A Constraint

I sat close to the window of my bedroom, feeling the early morning cool breeze that accompanied the seemingly non-stop rain God gives us, in this part of the world. The kind that ignites a kind of feeling in Africa, the feeling of a rainy day in the typical village, where you have to stay indoors almost till the rain subsides. There is neither going to the farm nor hawking to the market square. What we do is to come together in small group circles and feel our warmth together. This feeling usually ignites our storytelling passion.
One person in each group (usually the eldest) would discuss stories of his past life, sometimes the stories were about the state of the government and when governance was good, other times it was describing a specific person and their impact. If it were not Jaja of Opobo, it would be the first Sultan of Sokoto caliphate or the influence of Awolowo. Sometimes these little gatherings were occasioned with roasted corn just brought out from the charcoal, or roasted yam and bitter garden eggs. Other times it was nothing, but the thrill of the atmosphere was enough to keep everyone satisfied.
The rain subsiding is a signal that serious work has to begin as soon as possible, to redeem all the time lost due to the rain, although, everyone moves calmly, enjoying the coolness of the day.
But there I was, alone, thinking about all these things and bringing all my senses together. “I need to get out of here”, I whispered to myself, but there was no way out. It was not that I couldn’t move my body to the degree that it could find its self outside. It was more than just physically moving. I needed to move with the consent of my parents, which they were not willing to give. I feared a curse following if I eloped or ran away without informing them.