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Anonymous
>>277907 What is it with mothers? They ask you if you're okay, and when you say, "Yes" they go ahead and check you anyway. A process, I might add, that is exasperating enough in private, never mind in front of two soldiers and a ratel.
"Nice badger, boys," said Dad meditatively.
"Boss," yelped Azikiwe, plaintively, "Na picken, dey go too far!" Once started, he launched into an extensive whinge about the misfortunes and evils that my brother and I were, according to him, solely responsible for.
Due to the rising volume of the screech, I have never been actually sure if the growl came from the ratel, or my mother, who had picked up a lump of dirt the size of a large coconut, and was gauging both the weight and possible trajectories involving Azikiwe's head with a professional eye, but it caused my father to raise a regal finger at Azikiwe and murmur, "I am thinking."
Azikiwe hushed and hung from his banana tree trunk, with only an occasional whine from him and happy snarl from the ratel to disturb Dad's ruminations as he ambled around the scene.
Finally he paused by the two bodyguards, who had abandoned their tussle in the dirt when my parents had arrived. "Ah, soldiers," said Dad, as if they were a mild surprise, "You are well?"
Both men jumped to their feet and whipped off snappy salutes, "Yes, sah! We are well! And yourself?"
Somewhat abstractedly, Dad replied, "Fine, fine. I need two fine soldiers. Are you two such soldiers?"
Snappy salutes again. "Sah, yes, sah!"
Dad patted each one on the back, "Good. Go with madam. Honey, I think we're going to need a wooden crate."
Mom fired a last glare at Azikiwe, dropped the dirt boulder and dusted off her hands, "Two by two by four, dear?"
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