It was a bright and sunny morning. It was a weekend. No one was in a haste to leave the house. There was no early bus to catch, no rushing down to the train station, no running late for work, no going late for classes. Everyone stayed up late listening to stories. They listened to stories about African culture, custom and tradition. Simon’s children have never been to Africa before. It was time for him to acquaint them with as much as they need to know about their roots.
Joseph had woken up but still lay in bed. He could see the reflection of the sun filtering through the curtains. “Oh, it would be a wonderful time to take a stroll,” he thought. Next, his thoughts travelled down to the late night tales. It was in the middle of this he fell back to sleep.
“Good day sirs,” he greeted as he passed by.
The argument was so intense, he wondered if they heard him. He also wondered what was the cause of their argument.
“Well, it’s none of my business,” he thought as he passed by.
Next, one of the men raised his voice interrupting the flow of argument.
“There’s no need for us to argue about who will be our next king,” he said.
There was a still calmness. All attention was drawn to him.
“I know who will be our next king,” he continued.
“And who is he?” one of the men asked.
“That boy over there.”
He pointed to Joseph’s direction. As he was about to take flight, some dark tendrils emanated from the house in front of the place where the men were seated. The tendrils caught his arms and feet and pulled him. He shouted. He woke up and jumped up from his bed.
“Joseph, what’s the matter? I just heard you shout.”
“Mum, a prominent king just died in Africa.”
“Yeah! How did you know?”
“Because I’m just coming from Africa.”
“How? When?” She asked.
“In my dream.”
Angela stood looking confused. Her son sounded rather strange.