“Iron sharpeneth iron so a man sharpeneth his friend’s countenance” , but I was daft. Why on earth would I be in a friendship where we both had our individual problems? Not ordinary problems, issues!!!
The most Reverend father of the diocese had a public image of being the holiest man on earth. He was worshiped and his feet were kissed daily. He was regarded as the son of God by the gullible people of Shagbo. After Sunday service, people queued in front of the parish office. One by one, they entered to meet ‘HIS MOST HIGH’ to confess their sins. ‘Father forgive me’ they took turns to say this statement. I obviously had no choice but to join the ‘geng’. That expanded my capacity to engage in sinful activities, since I could just go to the parish office every Sunday and be forgiven. Even in my sins, I still had good morals and virtues. I learnt a lot from mama and I heard her imaginary voice cautioning me whenever I wanted to do whatever doesn’t dim fit. My awe came when I later got to know Father Mokam was the chief of sinners. He had a stainless public image but his inward being was more evil than the devil. My jaw dropped when I heard he engaged in immorality with the nuns. His room was something close to the closet of a drug trafficker. These stuffs annoyed me so much. Regardless, this shouldn’t be expected from a priest, a Vicar!!!
Gradually, Vicar started getting fond of me. Many times he would invite me into his office for a chit-chat and he was also fond of sending me errands. I guessed he just had a spot on me. Sooner I started bearing his cross. I behaved responsible, asin I dey my dey(minded my business) and was a good boy. These traits made Vicar to develop huge trust in me. I started following him to meetings, invitations, etc. such an honor! All these gave me big morale and I grew wings at the convent. Sisters no longer treat me anyhow. Who born dem. ‘Contrabands’ weren’t seen as contraband with me any longer cos I be vicar ‘pikin’(child). I even had the choice to sleep at the Vicar’s quarters, a very big majestic building set for the reverend father alone. That was when my friendship with Ebuka became mutual. It was once commensal because I benefitted a lot from him while he benefitted little or nothing. But now, we got a lot to benefit together from my new found relationship with the ‘god’ of the convent, the most respected Vicar!!!
CHAPTER 7
It was a norm for me to take a walk in evenings anytime I was bored or didn’t just know what to do. My walk areas were the lobby, the sisters’ quarters, around the cathedral and I also loved to explore new places at the convent because it was such a big place.
“Sister Chiamaka is such a sadist” I overheard some nuns while walking across the verandah of the sisters’ quarters. “She’s so boring, quiet and everything about her is sorrowful and depressing." “How about her poor fashion sense? Did you see what she wore last week? Color riot!" I heard another nun. I just watched the so-called nuns who were meant to be game-changers and influence of positive change gossiping and bad-mouthing someone else. “She wasn’t even a nun! Her husband sent her packing after twelve years of barrenness! She joined the convent just to cover up the shame and paint a new image to people that she was a sister” my heart broke; I never expected such hard words from Sister Tabitha. WTH.
Sister Amaka lived a secluded and lonely lifestyle. As heard, she was a sadist. No wonder! She struggled with a lot of issues she didn’t open up to people. Most times, she took depressant pills to calm her of her sorrows.
Suddenly, I had a strong feeling to go check up on her. Her room was at the second sisters’ quarters. I rushed down the stairs and started perceiving a feeling of danger. “Is sister Amaka safe?” I thought. I doubled my speed toward her room cos her room was at the outermost part of the quarters; the last room. She lived like an outcast. What the hell was she still doing at the quarters when other sisters had gone to pray?
Before I knew it, I heard a gunshot. It wasn’t so loud but I definitely knew that was a gun. I rushed to her doorstep to find out the door was locked. “My freaking goodness” I banged and struggled with the door to no avail “Wetin dey shele?” (what is going on?)
I thought of a plan B “Yes! The window” I didn’t stress to see a razor blade on the floor. Since the window was a sliding one, I could just tear the net and slide the window to have my way in. I had another feeling of going to report or call a higher authority but smh, I gotta figure things out myself.
I had my way in and saw the lifeless body of sister Amaka in a pool of blood. She probably gunned herself in the head with a silent pistol! Right beside her lifeless body was her rosary and a stainless plate in which she had her depressant drugs. “This is serious” I muttered.
I eaved a sigh. Still surprised of what actually happened. “How come she killed herself?” In the same spec, I started to admire the pistol on the ground. I picked it up. It was a GLOCK-46; it had a rotating barrel breech lock system, so exciting. I learnt so much about guns from my brother. “Nonso would love this” I silently said. He was a hunter who used mere dane guns. Guns with sound loud enough to awaken the whole south-south geo-political zone when shot during his hunting expenditures at night. I started to imagine my brother bringing home games after killing them with the silent pistol, such a nice fantasy. The deed had been done. The Yoruba’s say ‘Obe ti ge omo lowo, omo ju obe nu, shugbon obe ti se ohun ti ofe se’ (The knife had cut the child. The child threw the knife away but the deed had been done). “Abeg we no go throw away this knife” I laughed hierarchically. I could sell the gun at a huge price and make cool money out of it cos it costs a fortune. The question is ‘Where can I hide it for the time being?’
I was late back to my hostel that night. As expected the hostel gate was locked. Fortunately for me, Chukwuebuka’s hostel wasn’t, so as per ‘guy to guy’ stuff nah, I slept at his place. Without his consent, I hid the gun inside his locker. I mean the second one he seldomly used.
The following day, the news about sister Amaka’s death broke out. The convent was thrown into confusion. Everyone wondered who the assailant could be since it was confirmed she was shot, and obviously there was no gun, so it was a suspected murder case. I left Ebuka’s place. The vicar called me to accompany him alongside some other convent officials to the police station for an immediate report of the situation on ground and further investigation.
While at the station, the police alongside the FBI ordered a thorough search of the convent. “All property and every nook and cranny of that convent must be searched!” The pot-bellied DPO commanded. “Mumu me” I remembered I forgot the pistol in Ebuka’s locker. That was a point in my life I got so scared to an extent I peed on my pants. I started to shiver in the absence of cold. I couldn’t leave the station without the vicar, and vicar wouldn’t leave there till the whole case was settled “Mogbe, modaran!!”
****
Yes, as you expected!
Ebuka was arrested; they found the gun in his possession. The same gun was traced to the bullet that killed sister Amaka. They matched!
Ebuka was handcuffed, confused about what was happening. I cried!!! I was pretty sure the innocent boy was hoping everything that happened wasn’t reality, a dream probably. He was placed on trial, prosecuted and charged with murder. He was sentenced to life imprisonment with hard labor. An offence he did not commit!!!
I slammed my forehead with my wrist, belched and sighed. Who go solve this matter as e be so? I remembered the innocent Chukuebuka. "Was it a crime to make friends with me?" Yes you, I’m asking you.
I have been having series of hallucinations and bad nightmares days now. I envisioned spirits threatening revenge if I don’t confess my crimes and demand justice for him. "But omo, I don’t want to go to ‘kiri-kiri’(prison). Everyone would think I killed Amaka and I am ready to fill that gap."
I’ve heard stories from papa’s elder brother uncle Samson. He worked at the Nigerian prison service. I learnt of how terrible the Nigerian prison yard can be. Is it the poor feeding? He once told me about how inmates in the maximum security prison were treated. Those ones are even on death row. They could be killed any point in time. The maximum security prison consists of hardened criminals, terrorists and beasts under the skins of homo-sapiens. The other two which are the low-security and medium-security are of no difference especially in these Nigerian prisons. Sorry it is not the New York prisons you see in movies where inmates play basketball, watch TV, holla and live a happy life within the four walls of prison. Nah! kojo rara (impossible). I didn’t want to go to any of these prisons anyway. I felt so much sorry having put an innocent person in trouble. Life sentence! I wished I could just reverse time to when I saw the ‘evil tool’ on the ground beside sister Amaka. Man I wished I had a teleporting machine or be like Doctor Strange. If you know, you know.
Within the frames of my strategizing, heavy thinking and brainstorm, here comes Sandra. Sandra, the girl that replied me ‘hello darling’ probably with no strings attached, causing the excitement that led me rushing into Ebuka and spilling over the plates of hot beans causing the ‘twinkle slap’. “Gosh she’s lots prettier now” my imaginations told me. It was hard to behold the damsel coming towards me. Yoruba’s say “ Ere kini aja nba ekun se?” (What do the dog and lion have in common?) To my amazement, she came to me. My body behaved like it was high on something. Yeah, I could feel my hormones raging. “Hi” I heard a soft voice. A voice such angelic like the seraphim of the hosts of heaven. It breathed the soothing cold like the utterances of an Eskimo in the freezing blizzards of the Antantica.
“This time I’m not gonna behave like a ‘wowo’ boy and let loose of this chance like I did before” I was just so lost in the aura of her beauty.
“ Heyo gentleman, I observed for some time now you are brooding over something. Is anything the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing” I faked a smile.
“Oh my gosh, you have dimples, such a cute smile” she said with so much excitement.
“By the way, I think I know you. I’ve been seeing you lurking around with the vicar and you look kind of responsible.” I stood there short of words. Perhaps the fears in my heart days now had wiped off every single word to engage in meaningful conversations from my head. “Thank you” I managed to say. “Thank you? You seem kinda like a man of few words. Cool tho, I’m Sandra by the way and it’s nice meeting you”. Deep down the pits of my mind, my thoughts were “Hmmm, such a beautiful lady. She wants to be my friend, maybe she doesn’t know me. She no sabi scores. I wouldn’t love to ruin her in one foolish way or the other, but why should I allow this big fish slip away?” I had fantasized about her before. She was so un-turn-downable. These thoughts raced through my mind in milliseconds.
"it’s a pleasure” I smiled again, letting out the dimple which seemed like the only thing she liked about me. “My name is Chuka and you were right about my relationship with father Mokam.”
“Now may I know why you maintained a brooding posture like the ‘Thinker’s statue’ of Auguste Rodin? I mean, you’ve been like this for hours and I observed”
“You wanna know?” I asked.
It shone bright in the hot afternoon at Shagbo and its environs. The hot winds of the harmattan made sure it dried up mucus or any form of lubrication from every nostril, leaving it dried up. This made the owner wear a frowny look. How about the intensity of its sunshine? It struck every head. The ‘head owner’ must either find a shade or be ready to groan in the agony of migraines or frequent headaches.The nights were cold as anything else. Touch the great Shagbo River at night, it’s warm. Warm enough to prepare hot tea in the cold nights. Land and sea breeze was a recognized practical example of convection currents in nature.The five-boy band was seen at their usual hideout; the bush. It was surrounded with large chumps of rocks, scattered trees and little shrubs. This was the cool atmosphere they considered as a place that helps them get inspiration during rehearsals. They were very popular and cos of it
I was told the Vicar was terribly sick of a cardiovascular disease the doctor called Myocardial Infarction (Heart attack). He had been rushed to the state hospital some days ago. We both decided to go pay Vicar a visit on his sick bed. Sandra and I had become close friends. Oh, you thought I didn't tell her about my clowny misfortunes? I did! You wouldn't believe it, after telling her, her love for me doubled. She became curious to know me more. An irony isn't it? We became close.We both set out to the intensive care unit of the state hospital. There we saw the vicar who was always looking hale and hearty looking so pale and sick. The sickness struck him so hard to a point he was demanding 'mercy killing' from the medical personnels. You can imagine. I felt bad seeing the man who loved me so much in such horrible state. Sandra never felt different, sadness was written all over her. He was admitted to WARD 24 where he would wait for a Coronary Bypass Surgery. We both had to s
Nurse Florence wasn't reluctant after she was paid a lump sum of #500,000. She didn't even think twice before accepting the offer. Moreover, Chinua did well in convincing her to give in. Money is indeed the root of evils."He is in ward 24, a fair-skinned guy, wrapped up in a purple blanket, that's him! Inject him with something lethal and take his life without hesitation. Let him go and be singing with the angels in heaven."She smiled, they shook hands afterwards. They had struck a deal!The night was cold, probably cos Shagbo was in its mid-harmmatan season. The mid-night before the dawn of vicar's coronary bypass surgery, vicar was giving some kinda reactions I never liked. He was talking like someone about to kick the bucket, giving some farewell speech, wishing Sandra and I luck in our endeavors in life and all."Vicar, can you please stop all these? You will not die, this surgery will
And so, on and on ,like the osscilation of a pendulum, the disheartening piece of my bio churned while the sands of time dripped slowly and slowly as it watched my narration irks the soul of the spectators. That I thought, but it appeared to be nothing but a blunt lie. It was a revolving piece of gags and laughs. A piece of funny cake, a chunk of interesting cheese, a loaf of an adventurous bread and a real ginger to the spirits of the audience. They applauded.I took a decision to brighten up and go kind of complicated. I hallucinated via traveling through the roads of time to a world of hope. The hope I couldn't give probably my careful friends, you know them. I mean the ones who never fell into the snare of clowny unfortunate mishaps SANDRA, SOLOMON and IK (my fi
Yeeeeee!!!” IK’s voice rang out.And then it began!“IK?” Florence jumped out of her sitting position in a flash, rushing to her first son. Chike was right at her heels, reaching IK in a flash. IK held his chest as pain engulfed his face.
One hour after closing , IK wasn’t back yet. Florence was beside herself with worry. She couldn’t keep herself calm as she paced the small confines of her roadside shop. Florence rubbed one sweaty palm nervously against the other as her eyes remained glued to the road, scanning every commercial bus that rolled by for her son. He should be back by now!Florence came out of her shop, avoiding the small puddle of water on the floor – an aftermath of the downpour of rain barely an hour ago - and walked a few steps to the shop directly beside hers to check the time for pr
Florence wiped the tears that rolled down her cheek with her left hand as she bit hard on her shaking lips, almost drawing blood. She was on pins and needles, there at the waiting room of a family friend's hospital, waiting for word on her son's state. Florence wiped at her cheeks again as she stood up from the stiff hospital bench for the umpteenth time, feeling restless. She could hear the wild beating of her heart, she could see nothing but the tears that clouded her eyes; but when her gaze became clearer, all she could see was the image of her son lying painfully lifeless in her arms.
Florence stood at the door of the hospital ward as tears streamed down her face. Her lips shook wildly and she made no effort to stop the tears flowing down her cheeks. She walked slowly into the room, staring at the hospital bed, just a few steps away. Her bloodshot eyes were blind to the two other occupants of the room, as she walked like a zombie towards the bed that held her interest. She got to the bed and stared through streaming eyes at the frail form of her son lying on the bed, unconscious. She ran her eyes over his pale innocent face as tears made a fast trek down her hot cheeks. No! She couldn’t accept this. Never in her wildest dreams and nightmares did she even imagine that her son would be a candidate of an hospital ward, looking like a complete shadow of himself. Leukemia… Cancer of the blood… The doctor’s words echoed in her ears, causing her chest to squeeze