Once, I managed to convince someone to drive me to my favourite buka. All day, I had been in feverish anticipation for the spicy delicious food my tongue hadn’t tasted in ages. We embarked on a long journey exaggerated by hunger. We debated and laughed at politics and tried to reinforce the bonds of friendship that time and distance tend to weaken.
As we stared down the road, a cow came into view. How could someone leave a dead animal on the road like this? I deliberated. Motorists simply drove by paying little attention to the figure. As we strained our eyes further, I supposed it to be a large piece of a cow not the whole corpse, most likely the head. Yeah, definitely the head. My mind automatically began to formulate an essay on the barbaric treatment of animals in Nigeria.
Yet as we moved closer, we discovered that it was not a head. It wasn’t even a cow. It was a human torso. A male human torso to be exact. Headless and limbless, except for his right arm which was still intact and attached to the body. The rest of his limbs and organs lay crushed in a bloody mess on the road. Needless to say, our appetite was gone.
“Can you imagine?! A human being!”, my friend exclaimed.
I just sat in perplexed silence, willing his body to turn into a cow head; but it didn’t.