Long Distance 3
Picture: Tarringo T. Vaughan Don’t know where the story started from? Catch up here!Adon Kato was beginning to get really angry. For the past two weeks, she had been caring for her boyfriend – Jason Ogbeche – and she didn’t need any heightened sense of perception to know that Jason wasn’t connecting with her. He always seemed to be brooding and if Adon didn’t know better, she could have sworn he was angry at her. He had to have two other surgeries when his kidney became infected and they almost lost him. The injured kidney was finally removed and he was doing better now. Adon stayed at his side all through. Dr. Anwar had to send her home many times to shower and eat. She took her bath in the hospital and ate hospital meals to get the doctors off her back. As soon as she was done with basic necessities, she would rush back to Jason’s bed side. Jason said very little to her. He only spoke when he needed his pain medications or was hungry. Adon would have understood if he was that way with everyone. He spoke to his parents about how he was really feeling and even laughed with them. What was more was that whenever Doctor Amara came into the room, he lit up and became a chatterbox. Adon watched the development and gradually grew depressed. She wanted to start a conversation (again) when Drs. Anwar and Amara, Jason’s parents and two nurses came in. Adon felt her chest constrict and deep down, she knew it was more from jealousy than worry at what the doctors had to say. Doctor Anwar started speaking. ‘I wanted to talk to all of you at the same time. Jason, how are you feeling?’ ‘I feel horrible.’ Jason said as he laughed. ‘Well…I am glad you can laugh about this. You are doing better and if not for that relapse last week, you could be on your way home this week. Your ribs are healing nicely and for now, your body is adjusting to having one kidney. Most of the other injuries have healed well and there is no more internal bleeding. On paper, you look good. But the human body acts as it wants for each individual. If you continue at this rate, we could have you home by the end of next week, with scheduled weekly checkup until the pins in your ribs are removed. That been said, I want to suggest that you see a psychologist and just talk. When you have near-fatal accidents like this, you could have post-traumatic stress disorder, leading to a warped perception of reality. One of it may be a heightened fear of driving and another may be attachment to certain individuals…’ Adon was piqued. Did the doctor notice what was happening? Was he trying to tell her something? Her eyes darted to Dr. Amara and to Jason and she saw them share a look. ‘….so, he should be home next week if everything goes well. I have drawn up a regimen to help you help him and you need to follow it to the latter. You can rotate between three of you so it is not…’ Jason’s mum interrupted. ‘I accepted to allow her stay here because you demanded that. But she will no longer be required when he comes home. We can take care of him ourselves. She is not welcome in our home.’ She punctuated her bile with the most vicious look. Adon looked at Mrs. Ogbeche and turned to look at Jason. He didn’t say anything. Adon open her mouth, but the words didn’t come. Jason looked away. ‘Jason, do you want me to stay or is your mother speaking for you?’ Adon asked huskily. The tears were threatening to fall. Jason said nothing. Dr. Amara started talking. ‘I don’t think this is the time or place…’ ‘Shut up! Just shut up!’ Adon exploded. ‘Don’t speak to her that way!’ Jason shouted right back at Adon. The silence in the room was deafening. Adon’s embarrassment was palpable. Adon looked at Jason, got up from the chair, gathered her things and walked out of the room. ‘Adon…wait..’ ‘Let her go Jason. She is bad news.’ Mrs. Ogbeche said. *** Adon sat in her car, crying her soul out. All the frustration that came from her inability to contact Jason that sorry day he left, to being in the hospital and the immense betrayal completely broke her spirit. She wanted to die; such was the pain in her chest. As the tears gradually piped down, it finally dawned on her that a figure had been by her window almost as long as she had been crying. She looked up from the blue scrubs to the gentle face of Dr. Anwar. She wound down her windshield. ‘I…I..am..s..ss…o..sorry Dr. A.nwa…r. I di…dn’t see you there.’ Adon said as she tried to control the spasms running through her body. ‘Don’t ever be sorry for being in pain. Now, scoot over. I will drive you to your hotel.’ ‘I..I..do..n’t…have…o..one.’ It dawned on Dr. Anwar just how much she had sacrificed for the man she loved. ‘I will take you to one. You are in no state to drive now. Don’t worry, it will be fine.’ *** ‘So you mean there is nothing I can do?’ Adon asked resignedly. ‘No, there isn’t. Sometimes, these things last for a week and sometimes, it lasts forever. The only thing that can change it is if his brain rewires itself, for lack of a better word. We cannot force the brain to do that.’ Adon started pacing as she contemplated what she had just heard. The doctor had noticed the fixation of Jason on Dr. Amara as he questioned him about his accident. He told her earlier on. ‘The accident was near fatal. If the ambulance had been as much as an hour (or even 30 minutes) late, he would have died. She was the last face he saw before he passed out and in his brain, she
Long Distance 2
PHOTO: SACRED JOURNEYS AND SPIRITUALCOMMUNITY The story doesn’t begin here. It springs from HERE.Jason Ogbeche kept flitting in and out of consciousness. He didn’t know where the sounds were coming from. He barely knew where he was. Someone seemed to be tugging at him, trying to pull him out. But from where? He tried to open his eyes and when that finally happened, it came with a lot of pain. His mind registered that he was surrounded by people. The tingling feeling all over his body beckoned him to ignore the sea of faces and concentrate on his body. He looked down. There was blood everywhere! He tried to move and something held him back. ‘Do not pull him like that! You will kill him.’ It seemed to come from a far place and each word punctuated the pain he was feeling. He looked down again and saw that the blood flow had one major source. Jason blanched when he saw the source. The pain overwhelmed him again and he lost consciousness. *** Doctor Amara Obiekwe forced her way through the crowd, shouting ‘Do not pull him like that! You will kill him.’ until she got to the front of the very ghastly car accident scene before her. When would Nigerians stop pulling people out of accident scenes?! When would people realize that more damage is done when accident victims are not properly removed from the scenes?! She pushed some more and stopped in her tracks just as she got to the car. Someone had wrenched the door open and the sight before her was daunting. The young man in the front seat was impaled to his seat by an iron rod that obviously came off the trailer lying a few feet away. From the look of it, the iron entered into his left upper side and exited somewhere into the seat. Thankfully, the man had been wearing his seat belt. If he hadn’t, she was sure he would have flown out of the window and crashed head-first into the underbelly of the huge trailer; which was what happened to the driver. Dr. Amara dialed the Jos University Teaching Hospital as she assessed what could be done. She could stem the blood flow but she was worried about the proximity of many vital organs to the entry-point of the injury. This man needed immediate surgery if he was to live. But before then, she carried out the ABCDEs of First Aid; she checked his airways, breathing, circulation, and his level of consciousness, the penetrating iron and the amount of blood loss. She was about to start the secondary survey when she heard the sound of an approaching ambulance. The forces of the universe seemed to be with this man. She started to get up when he woke up and grabbed her hand. ‘Don’t leave me!’ he muttered, sputtering some blood and losing consciousness again. Though unconscious, his hand remained tightly gripped in hers as they raced to the hospital. *** Adon Kato was restless. She had been calling her boyfriend for the last two hours and he wasn’t picking. He left her about four hours ago as he journeyed to Abuja. It took every ounce of her strength to watch the bus leave. When she could no longer see the bus, she grudgingly went to her car and drove home. She had just opened her front door when her phone buzzed. She just knew it was Jason. She smiled even before she read it. ‘Missing you already baby.’ ‘Come back to me! I am so lonely with you gone!’ She responded. ‘Stop it woman! I swear, I will come down from this bus and come back to you!’ Adon laughed. She started typing and then stopped; a voice note would be better. ‘I am so glad we worked things out. I almost thought your presence here would mean the end of our relationship but somehow, we found ourselves. I love you so much baby! I haven’t been this happy in a long time.’ She watched her phone, anticipating his response. ‘Aww baby! Why are you torturing me? You know I cannot send a voice note and you keep enveloping me with your honey-smooth voice! I will get you back for this. When you come to Abuja, I will make sure I spoil you so bad, you will have no other choice than to quit your job and leave Gombe. And you know I keep my word!’ Adon laughed again. She was blushing! What did this guy do to her? ‘You will not believe that I am smiling like a sappy teenager. And blushing too! What did you do to me, Jason Ogbeche?!’ He sent in a laughing emoji. ‘Laugh all you want oh! Shebi you now know I love you so you are forming champion right?! Lol. I know what I will do to you. And hey! Speaking of work, I need to prepare. Talk to you as soon as I settle in. I love you, Jason.’ ‘I love you too baby.’ They had been chatting when he suddenly went offline. Adon was a bit worried. Something was wrong; she felt it. But she shrugged it off. She tried to concentrate on work to get that nagging feeling away. ‘Adon, you are too much of a worrier.’ she told herself just as… …her phone rang. She jumped to pick it and in her excitement, dropped it. She quickly it picked up and saw that the call had ended. Checking her call log, she saw it was Jason. The phone began to ring again. ‘Jason what the hell is wrong with y…’ ‘Good day ma’am. I am calling from the Jos University Teaching Hospital. The owner of this phone was involved in an accident and is currently is surgery. You were the last person he interacted with and we would like to know if you can make it to the hospital.’ Adon barely heard anything beyond Jason being in an accident. She wanted to faint, to go numb,
Looking Glass
Old African WomanImage: iStock Photos Ma Pwamoreno knelt to pray. The cracking sound in her spine told her it would be an uphill task getting up from this position. ‘She might as well take her time’, she thought. She couldn’t possible cause any more harm to her 70 year-old body. She went into a flurry of thanksgiving prayers. As she bowed in obeisance to GOD, her mind began to drift. Aspects of her life flashed through her mind until she was completely lost in thought. *** Pwapradi Zadok remembered the family she had been born into. She was born to a progressive family that believed in the white man’s education. Her father had worked for a white family who introduced Christianity and formal education to him. In his view, white people could do no wrong. Her father was a good Christian man. He treated her mother right. He ensured that they always had food and good clothes; which was a far cry from what her neighbors had to contend with. He encouraged them to read books and study the Bible. Her mother was the perfect match for her father. She was such a good woman! She couldn’t remember if her parents ever fought. She only remembered that they were a much disciplined family and though her parents never told them they loved them, they could tell that they did. By ‘they’, she meant her eight brothers and sisters; her parents had seven boys and two girls. Though it was a large family, there were always extended family members in the house at any given time. It was a testament to her father that he raised good children who were all stellar citizens in their community. As the last child, Pwapradi was called “Mummy’s carbon copy”. She had the same mannerisms and even looked almost exactly like her mother. Their similarity was so much that when she cooked, her father couldn’t tell if it was his wife or his daughter. When it was time to get married, her father worked extra hard to get a very good man for her. He picked the choir master of the church who was a young and promising teacher in the village primary school. Pwapradi remembered how her mother prepared her for marriage, her expectations as a wife, her duties and her reward. Pwapradi flushed under her skin when her mother told her to just lie down and accept her husband’s overtures because ‘men have been cursed with huge desire for sex’. Pwapradi’s marriage to Cletus Pwamoreno had been a simple affair, after which she settled into her role as wife. Cletus didn’t want her to work. He wanted her to be a house wife. Like her mother taught her, she obeyed him completely. He also didn’t want any other person cooking his meals. So she had been cooking for him for 58 years. She woke up early, cooked his breakfast and lunch and then took his bath water to the bathroom. She would wake him up and then set about sweeping the house. As he bathed, she would do other house chores to reduce her workload. When he was done, she would serve his meal and send him off with a ‘Have a good day‘ pat on the back. When he got back home, he would arrive to the aroma of steaming Bamta or Kwaa Bawei soup. Though he would always rush to the kitchen, she would get him to bathe first before eating his meal. After his meal, she would massage his feet and back as he read a newspaper or studied the Bible. Even as they got older and her bones got weaker, she continued her routine every single day of the week. When the children came, there was more work for Pwapradi but she took it in her stride; after all, Bachama women were known for their strength. She gave birth to five children before GOD decided it was enough. She remembered how she never raised her voice when talking to her husband. They had been married for 58 years and she never shouted at her husband. When they quarreled, he did all the talking while she stared at the floor. When he was done, she would say, ‘I am sorry Sir. It would not repeat itself.’ He thought she was acting in the first few years of their marriage but he later realized that she was made that way. Soon, quarrels became nonexistent in their marriage. Her mother taught her that her husband’s word was law and she obeyed him to a fault. As he became more prominent, their marriage became the poster child for perfection. People wanted to emulate them. Couples came to them for advice. They were both co-opted into the church counseling unit. She heard that her husband always said, ‘My wife never raises her voice at me. She never disobeys me. She does everything I say and that is why we are so happy.’ He would always end by saying, ‘Get your wife to be like mine and you have the perfect home.’She on the other hand would say to wives, ‘Your husband is the head of your house. If you want him to treat you right, respect him, obey him and be a good wife to him.’ She remembered her children. They were all married now. She had a flurry of grandkids she only saw during the holidays. None of her kids lived close to her. They were spread in Kaduna, Lagos, Port Harcourt, and Abuja. No one wanted to live in Numan; a glorified village. So she got to see them once every year when they came for Christmas. She thanked GOD for her life. She had lived a good life. That thought had not finished forming when another came into her mind. Had she really lived? Was her life worth thanking GOD for? Though foreign, she pondered on the thought some more. She had always wanted to teach. She wanted to impart knowledge just as her father had done. She was lucky to have been formally
Dad, Mum…You Failed Us!
Mrs. Jatau saw the light on her phone before it began to ring. She was almost sure it was her first daughter calling. She was not wrong. ‘I am just putting the last touches to my makeup. I will soon be there’, she rushed before her daughter could say anything. ‘Okay Mum. We are waiting for you.’ Annabel responded as she dropped the call. Mrs. Jatau sighed. She could not put it off anymore. She took her keys and purse, sent a prayer to heaven and left her house. She was going to her daughter’s wedding introduction. *** ‘Daddy, come out of your room now! Ha ahn! Do you want the guests to come in and wait for you?‘ Sandra all but shouted. She was the last child of the Jataus’ and had grown up when their parents had gone soft. She could say anything to them; which was slightly different from her four elder ones. ‘I said I am coming now! Go away and leave me alone.’ he responded in his rich tone. ‘Daddy, if you are not out in two minutes. I will break your door oh!’ She returned, pouting her lips and stamping her feet. She may be 20 years but she was all child. ‘If you like, burn the house sef. I will only come out when I deem fit. And I can see that mouth that you are pushing up. I have always told you that it makes you look like fish…a Tilapia.’ Sandra laughed and walked away. Mr. Jatau sighed. He could not hide in his room anymore. He admitted he was scared. But if he remained in his room, that would be awfully rude to the guests he was expecting. Though he had never had a good relationship with his oldest daughter, this was not the time to completely ruin what was left of it. He sucked in air into his large tummy and opened the door. The sooner he got over this, the quicker he could go to the club house and share some laughs with his cronies. He walked down the stairs to his living room. *** This was the first time in 18 years that the entire Jatau family was seated in one room. Oliver, the first child, was reclining in one of the sofas. Tall, buff and selfish, he managed to look like a king. The three daughters sat together on the sofa, with Robert, their adopted brother, sitting in between Annabel and Elizabeth while Sandra sat on the floor. The sitting arrangement was such that both their parents sat opposite them. Mr. and Mrs. Jatau managed to sit as far apart as possible without looking like they were trying to do. Annabel sighed. She cleared her throat and began. ‘Dad, Mum…before our guests turn up, we have some things to tell you. I will start and my siblings will join in.’ She looked from one parent to the other and then her sisters. Her parents were trying all they could not to squirm but it was not working. It was as uncomfortable for them as it was for her. She sucked in her breath, stared at the floor, and started talking. ‘Today is exactly 18 years since you got divorced.’ The finality in her voice had a ring of judgment to it and it got the desired effect on her parents; guilt and shame. Even though they had been divorced that long, Mrs. Jatau maintained his name because in Africa, you are better off with a ‘Mrs.’ attached to your name. ‘I will start with you, Daddy.’ This time she looked straight at her dad. He dropped his head and put his arms between his thighs; the classic pose he took when he was insecure, sad or contemplative. Annabel knew she had to get the edge off her voice. ‘Daddy, you were never nice to Mummy…well, not never. But in most cases, you weren’t. I grew up seeing Mummy pick up the slack when you should have been taking care of us. You were more a man-about-town, spending for other people, than you were in catering to your family’s needs. Mummy never let us go hungry, even if you never brought in any money’. That was Elizabeth’s cue. ‘Daddy, all through our stay in school, you never paid school fees on time; sometimes paying the first term fees in second term. We got to be known as one family that alwaysdefaulted in fees. It was so bad that one teacher came into the class to drive students who had not paid school fees and as soon as he entered, he said “Elizabeth Jatau, I don’t need to look at the list to know your name is on it. So pack your books and go home.” I wanted to die Daddy! Everyone in class laughed. I acted like I was okay but my spirit broke’. ‘Even when Mummy paid our school fees, you beat up Annabel for daring to accept the money’, Sandra said. There was a catch in her voice and that pricked her father and mother. She was their baby, and they were all fiercely protective of her. Mrs. Jatau started crying. She didn’t plan to but her eyes couldn’t hold back anymore. Mr. Jatau maintained his stoic expression. He still had his head down. Annabel continued. ‘When the divorce finally pulled through, you banned us from seeing our mother. When, after less than three months, you married again, and our lives became a living hell. Your wife would maltreat us…’ Annabel’s voice wavered. The tears were about to drop, but she controlled it. She sniffed just as Robert rubbed her back. She smiled at him and faced her father again. ‘I remember when Mummy bought us school scandals. You came home, went straight to our room like you knew Mum had brought us things. You rounded up the scandals and poured kerosene on them. With one strike, they went up in flames. We watched them burn, knowing you were not going to
Inconsiderate Neighbors
Flustered Black Woman.Image: Huffington Post. Papa Emeka was home. Oiza knew this because the horrible sound of his rickety generator set woke her up from her first opportunity to sleep in five days. And this time, she was pissed! The stress from her office was enough to down a mule and whenever she got home, the sound of a generator badly in need of repairs kept her awake at night. She got up with such fierce anger and decided enough was enough! She was going to give Papa Emeka a piece of her mind. As she put on her slip, she remembered how she had reached this point. ••• Oiza Anave was the only daughter of Adam and Ozohu Anave, a middle class family who lived a comfortable life in Kaduna. Being the only girl in her house, she was the easy favorite of both her parents. Coupled with the fact that she was the last born of their five children, she held a good spot as the baby of the house. Like most last born children, she was almost smothered with the fierce protectiveness of her father and brothers and the unabashed love of her mother. She grew up almost in a cocoon and didn’t have the opportunity to venture out, make friends or even date. But university cured her of all that. As soon as she tasted freedom, she couldn’t go back to being caged by her family’s love, no matter the good intention. She prayed her compulsory National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) would take her as far away from home as possible, hoping that she could finally get to live in the bustling city called Eko, or to non-indigenes, Lagos. She didn’t get Lagos but at least one of her wishes was fulfilled; she got sent to a faraway city; Gombe. As soon as she arrived Gombe, she promised herself that she was not returning home. She was finally her own woman and could live how she wanted and follow her own dreams and aspirations. When she was done with her service, she stuck to her word and refused to go back home. Despite pleas and threats from her parents and siblings, she remained adamant. To try to convince her, her father got the family together and commanded everyone not to send her money or render any help to her. She wasn’t bothered. She had learned to manage what she had and had saved N50,000 from her NYSC ‘allowee’. She set out looking for a house and got one that cost the exact same price. The house was in one of the less affluent neighborhoods but that was the only option she had. She needed to vacate the ‘Corpers Lodge’ and houses in better suited areas were either too expensive (N90, 000) or not even in her price range (N350, 000). In the end, she felt she could live in a gutter and still be comfortable if she really wanted to. So, she got a friend to loan her the rest of the rent and went to pay for the house. When she got to the house, she realized how crappy it was. She had only been told of a house and had not seen it before hand. As she looked at the house, she saw that the paint was peeling off as a result of water rising through the blocks. She also realized that there was a permanent putrid smell in the room and upon further examinations, discovered that a gutter ran directly behind it. It was a two bedroom apartment without a toilet and kitchen, which meant that Oiza would have to share with other members of the compound. The toilet was not a pit latrine as is expected in public houses but a water-closet system. Oiza didn’t like that one bit. Diseases could easily be transmitted from her neighbors to her. What was worse was that the toilet was really dirty when she glanced in, prompting her to quickly scrunch her nose and pull her head back out of the toilet. Though Oiza was in no way happy with what she saw, she still paid for it because of the pressure to move out of the lodge. That same day, Oiza moved into her new house. As Oiza settled in, she started noticing some really horrible attitude of her neighbors. Now, there were ten two-room apartments in the compound and each room, with the exception of Oiza’s had at least four people in them. There were whole families and friends just living together to cut costs. So the compound was really full. As soon as they restored electrical power, the occupants of each room – seeming to compete with the others – would put on their radios and television sets at the highest volume. It was usually a competition between some Bauchi-based Gospel artist and the likes of Don Moen; a horrible mix for all she cared. And to make matters worse, the loud music always competed with the sounds of Catalina fighting Diego and Amarachi placing the curse on the people of Akpogwu! There was never any peace or quiet in that compound. Since Oiza spent almost all her time at the office, she felt she could handle it even though it irritated her to no end when she was at home. What she couldn’t handle though were the dirty toilets and bathrooms. They were never washed! They stank like dirty toilets should and Oiza felt poisoned every time she went in. People – grownups – used the toilet without flushing, leaving their disgusting fecal matter for others to see. One night Oiza was pressed and she ran into the toilet. The smell hit her before she turned the light on. What she saw made her rush back out without much ado. She didn’t use the toilet again for a whole week! Each time she felt pressed, the sight she saw came rushing back. That was enough to shut her excretory organs.
The Gods So Decide
Image link here. Amara was still shaking. The village juju-man, Opowkri, was baffled by the blatant refusal of the evil spirits to bow to his incantations. Did the spirits aim to ridicule him? And in front of the entire village?! Well, he was having none of that! He cast a furtive glance at her parents who were huddled in the corner and quickly turned his attention to the shivering girl lying on the thatched mat in his dimly lit mud hut. The room was smoky from the tiny calabash filled with dry, burning herbs and he had to refrain from coughing as the smoke choked him. He was, after all, the intermediary between the gods and the people. He took the white speckled fowl he had asked her parents to bring and raised it to the sky. He implored the gods of hale and hearty health to prove the uninvited spirits wrong; to show he was stronger than these spirits. The fowl cackled, seeming to know that its end was near. Its loud crows were nothing compared to the cacophony Opowkri was making. He finished his incantations and in one fell swoop, pulled out the head of the fowl from its neck. Blood spurted everywhere. He quickly directed the spurts towards the naked body of the girl. In normal times, her parents would never have allowed their daughter to be naked in front of a man but these were not normal times. He had insisted that they removed her clothes so he could work his voodoo. And as expected, they quickly obliged. She was their last surviving child; having watched six of their children die in the last three months. They didn’t want to lose her and at that point, they would have done just about anything. Opowkri rubbed the blood all over Amara’s body, pausing ever so slightly on her breasts and trying his best to hide his arousal. As his hands traipsed over her body, he muttered incantations that were only understood by him and the gods. The fetid smell of fresh blood mixed with smoke from the burning herbs was enough to make anyone retch; and that was what he was going for. On cue, Amara raised herself up and retched, only managing to miss hitting him by a few inches. ‘Yes! Get out of her you evil spirit! Get out of her! Remove him from your body my child!’ And he went into more incantations. He started dancing around Amara, chanting, beguiling and asking the gods to show them strong. ‘Wa….wa…I ne…eed wat…ter.’ Amara croaked. The juju-man paused in his dance and shouts and watched her for a second. Her parents scrambled to give her the calabash filled with dirty stream water. ‘NO!’ The juju-man bellowed! Her parents cowered and froze inches over her face. ‘The spirits are getting weak and they need to increase their strength! She will not be given anything!’ Her parents retreated to their corner of the hut and held each other. The ‘dance-cantations’ continued for two hours; two hours where Amara progressively got weaker, threw up five more times and croaked for water over and over again. The filth was not cleaned up nor was her thirst quenched. The smell in the room was worse than the village outhouse at the edge of the forest. The last time Amara vomited, she didn’t even have the strength to raise herself up. She just threw up and gargled in her own vomit. After that, she stopped shaking. She was no longer hyperventilating or as Opowkri came to find out, breathing. Her parents started screaming. ‘Get out!’ The juju-man shouted so loud, her parents fled the hut. That didn’t stop the whimpers of her mother from filtering into the silence of the hut. He checked Amara and saw she was perfectly still. Her skin was losing the hotness that it had a few minutes ago. For the first time since she had been brought to him three nights ago, she looked peaceful, finally at rest. He didn’t need a fancy white cloth and a rope around his neck like that missionary medicine man in the village square to know that Amara was dead. This was the twelfth child he had seen die in the last two moons; and all of them in his tiny hut. He had told the parents that the gods were punishing them for taking the little drops of evil liquid from the missionary medicine man. The evil man had invoked the anger of the gods when he said the gods were non-existent. He had gone further to say that diseases were not from the gods to punish them but as a result of their dirty environment. He said he had a thing that could prevent diseases and that was when he convinced some parents to take those little drops of his own type of voodoo. It didn’t matter that every child who wasn’t sick before they had taken the city man’s evil medicine was still hale and hearty. It didn’t matter that the families who had made certain lifestyle changes like weeding the grass in front of their houses, boiling and filtering their water and using his fish net to sleep were healthier than those who didn’t. It also didn’t matter that the man had insisted that Amara was suffering from the disease of the mosquito and dirty water and that he had something he called ‘drugs’ for them. What mattered was that he wasn’t going to allow any other medicine man take his place in this village. His father had been the village juju-man as had his father before him. He was definitely not going to allow a twit from the city come up and outwit him. His mind made up, he got up from his kneeling position in front of Amara and wiped some vomit off his knee, unaffected by either the smell or the grossness. He turned to the door…and walked out. The people gathered around him. He shook his head and
Ripple Effect (II)
To get acquainted with the first part of the story, read (here) After what seemed like eternity, the lights came back on. He opened his eyes and saw himself. He looked around, noticing how small he had become, how very insignificant and…trapped! He felt the presence of seven different entities, all vying for dominion of his body. The angrier they got, the more they pushed his spirit into something smaller, something less significant. As the entities vied for power and control, he couldn’t help but remember just how bitter and aggrieved his spirit had been because of his deformity. He also recalled how he found out about the cause of his deformity; a result of a failed abortion by his mum. The memories came flooding in. His mum had wanted to be a career woman. Even though she said yes at the altar, she wasn’t willing to give up the power that came with independence. This was clearly defined when she refused to have sex with her husband without a condom for more than three years after the grand wedding. She definitely was not about to lose the career she worked so hard for just because her husband preferred to go skinny. A broken condom was how he had been conceived. A cliché indeed! Haniel remembered how he had overheard them talking about it one night when his mum was drunk. She had lost her job and found solace by befriending the liquor bottle. He remembered he had been seven then. As she shouted at his father, she called him a ‘freak of nature’, an ‘unwanted child’ and went on to call him a ‘mistake of the highest order’. As the forces continued to fight each other for dominance, he couldn’t help but think of the sadness he had lived with just because of his mum’s admission. He had hated her with all his might, blaming her (rightly!) for creating a freak of nature. While that thought danced in his memory, he also remembered how his father never came to his aid, never looked at him like a person, never hugged him nor allayed his fears. His brothers, who had been born seven years after him, were no solace to him. All attention shifted from him as his parents basked in the perfection they had created…and at one go. As his brothers grew up, they went from awed wonder at his difference to downright meanness. The picture of his brothers taunting him until he couldn’t cry anymore kept flicking in his head. He didn’t know when he had become hardened, but hardened he was. His only solace was porn and he was sure that if he hadn’t been addicted, he wouldn’t have been in the mess he was in now. A force stronger than the others bellowed from somewhere outside of him. He watched as a cloud hovered in front of, and around him. The cloud was both a person and not a person: there but somehow elusive. He was sure of one thing: he was freaking scared! Never before had he felt such a malevolent spirit like the one he was seeing. The others paled in comparison. He wanted to run, but even without the other forces, he was sure he couldn’t have been able to go anywhere. The spirit spoke in some language that could have been Klingon for all he cared. While it sent down chills up and down his spine, it had the effect of stilling the other forces. He watched as the spirit walked – literally – into his body, experiencing in totality all the vile forces which its invasion enacted. Even his cells seemed to shrink in the presence of the ‘being’. His body bent forward and began to convulse. His eyes bulged to the point of popping and the searing pain he felt in every nerve ending of his body was something he could not have fathomed possible. He wanted to die at that point! He begged death to take him, to have mercy on him. It seemed like forever but it was soon over. In his view, it was still the worst moment of his life! The being settled and all was normal…or as normal as it could be. As soon as it settled in, making sure the other forces were cowering in its presence, it made Haniel’s body stand up. It looked around, seeming to look for something. Then it (using his body) walked to the door, put its hand on it…and opened. He was no longer in control of his body. It had taken over and become one with him. With purposeful strides, it marched down the stairs and followed through to the dining room. Though he was completely taken over, he couldn’t help but enjoy a brief moment of satisfaction at seeing the horror and revulsion on his family’s faces. His dad dropped his wine glass, shattering it, while the clattering sound of his mum’s cutlery could have been deafening if he had not been enjoying himself so. The being strode to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. His brothers, with mouths agape, stared at him. ‘Serve me a plate mother dearest.‘, it said in a voice that was deep, husky and surprisingly very, very sexy; something his voice had never been. The pensiveness of the forces was escalating and they wanted to have a go at his family. They were bustling to escape his body, to attack his family. He was not surprised that he didn’t feel any iota of pity. In his view, they deserved what they were going to get. They had put him through so much and now, maybe they would feel a tiny bit of the pain he had had to suffer. He hated them and he was unapologetic for that! The domineering spirit turned in his body and looked at him. He cringed, trying to make himself even smaller (if that was even possible) than his minute existence. The spirit grew bigger,
Ripple Effect (I)
Credit: Google He was masturbating at his bedroom desk. He had become addicted to self-pleasure since he had clocked thirteen. The internet had become his haven and pornography his past time. The past three years had been a breeze for him. He didn’t have to deal with the abject rejection that spewed from his parents and the pity that came from strangers. It all began at his birth. Everyone balked at his deformity. He had lazy eyes, his mouth askew; resulting in a constant drool of spittle down the side of his chin. His arms and legs were thin and could hardly support his malformed torso. His head was constantly lolling to the side, requiring his shoulder for balance. As he grew up, it didn’t take him long to realize that people were repulsed by his grotesque figure. It wasn’t long before he learnt to keep to himself. He had asked his parents to remove the mirrors and all shiny surfaces from his room. Even he couldn’t look at himself. Whenever he looked at his body, he was greeted by the ugly, huge splotches like eczema traversing his entire body. He found they were called psoriasis. The only parts of his body that had developed well were his brain and his penis. At sixteen, his brain was as sharp as Albeit Einstein’s and though he hated it, his penis was as huge as Mandingo’s. While most people with a brain like that would have thought of changing the world, he couldn’t be bothered. The world had rejected him and he was returning the favor with a flip of his middle finger as the nice Cherrie on top! There were two things that couldn’t be taken away from him; his active imagination and libido. Put those two together and even the best porn sites couldn’t match the scenes he came up with. He pulled up dark, painful ways of having sex. His imaginations aroused him so much that he masturbated every day. It started out once a day until he was fully addicted to getting off. That was his only respite from the life he was forced to live. After all, he couldn’t pretend anymore that the looks from his parents were anything but hurtful. When, at fourteen, he told his parents he could home school himself (using the internet), it was all they could do not to jump in glee. They gladly accepted his proposal to shut himself in his room. Even his personal maid couldn’t look at him without that slight disgust ‘normal’ people gave the physically challenged. One day, he cooked up a plan to see just how repulsive he was to the world. He lay naked on his bed as his maid was about to do her routine. When she entered, her reaction was epic! Though her scream was funny, it showed just how much everyone in general (and women in particular) was repulsed by him. He wasn’t ever going to get laid by anyone, so he did himself. His room was his prison but the internet was his gateway to whatever world he wanted to see. His family would be having Sunday dinner now. The maid had brought his in and told him she’d see him tomorrow. Her jangling backside in her uniform had set him on edge. As soon as she closed the door behind her, he went to his desk with his body oil and opened his new fetish: lesbian porn. He was slowly working himself to pleasure when a pop-up ad caught his attention. ‘Want to have women flock around you and kowtow to your every desire?’ He stopped his rhythmic stroke and looked at the pop-up again. He moved his right hand to his mouse and moved the cursor to the ad. For a second there, he was torn between continuing his pleasure ride and finding out about women bowing to him. In the end, masturbation was okay but he wanted to bury himself in a woman. He clicked the ad and was redirected to the full webpage: Satan’s Lair. He quickly skimmed through the introduction and perused the website, mentally praising the creators for their ingenuity. He admitted to himself that the moment he saw the domain name, he thought he would see images of what the world defined as demons, but all he saw were well clad people and simple, everyday grammar that anyone could understand. He wanted to exit the page and continue his pleasure when the screen metamorphosed into a slide show of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. The message popped up again, this time, bolder. ‘Want to have women flock around you and kowtow to your every desire?’ At the base of the message was a simple ‘Yes’. No ‘Not now’ or ‘Maybe later‘ nor even ‘Cancel‘. He laughed a bit. ‘The devil is pretty cocky huh?’ He thought to himself as he clicked the ‘Yes’ button. The page expanded to show a sign up page. Odd. No ‘Sign In’; just ‘Sign Up’. He shrugged and started filling in his details, making sure to fill the wrong ones. Full Name: John Huge (he snickered as he typed that) Email: johnhugeD@yahoo.com Password: ************** Re-enter password: ************** I agree to all terms and conditions SUBMIT He hovered over the submit button, a small part of him urging him to read the terms and conditions, but he was too eager to see what the site could offer. He quickly submitted. The screen went blank! No icons, no nothing, almost like he had turned off the computer. He bent down to look at the CPU, and saw that the system was still running. He took his head back up just in time to see the monitor come back on; opening at the sign up page with his details. Like something out of a movie, his entries deleted themselves, one letter at a time, slowly but surely. His eyes were riveted to the screen, shocked beyond measure. That was when he felt the presence of something malevolent, something deliberately evil and very rotten at its core. He wanted
Side Chick II
People at an airport. To get acquainted with the story, read SIDE CHICK I here . This sequel was written by Abe Onche. Would the police be waiting for her? She wondered if she was wanted or not as she idly flipped the pages of her passport. With nothing but her hand luggage, she was intent on not staying too long in the airport. The busy streets of Lagos would welcome any stranger and it wouldn’t really be that hard to disappear. It was good to be home again. The humidity of Lagos was never to be missed, but still, it was more Nigerian than any other place in the country, and it was a perfect contrast to bring her memories of Paris bubbling back up to the surface, not unlike her last glass of champagne down by the Seine. More nerve-wracking than she’d admit, she approached the immigration workers who searched her with dull, tired cow eyes and waved her off. Well, not completely. There was one gentleman who seemed to focus on her for just a little too long, but she didn’t press the issue when he turned awkwardly away as she shot him “the look”. Toasters…Ugh. She had fifty-seven messages by the time she remembered to put her SIM back in her phone, though it wasn’t strange considering she had just up and left for two weeks. She spent most of the ride to the local terminal laughing over the myriad texts from her besties. They all thought she was dead, and she knew she would be once they found out she’d up and gone like a shot to the City of Lights. “Good thing I brought treats”, she chuckled. There were a few more serious text messages from her boss. The old lech must have been worried sick over where his golden goose had gone off to. No doubt he would have tried to reach…”him”…but Masha reckoned “he” wouldn’t have been entertaining too many calls considering the state she left him in. No…he wouldn’t be entertaining anything for a while. *** Port Harcourt was home, and Masha felt exactly that. She had managed to forget virtually everything that had happened in the past month, what with all the busybodies that surrounded her constantly. Her sisters were ecstatic going through her phone, cooing at all the selfies Masha had taken with the crème of Paris. It was a good thing her childhood homie had up and become a designer straight after secondary school; otherwise she might not have swung it. It was hell and a half to salvage any of the clothes she bought from them, but she laughed at the wardrobe nostalgia. Port Harcourt was turning out to be as much fun as she could have at home. Mildred and Zeke – Who-Must-Not-Be-Izzy, her BFFs, came in from Warri and spent a whole weekend catching up. They all skirted around Kaduna until she was ready to talk about it, but she never mentioned Nonso, or what he did to her… or what she did to him. She had buried it deep behind her smile, and it wasn’t that hard since she could get lost in the lives of everyone around her. They went to the cinema after one particularly slow morning though, and they relished the chance to see something new besides Masha. For some crazy reason, they had the hall all to themselves so they were more than happy to recline on the cushions, put their feet on the headrests and throw stale popcorn at each other. It was just like old time, with a little twist though. Mili and Zeke had apparently started dating when they met up in Warri, and they’d been dying for a chance to tell her in person. She’d seen it coming a mile away; they were so in love it was almost annoying. Whenever they looked at each other, they were so warm and fuzzy, they made her feel warm and fuzzy. She was happy for them, truly, but she couldn’t help thinking of herself, how she had been happy and now she wasn’t. “Mash! Snap out of it already! You’re zoning out again!” Mili poked a carefully lacquered fingernail gently into Masha’s cheek. “This is Houston calling Masha. Please respond.” “Careful.” Masha said, chuckling “I’ve seen people lose fingers like that.” “Oh puh-lease dear. If one finger is going to get you back from the twilight zone, then girl, there is a reason Zeke here has ten.” ‘Hey!’ Zeke quipped. ‘I need these too y’know. Who’s going to play the piano on Sunday?” “Sunday” made something lurch in Masha’s stomach. Like some kind of password, it rushed blood to her face and suddenly she felt oven hot and clustered as though she were in a boiler room. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down. Zeke and Mili were chatting on, oblivious of what was happening to her. She did her best to zone them out, trying to focus on breathing. Then like a surge, memories began to flash in her head, conversations with Annie, being at Our Family Church, the choir over and over again, singing the same songs, the voice of the pastor talking about priorities, Annie bringing more membership forms, loading up the bus on Kaduna road, the prayer sessions….the speaking in tongues, the kabashing, droning on endlessly in her head…Nonso kneeling in front of the bed, praying…naked Nonso kneeling…Nonso getting on the bed, touching her…Nonso tied on the bed…his eyes focused, his mouth moving with no words coming out…the knife in her hand…Nonso in her hand… “MASHA, CUT IT OUT!” “Jesus!!” she yelled out loud, nearly jumping out of her seat. She turned to Mili and Zeke, who stared at her as pale faced as two Africans could be. “Mash, what the hell is wrong with you?” Zeke’s tone told her he was in problem solving mode and she knew the jig was up. An interrogation was bound to happen. “We have to go,” she said. *** “WHAT WERE
Terror In The Dark
Scared black man.Image: Naijaloaded This is based on real events… Bashir jutted out of bed! 2:46am. He stilled himself and listened. There it was again! There was no mistaking the sharp grating noise of someone trying to open his gate. His instinct was to jump out of bed and confront the person, but common sense (mixed with a healthy dose of fear) prevented him from doing so. He tip-toed to his window instead. Heart in mouth, he raised the curtain slightly. Four men. All holding sticks and machetes. Not too burly, but with those weapons, they looked like giants. Bashir turned back. In the darkness of his room, he couldn’t really see much but he was acutely aware of the sleeping form of Aisha – his fiancée – who had come over for a sleep-over. His heart leaped into his mouth. What would they do to her? He couldn’t bear to picture it…them…over her…holding her down…NO! Now he knew real fear! ‘Who is there?!’ His father shouted. Like most Muslim Northerners, Bashir lived in the same compound as his family; living in a separate apartment to give his family space, but close enough to protect them if the need arose. The need had risen! ‘Who is there I said?’ His father hollered at the intruders. ‘Your Father!‘ One of the men hollered. ‘You in for it!’ At that, Aisha jumped out of bed. ‘Go down baby.’ Bashir whispered before drawing up air into his lungs for a good ole scream. His sisters beat him to the punch. ‘Thieves! Thieves! Thieves!’ Bashir quickly joined in the shouts as Aisha dove straight for the tiles. Though all the men were heading to the main house, one turned towards Bashir’s apartment, with his upraised machete. Bashir ran to the spot beneath his clothes hanger and coiled up in a ball, not knowing if the assailant had any fire power. He didn’t make the slightest sound, though the thumping of his heart was deafening. He hoped it wouldn’t give his location away to his assailant. The robber opened the window of his sitting room and flashed his torchlight. ‘No one is here.’ he shouted to his colleagues. He tried the bedroom window but it was firmly bolted from within. All the while, Bashir’s sisters, mother and father kept shouting that there were thieves in the house. The shouts reached a crescendo when neighbors in other compounds joined in the screams. Bashir got up and started towards the curtain again, only to be plumped down by Aisha. ‘Don’t go there baby!’ She whispered hoarsely, her fear palpable. He pried her off him, trying very hard not to be rough. ‘I just need to find out if they are still here.’ Aisha wouldn’t listen to anything. She kept pulling him down when he tried to get up, refusing to let him put himself in harm’s way. Bashir’s phone rang. There was that moment of frozen silence just before Aisha grabbed the device in a fear-frenzy, trying all her best to end the call. Bashir grabbed the phone from her hand and answered it. The look Aisha gave him (as reflected by the soft glow of the phone) could have quelled a lesser man. He turned away from her and… ‘Hello?’ he all but croaked. Aisha was beyond livid. How could he receive a call in the middle of a robbery? She wanted to slap the sense into him, but she was powerless to do anything. ‘Did they enter your house too?’ he asked the caller, whom Aisha was really beginning to loathe. Bashir listened a bit. ‘Okay…I think they have gone but please, keep calling the police men.’ He listened again. ‘Okay. Thanks man. I owe you one.‘ he said as he ended the call. This time, he got up and went to the curtain. He looked through and couldn’t find anyone. He stood at different angles, using the moon’s guide to search the length and breadth of the compound. Still no one. He knew that it would be fallacy to think they had gone. He remained in his room and listened for any foot falls. There were none. Bashir went back to Aisha. He touched her and felt her jump a bit. ‘It is okay baby. I think they are gone.’ ‘How can you know that?’ ‘I don’t. But I’ve checked all around and I can’t seem to find them. They cannot afford to still be around, especially with the community shouts for help. The police have got to be on their way soon. So…let’s hope for the best.’ Aisha was still skeptical, but she allowed herself to be pulled into his arms as he pulled her into bed. As they laid together, they could both hear their hearts thumping in their respective cages and that seemed to pull them closer. They held each other, urging the other to sleep but not dispelling the adrenaline fast enough to allow that. They were scared, but they at least had each other. *** The ruckus outside jolted Bashir from his sleep. 3:52am. He heard a slight scuffle. Aisha was up like a lightning bolt. She had not slept, listening for the slightest sound and worrying to no end. It seemed like the robbers had returned with reinforcements. The gate was kicked in and five men in the Nigerian army uniform bust into the house. One quickly went into the recesses of the compound, while the others placed themselves strategically around. Though Aisha couldn’t see all that, she quickly went to the floor. ‘Come out.’ One of the men bellowed. Aisha started praying. She felt like this was going to be her last day on earth. It wasn’t surprising when no one responded. One of the men went up the stairs and banged the door. ‘Come out!’ Bashir had already made up his mind that he wasn’t going to respond when he heard his father open the door. He quickly went to his own door and opened it. He had to protect his
