I live in a small wooden house with my mother and junior brother in Olusosun community. The community is close to the Olusosun landfill (which gives it its name). So close that the air is perpetually permeated with the stench of millions of waste cooking in the sun. Night here is nearly as bright as day, perhaps brighter, because of the constant fire incinerating the sky high heaps of trash.

But Olusosun is not that bad. Actually, that’s a lie. Olusosun is very bad. It’s only known for two things. One is producing Victor Osimhen. And the other is the landfill.

Looking at Olusosun landfill is like looking through a portal into another world. A world at the center of every possible world that could exist. It is the largest landfill in Africa and one of the largest in the world. It holds every single type of waste, every type of product created in every state in the world.

In case it was not inferred, I am a scavenger. That is, I often scavenge in Olusosun. Not so often on weekdays, because of school. But weekends, Saturday to be precise, is my heyday. I usually spend at least 8 hours in the landfill on Saturdays. It’s not just about the money I get from reselling scraps of metals and plastics I pick up. It’s the feeling I get whenever I hold a broken phone that was invented in China and made its way over oceans to get here. Places that only exist to me in school and the screen of our battered television set at home.

Today is Saturday. I leave home by 11 on the dot, my white sack hoisted firmly on my shoulder. I plan to be back by 6. My junior brother hugs me goodbye, telling me to buy akara and yam for him. Like I said earlier, Olusosun is not very far from our house. In no time, I reach my destination.

Landfills are at the center of everything. Not people, not money, and not even God. They are the nexus of civilization. Everything that was made, is being made, and would be made inevitably wound up at landfills. No one knows this better than me. Indeed, it is my theory.

The landfill stretches out in front of me and I feel like Aladdin in the cave of treasures. I see some scavengers I know and wave to them. They wave back, inviting me to come over but I do not. My hunting grounds are much more deeper into the landfill than this. And besides, good things aren’t often found where plenty people are.

I go deeper. Even before now, the cool early morning sun had become hot. Now it is scorching. I wipe sweat from my brow, nothing can be done about the ones under my shirt. Who told me to wear black today? I maneuver between heaps and mounds of trash, occasionally stopping when something catches my eye. My trusty sack bag holds my findings. Small bottles of plastic in fairly good shape, several small phones, the metals not badly dented and the best of the lot; a spool of still new copper wire. The copper wire makes me happy. The day can only get better from here.

On and on I go, till I barely see anybody. Just mounds and mounds of trash. I am starting to get hungry. The beans and koko I ate this morning is long gone. I check the time on my phone. It’s a quarter past 1. No wonder I’m hungry.

I contemplate leaving the site to go and buy biscuits and minerals when I hear a roar. A very loud “NO.” I jump, my heart in my throat, and turn around to locate the sound. It is coming from a mad man. His clothes are tatters that hang from his emaciated frame. His skin is blackened by continuous exposure to harsh sunlight. His eyes are wild in his barely discernible face. His hair and beard are a tangled mess. I take all of this in for a second, staying very still. This is not my first encounter with a mad man.

“NO,” he screams again. He stretches his hands towards me. And I begin to feel fear. Because his hands are covered in scars, some of them fully healed, some of them bright pink, raw and bloodied. His fingernails drip with blood. And I turn and run away. “NOOOOOO,” he yells chasing after me.

I run and run, my feet flying across the dirt packed ground, twisting and turning through the mountains of trash in my way. My heart is keeping beat, matching the speed of my feet. I still hear him. He is shouting at the top of his voice. The same thing over and over again. “NO NO NO NO NO.” The sound getting closer and closer. I do not look back to check. I run for my life.

And as abruptly as I hear it, the sound ceases. I risk a glance back and see that my pursuer is no longer there. I stop running and try to catch my breath. Thank God for God. What would’ve happened if he had caught me? Who would save me? Relief springs in my heart and I begin to laugh. I never knew I could run like that. But a question arises, effectively eliminating the relief prematurely.

Where am I? Am I lost? I take in my surroundings. The problem is that everywhere looks pretty much the same here. I start to worry. What if I am lost? Who will find me? I am being stupid, letting fear get the better of me. All I need to do is walk backwards from my current position. Even if I don’t find my way, I will find somebody. And besides, Olusosun is my home. What kind of child gets lost in his father’s house?

My spirits rises as I begin my journey back. Since I am exploring a new path, I might as well keep my eyes open for any treasure. There are some interesting finds, I am bending down to pick up a leather shoe that doesn’t look too bad when I see something.

It’s hidden underneath a pile of trash. It’s black, so black it looks blue. The only reason I saw it at all is because it’s shiny. Maybe a piece of jewelry? I pull it out completely. It is in good condition, whatever it is. It is flat and circular, like a CD, the big kind used to record music. But it has no hole in the middle. Neither is it plastic. It reflects sunlight perfectly, no area on it is dented.

I turn it this way and that, completely entranced. Golden writing in some language I do not understand is engraved on the surface. Shapes are carved in as well, all done in every color imaginable. Silver helixes, yellow spirals, red hourglasses, scattered discriminately. But none were in much abundance as circles. For every one helix or spiral, there were at least five circles. I wonder what kind of material it is. It is malleable, but it is not rubber. Maybe it’s a device. Curiosity overwhelms me. I push and prod at it, since there are no buttons. Nothing happens.

Then it starts heating up. It becomes warm and very quickly gets hot. I am about to drop it when it disintegrates. All at once, it turns into fine sand that run through my fingers. I blink at my fingers, which once held my treasure. I’m so stupid. That thing must have been here for God knows how long, under sun and rain and I stupidly tried to activate it. It had probably disintegrated because it hadn’t been stored properly, like how some bulbs explode when connected.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this sad in my life. I stand up and walk away. The money lost is painful. But more than that, it’s the pain of losing something so new, so unidentified that hurts the most. I walk in dismay. In front of me, two trash heaps stand, guarding a path like sentinels. I move towards it. Suddenly the world spins and multicolored spots swarm around my eyes. Everything goes quiet, so quiet that my ears pop.

Then my vision clears and I am kneeling, watching as fine sand run through my fingers. I blink, and blink again. I look to my left, there the shoe I abandoned in my excitement to get to the disc lies in the dust. But that can’t be right. I just moved. Didn’t I? Yet if I moved, how did I get here? Maybe I fainted? It is possible. My Biology teacher once told us people saw visions in the desert. Visions of things that did not exist. They are called mirages and are a symptom of dehydration and hunger. That would be it. The sun is shining hard enough to qualify for desert conditions. And it must be hours past lunch.

I bring out my phone and check the time. It’s 1:35. Huh, guess today is one of the slow days. I hold my bag tighter and walk on. I walk, faster now. I reach the path standing between the two trash piles. Just like in my dream. It is vaguely alarming. But I continue nonetheless. I see the end of the path and my vision is blocked as multicolored lights cover my sight. When they clear, I am on my knees again, fine sand running through my fingers.

I am scared now. My heart is beating rapidly in my chest. Maybe I didn’t get up at all? Maybe I just imagined I did? Yes, that’s probably it. I get up quickly, almost running now. I reach the path in no time. I race through it and come out on the other side. I know this place, the surroundings seem familiar. But the lights return, clouding my vision. When they clear I am on my knees again.

I kneel in the dust for a long time. I stay like that, testing, wondering, hoping. But the colored lights come back, and I return to my knees, watching the fine sand run through my fingers.

“What the hell is this,” I scream out loud. I jump to my feet. “Jesus Christ! Blood of Jesus!” I scream out every prayer I know. I pray every prayer I was taught, I beg God, his son, his spirit and all the angels. And after a while, the lights return and I find myself on my knees, watching as fine sand slip through my fingers.

It’s like something snaps inside me, the sound so loud that I can hear as well as feel it. I jump to my feet and run. I run away, not knowing what direction I am taking, not really caring either way. I run, hoping I can outrun them. But they come anyway, like hands over my eyes, returning me back to my knees and making me watch this fucking sand run through my fingers.

This time I sit calmly on the floor, setting my sack besides me. It is like I have exceeded the time set aside for hysteria. Now only cold rational thinking remains. I take out my phone from its place in my pocket. I check the time. It is 1:28. But that doesn’t make sense. It was 1:35 the last time I checked.

Except I’m experiencing a mirage while suffering from heatstroke, I don’t think the problem is with me. Which means somehow time went backwards six minutes. That isn’t possible. But I keep coming back to the same moment. I sit still and wait. The colored lights do not disappoint. I am returned to my knees.

I immediately start a timer. It counts up to 14 minutes 59 seconds when the lights return. I consider my observations. I touched the disc with symbols on it, symbols which could all represent the passage of time. I had 15 minutes before I returned back to the moment I touched the disc. I draw my hypothesis. Somehow, I am in a time loop 15 minutes long.

I don’t know how much time I’ve spent here. I5 minutes to be exact. 15 minutes that have encompassed entire lifetimes. I did everything I could to escape, every effort proved futile. I run mad with hunger. Thirst is managed by locating a bottle that contained stale water. As each loop renewed, the bottle filled up with the original amount of water as it held before. Hunger is not so easily managed. Not much is good for eating at a landfill. Until I get hungry enough that I could ignore my brain.

The first time it doesn’t go well. I find and use a rusty knife. I spend the better part of 15 minutes talking myself into doing it. Turns out rusty knives were as sharp as plastic with edges. I faint from the pain. I am unsuccessful but proven right in the next cycle. The cut is healed. But the pain remains. It still does. But I am more hungry than in pain. I work through the pain, sawing away at my own finger until it comes off. My time is almost up. I toss the fingers into my mouth, chewing with relish as blood flow down my chin.

Time and consistency makes masters out of students. I am no exception. I get better at mutilating myself to feed myself. Thighs, legs, arms, hands all taste the same to me. My sanity grows more distant until it disappears all together. My memories are a mass of faded pictures, arranged chaotically on the creaking shelves of my mind. Loop after loop, cycle after cycle, I no longer remember who I am. Today? This minute? This loop? It doesn’t matter.

I see somebody. They walk determinedly through the trash heaps. It comes slowly to me. It’s a boy. I too was a boy once. He’s wearing a black shirt and black trousers. Familiarity burns in my heart. I look down at my clothes. They are rags. But they were something else before, something more. And I know. Clarity hits me like a moving bus.

“No” I say. The boy turns and looks at me. “Get out, don’t go that way, turn around,” I try to say. I’m not entirely sure I succeed. It has been a long time since I spoke. The boy begins to run. I chase after him. “Wait, please, not that way,” I scream. I am faster, desperation beats fear any day.

At the edge of my vision the colored lights return. “NOOOOO,” I scream. When they fade, I am on my knees, watching as the fine sand runs through my fingers.

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Amaan Ali on Unsplash