Olla’nna saw her death coming before everyone else did. Not in a dream or a vision at mid day but in the few seconds before she passed out, she saw herself dead. Contrary to the belief of the living, the dead did not view a slide show of their life as they traipsed down the red brick road to meet a sickle-clencing Death at the end of a dark rainbow…some simply saw themselves on the other side…and waited calmly for the transition.

“Ama, we are going to die today.” Olla’nna murmured to her smiling friend sitting at her side.
“Mmm? What did you say Olla, you know I don’t hear when I’m eating” Ama playfully replied, her constant smile still brightening her pretty oval face.

Olla’nna looked annoyed as she turned away from her friend and continued to look out of the window. She felt a sudden calm settle over her even as she stared at the lorry bearing down on their school bus. So close, she could see all of death’s colours. Vibrant vibrant yellows. Smoked yellow for the driver’s eyes, bright yellow for his teeth, the yellow underbelly of the kolanut he had on his now yellowing tongue. The yellow tip of the cigar hanging loosely from his chapped lips. And of course, the golden yellow of the bottle of whisky in his right hand. She wondered if anyone else felt the presence of the sickle-holding one. Then she saw them, the tell-tale signs of fear peppered the school bus. Isadora, the Assisi house captain held her rosary in her right hand as she quietly offered prayers. Imrana, her nemesis in J.S.S 2b sat quietly pretending to focus on his computer game, although his finger stayed stationary on the X key. A closer inspection showed Ama’s pupils had dilated, and she was speaking about eating in a high pitched, rather unrecognisable voice.

“We know.” Olla’nna thought.

The lorry bore down on the bus like an avenging angel, swooping down so fast it could have been mistaken for a race car not a 70 tonne vehicle stacked high with timber. The last thing Olla’nna saw before the bus spun into a ravine was the proud declaration on the lorry’s front “NO WAHALA FOR HEVUN”.

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“Ah ah, seventeen missed calls in eight minutes?!” a surprised Kilali asked her equally confused friend, Aleruchi. The phone was already ringing again before Aleruchi’s face had managed to fully shape into a frown.

“…yes, this is she” Kilali told the disembodied voice at the phone’s other end as she made herself comfortable and carefully placed her plate of wedding delights on the table, eager to finish the conversation and return to the wedding’s festivities.
“Accident?!” she shot up. Tipping her heaped plate and its delicacies unto her vintage Ferragamos. “What do you mean an accident…??!…” She continued, the stress in her heart reflecting in the stress she placed on every syllable. “OLLA??!?!?!?!? WHICH OLLA?!?!” By now her screams had alerted other guests at the wedding. People continued to stare as she threw off her gele, undid and redid her wrapper and began a march to nowhere at all.