It is 0351hours GMT on Wednesday 26/02/25. And I am standing by my North-facing window. I am also peering across at my adjacent neighbour’s window.
No. I am not spying on Melissa. I stood up from the bed to open my window as the room was stifling. All I saw outside was pitch darkness. Which seemed strange. Instinctively, I noticed Mel’s light was off. Usually, at this time, her window is already illuminated and I can see the flower vase standing there.
“How I know the precise time?”
“I have a phone in my hand”
“A phone? This early?”
“I am in an online prayer session somewhere across the Globe”
“By such a time?”
“Stop interjecting. I was talking about Melissa”
“Oh, yes, your British Writer neighbour”
“How did you know she is a writer?”
“I read the article you wrote about her the other time” {read here}
“Ah, alright. I keep forgetting you are one of my Nicodemuses”
“Nicodewhat?”
“You mean Nicodewho?”
“Yes. Whatever! Why am I a Nicodewho?”
“Someone who follows you in the dark. They consume everything you put out but do not want to be seen by others. So they slink away without commenting. Only coming backend to compliment you”
“Aha! But Amara, you know I cherish my privacy”
“This is not about you. Melissa’s light is not on”
“So? She could still be asleep”
“By this time? Her light is always on by this time. It is a beacon!
“Amara, isn’t it too early to start fussing? She is a human, not a robot. She could be asleep”
“What if something has happened to her?”
“Like what?”
“Stop shrugging and name it. You think she is dead?”
“Well, maybe not that extreme. What if she has fallen down?”
“So much for someone who is in an ‘online prayer session’. Such an active imagination. You could pray for her instead of fretting”
“How do you know I aren’t?”
“Ah, yes! The typical Nigerian. It is so irritating how you guys tend to answer a question with another question”
“I am in a prayer session, you know” I mumbled, strolling off to my son’s room.
At least that is South-facing and I can see the street lights. A strange van was parked outside by our gate. Headlights on, a lone driver inside. Highly unusual by this time. Tottering between apprehension and curiosity, I looked at the Van. Something about Scaffolding emblazoned on the side. Then the driver alighted. Turned around, fiddled with his mirror and drove off.
Pacified, I veered off and walked round the house as the prayer rounded off. I was going back to bed.
Stepping into my room; the chilly cold from the open window lashed out at me. Hurriedly, I went to close it.
Her lights were on!
“Mel is awake” I nudged Nicodemus.
“Happy for you. Your imagination failed to kill her”
“Oh please, shut up! I hissed and crawled under the covers.
