David thought of taking his sister along with him when the idea of disturbing the neighbors came to his mind, but Sindara was in pain, and it didn't seem like she had the strength to saunter around. David hoped that the neighbors would believe him if he told them that his sister was hungry. He also hoped that Sindara would be safe at home.

"Lock the door from the inside. Don't open the door for anyone if it's not me, Yemisi, Alex, or Demi—or mum and Dad, " he instructed her.

Sindara nodded. David stepped out of the gate when he heard the fumbling of the keys from behind the door—he was sure Sindara had locked the door before leaving the house.

Outside the gate, he looked sideways; in between the two houses, he sees first. He began to think of which neighbor's houses to approach first between the two—one was directly beside his home, and the other was on the other side of the road just next to the house that had the statue of Oduduwa.

The sky was a relaxed blue with speckles of fog dispersed in the heavenly bodies. The morning breeze was rejuvenating, the sun hiding beneath the trees, unprepared to rise comfortably eastwards. There weren't many people passing by the street. Some of the shops and kiosks situated in between the houses on the roads were yet to open. The big static umbrella that shielded the outer parts of Iya Saliu's salon wasn't open, so David knew she was yet to resume. The road was clear, full of soil and void of any littered sweet nylons and biscuit wrappers because all the kids had gone to school.

David could understand why the house on the other side of the road was situated next to the Oduduwa bungalow. The house had to be in second place in terms of Top five scariest houses in Ajanlekoko Street. The gate of the house had the model of a lion's head sculpted on the metal. All for what? David often thought.

He walked further away from his house till he got to the middle of the road, gazing in between the two houses. When David got tired of indecisiveness, he balled his fists and decided to do something he never thought he would do—play the game of mini mini mani mo.

Mini mini mani mo was a folklore game popularly played amongst children. The game involved pointing your fingers repeatedly at two different objects or hands while singing the mini mini mani mo song. Once you get to the end of the song, whichever direction your hand points at becomes the winner, it was mostly a game of chance.

Although some liked to do ojoro and cheat their way through. Some knew that if they pointed at this object first, their fingers would land on the other thing which they wanted. So they calculated the movements of their fingers so they can get what they want out of the game.

Over time, people started to use the game for other things—to make serious decisions, especially in times of confusion or in the middle of making a tough choice. So David decided to adopt the method.

He closed his eyes so he wouldn't make a biased choice. If my fingers point at the house with the lion gate by the time I've finished singing the song, then so be it. I don't have a choice. He thought. Then he stretched his left index finger forward and started pointing his finger aimlessly between both houses as he sang the mini mini mani mo song.

Mini mini mani mo
Father has a donkey...

When he finished the song, he opened his eyes very slowly to see where his fingers were pointing at, and thankfully to the God of the heavens, it was the other house—the one next to his house. He laughed under his breath for a second. He couldn't believe he had just stood in the middle of the road, early in the morning, to do something this stupid. Anxiety and indecision were crazy forces.

The house was a two story-building painted in pink and blue colors—colors that were peeling. The walls were cracked and had smears of black stains that came from kerosene fumes. As he sighed in relief, he walked briskly towards the house and knocked at the gate repeatedly with his clenched fist.

At last, someone opened the gate. It was a maid wearing an apron. She was severely cross-eyed with two horizontal tribal marks on both sides of her cheeks. David couldn't tell if the maid was looking at him or not.

"Kilofe?" the maid asked David what he wanted in a low, murmuring, condescending tone.

David wasn't fluent in Yoruba, but he knew he had to try and communicate in the little way he could. He didn't even know he was shaking till he caught himself peeling the skin beside his thumb. "Ebi'n pa aburo mi. Sė'ni jollof rice?"

"Irėsi kė? O saro ooo, " the maid replied in a puzzled tone, saying that it was too early in the morning to cook a meal as significant as jollof rice.

David secretly concurred. Jollof rice wasn't a breakfast meal. It wasn't a meal you would serve your kids before dropping them off at school, and he wasn't expecting anyone in the neighborhood to have cooked jollof rice available at a time like this. Still, he had to remember that his sister was groaning at home. He had to try.

"Sugbon..." the maid reasoned, trying to see how else she could help David. "Isu wa. Isu sise. S'oma gba?" the maid offered David another option, letting him know that cooked yam was available if he was willing to accept it.

David wished he could, but he knew it would be pointless if he accepted it. Yam was a solid meal, and he would have to break it down to pieces with a spoon just like he did with the porridge if he wanted Sindara to eat it. David was sure Sindara wouldn't eat yam, though. He had to look for jollof rice or any meal in that similitude. Not solid food.

David shook his head to the maid because he didn't know how to say "no" in the Yoruba Language. The maid understood his gesticulation nevertheless. She retreated and closed the gate in David's face.

David looked away and turned towards the other house—the house with the gate that had the model of a lion's head. Slowly he approached the house after swallowing thickly. He knocked and knocked at the smaller gate for minutes, avoiding the enormous gate with the lion's head sculpture.

There was no response.

Soon he began to fear that he was disturbing the neighbors, so he stopped knocking. Subconsciously, he turned the knob of the gate. What he didn't expect was for the gate to open—with a squeaky metallic sound that was subject to the wind movements.

David's heart lept.

Then cautiously, he peeked inside the house and jolted immediately, retreated so many steps backward that he nearly fell into the gutter. He'd just seen a shrine at the center of the compound with a skull hanging on a metal rod. Once he could stand well and adjusted his slippers to fit his toes, he closed the gate and walked away—very fast.

It was no wonder why the gate looked scary, and everyone in the neighborhood barely saw the people who lived in that house. He wished he hadn't wasted his time knocking. Sweat dripped down his temples as he walked away.

Minutes afterward, his purpose for walking fast changed. It was no longer because of the shrine he'd seen moments ago. It was dawning on him by each minute that his sister was still in the house, writhing in the pains of hunger, and so when he stopped by the next place, he made the decision impulsively—no time for mini mini mani mo.

It was one of the houses in the streets that had ancient designs from the 1800s. David knocked so many times till his fist started to hurt. The sun was no longer hiding beneath the trees. It began to shine eastwards, rays of natural vitamin D supply radiating down the earth. The dark clouds shielded the sun occasionally, moving to and fro like passersby. David was grateful whenever the cloud momentarily covered the sun because he didn't have to look for shade. A cobbler had opened his shop. David could see that from a distance. The street was gradually waking up.

When David got tired of knocking without receiving a response, he moved away, heading for the next house, which was a bungalow. Just then, the gate opened—the gate he'd been knocking on.

"Wetin you want, small boy?"

David turned back on hearing that gruff, scary voice to see a man with swollen, sleepy eyes and sleep marks warped all over his naked chest. His eyes were red, and his afro was a sloppy mess. Did he sleep for an entire week? David thought.

"Erm...I wanted to ask if you have jollof rice at home, " David answered, itching the nape of his neck. He suddenly couldn't find his voice. There was something about being called "small boy" that belittled him, and he didn't like it.

"Jollof? The one wey we get e don tey for like three weeks."

"I don't mind," David answered suddenly. His eyes brightened. It wasn't advisable to eat jollof rice that has been cooked three weeks ago. But he could always warm the food. He knew how to heat food. Sindara would be pleased.

"Eh?" the man looked at David as though he'd just asked if a two-year-old girl could menstruate. "You go chop jollof rice wey don tey for three weeks?"

David nodded vehemently, ignoring the way the man was looking at him.

"Okay, nau. Wait. Make I bring the jollof rice, " the man replied as he walked back into the house without closing the gate.

Minutes later, the man appeared at the gate with a small plastic container. The man was wearing a shirt now. David's heart thrummed slightly beneath his chest in anticipation. The man opened the lid of the container. Lo and behold, as David peered to look at the jollof rice in the container, not only did a stale smell waft through his nostrils, maggots wobbled in between the grains.

David pinched his nostrils regrettably and stepped away. How many more stepping away did he have to do?

"I'm sorry for disturbing you, sir, " he looked away in shame. He wished he hadn't been so confident.

"Comot for here!" the man said rudely, waving his arms dismissively before shutting the gate.

David approached a few more houses, but nothing fruitful came from his search. Some gates were locked. He could see the padlock. Some opened the gate and said either of these things—their bosses were not at home as though that was a license to be unkind and not practice common decency towards a fellow human being. The other responses were simply "no jollof rice at home, " without bothering to offer something else. Some didn't respond at all. So he knocked in vain a few times.

He'd even walked into the house with the Oduduwa statue. Fear had no hold on him because desperation was a more potent force at that moment. But he turned away when he eavesdropped through the windows and heard people muttering incantations in dolorous voices. Why did terrifying houses like this exist in the neighborhood?

He stopped by the open shops, kneeling and prostrating to the shop owners out of exaggerated courtesy. He knew business people could be stingy. He particularly feared Iya Saliu, so he prostrated before he tabled his request to her. Desperate times did call for desperate measures, so he begged wholeheartedly for jollof rice.

"Ahn ahn. Omode yii. Ma so mi lėnu ojere. Dide, " Iya Saliu pleaded with David, telling him not to embarrass her or give her a wrong impression in the minds of passersby. She didn't like that he was prostrating to her like she was some wicked or difficult person.

David stood up, wiping off the speckles of sand from his elbow and his shirt. Then he rubbed his palms together in a motion to plead. There was a woman inside her salon, with a kinky afro, waiting for Iya Saliu to attend to her.

"Olorun mò pe mi o ni jollof rice. Mi o le se ika fun aburo e. K'o si ere fun mi ninu iro. Kilo wa ninu jollof rice tii mi o le fun e? Abiamo ni mi, " Iya Saliu replied with all honesty, and David could feel it.

He knew that indeed, there was no point in the woman lying that she didn't have a jollof rice if she had. She was a mother too and could understand the pains of a child.

Dejected, he rose and walked away. He looked at the sky, wet patches under his armpits. The sun was scorching down heavily now. The atmosphere seemed void of air, the trees barely moving. A cobbler passed by, holding a pair of tattered shoes in his right hand while hitting a wooden box with a rod in his left hand, chanting advertisement words. The puff puff seller also passed, smashing the glass box that contained the fried snacks with a fork. He could hear the honking of a truck in the distance.

A tear slipped down his eyes in anguish. He hated it. He hated it so much. How the world could move on when he was in distress, anxiety taking a full effect on him as he sought help in every way possible so that he could quench his sister's hunger. No one cared. He wished the indistinct sounds that had morphed into a cacophony could stop—for the world to stop and save him.

Why did their lives have to be so tough? Why did he even have to beg and be subject to so much ridicule? In the middle of his grief, a thought crossed his mind, sparing him no time to wallow in the uncertainties of emotions.

The woman your mum slapped yesterday. Go to her house.

He shook his head vehemently—as though the movement of his head would send the thought flying away. The thought didn't even sound like an idea. Nothing was convincing about it. It felt like the devil spoke to him directly, telling him something that he obviously wouldn't do. His mother's words replayed in his head as a way of replying to the thought.

"...Don't visit it for any reason whatsoever. If you have no reason to understand why I'm giving you this instruction, remember the tears I shed today. Always think of the way I cried today and refrain from visiting this house and the people who live there if you ever feel tempted."

As though the thought replied, it suddenly occurred to him that he didn't know why his mother had slapped the woman. He didn't know the cause for the friction between them. Even if the feud between them was unforgivable, it didn't mean that the woman would extend the bad energy to the children.

Just like that, in the twinkle of an eye, the thought became a fundamental idea. Convincing. Plausible. Doable. This had to be the technique behind temptation—something you know you can't do. Something you believe and are sure you can't do. A concept that sounds insane. It all suddenly becomes reasonable. There is now a why not. All laws and incessant warnings become non-existent, and you begin to wonder why you can't do it after all. What's there to lose?

Excuses and reasons even tally along to solidify the temptation, and then it propels you further. I'm desperate. I need to feed my sister. If I don't feed her and her pain worsens to something beyond my control, I will never forgive myself, especially when I know there's an option I could have tried. Mummy will hate me, but Sindara will be safe. She will be okay. That's what matters eventually. David found his reason.

So he wiped away the tear that slipped down his cheek, balled his fists, and marched towards the house westwards. He passed by all the houses and shops he'd approached—even his own home. He felt like stopping by to see if his sister was persevering, but he looked away and ran. When he got to the house, yesterday's event replayed in his head one more time as a way of asking him if he was sure about his decision.

The anxiety that crippled him yesterday as he watched his mum slap the woman crashed into his soul afresh like a drone. His palms became moist. His throat became unbearably dry. He peeled the skin at his thumb again.

David, are you sure about this? The question repeated itself in his head over and over again, dependent on his answer as he stared at the blue bungalow.

He didn't consent. He moved without the concordance of his spirit and soul and found himself at the neighbor's doorstep after swinging the door of the low, white fence open, and he knocked.

In a few seconds, the door opened. The middle-aged woman wore a smile on her face that depicted expectancy. She wondered who could be knocking at her door in the morning but decided that whoever it was would at least feel welcome.

On seeing David, her smile suddenly didn't become an easy thing to wear on her face. Confusion took over. Her smile, forced.

"Aren't you Folakemi's son?" she asked him as though the question would change the fact.

David thought of lying. The woman probably didn't know him well. David was barely present during his mother's encounters with the woman. Even yesterday, he'd hidden behind a tree.

"No, " the answer came out of his mouth before he could weigh it. He'd just denied his mother. "I come from a shop down the street. My mum is not at home, and there is no food. My sister is hungry, and she's crying. She wants jollof rice. So I wanted to ask if you have a plate of jollof rice."

The woman didn't answer for a moment. She scanned David from head to toe—to be sure he looked like a beggar. He was drenched in sweat and sunburnt. Still, she sensed that he was lying. She was confused too. Is he Folakemi's son? Is he not? Why do I feel he is? I haven't seen him before, yet he seems so familiar.

Nevertheless, she decided to give no matter what the case may be. The smile on her face appeared with a full effect. "Okay. Wait while I bring the jollof rice."

The woman's kindness made David uncomfortable. He almost regretted his decision. Did the woman know that he'd lied? What was she going to do? Why did it have to be his mother's enemy of all people in the neighborhood that had jollof rice? It was odd.

Should I run? I still have time. I still have time.

So he thought until he realized he didn't because, in less than a minute, the woman reappeared at the door with a salivating plate of jollof rice garnished with flavorful condiments. All of his doubts eloped through the window of his eyes as he got lost in the view of the appealing meal.

There was nothing to doubt. Instead, David was thankful he'd tried his hardest. He was thankful he'd disobeyed because the result was satisfying to see.