Boredom, like harmattan dust, gets in without permission. One hot afternoon Ayomide received it when even the lizards had lost interest in the time, consuming business of chasing flies. She was sitting on her mother's veranda with chin in palm just gazing at the road that was adamant in bringing anything new.
"Do something useful" her mother called from inside. "Beat the groundnuts to the ground"
Ayomide disregarded her. She aspired more than groundnuts. Something blatant, something absurd, something that would rouse up the entire village.
There was a tough, mean-looking goat with crooked horns and she saw him going past with it. A vision shot up her mind like a rifle.
"Musa!" She said “Stop!”
He pulled the goat nearer him, "what is it?"
"Lets race them."
"Race what?"
“Goats!”
Musa laughed till he bent over. "You intend having goats as horses right?"
"No", Ayomide said, mischievously. "We bind wires, we pace in them. We address others, that will be the right race.”
Musa frowns at first, then slowly smiles. He also was weary of the dull heavy afternoons. *Who besides?"
By evening the news was circulating. Children took goats out of compounds assuring their parents they would bring them back. Other goats walked in willingly chewing lazily. Some were as demoniac in battle as were the demons whom they attacked Nevertheless, a large group of people went to the football field. Even grown up men stand their bicycles to watch.
Ayomide was on the starting line and holding onto a rope. Her goat, one of the shy, sharp-eyed black varieties, seemed to be about to scramble. She clasped her heart beating Musa, the goat of Muser put forth his foot. Other children were in line with their goats bawling and straining.
"Get set!" someone shouted. “Set! Go!”
Chaos exploded.
Goats were fleeing here and there and whichever way they ran it was towards a drive forward, backward or no movement at all. In the midst of it a fat goat paused to eat weeds. A Musa goat ran out of his rope and ran after a girl wrapper. Instead of running on in a straight line, however, Ayomide goat ran straight into the crowd watching it, dragging her with so much force that she landed in the dust.
And there was a great laugh.
"Stop your goat, Ayomide!"
"Is this race or wrestling?"
But Ayomide cared not, dust was in her teeth, rope was stinging her hand as she attempted to check the crazy animal in being.
Then strange things took place A large grey goat, introduced by inoffensive Tunde, bounced over another goat, and continued on his way, right towards the compound of the chief. Children ran and yelled. The goat ran through the open gate over-turning a calabash of water.
Silence fell. Every one was aware that the chief disliked disturbance
"Who brought that goat?" someone said.
Round eyes ranged to Tunde and quavered like soaked garri.
Prior to any one being able to speak, the chief himself emerged, a wrapper tied in knots, visage fierce as a bloodthirsty warrior. "Who has spread insanity about this village?”
Nobody answered. Even the goats had fallen silent, and were munching away as though nothing was the matter.
The chief stared at the children and then rested his eyes at Ayomide, who still held to her rope, which now flew dust in her face as the chief stared at it in profound silence.
"It is you", he said, “Explain.”
Ayomide gulped "We were bored"
The chief glared at her and bleating around. His lips irked together. There was not a breath drawn in one long second. To the amazement of all the chief started laughing. Fitful, gasping laughter that shook his chest.
"It was a goat race", he said. I never in my life witnessed so much foolery as today or ever did.” He addressed the people. Next week we shall do it again. Properly. With prizes. Bring the whole town.
Jubilation broke forth, kids leaped and applauded. Even the adults were nodding their heads, laughing.
Proudly dust and all Ayomide stood tall. She had begun this She had done it out of boredom and that was what the whole village would remember.
She lay in her mat that night thinking over the laughter of the chief, the shout of the crowd, the wildness of goats going in all directions. One time she wished the afternoon again to be dull.
Boredom then was the mother of mischief, and now and then mischief was the best story.
