Tag Archives: murder

It’s Another Novocaine Saturday #17

Good evening, everyone…


I’ve totally lost my mind. I don’t think I can heal from this pain. I can’t comprehend why I should be feeling it in the first place. I feel betrayed, broken and lost. I don’t know who I am or where to begin my life from.

The question that keeps hounding me is who is Nididiamaka Onuora? Who am I?

I haven’t eaten since that dumb Oba broke the news to me yesterday. I haven’t come out of my room either. He left the house after I kicked him out of the room the moment he told me he was crazy about me. I was hoping he wouldn’t return but the stupid boy came back and has been bugging me ever since. He thinks he can switch from being my younger brother to my boyfriend. Such an idiot. No wonder his friends call him Nasty. His mind is always foul.

“Didi, Jide is on his way,” he says to me above the sound of music coming from the living room. He is denied access to my bedroom and so he has decided to be a nuisance in the living room, playing loud music just to get on nerves. In-between, he comes to the door to beg for forgiveness or express more of his juvenile love to me, just to worsen my state of mind.

“Since you’ve refused to listen to me, I know you’ll listen to Jide. Popsi has been calling my phone and I’ve refused to answer because I know I’m dead already. But that meeting, I must go for it and defend what I did. Lying to you was fucked up. We shouldn’t have done that.”

I want to tell him that the only reason he told me the truth was because he was selfish but my tongue still feels too heavy to say anything. I am so mad at my mom. I wish she would wake up from her grave and tell me why she lied to me. I want to also know who my real dad is. Where is he? Why did he abandon me?

The tears are tired of flowing. I’m tired too. The bath I just had hasn’t done anything to make me feel better. The last thing on my mind is that family meeting. I don’t want to be lied to some more.

But God! I’m hungry! Food is not something I can do without. Usually, I keep a stash of chocolates and biscuits on my nightstand but it seems either Ehi or my other colleague in the next room finished what was left. Now I have to leave my safe zone to go out to the kitchen and find something to eat. And that silly Nasty is there.

How do I say this? He is the last person I want to see. But hunger drives me to the door. So I walk to it, open it and step out.

But Nasty is in my face, standing too close for comfort. And before I can say anything or move, he wraps his arms around me. I try to push away but he holds me tighter.

“You need this, Di,” he says. “Don’t fight me, baby. You need this. Just let it go.”

I want to slap him. I really, really want to slap him but Oba and his stress have passed my power, so I just let him hug on.

“Damn! You’re so soft, Chubby Di.”

I push him off and begin towards the kitchen. He follows me, dancing to Kiss Daniel’s Raba behind me, trying to force my feet into rhythm. Truth is he and I have mad chemistry on the dance floor. I can’t count the number of parties and clubs he’s taken me to and how, as a duo, we entertained party audiences. Oba totally gets my wild side but beyond that, he’s just a fool. And quite mad to think that I’ll ever date him. I’m two years older than he is. The fact that we’re not blood doesn’t change the way I see him. He’s still my baby brother.

I enter the kitchen and find that there’s food waiting in takeaway packs.

“Who bought all this?” I ask, my first sentence in twenty-four hours. Yes, food can do that to me.

In answer to my question, Oba takes a theatrical bow. “For you, milady. I knew hunger would drive you out soon, so I splurged. I’ve got greens, beans, potatoes, tomatoes, lamb, rams, hotdogs, chicken, turkeys, rabbit. You name it!

I don’t know when I let out laughter at his perfect rendition of the Shirley Caesar thanksgiving chant that is taking over the internet. With Oba, there is never a dull moment but my laughter is short-lived as the heaviness returns without consent. I watch as he serves a meal of jollof rice, plantain, chicken and coleslaw on a plate for me. He takes out water from the fridge and tells me to follow him. He leads me outside to his car, ignoring my protest. His reason is that I’ve been indoors for too long. I quite agree with him when we step out. The cool evening air hits my face and I quit protesting.



We sit in the car, he turns on the radio and while I eat, he gives me a foot massage. Soon, my mood begins to lift. I don’t know if it’s the food or the massage or the relaxing evening breeze.

“Feel better?” Oba asks. He looks sincerely concerned.

“I guess so.”

“I’m really sorry for telling you the truth…”

“No, you’re not.”

“Okay, I’m not but I maybe shouldn’t have said it that way.”


“So are you ready for the family meeting? It’s almost time…”

“I’m not going.”

“Okay.” He shrugs. “Me too, I’ll stay here because if I go home without you, popsi will kill me.”

“Do I look like I care?”

He stares at me with this affectionate expression and smiles.

“What?” I ask.

“Even with your swollen eyes and no makeup, you’re beautiful, Di.”

“You know it’s never going to happen, right?”

“What’s never going to happen?”

“Me and you. So you better erase that puppy look from your face right now. It’s like you don’t have respect.”

He throws his head back and laughs loudly like a donkey. It’s his habit to be loud without warning.

“But seriously, you know you love me, Di, and you know that I’ll be your first.”

“Oh my God! What is wrong with you?”

I kick him and make an attempt to pull my legs away but he holds me back.

“I’ll become like a drug to you after that first time. You will be hooked. Watch and see.”

I open my bottle of water and empty what is left of it over his body before leaving the car to the house. I’m almost at the door when I hear a car drive in. I turn and see Jide’s car heading towards the driveway. I wait for him. He steps out and comes towards me.

“Good evening,” I say.

“Hi Didi.” He looks at his brother. “Is there something wrong with your head?” he asks in Igbo. Oba doesn’t reply.

“Your case will be settled later.” Jide turns to me. “Ndidi, wear your slippers or something, let’s go. We’re late for the meeting.”

“But I don’t want to go,” I complain. He moves closer.

“Didi, it’s going to be fine, okay? Whatever the old man tells you or reveals about your history, it’s going to be fine. You’re a strong girl.”

“I don’t think I am.”

“You are.”

He pats my cheek. “Get your slippers, let’s go.”

As I return to the house, I hear him telling Oba that he suspects daddy ran out of quality sperm before he was conceived. Oba let out his loud donkey laughter.

∞∞∞∞  ∞∞∞∞  ∞∞∞∞

Daddy has not been this angry in a while. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen him this angry. Mex and Oba are the objects of his wrath but since Mex is the only one present, he gets all the heat. I sincerely feel for him. I was mad at him when Yazmin left but right now, he’s all messed up. No one has heard from her and we’re not even sure that she left the country. It’s been more than twenty-four hours; she is yet to get in touch with anyone. Her family in Mexico has confirmed that she is not with them as well. We sincerely hope she is fine wherever she is.

“You will go to the police station and file a missing person’s report,” daddy instructs. There is still anger in his tone but it is now contained. “Are you hearing me, Chukwuemeka?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mex’s head is bowed. I’ve never seen him so morose.

“After you have done that, you will hire a private investigator to look for her. While that one is doing his job, you will report yourself to Father Michael for special prayers. Your case has gone out of human power. You need God. He has to step in and fix your marriage situation. You and your wives cannot go on like this. Let God guide you on what to do.”

I look at Nne. She seems little disturbed over what’s happening but I know she is worried. Jiney is good distraction for her. They both seem lost in their world of baby warbles and smiles. Everyone else in the room is helping themselves with the bananas and groundnut Elsie came along with. They are all positive that Yazmin is fine. Jide, Oba and Didi are absent. So is Tola; she is unavoidably at work.

“Erhinyuse,” daddy calls.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Where is your husband?”

“He’s on his way. He’s with Oba and Didi.”

At the mention of Oba’s name, daddy’s face turns stony. He gets into a bluster in Igbo that seems to go on forever but nobody responds to it. I have been told that this has been his mood since yesterday. Luckily for us, we get a short break from his anger when Jide walks in with Didi. Daddy softens as he spots her. He calls her over to the special space kept for her, in-between him and Nne. Jide lifts Jiney from Nne’s laps. As I had predicted, he falls for her Versace outfit.

“Who did this beautiful thing to you?” he asks, kissing her.


He goes on with his kisses as he takes the space next to me.

“Obasi!” daddy calls, his eyes fixed on the entrance door. “Don’t let me go outside and meet you there!”

“Will you come in?!” Nne shouts. “Why are you hiding like a thief outside the door?!”

Obasi enters the house but remains at the door.

“He’s not even wearing a shirt,” daddy mutters after blessing him with hostile eyes.

“Obasi, is this how you drove around today?” Nne asks.

“Ndidi poured water on me, so I had to take off my t-shirt.”

“My friend, find space and sit down!” Nne orders. “Look at how you’re disfiguring your body with tattoos. Which one is this new one on your chest now?”

Obasi ignores her. He slumps down beside Mex who barely acknowledges his presence. His eyes are glued to the floor. The room goes into silence as we all wait for daddy to get on with what he has to say. He wastes no time in getting into business.

“Ndidiamaka,” he speaks.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Your phone call yesterday evening was one of the hardest phone calls I’ve ever had to listen to. I was broken to hear you cry like that. It was indeed painful. All because of that loose mouth over there.”

No one looks at Oba.

“You didn’t have to find out about your paternity the way you did. If there was anyone who owed you the truth, it was I…”

“You lied to me.”

Didi is not known for her good manners. A few eyebrows are raised at the manner in which she just interrupted the old man.

“I did lie, and I apologize for it. But it was all for your good that the truth was held from you…”

“How? You and my mom sat down together and conspired to lie to me. How was that good?”

“It was for best, Ndidiamaka.”

“I believed you. I trusted you…”

“You can still trust me.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. You lied!”

“Ndidi!” I scold. “Have some respect!”

“Let her be,” daddy replies. “She’s understandably hurt. She needs to express it.”

“She should calm down, abeg.”

“Ndidi,” daddy continues, “your mother, as you know, singlehandedly raised you. Your father disappeared from her life the moment she told him she was pregnant, and she never heard from him again. When she met me, she wanted me to adopt you. Because of the ungodly relationship we had at the time, I told her I didn’t think it was right. I had no idea she had gone and changed your surname to Onuora a year after our affair. I only found out about this when she contacted me earlier this year. My dear, her intention was from a loving heart. She wanted you to bear a good name and have a better life than she or your grandmother had. She loved you wholeheartedly, Ndidiamaka, and that was why she did what she did.”

I look at Didi and see her eyes glistening with moisture.

“And all of you, you knew and held the truth from me?” she questions. “Why?”

“Because we are a family with a big heart,” Nne replies. This is the first time she is speaking on anything related to Didi. “It was difficult to accept that you were my husband’s ex-mistress’ daughter. Difficult for all of us here to take it in. But we did and opened our hearts to you. If anything, Ndidiamaka, you should be grateful. Not anyone can do what we did. You already have a share in this family’s wealth. You have homes you can sleep in and nobody will maltreat you. You have brothers and sisters. You have a father and you have a mother. Why then are you sad? Why are you angry? Why are you not thanking God for this blessing?”

Didi covers her face with her hands and starts sobbing.

“I lost the only daughter I had and God never replaced her. But God brought you my way. I will admit that it has been difficult to let you in but since my husband has said you are his, you are now mine, Ndidi. So, can you stop fighting us for opening our hearts to you?”

“I’m sorry,” Didi cries. “I just didn’t want to accept that you are not my family. I don’t want to be anyone else but an Onuora. This is the best family in the world.”

Awww. I absolutely agree with her. I have no regrets cutting off from my siblings and becoming part of this clan. Didi couldn’t have said it better.

“It’s okay.” Nne lays her hand on Didi’s back. “Stop crying.”

Her touch does quite the opposite of what it is intended to do. Ndidi’s tears go full throttle and Nne finds herself soothing her while we watch. The scene makes me emotional. I have a couple of moments like this with Nne, times when Jide acts like a complete arse and I run to her to seek comfort. Her touch is like a balm that goes in deep to evoke memories of a mother you will never see again but at the same time promises you devotion and warmth. Nne is gold. She is the glue that holds us together.

Didi is calm now, her tears wiped by Nne’s wrapper. They are conversing in Igbo and I pick out a few words. The language is growing on me by the day. I have learned the world’s popular languages quite easily but Igbo is one toughie. I don’t know why.

“Obasi,” daddy calls. He doesn’t sound as angry anymore. I guess it’s because of the way things have turned out. I pray he lets this pass.


“I had a very perfect plan to deal with you. Very perfect one. But God just told me to cancel those plans.”

“We thank God o,” Oba replies.

“However, you will still be punished.”

“Dad, let’s not go against God’s will.”

“Of all your brothers, you are the only one who knows nothing about the family business. I spared you because of your mother. But that’s going to change. Every Saturday, you will go to the shop.”


“Yes. You will learn about what has brought money into this family. I cannot have sons who cannot take over from me when I’m gone. So, you will be there every Saturday. 8am sharp! And not the shop here. The other one at Lekki.”

“Kuku kill me.”

Didi sticks out her tongue at Oba.

“And you’re not going there as a boss. There’s already someone in charge. You will be there as an apprentice. A boy.”

“Haba popsi! I’m your lastborn o.”

“If you like be my only born, I have said what I have said.”

“I’m sorry nau. I only told Didi the truth out of the love I have for her.”

“Your apology is coming too late. Starting this Saturday, you’ll get involved in the family trade.”

Oba is clearly pissed. He stands up, murmuring under his breath. He disappears into the kitchen bringing an end to the meeting. Jide announces that he has to rush off to work. I frown. He’s going to be on the night shift for a while. I hate spending my nights alone.

“Let me take you ladies home,” he tells me.

“Have you spoken to Mex?” I ask.

“He’s not talking to me. He thinks I somehow convinced Yaz to leave.”

“Did you?”


“Well, whatever it is he feels about you, please don’t walk away from him now. He needs you.”

“He has Kalu. I have a patient who has been in labor for two days. Can we just go?”

I don’t argue with him. In fact, I have learned not to come between him and Mex. They always sort themselves out. It won’t be unusual to wake up one of these mornings and see two of them playing a computer game in my living room.

I stand up as Jide passes a sleeping Jiney to me.

“You look tired.” He rubs my shoulder. “Please, go to bed the moment you get home.”

I nod. He leans forward and kisses me.

“Ehen! I have an announcement to make!” Oba barges back in. We all face him. “I have feelings for Ndidi.”

“Good Lord!” Elsie exclaims.

“Now that she knows that we’re not related, I am fully into toasting her. Just thought you should all know.”

He barely finishes speaking when Nne rises up, picks one of her slippers and goes after him. This leaves everyone in laughter except Mex. He remains in his comatose state.

Jide stares at his watch and hurries me out of the house. As we leave, I think about Yazmin. I do hope she’s okay.

∞∞∞∞  ∞∞∞∞  ∞∞∞∞

I am blushing. I can’t believe I am. At my age, a man’s words shouldn’t be getting me like this but Seyi puts the S in suave and I’m falling hard. Okay, maybe not hard but I’m falling still. He’s funny, gentlemanly and refined. We have been chatting since Sunday and it’s been worth my time. He hasn’t asked me out on a date yet but I don’t mind. Somehow, after all my disappointments in life, I’m not in a rush to get swept off my feet by a man. Yet, I’m enjoying the banter Seyi offers. It’s safe for me being behind my phone, I guess.

-For how long are you going to be away?

He has just told me that he’s on his way to the airport. He’s leaving on a business trip to Singapore.

-I don’t know. It depends on how things go. Two weeks, three weeks tops

-Do you always travel?

-Yeah. I don’t have a wife to keep me back home

-Why aren’t you married yet, Seyi? Been meaning to ask you

-Been meaning to ask you the same

-I haven’t met the one yet

-For me, it’s more like a case of priority. Marriage is not a huge thing on my list

That’s a letdown.

-And all my friends are married

-Don’t you get lonely?

-All the time

-So how do you handle it?

-I cope somehow, with distractions

-What type?

-Before I answer that, I need to ask

-Go ahead

-Please don’t get upset by the question but do you have an issue with bras?

I cringe. I had hoped this would never come up in our conversation.

Lol. Would you believe it if I told you that I actually forgot to wear a bra?

-Interesting. What about this?hauwa6

He sends a picture of me which he had obviously taken without my knowledge. And I’m thinking, shame on you, Hauwa. You forgot to wear a bra. Again!

It turned out that Sunday was not the only day we met. I had lost an earring in his car that night and he brought it over the next day, on his way to the office. Honestly, I didn’t know I had been indecent that morning. I had just thrown over a top, slipped into a pair of shorts and ran out. I thought tripping over a stone and almost falling into his arms as I stepped out of my gate was the most embarrassing thing. Now, I have this to worry about too. He’s probably thinking I’m loose.

-You always go without bras?

-I naturally don’t like them

-In all fairness, you have a great pair

I don’t know what to make of the compliment. Is it a sexual come-on?

-And hey, I’m all for you going natural

I smile at his words, positioning myself on my bed to be more comfortable. I had a long night at work and I ought to be sleeping it off but some things are better than sleep.

He goes offline for a while and returns.

-Sorry, I had to take a call

-It’s okay

-I’d like to spoil you a little. Have you been to Sing before?


-Would you like to come? Just for three days…or more if you don’t mind

Wow. Just like that? My boobs must have done a number on him.

-How easy is it to obtain a visa?

-Say yes and I’ll send someone your way to facilitate it

-Um…can I think about it? Give me a few minutes


I get off Whatsapp and dial Honey’s number. It rings for a long time and then Jide answers it.

“She’s in the bathroom. You can leave a message.”

He yawns. He sounds sleepy. I remember seeing him doing rounds at the hospital. He probably just got home.

“Jide, I need some advice.”

“This morning? Geez, Hauwa. You’re always doing things at odd hours.”

“Shut up jor and help a friend out.”

“What is it?”

“Seyi just asked if I could join him in Singapore for a few days. You think I should go?”

Jide doesn’t give it a thought. “Yes, go. I’ll cover for you at work.”

“You didn’t even think about it.”

“Seyi is good people. I have had the privilege of being with him on a few occasions. He’s a cool guy and a close friend to the Ditorusins who are godparents to Jiney. I endorse him. Please, go and have fun. You haven’t done that in a long time.”

“What if he asks for sex in return?”

“Grown ass men don’t ask for sex and your body is not something you give a man. If sex happens, it happens. If you don’t want it to, it won’t happen. Stop acting like a teenager.”

“You think it’ll be fun?”

“It will be fun, Huawei.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Stop asking too many questions and be the spontaneous Hauwa I used to know. Now, get off my wife’s phone.”


I hang up and return to Seyi.

-I’m back

-So your answer is…


-She said yes!

I laugh.

-Expect a call this morning. So, tell me how your night went

I prop my legs on the wall and type away.

∞∞∞∞  ∞∞∞∞  ∞∞∞∞

“This was how it happened with me and Gen. I fell hard and fast just like that.”

Seyi is on his way to the airport. Dominic is his driver. Dressed in shorts and a shirt, Dominic left the house quite early to chauffer his friend to the airport. Having been forced to stay away from business trips, he finds ways to remain relevant.

“Nobody’s falling for anybody,” Seyi replies to Dominic’s comment.

“You just asked her over to Sing. You don’t even know this girl.”

“Not girl. Woman. She’s thirty-eight.”

“Okay. Woman.”

“I like her, okay? But it’s not like how you fell for your wife. Gen used charm on you. There’s no other explanation.”

“She did, actually.” Dominic smiles at the memory of watching Genesis dancing naked in the club at the early hours of a certain morning two over years ago. He remembers not caring for the weirdness of what she was doing but getting carried away by the perfection that was her body. That night, he knew he would have her no matter what it cost him.

“Hauwa doesn’t seem like your type, though,” he tells Seyi.

“And what’s my type?” Seyi asks, eyes on his phone.

“Gen’s type. Cultured, classy, sophisticated…”

“And Hauwa is…?” Seyi asks.

“A little rough on the edges.”

“You’re referring to the boob thing?”

“Ah.” Dominic holds back a chuckle.

“Nick, you were staring.”

“We were all staring. And she was oblivious. She lacks the deportment your women usually have.”

“And that’s a breath of fresh air. I want something different.”

“Well, apart from the fact that she’s good-looking, she’s real and unapologetic. I find that attractive.”

“Don’t let Gen hear that.”

Dominic gives a smirk. Seyi goes on with his chat. It doesn’t take long for them to arrive at the airport. Seyi alights from the car and Dominic steers it away to head back home. On his way down the strip that takes him to Ikeja, he receives a call from Iya Idaya.

“Daddy Tonbra,” her voice shakes. “Is Iya Idaya.”

“I know,” Dominic answers, wondering why she does that every time she calls him.

“Something is wrong with Zach o. I wan carry him to the hospital.”

“Zach? What’s wrong with him?”

“Since yesterday, he is purging. Today he start to vomit. His temperature go up. I give him paracetomol so that it will come down, e no work. I say let me go and pour him cold water on his body, that’s how he start to shake. He enter convulsion.”

Being an experienced father, Dominic knows that convulsions can be a normal part of children’s lives in the early stages. Hence, the news is met with little shock. However, he isn’t so sure about Iya Idaya’s ability to handle the situation, giving her panicky reaction which he senses over the phone.

“Get the driver to take you to the family hospital immediately. Is he still seizing?”


“Is he still convulsing?”


“Lie him on his side and don’t put a spoon in his mouth…”

“Ah! I have put it o.”

“Remove it immediately. Lie him on his side. Put a wet towel at the back of his head to lower his temperature. Do this before you enter the car.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Put me on speakerphone.”

Dominic hears the sound of shuffling for a couple of seconds. “I have put it.”

“Oya, attend to Zach.”

“Yes, sir.”

There’s long silence and some muffled sounds and then Iya Idaya returns.

“He has stop.”

“Good. Now, take him to the hospital. I’ll call the doctor and tell them to expect you.”

“Okay, sir.”

“Where is my wife?”

“She have go to work. I’m calling her, she’s not answering.”

“Be on your way. I’ll be there in a bit.”

Dominic hangs up and tries Genesis’ number. He gets across.

“Iya Idaya has been calling you.”

“Sorry, I was in a meeting with a client who is rushing out of the country. What’s going on?”

“Zach is having a suspected case of food poisoning and Iya Idaya is taking him to the hospital. Since you’re closer, can you hurry there to make sure things are fine?”

“Wow. I’m on the mainland and I’m not sure I can make it there fast but I’m already dashing out now.”

She adds that she noticed Zach had mild diarrhea the day before but concluded it was the milk he was taking. She didn’t know it would get serious. After the phone call, Dominic connects the family doctor and informs him about Iya Idaya’s arrival. Done with that, he connects with her to keep up with Zach’s progress.

“He is sleeping, sir.”

“Where is his sister?”

“She’s here.”

Dominic gets off the line and dials Lexus.

“Tonbra, are you on the island?”

A sleepy voice mutters in reply.

“Wake up, child.”

“Yes, Dominic?”

“Are you on the island?”


“Good. Hurry to the family hospital. Zach is sick and neither Gen nor I are on the mainland. He’s in the care of Iya Idaya. Go there to make sure everything is good.”

“Sure, dad.”

Dominic ends the call and relaxes back in his seat. He gives no attention to the ominous feeling trying to dampen his mood. To drown it out, he turns on the radio. The drive to the island is a long one and more than an hour later with some little traffic, he is at the hospital. Genesis has also just arrived but Lexus has been there for a while. Zach is attended to and then cleared to go back home. The doctor calls Dominic and Genesis aside and explains to them that he suspects Zach ingested a chemical. He claims he speaks from experience.

They thank him, pay the bills and find their way home. In the kitchen, they throw serious questions at Iya Idaya over the possibility that Zach came in contact with a chemical.

“It’s not possible,” the troubled woman shakes her head in innocence. “No detergent, no soap, no cream, no bleach…nothing. I swear.”

“You don’t have to swear.” Genesis places a hand on her. “We just wanted to be sure.”

“I take care of them well-well like my own children. If I do them wickedness, make God punish me.”

“It’s okay,” Dominic says.

“Maybe e fit be that time that we go to mama house on Sunday…”

“What mama?” Dominic frowns.

“Mamisi,” Genesis answers. Dominic’s reaction is a sharp glower at her.



“My children went to Mamisi’s house on Sunday?”


“And nobody told me?”

“I thought you knew…”

“Knew? How?”

“Nick you were home…”

“With my friends! I was entertaining them and you bundled up my kids to that witch’s house!”

Iya Idaya quietly withdraws.

“Nick, why are you talking like this?”

“You took my kids to that woman’s house without my permission, Genesis!”

Our kids, Dominic. And I didn’t think I needed your permission.”

“She did something to Zach! You know that!”

“No, I don’t know that. God! Nick, Zach is a toddler. He’s at a stage where he sees stuff, picks it and shoves it down his throat–”

“She poisoned him!”

“She would never do such a thing, Nick.”

“She would never do such a thing?! The same woman who arranged five men to rape you?! And did the same to Nancy?! Both of you, her daughters!  The same woman who killed your family! Burnt them to death while they slept!”

His words cut Genesis deep, invoking memories she would rather not recall.

“This is the same woman you’re defending, Genesis?! Is it until she kills you before you realize that she is evil?!”

Genesis walks away from him to the fridge.

“I’m going to her house right away…”

“No, Nick… Let me talk to her. Please.”

Dominic stops, considers her words.

“Whatever comes out of that discussion, I want you and her to know that she is no longer welcome here. And my kids are not allowed near her. You too are not allowed to visit her…”

“Dominic, what is wrong with you?”

“You are not allowed near her! Simple! You want me to bring back the security service we used to have around here and get you bodyguards before you know that I mean business?”

“You won’t try that.”

“I’ll do it if you don’t stop seeing her.”

He storms out, leaving Genesis shaken. Iya Ida returns to the kitchen.


Genesis looks at her.

“I want to tell you something.”


“Daddy Tonbra did not allow me finish what I want to say before…”

“Go ahead,” Genesis answers tiredly.

Iya Idaya tearfully recounts what she thinks might have happened to Zach on Sunday. According to her, she was having a case of diarrhea that day and upon getting to Mamisi’s home, she asked to use the toilet. As the story went, Mamisi had been applying hair relaxer to her hair when they arrived. Iya Idaya had expressed her fear over the kids touching the chemical but Mamisi scolded her, telling her she was a mother who had raised kids herself. When Iya Idaya returned from the toilet, she came upon Mamisi rinsing Zach’s mouth with some water. Mamisi claimed Zach had picked something off the floor and shoved it into his mouth. When asked what it was, she said it was a bread crumb from what she had for breakfast. The hair relaxer was nowhere in sight, hence Iya Idaya had no reason to fear. Zach seemed fine and she let the matter slide.

“Now, I dey seriously suspect her,” the elderly woman concludes. “Madam Genesis, no be say I dey look your mama with one kind eye o.”

“I understand, Iya Idaya. Thank you. This helps.”

Genesis leaves the kitchen and goes upstairs to the children’s bedroom. Dominic is there, watching the kids sleep, both of them in the same crib.

“I’m going to see Mamisi,” Genesis speaks softly. “And after that, I’ll see her again. And again – as I wish. Don’t ever speak to me that way in front of anyone.”

Dominic gives her a glance and goes back to watching the kids as she leaves.

∞∞∞∞  ∞∞∞∞  ∞∞∞∞


It’s the worst thing to wake up unhappy. And very hungry.

That’s my mood right now. I have heaped a plate with everything my mind desires to eat; and in a bowl, I have cereal, just in case I am not satisfied. There’s also a glass of freezing orange juice to wash it down.

I chow in anger, pushing strips of bread into my mouth like a hog. Dara is standing close by. She’s watching me with those round eyes of hers in a questioning manner. When I hand her some of what I’m eating, she shakes her head. She keeps staring at me. I continue with my food. I don’t have time for anyone this morning.

Soon the object of my anger makes an appearance. He nears the table, stops and looks at me and shakes his head before turning to the kitchen.

“Dara’s diapers have finished o!” I yell. “We’ve also run out of water for the dispenser! And tissue paper too!”

He returns to me. “I’ll buy the water on my way home. You can get the rest.”

“I’m not getting anything. Shebi it’s you that wants to do everything. Go ahead and handle it all. Me, I’m just going to sit here, eat, watch TV all day and not call Joey.”

“Celia, haba! You’re still pissed over last night?”

I push a whole sausage into my mouth, ignoring his question.

Last night, I came home, hot with anger over what had transpired in Naomi’s house. I spilled everything to Shady and told him about my plans to call Joey to deal with Charles. And what did my sweet husband do? He scolded me for going to somebody’s house to look for trouble. And, as if that wasn’t enough, he told me Joey has no business with the case. If there was anybody that was supposed to handle Charles, it was him.

“How?!” I cried. “You don’t have the means to!”

And my husband looked at me as if I had just told him that his dick was small.

“You’re saying I can’t handle him? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Shady, Joey is a soldier. You’re not. You’re not even a policemen or a civil defense officer. You’re a car showroom manager. Are you going to use one of the cars to run Charles down? It would be nice if you did but…”

“You just insulted me.”


“So your brother is better than me? You have an issue and you run to Joey and not to me?”

“But I just came to you and you told me that I went to look for trouble. Joey will never tell me that. He would go there, beat somebody’s father up and come and ask me questions later.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t handle shit like that.”

“Then leave it for those who can.”

Shady, at that point, lost his cool and gave me some nice tongue-lashing. I wasn’t surprised. He had never supported my troublesome side. But if he had stopped at the scolding, it would have been fine. He went a step further and insisted Joey was not to be brought into it.


“Because, Celia, it makes me feel less than the man I am.”

“This is not about your manhood, Shadrach.”

“It is! It has everything to do with my manhood! Some idiot out there manhandled you and you want to call your brother to deal with him?!”


Shady gave up on me. “You know what?! Do it your way! I give up!”

He picked a pillow and left the room. I slept alone after attending to the injury on my forehead. I woke up two hours ago, still nursing the anger which was made worse by hunger. Hunger that has refused to be satisfied. I am now on my cereal bowl but it seems to me that I’m craving for something else. I don’t know what.

“Daddy!” Dara cries, stretching out her arms to Shady. I have ignored his questions and attempts at conversation. I pretend not to see the contrite look on his face. He can be waving ten white flags before me and I will not budge.

“We’re going out to get the things you asked for,” he announces. “You want me to buy anything else? Maybe more food?”

“Very funny.”

“We’ll be back.”

He leaves the house with Dara and I stop eating for a few minutes. I start to cry. Shady is frustrating. His laidback manner gets on my nerves. I hate the way he handles things. Naomi is in danger. Charles can kill her any minute and all Shady cares about is his pride.

“You’re having an unhealthy attachment to that woman,” Peace tells me when I call her to explain. “Maybe you should chill a little.”

Peace’s words make me weep more. But I do so silently so as not to validate her assertion. I endure the advice she renders, hang up and call Mary.

“Have you ever thought about opening a shelter for abused women, Cee? You’re so passionate about situations like this.”

“Shey me?” I sniff silently, already feeling better talking to Mary.

“Yes. You should give it some thought.”

“I should.”

“Oya, stop crying…”

“How do you know I’m crying?”

“Na wa for you o. What type of question is that? I know you nau.”

I laugh.

“But concerning the Naomi’s husband’s issue, please let Shady handle it.”

I sigh. “Okay.”

“You remember he hit you and he was sorry about it. He might feel this is his chance to redeem himself.”

“Hmmm. I never thought of it that way.”

“Please let your husband protect you. Joey will be someone else’s husband soon and he can go and be doing Kung Fu for anyone that touches his wife.”

“You that boned his side and went for Omo Igbo.”

“Omo Igbo that rocked my world last night.”


“Without a condom,” she adds in a whisper which comes in a giggle.

“Please, gist me.” I temporarily forget my issues and press my phone to my ear.

“Well, I did as Honey advised. I had a bath, changed into a short dress and waited until I heard his car drive in. I then ran to him, got in and well… you know…”

Mary is a prude. She will never give details of her sex life. Unlike Noka who would weave a tale so juicy you’ll be wondering why she isn’t writing erotica.

“You guys did it in the car?”

“No. I…went down on him. And then we went in and did it in the kitchen.”

“Ooooh. I’m happy for you. Don’t stop surprising him like that.”

“I’ll sha come to you for more ideas.”

“Me keh. Go to Honey. I think she’s the sexpert amongst us.”

“Em…I have to go. We’ll talk later?”


She rings off before I can say goodbye. I wipe away dry tears and stare at my half-consumed cereal dish. I’m still hungry for something else. I gulp down the juice, clear the dishes and head to my bedroom. Shady comes in with Dara.

“Everything’s bought and I’m off to the office.”

I consider maintaining my anger but it’s all out of intensity now. “Won’t you have breakfast?”

“No. I’ll eat at work.”

He comes towards me and kisses the scratch on my forehead which is covered with a band aid.

“I’ll be a little late today. Don’t wait up for me.”

I say nothing. He walks out, taking Dara with him. On his own, he had woken her up, bathed her, fed her, dressed her for daycare and packed her a bag. It all started when I was away at Fiji and he hasn’t been able to break the routine. Plus, he says it helps him bond with his daughter.

I stand at the door and wave at her. She doesn’t respond. It makes me a little sad. Maybe I should have another baby.

I turn back in. My phone is ringing. I feel uneasy when I see that it’s Naomi calling. I fear that something has gone wrong.


She doesn’t speak. All I hear is her sobbing voice.


“Cece?” she calls and continues sobbing. This goes on for almost a minute. I try to get her to stay calm but every time she opens her mouth to speak, she breaks down. So, I wait until she is collected enough to say a word.

“Talk to me, Nay.”

“I k-k-killed him, Cece.”

“What?” My voice is scarcely audible.

“I killed Charles, Celia. I killed my husband… I don’t know what to do. I killed him… There’s blood everywhere.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“Nooooo,” she bawls. “Please come, call the police, call a lawyer… I killed my husband.”

I feel a strong shiver spread across my body, bringing with it quick nausea.

“Are you there, Cece?”

“Yes, Nay. I’m here.”

The nausea persists and I feel an urge to throw up. I aim for the toilet.

“Nay, let me call you back.”

“Please, don’t go.”

“I’ll call you back.”

I hang up and retch over the toilet. In a heap, my breakfast finds its way out of my system.

Naomi is calling again. I don’t answer. I’m still throwing up. I stay in that position until I’m done. And then I flush the toilet, let the seat down and sit there for a while, trying to comprehend what she just told me.

“Nay?” I finally answer her call. “I’m coming over with a lawyer. We’ll be on our way soon.”

“Okay. Please hurry.”

I terminate the call and dial Bobby’s number. As it rings, the enormity of what Naomi did hits me. I didn’t see this twist coming. I didn’t see it at all.


Images: pikabu.rutaginstant.comUK.COM

The Stilettos 2 [Secondary School Tales]

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Dark clouds passed away from the moon and a violent wind began. Omasan hugged herself against the cold and stood there in the darkness, searching her heart to see if she felt any regret at what she had just done but there wasn’t even as much as a tug. Instead, there was a wicked smile begging to spread out her lips. What was done was done. It had been a fight to the death and she had won. Hence, there was nothing left to do but head back.

The journey to Fatima Dorm was in very fast steps; it felt as though she flew there, spending seconds and not minutes. She did not realize that she still had the left stiletto in her hand until she arrived at the dorm gate and needed to open it. She paused, stared at the shoe and seriously contemplated throwing it away but her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of sobbing coming from the garden tap. Knowing the gate would creak noisily if she pushed it in, Omasan hid at an impossible angle and strained her neck to see who was crying at that witching hour. What she saw made her lose her footing and she tumbled backwards, falling to the ground.

“But she fell,” Omasan said to herself, shaking her head. Utter disbelief filled her. She had never believed in ghosts or anything supernatural before. Had Miss Boma crawled out of the pit alive or was she really dead and her spirit returned to haunt her?

The sobbing at the tap stopped and the gate creaked open seconds later. Omasan dashed out of her hiding place and ducked behind a shrub and from there watched Miss Boma leave the dorm. She studied every inch of the woman carefully for signs that she really was the same person she had pushed down Satan’s Hill but there was nothing amiss about her, not even a bruise. Her left leg was not broken and she was using it effortlessly. The only thing odd was the fact that she was walking with bare feet, holding the right stiletto in her hand.

Something brushed under Omasan and on impulse, she jumped and Miss Boma turned in her direction. Their eyes locked together in one frozen moment and Miss Boma dropped the shoe in her hand to the ground. The thing that had brushed under Omasan was a black cat belonging to the gateman. It had always enjoyed the girl’s company because she was the only one who cared enough to feed it leftovers and didn’t consider it part of the dark world as the other girls did. As it purred softly, circling round her legs, Omasan tried her best to stay still, glaring back at the ghostly vision that was Miss Boma. She desired so badly to touch her, just to know if she was real or if her silly mind was playing its usual pranks. But Miss Boma was not going to give her that opportunity; she turned around and bolted into the night.

Omasan’s first reaction was to laugh, though nothing seemed funny. The way Miss Boma took to her heels was nothing natural. She had heard many stories of ghost hauntings from the other girls but she never believed them. Now she knew ghosts were for real and they walked the same plane as humans, but for some uncanny reason, Omasan wasn’t afraid. She walked to the spot where the right stiletto had fallen, stared at it and also at the other one in her hand. Now, she had the complete pair all to herself; Miss Boma was never going near them again. The thought made her smile. She wore the shoes and shut her eyes, enjoying the moment, feeling a rush of life flowing through her. she began to sing.

Lady kois-kois is married to sa-tan…

Back in the day she was a man

With testicles inside her pants

She has no heart because it has been damned…

She laughed, spun around and enjoyed the echo of her voice as it caressed the night. With springy steps she went straight into the dorm. Yellow Room was fast asleep when she got in but she did not care. She walked right through the aisle with the loud kois-kois sound the girls knew very well, and fell right into bed without any apologies. Some of the girls stirred but they went back to sleep immediately. Miss Boma making rounds in the middle of night was a normal thing.



The next day didn’t begin very well. Omasan woke up late and found that the whole dorm was empty. How could the girls not have woken her? Even Linda, her bunkmate? Normally, she was always the last to rise from bed in the morning but Linda always woke her. Or did they leave her in bed as a prank just like they had done during her birthday?

She shut her eyes and wished she could go back to sleep again. She didn’t really feel like going for classes. Maybe if she dozed off for just thirty minutes more…

A sound coming from afar made her alert. It was the distinct steps of Miss Boma stilettos. They were slow and deliberate as they neared Yellow Room. Should she run and hide? What good would it do? Ghosts could see everything. So she remained on her bed, beneath her blanket and waited…

Kois-kois kois-kois kois-kois kois-kois kois-kois…

The sound came closer and stopped at her corner and with one swoop, her blanket was flung to the floor. Omasan kept her eyes shut and held her breath for so long until she felt she was floating. When she heard nothing more, she slowly opened her eyes. Staring down into her face was Miss Boma. Fear she had never experienced before gripped her and she screamed, covering her eyes with her hands. The entire dorm echoed her scream for a long time and after that, there was utter silence.

Omasan waited, not sure if Miss Boma was still there, praying she wasn’t. But she heard nothing, just the sound of the birds outside. Gradually, she let down her hands and uncovered her eyes and saw that she was alone. Miss Boma was gone. She sighed in relief and hurriedly slipped into her school uniform, not caring to shower. In minutes, she was on her way to class.

The day went by in an eerie manner for her and she began to believe that being haunted by a ghost was not the walk in the park she had imagined. She saw Miss Boma everywhere—at the school shop, on the path between the library and the admin block, behind the car park and in the chemistry lab. It seemed everywhere she went, the woman went also. Omasan dodged classes completely to avoid being questioned about Miss Boma since she was the last to be seen with her. She also missed other activities and hid in a dirty storeroom until late night when she felt it was time to go back to the dorm.

It was dark and cold but she didn’t feel affected by anything; all she wanted to do was lie on her bed. Yellow Room was dead quiet and the lights were out as Omasan walked in. Silently, she tiptoed to her corner and was about to climb into bed when her bunkmate, Linda, jumped off the top of the bunk, fell to the floor and began screaming hysterically. Omasan sighed and rolled her eyes. Linda and her fearful ways were about to put her into trouble. The whole room was roused by the noise and someone turned on the lights. One of the prefects, Senior Amina, walked to Linda and asked her what the matter was but the girl just kept screaming and pointing. Omasan felt like breaking her head. However, her eyes caught the reason why Linda was so terrified and she broke into a smile. The gateman’s black cat was sitting on Linda’s pillow, its tail curled around its legs as it stared at her with wild eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Omasan asked the nameless cat. “Get off the bed!” she ordered and the animal jumped to the floor. “I’ll just chase it out,” Omasan smiled at her roommates, using the opportunity to leave the room and escape the prefects’ questions about where she had been. As she and her feline friend made their way out, the girls gave room for them, hopping unto their beds and scurrying to corners.

What superstition! Omasan thought as she walked by. Outside she agonized over what lie she would tell the prefects but nothing came to mind. After she sent the cat on its way, she braced herself for any type of punishment and headed back in, but she stopped in her tracks when she heard the girls whispering.

“After she left with Miss Boma, she didn’t come back yesterday night…” someone said.

“She came back,” Linda retorted.

“Are you sure?” Senior Amina asked.

“Yes. She came in but when I called her name she pretended like she didn’t hear me. I think she even came with Miss Boma.”

“Oh, you heard the kois-kois in the night too?” another girl asked.

“Yes,” Linda replied. “But I didn’t open my eyes.”

“Me, I opened but I didn’t see any Miss Boma.” A third girl said and other girls agreed with her. They also heard Miss Boma the previous night.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Senior Amina said. “Miss Boma did not show up for classes at all today…”

“But I saw her in school,” Linda interjected. “She was at the library and admin block and even at the car park.”

“Didn’t Omasan tell you where they went to yesterday night?”

“No,” Linda answered.

“That Omasan! I wonder where she went to now, and that cat…hmmm… You girls should make sure it doesn’t enter here again. The next time it does, we’ll kill it. A black cat appearing means something bad has happened.”

Omasan drew back. Now she couldn’t go back in. Surely Senior Amina knew what she had done.

“Tomorrow, I will have to report to the principal about Omasan’s disappearing act. She needs to be punished. Her behavior is unacceptable. All of you, go back to sleep. You and you, go and lock the entrance door. If Miss Boma comes for her rounds, she will have to knock before we let her in.”

Omasan quietly but quickly ran out of the dorm as two girls exited Yellow Room to do Senior Amina’s bidding. She hurried outside and hid behind a huge mango tree near the gate and watched as the girls locked the rail doors leading into the dorm. She remained there for hours, alone and sad. She knew her time in the school was over. By morning, she would be gone. During classes, she would pack a few things and sneak out of school to her mother’s place in town. She would confess what she had done and her mother would cover up for her after a few cane lashes. But she will be safe; no one would know the truth about Miss Boma.

Omasan shivered at the thought and got up from her hiding place. Someone had rung the morning bell morning bell at the boys’ dorm. It was 4am and she knew it was time to find somewhere else to hide.

She picked an abandoned building behind the boys’ dorm, just before Satan’s Hill. There she found a plank on the floor and slept off.



At noon, Omasan woke up. A certain loud noise had stirred her. It was the sounds of men at work and it was coming from Satan’s Hill. Her heart raced wildly within her. They were digging up Miss Boma’s body and they will find it. They will also find the stilettos in her box under her bunk and they will know she killed her.

Omasan got to her feet and ran out of the building and towards Fatima Dorm to hide the evidence. Gratefully, the gates were open and she hurried in but as she stepped into Yellow Room, she was greeted by the unwelcome sight of the principal and Senior Amina at her corner. She quickly withdrew but stopped when she saw Miss Boma with them. Obviously, they couldn’t see her, even as she stood in their midst. What was she doing there?

Bravely, Omasan edged forward, aware that her clothes were dirty and she smelled. She would think of a lie on the spot and a pretty damn good one, but first, she needed to know what Miss Boma was doing there.

“Omasan didn’t come back the other night, though her bunkmate said she did. I think she was covering up for her,” Senior Amina said as Omasan approached.

“How about yesterday?” the principal asked.

“She also didn’t show up,” Senior Amina replied.

“That’s a lie,” Omasan murmured and moved towards the principal. “Good afternoon, ma,” she curtsied before her but the woman ignored her. “Good afternoon ma,” she repeated but got the same response. “Senior Amina, good…”

“Boma, you said you ordered her to throw the dirt off the hill and you went to sleep?” the principal asked, turning to Miss Boma.

“Yes ma, I did. I told her to empty just one drum and went right to sleep. If I had known the silly child would disappear into the night I would have waited for her.”

Omasan put her hand to her chest in shock. “It’s a lie! She followed me…”

The principal sighed. “Well, I pray she ran off to a relative’s place, that those men don’t dig up her dead body from that hole…”

Senior Amina began to cry and Omasan looked at them one after the other, not comprehending what she was hearing.

“Her mother is on her way,” the principal continued. “I don’t know what to tell that poor woman. Boma, you have put me in deep trouble.”

As if cued, a man in blue overalls ran into Yellow Room, panting.

“Madam, we don see am. We don see the girl!”

“And…?” the principal asked but the man shook his head sadly.

“You’re sure?”

“She don die.”

Senior Amina began to wail loudly and the principal slumped into Omasan’s bed in tears.

“Oh God, I am in trouble. Her father will make sure they shut down this school for good. How could Omasan just die like that?”

“I’m not dead!” Omasan screamed and pointed at Miss Boma. “She’s the dead one! I’m alive! Look at me, ma! I’m alive! Miss Boma is the dead one! I pushed her! I am not dead! I pushed her!”

The principal stood and walked right through Omasan. “Boma, organize some girls to pack up her things. After that, you and I need to come up with a believable story about what happened to her. We cannot be blamed for her death. Amina, relate to no soul what you heard here.”

All three ladies left the room but Omasan ran after them, screaming at the top of her lungs that she wasn’t dead. No one heard her.

Outside the dorm, returning from Satan’s Hill were the construction workers and two of them were carrying something wrapped in a blanket.

“Is that her?” the principal asked and the men nodded gravely and continued off.

“Wait!” Miss Boma hurried towards the men, stopping them. “Is this all you people saw in that hole?” she asked in a very low voice only the men could hear but Omasan picked every word from where she stood. “Did you see a red shoe? A stiletto? High heels?”

“Kois-kois?” one of the men asked and Miss Boma nodded.

“We see am for the girl hand.”

“Where is it?”

“We throw am for dia.”

“Thank you,” Miss Boma nodded and began to climb Satan’s Hill alone. The sun burned over her skin but the harmattan wind cooled her at the same time. She knew she was not alone; she could hear Omasan hiking up with her with the distinctive sound of the stilettos that had accompanied her ghostly presence for the past thirty-six hours. On cemented floors, sandy footpaths and grassy short routes, Miss Boma had clearly heard Omasan at every turn. The stupid girl had refused to stay dead. Seeing her that first night in the presence of that horrifying, black cat, merely minutes after she had pushed her off that hill, Miss Boma wasn’t so sure if she was dreaming or not. Of course, she had run. Who wouldn’t? But after tossing and turning in bed restlessly through the night, she returned to the exact spot just before dawn. She found the shoe where she had dropped it but there was no sign of Omasan or the black cat. The next day, however, Omasan’s full rage was unleashed on her the moment she walked into Yellow Room when all the girls had gone for classes. She hadn’t expected to be haunted by her at daytime. Didn’t the normal order of things dictate that spirits roam about only in the dark, leaving the day for mortals?

A kite flapped huge wings directly behind Miss Boma as she came to the edge of Satan’s Hill and she shivered. Forcing herself, she looked deep into the gully and saw the glistening red shoe under a leafless tree. She shut her eyes as flashing images of that night took over her mind, making her relive the moment she pushed Omasan down the hill. There had been a voice, loud in her head that night. She had not invited it in but it welcomed itself and worked deep into the seams of her sanity as it told her to do the unimaginable.

“Push her.” It had demanded but she ignored it and ordered Omasan to clean her shoes.

“Push the girl.” This time it was loud enough for even Omasan to hear for it spoke with many voices, carrying a decay that sucked the air right out of the night. In a flash everything appeared dead and still; the trees no longer swayed, the moon turned grey and lifeless, and even the familiar sounds of crickets and the night birds were conspicuously gone. Miss Boma knew at that moment she was standing in a place of death and it was beginning to suck the mortality out of her.

PUSH HER OR SHE WILL PUSH YOU!  The demonic voice growled in her head ravenously.


Miss Boma resisted the uninvited demon but she saw its face in Omasan’s eyes as the girl stretched out her hands and aimed for her chest. On impulse, she grabbed Omasan, spun her around and flung her with full force over the hill.

Omasan screamed, clawing the air, but she fell fast downhill. Miss Boma watched powerlessly as the girl tumbled endlessly before coming to rest beneath the leafless tree at the base that split her head in two.

Suddenly Miss Boma came to her senses, the demon gone from her, and she realized what she had done. But it was too late.

 “And it is still too late now,” the many voices of the demon jolted her into the present as she stood beneath the burning noonday sun and sought for a path downhill.

She will keep coming back, even if you take the stilettos and bury them with her. She will come back.”

“Leave me alone,” Miss Boma hissed and turned around to begin her journey down the hill.

“You’re wasting your time, Lady kois-kois!” it laughed but this time in Omasan’s voice and Miss Boma was forced to turn around. Standing at the edge of the hill behind her was Omasan staring at her in bustling hatred.

Didn’t they tell you? Nothing dies that has died before, especially on Satan’s Hill. They all come back!”

It laughed, spun around, away from Miss Boma and kois-koised back to Fatima Dorm with feet that did not touch the ground.

Lady kois-kois is married to sa-tan

Back in the day she was a man



Aluu- The Other Face of Nigeria

I saw the tears of the oppressed—and they have no comforter; power was on the side of the oppressors—and they have no comforter.


There is a general malaise in Nigeria, some form of perverse darkness about this present age. It looms over everything and I’m wondering when or if it is ever going to be lifted. Will the curtains close on this mad drama? Surely we can’t go on like this, because the pale horseman, the one called death has left the edges where the weak and sick and old dwell and is now eating deep into the seams. He swings his sickle and the blood of the young, strong, healthy and innocent overflow. There is no method to the madness that snatches the souls of men these days.

There was once a country but it is no more. Every man is for himself and I really doubt if God is for us all, for men have clearly chosen evil rather than good. For a long time we wondered what sort of animals would strap themselves with bombs and blow up others but we need not look far; the animals dwell amongst us.

There is national outrage against the Aluu community over the deaths of Lloyd, Tekena, Chidiaka and Ugonna. It is only a natural reaction to something so grotesque and barbaric and I cannot stop feeling anger over how a group of normal people turned to coldblooded murderers in plain daylight. However, when I watched that video for the third time and listened carefully to the voices of the murderers in the background, I found I was listening to the voices of normal, everyday people.

Before I go on, I want to state clearly that I condemn the heinous act that went on that day and I do not, in any way sympathize with the people that were behind it.

Now, to the Nigerian reality. Let’s separate ourselves from all sentiments and be honest. That lynching was not the first of its kind in our dear country. It has happened so many times; in fact, merely beating and burning those boys for the alleged stealing of laptops and phones would be an unfair judgment when people accused of stealing a measly stick of cigarette and a tin of tomatoes have been lynched in same manner by angry mobs. I tried to put myself in the shoes of the community members who were tired of the robberies and rape incidents that had left them unsafe prior to that fated day, and I came to the conclusion that I could have easily been one of the crowd. I know I wouldn’t have the heart to harm them or may not have had the balls to stand and watch the gory scene but I don’t think I would have done anything to stop them. On balance, the boys would be complete strangers to me and I would be understandably elated that finally, justice would be carried out. I think I would have hung around for a few minutes, talked about what was happening and how ‘God had caught them’ and when it would become too hard for me to bear, I would find my way and face my business for the day. That is what the average, good Nigerian would do. Some might go as far as calling the police but as long as those boys mean nothing to them, that’s the most help they would offer.

People are condemning the persons that released that video into the internet but I want to commend those persons for doing it. I think it woke a lot of us to see how wicked and evil Nigerians can be. All we need is the right setting and the right motive and we turn into animals in an instant. Frustration, economic depression and the ever-present Nigerian hopelessness have created in us, people who seem happy on the outside, untouched by whatever it is their going through, but in the inside possess angry beasts, waiting to be unleashed upon the slightest provocation. We are quick to bless our neighbor but quicker to lay on him all manner of curses including death should he rub us the wrong way. Why then are we surprised that the constant repetition of the word ‘die’ was coming from the lips of the mob whilst they killed those poor boys? For some, it was not a strange word as they have chanted it regularly in their prayers in church to their ‘enemies’; it was only a matter of time that these enemies were to materialize and prayers became answered.

Lost in a nation where our government has turned the blind eye to the death and carnage of its citizens and their property, we too have become hardened to the bloodbath that has become a norm in our society. For instance, countless lives have been lost in the north and this began way before the Boko Haram menace. I remember going back to Jos from school one holiday in 2001, and seeing the streets scarred with burn marks of people’s bodies, and the story was told how the waters under bridges had run red with blood during that first religious riot. I can go on and on with gory stories of the horrors of just Plateau State alone and if you’ve not heard the true story, you’d be shocked at what I’d tell you. And in case you don’t know, the media is not really allowed to report all it sees, to avoid unnecessary panic and stir emotions that could lead to more killings. I remember a case where three bombs were reported by the media to have gone off one Christmas Eve but the real story had it that nine bombs went off that night. Thank God for the internet. At least eye witness accounts count for something these days. But my problem is, whether we are being protected by our government from knowing the truth or not, how have we reacted to this inhumane extermination that is claiming the whole of Nigeria? How many times have we heard about such deaths and expressed intense outrage? Children have been slaughtered, babies in their mother’s arms, entire families murdered and burnt to death, old and young laid to waste, buried in mass graves and we sigh and make small talk and go on like it is normal. Haven’t we been guilty of rejoicing and thanking God for keeping us alive when others were blown to bits by some suicide bomber far, far away from us? How many of us really do bleed when we hear about these crimes against our brothers and sisters? How many of us honestly remember those innocent lives that have been lost due to man’s inhumanity to his neighbor? I have often wondered how easily it is we sing and dance and clap our hands to God in one end of Nigeria when in the other end, someone is being butchered mercilessly.

But you ask, what are we to do? Do we spend our days grieving for something we cannot change? By all means, no! By all means, we are to remain blissful and upbeat no matter the situation, but by all means we also should start taking those deaths like the way we are taking the deaths of the Port Harcourt Four. We should start crying ‘bloody murder!’ each time one innocent soul is lost. If we keep sitting down and praying for some miracle that may never come for our country and each of us face our own way, one day, that pale horseman will ride close to home and we will feel the same pain those boys’ families are feeling now.

For long, we have lived in a bubble of hope where we look forward to things getting better and there’s nothing wrong with that but the disease that eats us which is worse than a failed state or a useless legal system, is the delusion we allow that blinds us from glaring and painful truths, and has eaten right through our society, cut through our social relationships and have now lodged itself deep in our souls.

Things are not better. You might be richer, she might have found her soulmate, he might have just gotten a promotion, God might have blessed them with the baby they have longed for for years but Nigeria is not any better. It is worse than you and I have known it to be. The blood count rises daily. Fear fills the streets. The one smiling next to you might just lynch you if only he hears the word ‘thief’ used to describe you. All I keep wondering is, what Nigeria would be left for the children to come with the way we’re going? Seriously, who are we kidding here? Is it not time to stop and cry out earnestly till someone, anyone who has the power to change things hears? Or have we given hope entirely that things can’t really get better? Yes, it’s end times and things may only get worse but while we yet breathe, can’t we try to do something little in any little way we can? Life has dealt us many blows as Nigerians but let’s stop hoping in a system that fails us constantly and start fanning the smoldering fires of the dormant power instilled in every one of us.

It begins by changing our mentality. A man who does not want to accept the fact that he’s sick can never get himself treated. We also erroneously say we’re better than others and therefore have no reason to complain but I ask: If your neighbor has AIDS and you have Hepatitis B, do you dance around that you have a better chance at life or do you hurry on to treat yourself before you die? Imagine what story we would be telling today if the Nigerians in the Aluu community (which are a sample of all of us) had a different mindset about the sanctity of life.

In conclusion, I beg and plead again that we change. Let’s do away with the tribal and religious biases. No one’s asking anyone to take up weapons to fight the on the streets or protest to the government but we have a serious malady and an inner cleansing is desperately needed. Do not be silent when another soul is callously taken. Pretend it’s a family member lost. Write about it, blog about, tweet it, share it on your Facebook wall, share the pictures. Let’s stop being numb. Let’s not stop talking. The powers that be may not hear us and nothing may change but within, it changes our mentality and may spread to people around us with far-reaching implications than we can ever imagine. Get mad at this madness before the madness gets to you.

Rest in peace, Chidiaka, Loyd, Ugonna and Tekena. Rest in peace our brothers and sisters who have died in the North due to man’s cruel nature especially the recent Mubi 46 and Riyom 14. Eternal rest to the Dana Air victims who should have not died if it weren’t for the Nigerian factor. And finally to all who have been murdered senselessly, painfully and mercilessly, rest in peace. We will not forget.

John D. Long Lake

The sun is bright and beautiful. There really is nothing sad about the day. Birds chirp gladly and the trees dance to the wind. It is a perfect time to drive to the lake and spend the day with the boys. Tucked safely in the seat beside me, I think they are the loveliest things I have ever seen. Alex is only fourteen months old and Michael just turned three. Both look like their daddy. One day I will have the girl I always wanted. The one that would take my eyes, my nose, my smile and my dreams. But Alex and Michael are okay. They are my boys. They are their daddy’s boys.

I stop the car at the bank of the lake. How tranquil and deep still waters run. I long to plunge myself in just to feel the eternal calm I am beholding. It would be bliss to just let go and be free for once. I sigh, life is beautiful. How sad when the day comes and we all say goodbye. How sad and how sweet. Sometimes I am torn between the two – life and death, I mean. Like today I am torn. But I have decided to live and breathe and not let my burdens weigh me down. Instead, I will take them and plunge them into the lake. Then I will rest.

Birds still chirp, sun still shines, winds still blow…

I get into the car and gaze at my angels. They look so sweet in their sleep. I leave a kiss on both their foreheads and smile at their beautiful bare feet. My gorgeous boys!

I put the car in drive, slowly release the brakes and just like one in a trance, I watch as the car rolls forward slowly and my boys plummet into the lake. The car drifts out, then slowly sinks.

I turn around, my arms folded, my heart dead with my babies. I walk away from life and I feel my eternal death beginning. I know what I must tell the world. Nine days long, I will hide the truth. I will lie about what truly happened today at John D. Long Lake


Is the love of a mother for her children overrated? Is there a love that surpasses that?

Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.

Isaiah 49 vs 15

I don’t know what would push a mother to kill the children she bore. The above story was an attempt to get into her head but I think I failed woefully. It still makes no sense to me.

On October 25, 1994, Smith initially reported to police that she had been carjacked by an African-American man who drove away with her sons still in the car. She made tearful pleas on television for the rescue and return of her children. A Usenet chain letter circulated in the following days, asking Internet users to be on the lookout for the vehicle.However, following an intensive, heavily publicized investigation and a nationwide search, Smith confessed nine days later on November 3 to letting her 1990 Mazda Protégé roll into nearby John D. Long Lake drowning her children inside. She allegedly wanted to discard her children so that she might resume an affair with a wealthy local man who had no interest in a “ready-made” family. (read the rest of the story in http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Susan_Smith)