Project Night

Words: 294
Project Night
She stood there like an erected mummy, her face tearfully transfixed on the lopsided gourd on the ground before her.
A while ago, she smiled patronisingly to her employer, bidding her well as she expertly balanced the gourd on her head. She was sure the snaky pathway that was a shortcut would take her to the stream, would fill the gourd to the brim with water and would bring her back to the compound in a jiffy. That night was the project night in her school and she would not go there late. So she had accelerated her gait, her fat thighs making a swish-swish sound inside her thick ofi wrapper. The wordings of her group song sprung into her consciousness—the one she would render that night. She closed her eyes and imagined herself holding the microphone and leading the other girls to sing Ijo F’Oba, to the admiration of her crush, Sylvester. She would ask him afterwards how he enjoyed her presentation. Her buttocks started dancing dangerously to the melody and so was the deviant twig from a shrub that stood up on her path. She walked into it with the same reckless abandon, and it was too late before she attempted balancing the gourd with her hand. Without any intention of hers, she gave it a kick with her leg—trying to save it. It was after that she courageously walked to it and stood by it, sceptical to touch it as one would a leprous cousin.
“How did it fall?” Sylvester jolted her. She didn’t hear his footsteps as he walked up behind her. Her tongue seemed tied. Sylvester went near the gourd and picked it up, “It’s not broken”. “Are you serious?” her tongue loosened, unbelievably, gratefully.