‘Chairman’ he bellowed into the phone as I picked his call.

‘Are you home ?’

“Yes Fr.” I replied.

He’s the one who started calling me by that alias since almost a decade now.
He was my then parish priest when I had been appointed Chairman of the Harvest Committee, a role I held for 2 interestingly excellent years. The position had endeared us to one another.
He’s Ghanaian but calls me brother. Feels very much at home in my presence and infact have spent a couple of nights at my place just as I’ve done same at his.

His new parish was about 40 kms away so whenever he was coming towards my end of town he called to know if I was around.

I had woken up that day probably on the wrong side of the bed and absolutely didn’t feel like working or doing anything that day.
I was glad he was coming. Relieved I would have someone to laugh with.
We teased each other alot about our football teams since we are both lovers of the round leather game.
He supports Arsenal while I’m FAN.atically Man United.

My team had of recent been dismal so he had quite alot to taunt me about.

My phone rang again, about 20 minutes later.

‘Chairman, I’m downstairs’ he said excitedly again.

I dashed downstairs and flung open my gate. There he was, beaming with smiles and I noticed his vehicle. Right there in the middle of the road yet again. His parking is usually very suspect and many atimes I’ve had to re park for him once he comes visiting.

“You’re not properly parked” I screamed at him.

He jumped down and raced towards the house.

‘I need to take a lick’ he said as he threw me his car key.

I lifted my 100 kgs frame into his vehicle, a huge beast it is.

A GMC Envoy, American made suv.

Slotted the key into the ignition and engaged gear to reverse. My intension was to slot the suv into the front of my other gate. Another car, an Honda Accord was parked right before my gate, on the street.
I looked back and released the acceleration to pump in gas for motion.

In a flick of a moment, probably a micro second, the unthinkable and unphantomable happened.
The suv on the reverse, took off.
Zoomed out of hand. Infact, flew like a turbo powered truck and slammed into a part of my gate, smashing to pieces the divider I erected to demarcate my fence and my neighbor’s. I missed the electricity pole and the parked Honda Accord by whiskers.

A very narrow miss it was.

The bang was thunderous, a blast morelike that saw neighbours scampering out of their houses unto the streets.

I walked out of the suv, stunned. Totally so too.
Speechless. Motionless. Blank.

‘What happened ?’ a neighbour asked concerned while a couple others gathered.

The entire rear shield of the suv was shattered.
Smashed to pieces. The boot, carved in and almost unrecognisable. The bumper, in tatters. Shredded.

The impact of the accident had also flung open my padlocked gate. My private gate. The impact, forcefully opening it and scratching a portion of my then newly acquired Hyundai Elantra. I was lucky the damage was very minimal.

My neighbour’s driver helped to call a nearby panelbeater.

‘The bumper can be fixed’ he had said while also suggesting he could beat back the backside into the proper position.

My Rev. Fr. friend looked at me and patted my back.

‘It’s okay’ he encouraged. ‘I actually felt it all along from the point I hit the road that something strange and sinister was about to happen’ he said.

As far as he was concerned, it was an accident waiting to happen.

I looked at him:

Hey, I jeest smashed your vehicle to pieces !



20 thoughts on ““Smashed”

    1. . . . Jessica.

      We are United.


      I usually don’t like driving other’s cars, especially when they’re not even there.

      Sometimes I’ve found out people manage certain things they only have a clue about in their cars.
      If you don’t touch, you don’t fall victim.



      1. AY says:

        I finally got it today! Call me old school, if you like but I now know that fcbk = Facebook. You won’t believe how you stress by brain every time I see fcbk friend in your write ups.

        Liked by 1 person

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