Randi,Laroba And Nfor (3),The Beautiful Soul That They Killed….

Randi, your countenance contrasts with the amiable weather that we have today, tell me Randi, what is it that weighs you down so much my friend?

Ĺaroba, your observation lends credence to the saying that ‘ the face is the window to the heart ‘, I was in high spirits until I happened on the story of Arun. It has thrown my hitherto buoyant spirit into unprecedented despondency;one many hardly recover from.I may not be different I’m afraid.


I don’t like sad stories myself,lest I fall into a major depression but since this is a story about a real human being,my curiosity outweighs my inhibitions in the circumstance, let me hear the story please,after all a ‘sad story shared is a burden shared’ as they say.

Kai Laroba kenan, ‘a problem shared is a problem half solved’ is what I know o,

Sha the story goes that Arun was born into a family of four children in a deprived area of town,his parents passed on quite early in his life-he was four when this tragedy befell them.As is customary,the outpouring of grieve that accompanies such inevitable dark moments was no different, just this time it was a gathering of their fellow have-nots who had come to mourn the passing of one their own-seen as a somewhat merciful release by many.

Hours rolled into days and days into weeks,weeks into months,Arun’s parents death seemed to have connived with ill health to rob the eldest daughter (who was now 15 but looked thrice her age) of the vigour and vibrance girls her age enjoy in places where things work,this seemed too much for the poor girl as she succumbed,Arun heard someone say she had gone to join their parents,where?he didn’t exactly know.He was a child.

Everything Arun learnt,he did so on his own,he was a loner,never talked or smiled to anyone.People around knew something was different about the boy Arun and since they couldn’t figure it out,the voice that speaks in people’s heads swung into action,telling them things like;something sinister plus bad luck hung around him like a toga,he was a bad omen,he was everything ‘good people ‘ prayed against in their closets and by street corners.They wouldn’t touch Arun’s issue,not even with a ten metre pole.Boy,did this ever bother him?was he befuddled by this cold hand of friendship extended to him?was he overwhelmed by all these?if ever he was,he never let anyone know.Life had served him several dishes of loss and pain,all coming thick and fast at a time he was supposed to be growing.He was scarred.No one cared,not even one person,it had become a normal anomaly, at least in Arun’s haunted world.


Many years had gone by,Arun was now a young man,he had always left the slum he lived in every morning,returning very late every night to a thunderous hostile welcome of the barking Bingos in the neighbourhood.He came back at times of the day when couples only touched,speaking in subdued tones only occasionally. This activity was rampant in the slum,how did he now?the swelling numbers of malnourished children strewn about the nooks and crannies of the slum were a testament to this ‘adult football’ played only at nights in the dark.This worried Arun a great deal,he wanted to help the community.He wanted a different life for these children left at the mercy of the vicissitudes he was no stranger to.

Twenty one years had gone by since the death of Arun’s parents,and little had changed in the way of infrastructure in the slum he had always called home from birth,no one cared,an adherent of the karma ideology would have believed unshakably that they were being punished for the harsh way and manner in which they had treated Arun.However,Arun knew that nothing could be further from the truth,their collective despondency and deprivation was thrust upon them by their leaders.It had nothing to do with karma.

A new twenty bed maternity sprang up in Arun’s community,something they have never dreamt would happen,a motherless babies’ home was also being constructed at a feverish pace some few meters away from the maternity,a standard well was also being dug.This development was greeted with a frenzy and sent the slum’s rumour mill into over drive.some said it was done by the government, others said it was the white men,others said it was one big faith based organisation like that-no one knew for a fact.



A crowd gathered at the newly constructed maternity,their number swelled fast,a few angry voices could be heard screaming at the top of their lungs while majority of them with their hands across the chest spoke in hush hush tones.Someone had vandalized the new maternity that was set to be used in a short while,nothing was left.As they boiled with anger,a member of the youth shouted this question aloud-why do we stand here and act as if we do not who did this to us?As if controlled by a single brain,the mob matched towards Arun’s shack chanting olè,death to olè, death to olè.Someone broke the door and brought out a semi clad Arun,a tyre was placed around his neck and he was set alight and left to burn like a beast.

It was when a delegation from the government came to the community that it was disclosed that it was Arun that built all those structures.he had saved up money from his daily hustle for the last 18 years to help the community.

Now you know why I am sad,Laroba.

Jeez Randi,I am speechless, Arun was truly a beautiful soul that they killed.What a world?.



By Randolph Samba

A medical Doctor, Blogger(9jawow.com.ng ),writer, entrepreneur and motivator. ..