Lunatic

I knew it was hunger I felt, sometimes I get my feelings mixed up. The need for solace sometimes feels like hunger. I’ve never been good at differentiating. The honking of a passing trailer rings in my ears. So many people. I saunter towards the public primary school to get a little quiet. I enter the threshold of the school then stop suddenly in my tracks. I need to eat. I move forward then stop abruptly again. I need to eat. I need solace. I walk in circles trying to make a decision. I see a young couple coming my direction. The man is pointing me out to his lady. They both stare. I sneer at them.
“Haven’t you seen a handsome black man before?” I mutter. A hungry one too. I head out the school compound. My desire for food edging my desire for solace. Food is not always so difficult to find, though I have bread in my sack it’s not what I crave for. I pass a familiar face who calls out to me “Coacha” in a stringy voice. I look his way and give him an imperceptible nod. They always want to be friends but I will have none of that.
I prefer using the back roads, I’m not a fan of the noise in the busy roads, It makes me loose control and I don’t like eyes on me, it’s more like they can’t help gawking at my abilities. I see an old rechargeable radio lying on the side of the road. I quickly rush towards it before anybody beats me to it. Though I’m the only person on the road, you can never be too careful. I pick it up and examine it. I have a couple of Li-ion batteries in my sack, I could make it work. I take it along with me using the electric cord to strap it on my belt hold. I hum my hit track, the radio really gladdened my heart. I notice a group of teenagers walking behind me. I was no longer alone. Most times these kids want trouble. I continue walking but I notice they walk faster to meet up with me. I turn around and face them. Familiar faces but not friends. I knew most of them when they were five-year olds, now as teenagers they always try to jeer. I gaze at them with an expressionless face. They are about six in number, all sniggering. The biggest one amongst them speaks up.
“Coacha, wetin you carry?” he addresses me, smiling sheepishly bobbing his big head. I ignore him not breaking my gaze.
“Onye-ala, I say wetin you carry?” this draws laugher from the other boys as they laugh and look at each other.
Silence.
He feigns attacking me, expecting me to cower but I stand my ground, unflinching.
One of the smaller ones brandishes a catapult and aims it at me. I still stand my ground just darting my eyes from one boy to another. Now I realize they really want trouble. I turn my back on them, walking away. They mistake my action for cowardice and I feel a painful thud in my back. I’ve been shot. I ignore the pain and keep walking. Seconds later I feel another accompanied with laughs and taunts. My anger was heating up, I have to teach these kids a lesson or they will confront me again and before long I will turn to their plaything. Almost every generation of teenagers try to have their way on me before I unleash a piece of me making them learn to stay clear. I probably experienced it with some of their fathers.
I continue walking, my mind telling me I will soon feel another strike. I could sense the idiot readying his catapult to strike again. In a quick animated move, I loosen the cord from my belt hold, I turn around simultaneously smashing the rechargeable radio on his head just as he was about unleashing the third strike. The kid yelps like a dog and I see blood trickling from his head just above the ear, the catapult dropping from his hands. The biggest teenager who started the fracas moves to lounge at me but I repeat the action, this time with more force and on his neck, he tries to ignore the pain and continue the attack, I launch at him with my foot stomping him in the belly. He doubles over in pain clutching his midriff. I now fling the radio wildly as a warning move to any other assailant having ideas on being brave. With their strongest man down and one of them badly bruised they don’t have the nerves for another attack. I turn my back and walk out on them leaving the four to tend to the wounded two. Next time they’ll know better than to harass Coacha. I examine my radio which is now weakened by being used as a weapon, slight cracks appearing on the plastic body. I kiss it for being there for me and continue my quest for food.
I’m a thinker and I  have such brilliant ideas, I’m terribly talented in almost everything but the world is clearly not operating in my sphere, they are far behind, very dumb and extremely myopic. I try to teach them what I know, I try to sing to them, I try to tell them of my fabulous ideas but they just look and laugh like morons. Some days I’m tired of trying to teach them, some days I’m very determined to inculcate knowledge into their mediocre heads. I hear the snide remarks they make but I ignore them. Ignorance is the opium of fools.
Dusk is approaching, I’m now on the narrow path leading back to the main road, my rechargeable radio strapped back to my waist when I hear voices, high pitched voices arguing. I see a lot of nefarious activities on this road, it is always lonely and perpetrators never seem to worry about my presence. I know a lot of things but I stay on my lane. I can boast of having walked every inch of this town, let’s say I’m a curious entity and once I’m not craving for solace my legs get twitchy and only a long walk can sate me. Farther ahead, I see three young men talking in heated voices. I get closer, not close enough to be seen but enough to get a better view. A blue car is parked beside them. They continue arguing and before long it turns into a fight. Next I hear several gunshots. I’m very afraid and I think of turning back but like I said I’m a very curious person. I inch closer and see one of the trio hauling a big black bag out from the trunk of the car. The other two sprawled on the ground. I realize he intends walking towards me. I quickly run backwards to an undergrowth where I can lie hidden. I watch him pass without detecting me. He is limping badly as he struggles with the bag. He has no clue of being spied on. I follow him at a safe distance as he makes his way to an uncompleted building. I watch him as he quickly hides the bag behind a pile of blocks, ties up his shot leg and makes several calls in a frantic voice. I stay clearly out of sight and in less than twenty minutes a car driven by a lady arrives to pick him. He limps to the car, enters and they zoom off. I carefully come out of my hiding place, go to the pile of blocks, retrieve the bag and zip it open, all the while sweating profusely due to nervousness. Inside the bag I see bundles of cash packed half hazardously. More cash than I’ve ever seen. I contemplate carrying the whole bag but I decide against it. I hurriedly fill up my sack and pockets with as much money as it can contain.
I exit the building and hurry to the decrepit abandoned hospital I call home. Coacha is now a rich man. Tomorrow I will go to the square and spray money, they will know that Don Coacha has arrived.