Since the death of our parents six years ago, and with no known relatives around us, Atimas and I had learnt to depend on and protect each other. Our parents’ demise had left us buried in sadness until Becky came into our lives. She brought so much joy to Atimas and me. We were both strongly attached to her. Who wouldn’t be?

Becky was all a fellow could ever ask for. She was very beautiful. Hers was the dream-like beauty of a rose: flawless and perfect in all parts.I felt so rich and warm whenever she was near. The way in which she would flow into you, as if she melted into your very bones, was something ethereal. Becky made the earth move for me, she put a gleam in my eyes, a lump in my throat and a bounce in my gait. I swear I would do anything for her. Every time I search for words to explain how I feel about her, I discover that no one can really describe the beautiful, exciting, exhilarating feeling that love evokes in he or she that is in love. I drifted in the music of Becky’s heartstrings; she engaged my artistry daily and filled my world with sweet fragrance. She proved to me quite early on that love is the greatest of all soul forces – the abiding passion, the silver link that binds human hearts together and the mystic power that makes the world go round. Becky was a kindred spirit who shared with me, on many levels of understanding, what life really is.

She was a totally different kind of person, a kind so many of my friends confessed they had never met before. Many people who knew Becky described her as charming, enchanting and romantic. Wherever she went, she always stood out from the crowd. I enjoyed taking her out for walks and going to the beach with her. The beach was one place that fascinated her, she enjoyed listening to the rumbles of the sea, the splash of the waves as they surge over one another, the moan of the wind and the rolling in the sand. At the beach, she was always a cynosure of all eyes. Everybody wanted to play with her, be with her, talk with her, and run with her. Children found her irresistible; teenagers found her adorable; adults wished they had someone like her. Becky was like fine weather – in the same way as when a spell of beautiful weather arrived, you just couldn’t help but be delighted when she was around. She was an embodiment of true love. Her love was life-giving, it was an expansive, nourishing energy that knew no limits.

She brought out the best in me – a nobility of character. At the touch of her love I became a poet. I wrote poems for her, love poems that she didn’t have the mind or training to understand, but she would sit down and listen to them when I read them out. The sparkle in her eyes showed she was just content being with me, listening to my voice, and sharing that intimate moment. Oh, how I wished that dad and mum were alive. They would have loved Becky; mum in particular would have taken to her. Mum was an incurable romantic while dad wasn’t exactly one; however, he was tender-hearted.

My parents loved each other dearly. Unfortunately, death snatched them away in the afternoon of their lives. It was an untimely death which could have been avoided if only we had had good roads and good healthcare facilities in our country. They were involved in a ghastly motor accident along the Abuja-Kaduna Expressway. It took hours for men of the Road Safety Corps to reach the scene of the accident. And it took them an age to take them to the hospital. Both of them had sustained serious head injuries and lost many pints of blood. When they eventually got to the hospital, they met another shocker – the doctors were on strike over what they considered poor remuneration. None of the doctors was willing to attend to my parents. All appeals to the few of them who were there fell on deaf ears. After hours of fighting to stay alive, my mum and dad gave up the ghost. The Hippocratic Oath was murdered on the altar of personal gains.

“Balat, Balat, we can move now,” Dikko whispered in my ear, jolting me out of my reverie. The fighting had ceased. The messengers of death had taken their goods elsewhere to hawk. Dikko and I got up and began what perhaps I may call the longest walk to my house.

When I got home, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. Lying in a pool of blood was Becky, my Becky. Blood was gushing out from a wound in her side. She had suffered a terrible injury. I got down on my knees beside Atimas, who was already in tears. Apparently, she had struggled back home to us. Pain shot up in my brain and rang there like the bell of St Paul’s Cathedral. Who could have done this to her? Tell me, who could have done this to Becky? Irreligious Becky, who was neither a Christian nor a Muslim? Who could have done this great injury to a dog, whose friendship did not pursue selfish advantages and who was not touchy and knew no end to her trust?

These questions still beg for answers. As I look back, the bursts of fury, fire and deaths of innocent people and of my beloved dog – Becky – are all the more regrettable because so clearly it could all have been avoided.

Please permit me this week to ‘sell market’ . We must keep the lights on, and the ministry must move to the permanent site. This is a fictional account and excerpt from my book Once Upon A Monday available on Amazon.