After 4 years of being a blogger, an idea floated around my cerebral cortex that filled my with the desire to write a book.
In November of 2012, in a one bedroom apartment in Windsor, Ontario on Askin Avenue, I began write in a journal. Days passed and words began to form on paper until I hit a roadblock, I had run out of meaningful sentences to write, searching for inspiration I met with friends and asked questions and with their help I was able to fill up my 200-paged journal.
But the story in the book was far from being complete, the content from the journal was moved to Google drive which took weeks, during those weeks pages were deleted and that was the beginning of my stalling.
5 years later, Akorede: The Long Weekend is almost complete.
Here is the book’s preface…
“I believe in God, and everything I stand for, God is the only reason I stand in the first place.”
I have always been fascinated with dreams, and sometimes wonder where fiction ends and fact begins.
At the age of five, I had recurring dreams about a particular street not too far from where I lived. In the dreams, my father and I were in his Peugeot 505 driving on this particular street not too far from where I lived. At first there was not a lot of detail, but each time the dream recurred, a little more unfolded.
The initial time I had this dream, I dreamt we drove into a particular street not too far from where I lived, and suddenly a multitude of people clutching guns and cutlasses emerged onto the street. This was the end of the first dream. I inferred from this dream that there was a street close to where I lived I was never to drive into. Days passed and the dream recurred again. This time, right after the men with guns and cutlasses appeared, my father and I escaped from the car and hid behind it while the crazed gunmen began to shoot at us with their metal toys. Once again, I woke up.. I recall being scared and running to my mother saying “Mommy, I had a bad dream, but I cannot remember all of it.” She told me to pray and said all will be well. I did not pray.
The dream recurred again a third time, only this time, while dreaming I was distinctly aware it was a dream I had dreamt before. That night, in the dream, I remember exiting the car and using it as a shield to get away from the crazed gunmen. I ran for a while and jumped into the gutter by the side of the road,
a Nollywood movie with the main actor diving into a gutter when thieves were chasing him was popular at that time.
Just as I jumped, it felt like I was falling from a great height, only for me to land on my bed. I woke up scared but not alone as my mother was by my side, with a look on her face, as though something terrible had just happened. Suddenly I heard the voices of strange men in my father’s bedroom so I got off my bed and ran towards his bed only to see some gunmen beating him up. With the bravado only little boys could possess, I ran right into the room and hit one of the men so brutally beating my father up. All the men froze for a second, mostly out of shock, but my mind interpreted it as my strength and willpower working. After about 15 seconds of stunned silence they leave my father and one of the men lifted me up, laughed right in my face and held a gun to my head asking how brave I felt now. My mother ran in and fell on her knees, begging the man not to hurt me. The other men pointed guns at my father and a man I presumed to be their leader walked up to my father. There was something odd about him, he had an accent. It was the first time I ever heard someone speak pidgin english. He asked my parents to tell him where they kept the car keys, the naira and the dollars in the house.
As I was held by my leg upside down, I screamed with the last ounce of bravery left in me shouting “Angel Michael! you are meant to protect me, where are you now?”
Within a few moments, sound of sirens reached our ears and I was dropped to the ground. The men grabbed as much as they could while trying to escape the police and vigilante group who were now present on the street where I lived.
After a few months, some men were arrested on a particular street not too far from where I lived, they were said to be thieves. I have since then paid attention to my dreams, my imagination and my thoughts. Sometimes my dreams, imagination and thoughts take me on a journey of various degrees of consciousness where I think about many concepts, both simple and complex. All of this and more are the reasons I organized this little charade I call the long weekend.