Eiyah*....... Sorry Case

Someone in the small crowd brought out his phone and logged in his Nairaland account. On the frontpage, he saw the post CASUALTIES OF BIAFRA-YORUBA CLASH IN UZO-UWANI (pics). He shouted "lalasticlala" in a terrified manner, almost like an exclamation. Everyone is familar with the axiom. Bad news do spread quickly.

Their bloods stirred upon seeing the destruction and damage, and plunder done to properties. More sickening, was the dead people that laid in the street, like a hunted rat accused for carrying Lassa disease. I knew this meant violence.

"Death to them!!!" the energetic guy at the front screamed, raising the stick on his hand oncemore.

"Death!!!" the students screamed.

More students joined the crusade after being filled-in on the situation. It wasn't until I had followed them to a distance that I realized I was returning to where I was coming from; Damilola's lodge. It was where all the yorubas in campus stay. It was common knowledge that anybody of the Yoruba tribe that applied to study in UNN--no matter the intelligence, or score, they are all given some stupid course. All of them studied basically the same thing. If not for the Ministry of Education's strict law and stupid dream of a united Nigeria, the university's admission board wouldn't admit any 'foreigner'.

They had gotten to the lodge. I saw impending doom written in the clouds, they gathered thickly. It cast a gloomy shadow over the edifice. This was to be a slaughter house--and Damilola might be inside.

The gate rattled as the angry mob stormed into the lodge. The first person they saw was a thin looking guy. As soon as the guy saw them, I mean us, he threw both hands to the air, pleading profusely for his life. He didn't know--that these people took no prisoners. An heavily built student ran from the middle of the crowd, and with all his strength, veins threatening to pop out from his arm, he swinged the stick he had on him into the person's head, the rusty nail on the weapon penetrating the head, dodging past the skull, and plucking out the person's brain. A little part of the soft tissue slipped out of the hole, as blood gushed out at intervals. It was a horrific sight. I wished I could appeal to the humanity in them, but their eyes were filled with venomous rage, their heart beating thrice as fast, itching for revenge. That was the only thing that would appeal to their bloodlust.

An unsuspecting student, was rinsing his face, humming a popular fuji tune, when the leader of the mob stealthily approached him from behind, and dealth him two quick blows to the head with a rod. The quite obese person fell to the ground, his head hitting the concrete as he did. He died--at least, he didn't see his death coming. He could have been preparing to go see his girlfriend, and perhaps that was the obvious reason for his joyful mood. But he didn't get to. There he was, on the cold ground, under the sad sky, dead. Flies had feasted on him and the other victim, portraying to me a fearful reality; how powerless we become when we die.

I still feared for Damilola. I called her again, and the computer voice on her end said such number didn't exist. I almost cursed out in a loud tone but I bit my lip. I didn't want to draw attention to myself. I was the only person in this crowd who didn't have the lust of blood in his eyes, or a destructive tool on his hands.

They were going door to door, killing anyone they saw, leaving behind them, a trail of blood.

My heart suspended when they opened Damilola's door.

fikfaknuel:
DISCLAIMER
This author is not to be held responsible for anything he posts. This is a work of pure fiction, which stems from the embryo of ridiculous thinking.

Man... it is indeed ridiculous thinking. let's just see how this pans out. I am pro-peace as conflict will not help us in any way.

Trooping into the room, about seven people took turns to thoroughly check if the occupant of the house was in, and perhaps, hiding. They saw no one, and as they left the room, I heaved a sigh, thanking God Damilola was not in.

I left the presence of the men.

My room was filled with the scent of my dead room mate therefore, returning back there was no option. I barely had friends that I could stay with, except my poet friend, but he too, was sad beyond description. I needed an uplifting place. Filled with noise and vigor, where my sorrows wouldn't be noticed. And when I thought of such a place, the most popular campus pub came to mind. I went there and like I had hoped, nobody paid me any attention.

I sat down on a bar stool and quickly requested for a beer. I was drowning in the bottle when I turned and saw the people drinking and discussing in the pub. They spoke excitedly, their faces were dimly illuminated by the flickering bulbs but they didn't seem to be disturbed by them.

"Who are those?" I asked the bar girl in a slurry manner.

She laughed in a rather remarkable way. It was a laugh of pure mockery.

"Those," she said, pointing to them "are the most brilliant students in the school. They usually come here at night to drink and discuss matters that supercede their years."

I took another look at them--four in number, minus the one who had passed out on the table, contesting for space with the bottles. They were immersed in the discussion they were having and although I could barely hear what they said, I could tell it had to do with the trending topic in the country; Biafra.

My attention was drawn to the highlife music gently buzzing out of a speaker erected in one corner of the pub. When I looked over to the where the music emanated from, I saw the bar girl bend down to serve a customer drinks. Her buttocks was inviting, and my active imagination immediately tore the clothes off her, and my penis nudged a little, as my mind visioned her hands on the plastic table and me, sliding in and out of her to the glory of the melodious tunes she would moan.

I snapped back to reality as I saw her ivory-white eyes looking at me in wonder.

"You're quite drunk." she said

"No," I replied, digging the bottle into my mouth to empty its content. "I'm not drunk."

She giggled. I guessed my eyes rolled at the sight of her finely shaped breasts which gently hugged the pink dress she had on. Her little nipples gently poked the dress.

"Your money." she said, arms outstretched.

I dug my hands into my pocket and brought out my wallet, and gave her a thousand naira note saying, "keep the change." in a pompous manner, as if I had given her the keys to the Garden of Eden. She just looked at me with those her translucent, bright eyes, as if she had doubts over my sanity. She was walking away, I called her.

"Give those guys four bottles." I ordered, slipping another thousand naira note into her waiting hands.

I couldn't tell if I bought the drinks out of goodwill or just to see her bend low again.

She approached the students with a tray containing four bottles of cold Life beer. She pointed at me and they thanked me, with the expression on their faces.

I went up to the young scholars whom I had bought drinks for. I just sought to soak myself up in their discussions and hope not to remember the gory details of the day.

"It is a rape of the fundamental human right to live. I can never agree, to violence secession." a young man with patches of grey hair thundered. He looked like an impoverished professor. His hair was bushy and he sweated profusely on the chest. I couldn't tell if it was sweat or alcohol he was soaked in.

I drew up a sit to my buttocks and watched them argue.

"In a country where dialogue is viewed as cowardice, what happens? The Igbos are angry, the Niger Deltans too..."

Another cut in "They have the right to be angry--how can such a region soaked in oil be so under developed? It is a political sterotype and can never--be dealth with, if we don't begin to see everybody as humans, not as a stepping stool to riches."

"To an extent regionalism is the key! Let each region, deal with its resources!"

I was awed at the infuriations of these young men, too caught up to even notice my presence. I was a ghost in their midst, until one of them said

"Hey you, what's your take on this matter?"

"Uhmm..." I found words hard to come by, scratching my hair ferociously, I mimicked a slurry tone, to denote that I was almost drunk and maybe, they'd cut me some slack. Truth was, I was ashamed of myself, and didn't want these brilliant and vibrant young men to see me as a failure.

I looked up and saw the pretty bar girl standing akimbo. She must have been listening to the conversation, and wanted to see how I would respond to the question. No doubt, girls love handsome guys. But, smart guys have the edge, the natural love from the opposite sex, the permission to sweep her off her feet. Confidence became one with me.

"You see--" I said, afterwards belching "The problem with Nigeria stems from our mentality."

Their curious eyes looked at me.

I smiled wryly that I had their attention--and the girl's too.

"Our mentality is 'if you can't beat them, join them'. And this, is why fathers look into the inquisitive eyes of their sons and tell them 'Money is power'. These people whom are our politicians were once those sons."

The men nodded their heads in agreeance. The girl smiled too, I guess she was impressed.

"...just that now, they no longer have biological fathers, they have godfathers." I concluded.

"Gbam!" the one with grey hairs thundered, hitting the table with his fist. The bottles shook like terrified teenagers, making a clink-like sound, whilst the drunken fellow whose head rested on the table shook uncomfortably, saliva running slowly from an edge of his mouth. "That is it! That is it, right there! You're f-ing right! godfathers pull their weight from behind the scene, but are terribly dangerous. Its no surprise that for someone to vie for a political seat, one former military governor who doubles as a former executive president has to support their candidacy."

"You forgot something" one said, raising his hand up in a childly and ridiculous manner.

"What?" The former speaker asked

"You have to be Under the Umbrella."

We all burst into a hearty laugh.

"I am not quite-ing understanding. How does all these concerning Biafra and Nigeria, the Southing-South sef?" A fellow who had been quiet all the while asked. I later got to know that he called himself 'Illiterate' and had fought fiercly against his parents wishes to attend university before he succumbed.

I took my time to explain extensively about how the influences that steer the nation has to dance to a music. 'Godfatherism, Corruption and Power, is a three headed monster, fighting against the country'" I had said.

"But who will bell the cat?"

Silence.

One of the fellows got up and stretched like a just-waking dog, yawning lazily. "Talking about cats," he said "it's so late that some cats in Benin are flying to the middle of a river in India now."

I translated that correctly as, 'time to go'.

The other three stood up, shaking hands with me in turns and dragging their drunken friend away. I watched till they left my sight. I wished I had such interesting friends. Friends who could be my muscle when i'm down. Obinna used to be that friend.

"Quite the political commentator, eh?" A gentle voice said from behind, interrupting my thoughts.

I turned, and saw the bar girl. The bulb was luminous, shone generously on her beautiful face. Her curly hair draped down her tender neck. Her lips were red as fine wine. She approached me, taking off her dress, and her breasts sprang free, dangling.

We had sex, but all the while I imagined her as Damilola. It was while she, the bar girl, was riding on top of me that I saw a ring on her third finger.

"I'm engaged--to a business man in Malaysia."

Had he gone to sell his kidney? I thought but said " Better so."

"Yea." she heaved a sigh as she rolled off me. She left the pub and gave me the keys. She directed me to drop it beside some crates of lager beer outside the pub when I woke.

I woke up feeling light. Maybe the sex had something to do with it. But for the first time in the past twenty-four hours, I didn't feel like I carried the weight of the world on my slender shoulders. My eyes no longer ached in pain. I could think, with a straight head. I searched for my wallet but couldn't find it. It was then I remembered that the bar girl mentioned something like Campus Security, going around, in the thick of the night.

While I slept on the cold floor of the pub, I had felt some persons whisper faintly.

"He's asleep."

"Dis one is dead drunk."

Thereafter, I felt their hands touch my pockets, found my wallet and took it. My phone wasn't spared too.

I had thought it was a dream.

Stinking greatly of alcohol, I rushed over to the house to take a bath. However quick as it might have been, my nostrils couldn't desist from picking the scent of Obinna. His clothes, I saw, through my teary eyes. His picture, hung on the wall. He smiled, but the smile didn't look like what it used to be. It looked like a mocking smile and I felt guilty. How will I bring myself to tell his parents whom he spoke so fondly of?

I was going crazy. I did everything in an haste just to get out of the house.

As I walked out of the lodge, sympathetic eyes looked at me. They must have heard. I was disgusted by their mimicry of a pitiful face. It was close to perfect, but I knew they didn't love Obinna as their present countenance suggested. However, not to be tagged the devil, or looked upon as a suspect, I rewarded their efforts with a tear, which I left for all to see, afterwards wiping it off with the palm of my hand.

I made a mental to-do note. I would call Obinna's parents. I would visit some important school officials, I would surrender to the investigation panel for questioning, but first, I had to see Damilola.

Three knocks on her door yet nobody answered. I waited for about a minute, then knocking again. Still no reply. I held the knob of the door to verify if it was closed but it wasn't, and I stumbled into the room.

I looked around and began to wonder, fear gripping my heart, leading it to think of many cruel things that wicked people could have to Damilola. I had called her, her line didn't go through. She had nowhere to go to, no where she told me of, she left me on her bed, after serving me the best sex i've had in my life. Where could she be now? I thought, flinging myself on the bed, and wrapping my hands around the soft bedsheet. I felt like I was touching her tender skin. She would have shivered, saying gently that I should not stop. But alas, the bedsheet couldn't talk. If it did, I knew I would leave my two legs behind, running as fast as I could.

It was while I ran my hands over the bed that I felt a note. I picked it up and looked at it. It was the poem I used to woo Damilola. I smiled, as I remembered that day, when she said "I like it." But, upon closer inspection, I found something written at the back of the note, in blue ink, light ink, for it was hard for me to notice at first.

Then I read the letter in my mind, to myself.

It started thus...

chai!!! I wonder y women are used to perpetrate evil. Nice story dear

This why I can NEVER trust a girl. Who cares about love anyway...

Obinnau, help me push this story nah.

I held the note in my hand. I could barely breathe. The walls seemed to be choking me. Her clothes and belongings looked different to me now. My hands trembled. I looked at it, and it was unmistakeable; the writing was Damilola's.

Obinna. Obinna was innocent yet, I had treated him like a mice.

I got out of the tears, feeling blood drip away from my heart. I was broken beyond repairs.

The idea of suicide appealed to me. And so, silently, I was walking to where I would die, head bent down as I walked.
*****
I sat on the bench, facing the huge water, which lapped on itself. I brought out the note, and looked at it. Such irony, this was the note I had used to win her heart. My poem was written on one part of it. On the other, was the letter that claimed I didn't win any heart, instead I would lose mine.

I thought of Obinna. It was all my fault. I dare live while he, dead.

Taking the first step, I was only a second step away before I entered, before I drowned, a slow, painful death, befitting someone of my sins.

But still, a strong hand held my arm from behind, pulling me back to safety with such force it made me believe, for a moment, that guardian angels existed. I turned back to look at the person who saved me. He was far from a guardian angel. He grinned excitedly, exposing his palm-oil yellow teeth. He was quite muscular, and had very large eyes.

"Prof sey make I call you." he said, pointing backwards.

I looked at him. I couldn't understand how and what led this person here. I was about to atone for my many sins. I scratched my head, using my left hand to put the note into my rear pocket.

"Prof? What? Which professor?" I asked.

He smiled, saying "Professor Ugwu, sir."

I suspended my suicidal ambitions and followed the young man, who looked like a first year student. He said nothing to me, grinning stupidly and making passes at girls. I was annoyed and wanted to knock the teeth off him but then again, he was quite muscular, I doubted if I stood a minute chance against him.

We entered the office. Me first, then the bulky guy, closing the door behind him. A man sat on the visitor's seat, facing Professor Ugwu.

"Ah," the lecturer said "He's here."

The visitor turned.

"Father!" I said, almost screaming.

He beamed a smile. I didn't know what it was for. "I'm here to take you home" he said, waving with his hand, talking eloquently, like a big man. Well, he was.

"I'm not going anywhere." I said, stamping my feet on the ground.

"Well, it is not as if you have much of a choice in the matter." Professor Ugwu said.

I looked at him in a deathly stare. How dare he interfere in matters of family?

"Wait--What?" I said, realizing there could be another context in which his sentence was used. I didn't have a choice, so he said.

My father smiled intently again, that confident smile, when you know something the other person doesn't, and watching him confused over that which you know all too well.

Dad had that smile. I frowned rebellously.

He winked, and I felt a syringe press against me from behind. I fell to the ground, and black was all I saw until...
**********
My eyes opened to cars rolling by fastly. I waited for the effects of whatever happened to me to pass, and then I looked around. I was in father's car. It still had that scent--that I was used to as a young boy when he would take me to church on Sundays.

I wanted to scratch my eyes, then I realized my left hand was cuffed. I looked at him unbelievably. He coughed suspiciously and said "You won't understand what I am doing for you."

I scoffed. What was I to understand? Except that I was kidnapped by my father.

I turned my neck sideways, looking at some droplets of water on the glass, having a contest at which would reach the bottom first. I thought about Damilola, about how our sweat became one in those blissful moments.

We were approaching a police checkpoint. I smiled, I had a plan in mind. Dad rolled the window pane down and waved his hand like a pastor, grinning wide, saluting the hungry looking policemen, to which they replied with a "sure sir!".

I screamed from inside "Help! Help! He wants to kidnap me. Help! I'm cuffed!"

Father looked at me, and laughed at my attempt. He looked outside to the policemen and flung some thousand notes to the ground, to which they scurried away, picking it off the ground, singing praises to him as he drove away.

"Welcome to Biafra, son."

I was irritated. "How do you prevent the ills of Nigeria from being paramount in your so-called Biafra when bribery has become normal?"

He laughed, then said "Let that handle itself. After all, you are educated with the money I stole."

Anger flashed on my face but, I was powerless. I could only watch him drive away, bribing as many policemen as he could, as a justifiable means for why he had me cuffed inside his car.

And here I am, watching this torture of a show; my father dancing. My mom had said he means well. I wonder how.

On the way to Oba, Anambra state where we hailed from, Biafra was declared as a country.

Jubilations and frenzy was in the air but I would have none of that.

Here I am, comfortably seated on the living room. I let a thin smile form on one side of my lip.

I know what my parents don't. The bitter leaf soup is laced in those green leaves; Marijuana. I emptied a nylon full into it knowing that the rich smell of stockfish will eclipse its taste, but never its effects.

They will fall into a deep sleep and before they wake, I will be in Osun state, searching for Damilola.

I refuse to believe that love could be faked. I refuse to believe that her sweet moans in my ears were Nollywood. I refuse to believe that what we felt was never real. Maybe her family was threatened, maybe she needed the money. I refuse to believe what the note says, not when my last moment with her was pure bliss.

I will look into those eyes that I fell in love with, and I will search into its depths.

If those eyes are shrouded in evil and tribalism, I would leave her to herself and I would gladly embrace my death, and hope I see Obinna on the other side.
THE END

ruggedadventure. I'm through. I deserve a thousand blows on my stomach, I know.
Please forgive me.

fikfaknuel:
ruggedadventure. I'm through. I deserve a thousand blows on my stomach, I know.

Please forgive me.

Lol u b baba nah...

Thanks anywayz

fikfaknuel:
ruggedadventure. I'm through. I deserve a thousand blows on my stomach, I know.

Please forgive me.

Na Only rugged You dey see for your thread?

Well.... Nice Story, KudOs....... Hope there is a complete part loaDing....(Journey to osun)

Awww so Obinna was innocent. Eyah, he died a terrible death. Damilola didn't try though, such deceit. Enthralling piece fikfaknuel, thumbs up. More wisdom to you.

Tgold1:


Na Only rugged You dey see for your thread?

Well.... Nice Story, KudOs....... Hope there is a complete part loaDing....(Journey to osun)

Lol Tgold1.... no b like dat nah
The fikfaknuel dey always they hail him boiz.... u b him boss nah

ruggedadventure:

Lol Tgold1.... no b like dat nah
The fikfaknuel dey always they hail him boiz.... u b him boss nah

Hahahahaha....... See as Rugged Dey Reason My MattEr EntEr Whyning....... Boss for where?

Na after you me dey na

Tgold1:


Hahahahaha....... See as Rugged Dey Reason My MattEr EntEr Whyning....... Boss for where?

Na after you me dey na

Iffa hear