Etisalat is doing something amazing for unpublished writers and we are glad to be a part of it. An AkwaIbomite, N. BASSEY is among those who have submitted stories for the contest.
The story ?Dressed Like A Prince? is one of 480 stories up for votes on the Etisalat Prize website.
We need new clothes, Godspower and I. He needs them more, with his tattered trousers and red T-shirt turned brown. My gown is torn, but it?s still blue.
It?s Independence Day, so there?s no school. We play and goof around. Godspower sings ?God Bless Nigeria?. His voice is a kite lifting me to the heavens. He wants to be a musician when he grows up, like MJ or Fela.
?Grace, let?s go to America.? Godspower says.
?Okay.? I reply, and we set out.
America is a boutique beside the new stadium. We like sitting across the street; watching wealthy women shepherd fussy well dressed children in and out. We watch and ache.
Godspower says our parents will bring us clothes from Yobe, when they return. It has been nine months now. Their phones numbers are unavailable, their whereabouts, unknown. Grandma says we should pray. I do, but fear swallows my faith.
Today, we are horrified. America has been demolished, along with other kiosks. People are everywhere, running, shouting and weeping. Tears tricle down my face and mix with dust on my tongue. Trembling, we go closer, and rummage in the rubble. Godspower finds a Ghana-must-go bag half filled with clothes. He grabs it and we run. We hear shouts and I turn to see some thugs chasing us. I fall. They run past me.
When I rise and limp round the bend, Godspower is kneeling by the road. His T-shirt is red, soaked in his blood. I wail; helpers come. Before we get to a clinic, he dies.
Neighbours contribute for the burial. Godspower is in a black suit and red tie, dressed like a prince; but first, he had to die. I roll on the floor crying and wondering why.
