-pleasure, volleyballing-pleasure and more other double-pleasures in the open clean air.

      As he feasted his eyes on a group of local boys playing soccer, the longhaired Rastafarians were constantly niffing the atmosphere with Indian hemp smoking, and terming it, Biochemical evolution.

      Wherever they got that definition of smoking from overrode Aventro’s understanding. And he went beyond.

      Nearby was the flamboyant castle of the president. Monstrous flowers were drawn on its wall; a few metres from its bastion was a dilapidated beach resort now being used as a security post by the palace guards.

      He went over to them, an inscription was engraved on a plaque on its walls, and he read:

      Three things a monkey cannot know:

      • To know itself

      • To tell the difference between hills and mountains

      • To distinguish between a follower and a leader

      He noted that equally smoking were the president’s palace soldiers in the rubles of the hotel. They have smoked pot to the extent that their eyes have become vacant and bloodshot red. They looked transparent, very much mentally adrift, and far removed from the well-known reality, those he could see. But to see that they were in a different world, a world of psychological events , a world where their leader , the president, had taken them to new levels of awareness, new levels of realization, and new levels of existence all in their minds, Aventro was blind to those.

      Leaving the precincts of the dilapidated base, he went to the shore, and chose a rock to sit on.

      He knows most of the soldiers he’d seen at the base were also O-level graduates like him. But he ruled that the difference between him and them was that; in spite of his very limited education, he has made it a constant habit to frequent the National Library. This had also been part of the reasons for which Everyday Sunday decided to rid herself of him, but she never disclosed that such be part of her reason... How can you be reading all the time, whilst your colleagues are out there selling dog chains and other products by the roadside! she’d naively once impugned his reading habit.

      But Aventro Ïght knew better. He was hungry for a job. That is no doubtly true. But he’s not hungry for any sort of job. And he loathes the idea of being bossed about because of some sort of lousy job. However, and indeed, whenever the hydrochloric acid in his stomach begins making its presence felt by corroding the lining of his stomach, his orgasm for a formal job becomes rapidly rekindled, but where and through whom; ’the how-to’ question most often betrayed his efforts to finding a job. Nevertheless, it empowered him to frequent the National Library as a viable alternative to survival in a country hungry for a possible economic renaissance.

      Sitting at the beach and watching the external spectacles ongoing–the swimmings, the icecream lickings, the volleying, the pancakes being guzzled, the laughter–his thoughts did not linger on the conflict that has rendered him a wanderer during this merry season; Aventro does possess that inner strength of character of remaining stoic in hard times. He is strong.

      His thoughts, rather, forwardly browsed on a couple of words he’d read through the pages of some of the hardly read dusty books he busied himself with while at the National Library.

      He recollected notes on the primitive advent of the Westerners at sugar-production, and their efforts to teach the free-serfs the bolts-and-nuts of the [commerce-industry] to maintain the konstant supply of basic essential commodities such as sugar, coffee and flowers in their stock. Regretfully, he realized that such education of the free-slaves failed; it failed completely on that land because of the rigid mentality of its citizens.

      More so, it accounts for the drift of citizens from that land to the better developed lands.

      Before getting here however, he’d visited a newsstand and the headlines splashed:

      Apparently, the mind of the newspaper held description of how a poor-souled guy had been jailed.

      In fact, the story revealed that a certain Minister of State promised the guy a free-ticket to the UK on one condition that he sent along a parcel to a colleague living in the UK on his behalf.

      That poor chap was currently in police custody and has since then been sent to the CID to enjoy free electric-shock induced interrogations; it was after much electricity had been pumped into his bone marrow and skin tissue that he let the cat out of the bag..... That... I still work for that State Minister as his... DBM, drug business manager, and... STT, sex trade trafficker.

      Aventro Ïght knew the guy possessed a degree of serendipity for having been nabbed here before he’d gotten overseas; speculating that he’s likely to be released soon, even if he claimed to be the only person involved in the drug and sex trade syndicate.

      More so, invoking the sacrosanct name of that dubious State Minister may even automatically grant him amnesty from this arcane crime of the fliers. So, it’s likely the guy will at least remain a free hustler in this hell-hole of a country with the local residents of this land, instead of being safely kept behind bars in an overseas jail while his family back home would believe he’s rather working on greener pastures.

      The newspaper story set Aventro Ïght wondering whether this our country was populated by humans or other subhuman life-forms occupying our bodies? The subject has been undeniably difficult to fathom an answer. He became solely convinced that, This country really needs an extraterrestrial intervention, an extraordinary approach, for us to succeed as a well performing Nation.

      The sparkling froth of tides lashing at the rocks on the shore created a hexagonal matrix of colours on Aventro Ïght’s inner mind, while the ocean equally dispersed the sunlight into its various panoramas, and prominently displayed the popular sea-blue aura of the ocean.

      Local fishermen bopped up and down on the sea like ghostly silhouettes in their primitive dugout canoes, while major sea vessels objectified themselves far off on the horizons, daring to hunt for something they believe would advance our cause, as well as assuage the melancholy of human struggles with living.

      Gradually the sun bade its fare-thee-well to the day and the golden lustre of its observable power, just as occurs in a dying lion, radiated its most potent rays as it was about to lay low behind the fiery horizons.

      Aventro Ïght’s eyesight remained limited. This he acknowledges as fact. He further admits that it is a misconception that the horizon is the limit to how far a person can see....he does not believe in fantasies per se. Nevertheless, he believes that there is something positive beyond a horizon, like a pot of gold at the rainbow’s terminal.

      The crescent moon, approaching from the opposite end of the twilight sky set him contemplating....Could it be that the strength of the sun’s radiation as it sets is that which accounts for the high concentration of Au deposits in the Western parts of this Country.

      But forget it, his hypothesis has no basis in rock science, geology. More so, it wasn’t within his domain to make such assumptions.

      He knows one secret though, and that is, salty water was a

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