The Jingle-ing Truth

The jingle came first; thin and unsure, sliding through the narrow street like a sound that didn’t belong.

Mama Tola heard it while arranging her tomatoes on the wooden stall. She stopped, one tomato still in her hand, and listened. The sound came again metal hitting metal, slow and steady.
“Did you hear that? she asked.
Kunle, the tailor beside her, didn’t even look up from the shirt he was fixing. “Hear what again?”
“That sound. Like... chains or something.”
Kunle shrugged. “This street always has noise. Maybe someone dragging scrap.”
But the sound didn’t go away. It grew louder, closer. People began to notice. Talking reduced. A child stopped crying. Even the radio from the beer parlour went quiet, like it was also trying to hear properly.
Then the man appeared.
He was barefooted!, cloths hanging on him like they were borrowed. Around his ankles were iron chains. Not heavy enough to stop him, but heavy enough to announce his presence, each step made that same sharp jingle.
“Haaa,” someone muttered. “It’s that man.”
The crowd slowly gathered, not planned, just natural. People always gather when something strange passes by.
A small boy pulled his mother’s hand. “Mama, why is he wearing chains?”
She hissed, “Keep quiet!!!.”
But the man had already heard.

“They’re not fashion ooo,” he said, stopping, His voice wasn’t too loud, but it carried, “They’re reminders.”
Kunle frowned. “Reminders of what?”
The man looked down at his feet before answering. “Of a crime I didn’t commit.”
Someone laughed nervously. Someone else shook their head.

“My name is Ade,” he continued. “Three years ago they said I stole money. I said I did not. But nobody listened. Someone had to pay for it, so it became me.”

Mama Tola crossed her arms, “So why are you still wearing them if you are free now??” she asked,

Ade gave a small laugh, but there was no joy in it _ “Because when they removed the chains, people still saw them.”
The jingle followed as he shifted, “This way,” he said, “at least the truth makes noise.”
A girl stepped forward, holding a coin. Her voice was small. “Does it hurt you?”
Ade bent down slowly. The chains clinked again. “It used to,” he said. “Now it’s the silence that hurts more.”
She dropped the coin in his hand. It made a soft sound.
“For food,” she said quickly, then stepped back.
“Thank you,” Ade replied.
“You can’t stay here, ”Mama Tola said, though she was not sure why she said it,
“I won’t” he answered, “I never do.”
As he turned to leave, Kunle spoke again. “If what you’re saying is true.... then people should hear it.”
Ade paused. “That’s why I walk.”
People started talking among themselves. Low voices, questions, doubts, memories they hadn’t planned to remember. The chains no longer sounded strange. They sounded necessary.
When Ade finally walked away, the street felt wrong. Too quiet.

Mama Tola watched until he disappeared, She picked up her tomato again, but her hands were shaking, It wasn’t the jingling she kept hearing in her head.
It was how loud everything felt after it stopped.

Image Source: Meta AI.