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 Art, Graphics & Video / This Global Scourge by Chikezie1245: 2:28pm On Apr 18, 2020 |
★★★ I’VE learnt one thing in life: challenges make us even stronger. It may tarry, but the long duration is a furnace in which we, like the Phoenix, are birthed again! �������. We will all rise from our ashes again! ★★★ Title of drawing: This Global Scourge Media: Bic and Lucky Corer pen on a notepad. Duration of drawing: Approximately 2 hours.
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| Literature / The Ancestral Arrow (part 25) by Chikezie1245: 12:18am On Apr 02, 2020 |
‡‡‡ I watched the giant bats skyrocket to the moonlit sky, their squeaks a sort of strange orchestra. They were silhouettes of strange creatures, looking at them with the moon as the background. My eyes returned to the cave. The moonlight had thrown faint illumination over it, casting shadows underneath. The entrance looked like the mouth of a grotesque, gigantic monster, the jutted edges serving as its saber teeth! I ambled close to the cave, readying my weapons for action. Getting close to the entrance, I looked into the cave but the stark darkness that greeted my sight blurred my vision and made my hairs stand on end. I recoiled in trepidation. It was then that I realized my folly: I came with no torch to fight elusive beings in the dark! As if my torch could even do any magic. But, at least, to light my way. Darkness doesn’t fight darkness. If the two clash, the result will be the same: darkness. No change. The only thing that can stop or dispel darkness is light. No! I can’t go in there without a torch! I looked around me for a sign of anything that I could fashion a torch from. Goose pimples electrocuted my entire body as the silhouetted profiles of the mangrove trees and shrubs towered above me like monstrous ghosts! It was either I faced this challenge and die a hero or I returned home and be labelled a failure. ★★★ For more, visit: www.illufik.com
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| Literature / The Ancestral Arrow (part 24) by Chikezie1245: 12:33pm On Mar 25, 2020 |
‡‡‡ I would have retreated from this herculean expedition if I did not have the blood of a fighter flowing through my veins. I had fought for eons, and the aftermath of those fights always saw me standing tall, piercing the hearts of my enemies with my spears and cutting off their heads with my Nchapu. The smell of blood no longer nauseates me because my nose had become familiar with it. Familiarity neither excites nor irritates. But humans must always exude this innate trait of theirs: fear. Everyone feels the overwhelming impulse of fear, but only a few know how to suppress it. In my own case now, it seemed as if the overwhelming impulse of fear would take the upper hand. It was now indubitable that Ógù would remain immortal until I laid my hands on the Ancestral Arrow and pierced his dark heart with it. And I wouldn’t blink an eye nor have a second thought before releasing the arrow. Ógù no longer appeared like my son to me. As long as I was concerned, he was now a monster, as beast, which must be killed before he killed everyone. I was now standing before the dreaded Ogbagu Cave. It stood tall before me, blocking the moon that had crept into the clouds like a habitual bugler. The mouth of the cave was wide open, awaiting my entrance. As I neared the cave, a colony of giant bats took to flight with high-pitched squeaks that made my heart fly to my mouth! 1 Share
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| Literature / The Ancestral Arrow (part 17) by Chikezie1245: 12:56pm On Mar 07, 2020 |
‡‡‡ I took my bow, arrow and Nchapu, and strapped the arrow quiver to my waist. I was ready for the expedition, ready to get The Ancestral Arrow, cut down everything that would stand in my way, and finally destroy Ógù, my flesh and blood. Ekwe, my wife, pleaded with me not to go, that she couldn’t bear losing yet another member of her family — and being the love of her life, too. She cried and threw herself to the ground, her body gathering the sticky dirt of the coastal soil, when she saw how resolute I was. I can’t listen to her now. I told myself. The lasting peace in my town is more important than my life. Better to die in this quest than to see my entire family die. Ekemma had the heart of a lioness. Unlike her mother, she didn’t try to stop me from going. I had expected her to have a dream before this deadly mission, so that I would know my fate, but she was mute like a sculptural piece. I knew that if she had any, she would’ve narrated it right away. I had come to respect her and value her dreams, her opinions. Or, did Ekemma’s wish to see Ógù die make her silent? Did she actually have a dream last night? I wanted to ask her if she had any, but my masculine ego made me change my mind. Asking her meant that I didn’t trust my strength anymore, that I entrusted my destiny in the hands of a young girl, instead of the hands of the gods. I turned towards the entrance to my compound, looking up at the sky. The sun was beginning to dip into the horizon, and I must be on my way now before darkness enveloped my courage. I cast a final glance at my wife and my pregnant daughter. Ekemma’s stomach had protruded so much that of looked as if she would give birth to an entire village. Then, breathing in strength and exhaling courage, I walked briskly out of my compound, Ekwe’s sudden cry carrying with it a dirgeful foreboding. ★★★ More on >>> www.illufik.com
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| Literature / The Ancestral Arrow (part 14) by Chikezie1245: 10:56pm On Mar 04, 2020 |
‡‡‡ But the expedition to Ogbagu Cave was a torturous one, and to recover The Ancestral Arrow, a herculean task. Ogbagu Cave harboured the most terrifying creatures you could ever imagine. Those were the words of Ori, the Chief Priest of Okirikiri River. ‘‘This arrow belonged to Uwam.’’ He looked at me intently, his grey eyebrows furrowed in reminiscence. Not many people in my town knew about Uwam. Only the elderly knew him, for he was banished from our land for manslaughter. This is his case: Uwam was not the aborigine of Obodo Nta. He ran to our town as a refugee from Agha, a very small town like ours bedeviled by the insurrection orchestrated by her people in their quest for power and fame. In that town, every family claimed to be from the royal lineage, and no one wanted to be ruled by the other, hence the war. When two metal objects come in contact frequently, the result is friction. Uwam ran to our town, alone. His entire family had been slaughtered in the armed conflict. He looked like a bag of bones, as if he would die any moment if help didn’t come. Our people came to his rescue. He was accepted as one of us, and given land to live and farm. Not long, Uwam showed his physical prowess and ingenuity. He was a great warrior, my only strong rival in wrestling, hunter and craftsman. He was the one who fashioned The Ancestral Arrow. The name of this weapon was an epithet for the object from which he fashioned it — an ogirisi stem which he found in the thick mangrove of Okirikiri River. I became envious of Uwam. Everything about him irked me. People admired him because of his charisma. How could a non indigene of Obodo Nta command so much respect and awe? My personality paled before his charismatic enchantment. My silent bad wishes for him came to manifestation on the day of our Oriri Azu Festival. This annual festival was always decorated with spectacular events, some of them novel. Uwam’s show was mesmerizing. Positioning his arrow skywards, he shot birds in fleeting flight and killed each of them in one shot! His woe started when an arrow left his hand accidentally and pierced the heart of a young girl, the only child of her parents. Everywhere became chaotic. Our people would have killed him immediately, but some older men intervened and said that that rash jungle justice would attract the wrath of the gods. Uwam’s charisma and legacies were forgotten in a twinkling of an eye. I smirked at his woe, knowing that my light would shine once again. He had been the darkness to my light, the hindrance to my success. Uwam cried and pleaded for mercy, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. I was at the forefront of those meting out this judgment. He looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, ‘‘Brother, plead on my behalf. Don’t join them and condemn me. I didn’t do it intentionally.’’ I wondered why he called me ‘brother.’ Did he ever think that I liked him, that I was on his side? He was later banished from our land with the threat of death if we ever saw him again. ★★★ More on >>> www.illufik.com
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| Literature / The Ancestral Arrow (part 13) by Chikezie1245: 4:05pm On Mar 03, 2020 |
‡‡‡ THE atmosphere suddenly became dead silent, like the cool effect of cold water poured on a raging flame to douse it. Ori’s presence commanded reverence. He was seen almost like the god of the river itself. As he walked, his metal staff jiggled with the seashells that spiralled its entire length, and drew the attention of the people. This oracular sound had become synonymous with Ori, and had become so familiar that it was unmistakable even when heard from a long distance. But, that day, the commotion that pervaded in my compound muffled the oracular sound. Only the Chief Priest’s unique voice saved the situation. ‘‘What are you people up to?’’ Ori’s voice pierced the tranquility of the atmosphere. He walked forward, toward my compound, and the people made way for him. ‘‘You think that by killing Ikeanyidike and his entire family, your sorrows will be assuaged?’’ He looked round, at the faces of the angry protesters, as if expecting any response from them. ‘‘You only attract the wrath of the gods if you did that! You don’t set a house on fire because of a rat’s mischief! You only worsen the situation. Yes, Ógù is Ikeanyidike’s son, but did Ikeanyidike tell his son to do what he did?’’ He looked around again, and met the stern gazes of the protesters. If he were not the god’s messenger, the people would have killed him, trampled on his corpse and barged into my compound to unleash their terror. Ori turned to me. ‘‘Ógù is no longer your son that you knew. Though he lives in this world, he is far from it. He has become a terrible beast, and he will not stop causing mayhem unless he is stopped. But no one can stop him. I mean, no man from whom he didn’t come into this world can stop him.’’ I was puzzled, and the look on Ori’s face showed that he expected the confusion. ‘‘Ógù is almost like the gods now — immortal and invulnerable to harm. The only thing that can stop him is the Ancestral Arrow in Ogbagu Cave. And this arrow must not just be wielded by anybody. It must be wielded by you, Ikeanyidike. ’’ ★★★ More on >>> www.illufik.com
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| Literature / The Ancestral Arrow (part 12) by Chikezie1245: 9:03am On Mar 02, 2020 |
‡‡‡ Ógù’s latest onslaught on our men made my family a target of annihilation. When a finger is dipped in palm oil, the smear affects the other fingers. My family was to bear the consequences of Ógù’s dastardly actions. All the people of Obodo Nta (both the young and the old, male and female) swooped in my compound and chanted protesting songs. The songs started from dirgeful tunes and drifted to aggressive, vengeful chants. They were out to vent their spleen. They were ready to draw my blood, my family’s blood, until it spilled and covered my entire compound, the same way their brothers’ blood were shed. Only then would they heave a sigh of relief. They stormed my compound in the evening, exactly the time when fowls were about to roost, and nocturnal insects and beasts about to start their normal activities. The time when the sun was about to recede into its abode, and darkness ready to set in and envelop my entire family! They came with flamy torches and bows and arrows. The flamy torches were to set my compound ablaze, and the bows and arrows were meant to shoot any fleeing member of my family. The flames flickered and crackled, throwing orange hues on their stern faces. Their chests heaved in fury and readiness to start their mission. I watched from where I was standing, in front of my hut, and shuddered. I stared death in the face, and saw its resolve to annihilate my entire family. Behind me, Ekwe and Ekemma were crying and pleading with the gods of our land to intervene. Just then, as the aggressive protesters were about to set my compound ablaze, a baritone voice hollered, ‘‘No! Stop! Don’t attract the wrath of Okirikiri!’’ All eyes turned at the direction of the voice. It was Ori, the Chief Priest of Okirikiri River! ★★★ More on >>> www.Illufik.com
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| Art, Graphics & Video / The Leopard's Spotted Hide Echoes The Hunter's Victory by Chikezie1245: 10:45am On Feb 27, 2020 |
Portrait of the late renowned novelist, His Royal Highness (Prof) Chukwuemeka Ike. Medium: water colour on a cardboard paper. Duration: 1hr, 34 mins.
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| Literature / The Ancestral Arrow (part 10) by Chikezie1245: 1:19am On Feb 26, 2020 |
‘‘The footsteps of one man cannot make a stampede. ’’ — Igbo proverb. ‡‡‡ THE attacker always struck in the dead of the night, when everyone had gone to bed, and seen only by the sky, our ancestors and the gods of our land. These revered supernatural beings watched this elusive attacker carry out its onslaughts, and kept quiet. I wondered why evil men roamed the Earth freely, while good men were at their mercy. Was it that the gods and our ancestors were now weak? Why the silence? Couldn’t Amadioha strike its thunderbolt and destroy them all? Couldn’t Ala, the Earth goddess, open and swallow these evil men? If our attacker came from the inland towns, couldn’t Okirikiri, our river goddess, make its boat or object of ferry capsize and drown it? Then, in the belly of the river, it would tell the goddess why it was hellbent on annihilating its children! The last straw that broke the camel’s back was when the attacker killed Omego and vanished with his only male child! It had invaded our land in the dead of the night as usual, and made its way to Omego’s compound. Scaling the mud fence of the wealthy timber trader, the attacker saw Omego’s wife helping her son to urinate outside, to avoid bed wetting. Without wasting time, it pounced on the child and grabbed him. Omego’s wife raised an alarm, and, not more than twenty seconds, Omego rushed outside with his Nchapu. The attacker, still grabbing the child under its left armpit, fought the enraged man with one hand only. As Omego swung the local weapon, the attacker ducked and made a swirl kick, sending the man and his weapon to the ground. Like a bat out of hell, it grabbed the weapon and chopped off the man’s head. Omego’s wife screamed. In the flurry and blurry of that moment, the attacker vanished with the child. Omego’s wife said that she saw her husband’s killer very clearly. She said it was Ógù, my son. Her accusation collaborated Nkwo’s story. The footprints of one man can’t make a stampede. Now, the footprints belonged to more than one person, and the stampede was cogent. Spirits seen by the eyes of one man alone could have been a delusion; if they were seen by the eyes of many, its truism is hardly doubted. The following morning after Omego’s death, all the able-bodied men of Obodo Nta stormed my counting chanting songs of protest. ★★★ More on www.illufik.com
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| Literature / The Ancestral Arrow (part 9) by Chikezie1245: 8:19am On Feb 25, 2020 |
‡‡‡ ÓGÙ was a like predator that stalks its prey and pounces on them when they least expect it. He was like a leopard that invades pens in people’s compounds, when everyone and their livestock are asleep, devours the animals, drags them with its sabertooth mouth and scales the fence effortlessly as if it were not carrying any burden. It started after Ekemma had her last nightmare. First, two children went to fetch water from Okirikiri River and never returned. According to Nkwo, an eye witness, Ógù appeared from nowhere and hit the children so hard that they lost consciousness. Then, with an effortless ease, he carried the children and disappeared. Nkwo said that he was going to check his line at the river when, just few metres from the bank of the river, he saw the ugly sight. He had hidden in fear and restrained himself from raising an alarm because of the fear of attack from Ógù. According to him, Ógù now looked like a gorilla — very huge, unkempt and hairy. He said that his disappearance was a mystery because he couldn’t tell which direction he went through. Has Ógù become a spirit that disappears in the thin air? I wondered after Nkwo narrated the incident. But if he is now a spirit, Nkwo couldn’t have seen him at all. Or, did he just realize the Nkwo had seen him and then he disappeared? Movements were restricted in Obodo Nta for security reasons. Children were no longer allowed to go to the river alone. The parents of the children, whom Ógù had allegedly kidnapped, stormed my compound and hauled curses at me. They invoked the vengeance of the gods of our land to strike me and my entire family. I didn’t blame them at all. It was not their fault; it was all mine. Their actions were justified. But who was sure that Ógù was responsible for recent attacks? Nkwo’s account of the kidnapping might have been instigated by sheer reservations for my decisions that culminated in the tragedy that had befallen our town and my family. When the man (or spirit) behind the recent attacks saw that movement to the river had been restricted, he extended his attacks to people’s homes. ★★★ More on www.illufik.com
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| Literature / The Ancestral Arrow (part 7) by Chikezie1245: 6:28am On Feb 22, 2020 |
‡‡‡ THE reality of Ekemma’s pregnancy haunted me for many days, like a ghost after its killer. I sat outside, on my reclining wooden chair, looking into an empty space and traversing the terrains of many thoughts that were popping up in my head. Pregnancy was supposed to be a blessing, something that should be celebrated and thankful for, but, in my own case, my daughter’s pregnancy was a curse — a curse inflicted by no other person but me! How could I explain the unbearable fact that my daughter was pregnant for my son? Yes, marriage by consanguinity had been institutionalized in our land and legalized, too, but its natural absurdity still made it abominable. It is like a pig that was bathed. No matter how much you try to make it look clean, it would still soil its body. A pig is a pig. Ekwe assumed an amazing composure in her daughter’s case. Instead of cursing Ekemma and snapping her fingers in disapprobation, she took on her motherly role and stayed by her daughter’s side. Ekemma, yet, had not recovered from the death of Ofo, and Ekwe couldn’t bear neglecting her now and losing yet another child of hers — and probably the last, too. I blame myself for all that had befallen my family. But I did those with the firm belief that that was the best option for the sustenance of my town. At the time when consanguineous marriage was institutionalized in our land, we were in dire need of solutions to protect our land and increase her numerical strength. Only a few families, whose conscience refused to accept this practice, did not indulge in this type of marriage arrangement. Then, Ógù came to my mind. Where could he be? Has he joined our enemy forces? And, Ofo’s head… Why did Ógù cut off his head? Where did he keep the head? No answer came to mind, only the orchestral chirping of nocturnal insects that announced the celestial change of guard. ★★★ More on >>> www.illufik.com
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| Education / The Effects Of Fake Products In Nigeria by Chikezie1245: 2:05am On Feb 21, 2020 |
The circulation of fake products in Nigeria has raised much concern because of the havoc it has wreaked so far. In this short essay, I will do justice to The Meaning of Fake Products, Factors that Necessitate the Production of Fake Products, The Effects of Fake Products and The Solution to End the Menace. 1. Meaning of Fake Products First, I would define what ‘fake’ means and, then, what ‘products’ means. According to a British digital dictionary, ‘fake’ is defined as something that is ‘‘not real; false and fraudulent. ’’ ‘Product,’ on the other hand, is defined as ‘‘ a commodity offered for sale.’’ It, therefore, means that the phrase, ‘fake products,’ means unreal, false or fraudulent products offered for sale. Products can be for utility purpose or for mere aestheticism. While some products, like food, are meant for human consumption, others are meant for other uses other than human consumption. In this essay, therefore, much emphasis will be laid on food and drugs. 2. Factors that Necessitate the Production and Circulation of Fake Products i) Inordinate ambition of producers or dealers to make profits: Let us take the business of electronics as an example. Most dealers of these products, in order to make illicit gains, ask the producers to reduce the quality of the products and increase their number instead. The reason behind this is that as such fake products stop functioning, the consumer will be forced to buy another one, thus, increasing sale and profit. But the dealers and producers forget that bad name brings bad market which must definitely, one day, lead to the end of that business. ii) Consumers’ inclination to buy cheap products: Granted, the economy is not favorable to many citizens of this country, but does that justify sacrificing one’s health at the altar of cheap products? Of course, not! In fact, we shouldn’t play with our health at all! Many people buy drugs over the counter because they feel that medical doctors charge bills that are too exorbitant for them to afford. As a result, they buy cheap drugs over the counter; then, they buy their death tickets. 3. The Effects of Fake Products The effects of consumption of fake products are disastrous and, sometimes, incurable. Below are some of them: i) Health complications: Consumption of fake food and drugs leads to health complications that may not be treatable. Hence, it is advisable consumers should look at the products they want to buy before buying them. This is to ensure that what they want to buy is genuine and free from contamination of any sort. National Agency for Food, Drugs Administration and Control (NAFDAC) has helped a lot in this regard. Almost everyday, the Agency, in TV and radio commercials, advise the citizens to scratch silver panels on every genuine product, text the pin number to the NAFDAC number provided. Then, a reply message will be received instantly by the prospective consumer, telling him if the product is fake or genuine. ii) Violence: Research has shown that most fake drugs contain properties that have the propensity of triggering violence in the body of the consumer. This violence can lead to arson, murder, rape or suicide. iii) Death: Consumers of fake food and drugs are prone to dying earlier than those who consume healthy food and take drugs on doctor’s prescription. 4. Solutions to End the Menace Every problem has a solution, the same way everything that has a beginning has an end. i) Institutionalization of agencies that will combat this crime: So far, Nigeria has agencies that oversee the production of healthy food and drugs and arrest and prosecute offenders who abuse drugs in Nigeria. These agencies are National Agency for Food, Drugs Administration and Control( NAFDAC), National Drug Law Enforcement Agency(NDLEA), among others. However, despite these agencies, fake products are still circulated under their very noses. The dealers and manufacturers of these products bribe the officials of these agencies to have their way. Until the issue of corruption is death with in Nigeria, this incidence of fake products will continue to abound. ii) Sensitization of the public on the need to be wary of what they buy: There should be a daily TV and radio programs to educate the general public on the need to be careful whenever they want to buy any product, especially when it has to do with human consumption. Because not everybody watch TVs or listen to radios, every state government should make it mandatory that every nook and cranny of their states must have billboards bearing this message. By so doing, almost everyone walking on the road would be able to see the message. iii) Inclusion of Consumer Protection course in primary, secondary and tertiary institutions curricular: If you want to groom a healthy nation, start early by catching her citizens young. What do I mean? If Consumer Protection is included in the primary and secondary schools curricular, the knowledge of buying and consuming healthy food must have been learnt very early in life, thus, minimizing the rate of such circulation as a result of most citizens’ naivety. iv) Stringent measures to curb the menace: Stiff penalties should be put in place against offenders. Life imprisonment should be the penalty for another who peddles drugs illegally and sells fake products, while capital punishment should be meted out to those whose such illegal activities lead to the death of a consumer. This will serve as a deterrent to those who nurture the idea of joining this illegal bandwagon. Conclusion It is my firm conviction that if all that I submitted above are put into action, Nigeria will be a better place. ★★★ More on >>> www.illufik.com |
| Literature / The Ancestral Arrow (part 6) by Chikezie1245: 8:54am On Feb 20, 2020 |
‡‡‡ SILENCE took the centre stage in my family and rendered its worst performance. With Ofo’s death and Ógù’s disappearance, I, Ekwe and Ekemma brooded and hardly talked to one another. It was as if we spoke with our silence and made known our intentions and suggestions to one another. It is not easy to lose a member of one’s family, let alone when the loss came through an abominable and heartrending means. Ekemma was the most hit by the tragedy. On the day she learnt about Ofo’s death, after I and our few surviving men returned from the war, she threw herself to the ground with such an earth-shattering impact that I feared that she must have broken her bones, and wept so much that her eyes reddened and sagged, making her look like an old witch. She refused to be consoled by anybody, not even her mother. And when I tried my luck, she faced me with every bit of strength in her and vented her spleen. ‘‘Leave me alone!’’ she howled like a wolf. ‘‘Ju…Just leave me a…’’ Her voice cracked, and she coughed. Mucus trailed down from her nostrils and coalesced with her tears. She was a pitiable look. I tried to come close to her, but she scooped earth in her hand and threw it at me, as if I were a dog she must chase away. ‘‘Go away! Just leave me alone! You caused all these! I told you my nightmare and…’’ Her voice cracked again. ‘‘And begged you not to allow Ofo go to that war! You refused! You You refused! See it now! ’’ She threw open her palms in confirmation of her assertions. Then, she ran inside, into her mother’s room, and banged the door behind her. As days went by, Ekemma looked like a mad woman — unkempt hair and same dress. She looked into an empty space and spoke to herself. She hardly ate. Then, she felt ill. Ekwe, her mother, broke down in tears. She accused me of bringing the doom on my family. She cursed me for being insistent on my own opinion, and neglecting hers and Ekemma’s. I think she was right, because, everyday, I blamed myself for letting Ofo go to that war with us. Now, I had lost two sons of mine. Who would succeed me? Hot tears pricked my eyes. When Ekemma’s strange illness exacerbated, we invited a herbalist. But that didn’t help at all. Then, her mother saw the first signs few days after she received medication from the herbalist: vomiting, spitting and shivering. Ekemma was pregnant! ★★★ More on >>>www.illufik.com
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| Literature / The Ancestral Arrow (part 5) by Chikezie1245: 8:12am On Feb 19, 2020 |
‡‡‡ DARKNESS overcame my family the very day Ógù took the life of his twin brother. My compound soon swarmed with sympathizers who wore gloomy faces and came to say, ‘Ndo. Sorry,’ after looking at us intently. Then, they hissed, shook their heads and shrugged in pity and shock. It is a taboo to commit such a heinous offence in our land, and the punishment that awaits the offender, unless his action was not premeditated, is death by stoning. The execution is carried out by young men who tie the offender to a stake and stone him to death. Then, his corpse is disposed of in the evil forest because it is believed that the curse that follows it would infect the family if the body were interred in the family compound or any land inhabited by man. But no one had set their eyes on Ógù after the tragic incident. He was like a nightmare that haunted one at night and disappeared in the morning. The young men of Obodo Nta searched all nook and cranny of our town for him, but he was nowhere to be found. They burned with fury, and were ready to cut him down at first sight. Ofo, together with other fallen men of ours, was given a heroic burial. But, unlike the bodies of others, Ofo’s sent jitters down the spine of everyone that beheld it: a headless body that mystified familiarity! ★★★ More on >>> www.illufik.com
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| Literature / The Ancestral Arrow (part 4) by Chikezie1245: 6:32am On Feb 18, 2020 |
‘‘Did evangelical Christians mistake Donald Trump’s hairpiece for a halo, while ignoring the obvious signs that he worships Mammon?’’ — Michael R. Burch. ★★★ THREE signs heralded Ógù’s metamorphosis into a monster, but they were all ignored. In my place, ‘three’ signifies ‘the appointed time,’ and if a person is wise enough, they would terminate any impending doom that is lurking somewhere after the third warning sign comes, by heeding to the pieces of advice that come with the revelation or avoiding the dangers that were foretold. Everyone has this instinct that alerts them on dangers that await them, but, most times, these instincts are ignored because we fail to listen to our inner self. Our instincts are spirits that see beyond the ordinary. These instincts are part of us, but live in two realms (the human realm and the spirit realm). When we die, they go with our souls to wherever our actions on Earth merit. A man who thinks before he acts listens to his instinct, and such a man hardly falls into any danger. Even when danger ensnares him, because he didn’t carelessly fall into it, an escape route always appears in his favour. And so, a man who pays heed to warnings reduces his problems to half. The first warning sign came when Ekwe, my wife, dreamt about the ill-fated lamb that was devoured by its lamb-turned-wolf brother. The second was shrouded in Ori’s prophesy. But the third was clear as clear as daytime: Ekemma’s nightmare. Perhaps, the gods wanted me to avert the impending doom by showing clearly, in that nightmare, that Ógù would kill his twin brother, but I ignored it. Maybe it was because the warning sign came through my daughter (a girl) that made me nonchalant about it. In Obodo Nta, women’s opinions are treated with the least consideration, and when those come from a young girl, they are taken as a child’s prattle and completely ignored. Perhaps I thought that no child of mine could commit such atrocity because it was not in our blood to do so. The manifestation of those warning signs in Ofo’s death has taught me to value women’s and children’s opinions, especially when it comes to dreams. ★★★ More on >>> www.illufik.com
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| Literature / The Ancestral Arrow (part 3) by Chikezie1245: 9:00pm On Feb 17, 2020 |
‡‡‡ OFO and Ógù came into my family on an Afor Market Day amidst exclamations of disbelief and fanfare. The local midwives, who delivered my wife of the twins, ran outside our hut and started making sounds with their tongues, fanfaring a successful child delivery. Soon, my compound was flooded with friends and well wishers (including those who had mocked me and my wife for our childlessness) who came to rejoice with us for this unprecedented blessing. My joy knew no bounds. I almost lost my senses at the peak of my joy. You see, happiness can be fatal just like depression. There is bad in every good, the same way there is good in every bad. All that is needed is to strike a balance, and try not to abuse anything. Excess of anything is detrimental. Ofo looked plump and healthy and returned every smile, as if it were seeing the faces of people who had come to rejoice with us for these rare gifts. Ógù looked gaunt and always contorted its face, before letting out shrill cries. No doubt, these babies gave signs of their makeup early in life, but I didn’t notice them on time. Joy beclouded my sense of observation. I ordered some young men to get the largest tubers of yams from my barn. The yams would be sliced and boiled. When they were done, they would be scooped into a large mortar and pounded for fufu. I killed the elephant, which I caught in Okeofia Forest seven years ago, before Ofo and Ógù were born, and our stubborn black Igbo cow. There was enough meat to serve the teeming number of guests in my house, and different delicacies to suit their preferences. As it was customary, youths played the local musical instruments and children danced to the tunes to welcome their immediate successors. Men, women and elders watched with rapt attention, nodding and applauding the children. Their naming ceremony came on the eighth day after their birth, the very day they were also circumcised. I named the elderly one, ‘Ofo,’ an Igbo word which means retribution, fairness and justice; and the younger one, ‘Ógù,’ which means the grace given to your offender to turn over a new leaf. Hence, the names I gave my sons were my hinged on my core principles which I hold very dearly. I’m patient in action and slow to anger, but, when I’m fed up, my fury burns like Hell — unquenchable! ★★★ More on >>> www.illufik.com
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| Literature / Re: The Ancestral Arrow (part 1) by Chikezie1245: 9:59pm On Feb 16, 2020 |
I update my stories everyday. |
| Literature / The Ancestral Arrow (part 2) by Chikezie1245: 6:46am On Feb 16, 2020 |
‡‡‡ Childlessness is a curse, so I thought. You were born into your family and your parents lifted you up in the air and thanked the sky for blessing them with a child. Then, you were raised with your siblings, and you saw how gregarious it was to live in a complete family, for what makes up a complete family are father, mother and children. And then, you became a full-fledged man capable of siring your own children. But then, fate looked you in the face and ridiculed your wish. How would you feel? Despondent, right? My people say that when the corpse of a member of another family is being carried to the grave, it looks like a plantain stump to another. Only those who were or are, one time, victims of childlessness will know it feels to be labelled ‘barren.’ As a great warrior in my town, it was expected that my calibre of person would sire an heir that would inherit my strength and panache. When that didn’t happen as at the time it was expected, tongues wagged that it was either I was impotent or that my wife was sterile. And to confirm their gossip, I refused to heed to their advice to marry a second wife and sire children that would survive me. It was also rumoured that my wife had cast her spell on me to dance to her tunes, for what a man would ignore the young voluptuous women with glistening skins and gyrating gait for wives. Our house had become used to two voices speaking in whispers every night after daily hustles — my wife’s and mine — and the bleating of goats and clucking of fowls. Everyday, my wife and I passed young children either going to the stream or returning from it, on our way to the farm. Those daily encounters always ended in sobs every night, as Ekwe, my wife, stayed awake late in the night, clutching her propped-up knees in lamentation. ‘‘What wrong had I committed?’’ She would say lament whenever I came to reassure her that all would be well, that when the time of the breadfruit came, it would definitely fall. ‘‘Where did we go wrong? Look at my fellow women bragging with their dozens of children, but I can’t even boast of one.’’ She would then throw her face on my chest and sob until the heavy hands of sleep overshadowed her. As we aged, Ekwe accepted her fate, and carried on with her life without further fuss. She took solace in my unfettered love for her. A woman lives long if she is cherished by her husband, and vice versa, for a home harbours either death or life. If your enemy lives outside your home, don’t worry, he’s easy to be conquered. Now, imagine this enemy living in your house, robbing you your peace! We consulted Ori the following morning after Ekwe had a dream that both of us could not interpret. In that dream, Ekwe said that an old sheep gave birth to a lambs. One day, the lambs went our in search of pasture. On their way, the gaunt one transformed into a wolf and ate its like. Ori, throwing some eggs into the Okirikiri River, looked up in the sky and shook his head. I and my wife exchanged quizzical glances. Then, Ori turned and faced us. ‘‘The cannibal.’’ He shook his head again. Then, he cleared his throat. ‘‘Time of laughter has finally come to your family.’’ I and my wife exchanged glances again. ‘‘Nine months from now, ’’ he announced, grinning, ‘‘your wife will give birth to twin boys.’’ Then, he contorted his face into worry, and that countenance nipped our happiness in the bud and troubled our spirits. We waited for Ori to bare his message, but he only coated the words with aphorism. ‘‘But, be careful with them. Watch them closely. Some twins can behave strangely.’’ ★★★ More on >>>www.illufik.com
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| Literature / The Ancestral Arrow (part 1) by Chikezie1245: 6:47am On Feb 15, 2020 |
‘‘Sometimes, being pushed to the wall gives the momentum necessary to get over it. ’’ — Peter de Jager. ‡‡‡ I should have discovered the animalistic instinct in Ógù when he slit open our nanny goat’s belly because the poor animal was bleating in discomfort, but I waived it aside as a mere irritation of a man who was already deeply angered by the incest committed by his brother. That was my belief, though, for Ógù never disclosed the real reason behind his action, save for ‘it was disturbing my peace.’ And I didn’t bother to elicit his mind from him, too. Perhaps I didn’t want to aggravate my already-troubled spirit. Ofo and Ekemma’s clandestine affair was a hole in my chest which I didn’t know how to fill. And I think that the enormity of this pain was as a result of Ekwe’s ignorance of the taboo. If she had known, she would’ve cursed the day both Ofo and Ekemma were born, no doubt, but both of us would’ve shared the burden, and a burden shared is a problem solved. All the while, I thought that I knew my son, Ógù, but I was living in a fool’s paradise. His familiarity became extinguished the very day he became a monster and isolated himself from the rest of us. But all these atrocities were manifestations of my costly mistake. Ori, the Chief Priest of Okirikiri River, warned me, but I and Ekwe’s protracted childlessness affected my sense of reasoning that led to the tragedy in my family. To be continued... ★★★ More on >>> www.illufik.com
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| Literature / Raising A Monster (part 14) by Chikezie1245: 8:53am On Feb 14, 2020 |
The Cannibal ††† ‘‘No oooooo!’’ my voice drowned the the tumultuous ambience of the bloody war. The atmosphere was coloured with thick orange and ash hues of the raging flames, and the air smelt of blood and smoke. Voices of some allergic persons coughing now and then sliced through the crackle of the flames. Our enemies had fled in fear, dispersing in different directions. But the damage had already been done — not to them mainly, but to us, orchestrated by one of our own, my own son, the one who had my blood flowing through his veins. I slumped on my knees, and watched Ofo’s head dangling from Ógù’s hand. Ógù seemed to be making a show of his fratricide, for he basked in the histrionic of one who had killed a dreadful beast. As blood dripped from Ofo’s severed neck, Ekemma’s nightmare flashed in my mind. I should’ve listened to her. I regretted. I shouldn’t have let Ofo go to war with us. But even if I had hearkened to Ekemma’s subtle warning, Ofo would still have dismissed the idea, for it is an ignominious thing for a man to shy away from a daunting task in our town. My eyes, with the last strain in them, peered past Ógù and his ‘treasure,’ and fixed at the place where the enclosure once sat. It had been burnt down to a frazzle, with smoke rising up from the rubble, and the branches of nearby trees drooping over the mess like a sincere sympathizer. I felt a lump in my throat. Our daughters’ ashes must have coated the ground with that of the thatch so that any effort to scoop them for funeral would be futile. What do we tell their mothers? What do I tell Ekemma and Ekwe? How do we explain this? With the last ounce of strength in me, I rose to my feet and turned to confront Ógù, but my eyes only beheld his brother’s headless body! ★★★ More on >>> www.illufik.com
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| Literature / Raising A Monster (part 13) by Chikezie1245: 5:59am On Feb 13, 2020 |
The Traitor ‘‘My partner in hunting now says that my legs look like the legs of our games.’’ — Igbo proverb. ††† OUR arrows flew in the air with unmatched agility and nosedived into our enemies’ flesh, sending them to the ground instantly. That was my order: to shoot the arrows first when we were still not within close range. But this assault didn’t make them retreat. Our enemies surged forward, in their large numbers, like a swarm of locusts invading a farm to destroy the crops. They were armed with swords and spears. Out of nowhere, balls of fire came flying in the air and hitting the ground before us with instantaneous ignition of conflagration. But we were not deterred. We were water that doused flames. Yes, we were! Okirikiri, our river god, was with us, no doubt. We surged through the fire unscathed, stomping the balls and leaving red embers in our wake. Nothing is as strong as the firm resolve of a desperate soul. When we drew closer, we pulled out our Nchapu and used them to our advantage. Heads rolled and the blood of our enemies smeared the ground, their own soil. History would bear witness to this day. Posterity would hear about this war and pray it never repeat itself. Bodies would tremble in trepidation. Then, as I jerked one hefty, pot-bellied cannibal who came at me with a sword and dashed him to the ground with ear-shattering impact, my side vision caught a glimpse of an enemy trying to cut Ógù down from behind. Ógù seemed to have eyes on his back head, for he turned swiftly and intercepted the sword with his left hand. Blood trailed down from the gaps between his fingers and coated the sword. His face contorted into the beast that he was, and, with the other hand, he drew his Nchapu and cut off the man’s head. I stood in with mouth agape, a mixture of awe and premonition taking hold of my entire being. The thought of losing Ógù or Ofo sent jitters down my spine. That narrow escape from death seemed to have awakened the monster in Ógù. He howled like a wild beast and cut down every man within his reach, including our own men! I shuddered. I tried to stop him, but he was digging deep into our enemies’ dangerous zone. I saw him cut down one of our enemies who was holding an exotic bow with a flamy arrow. He took the bow and shot the arrow at a thatched house that sat under an iroko tree, setting the entire enclosure and its surroundings on fire! It was when the cry of children erupted in the thatched house that I realized that Ógù had undermined our mission. Our daughters had been set ablaze! Ógù must have been possessed by a malignant spirit. The orange rays of the conflagration revealed his monstrous face. I fought on, killing every enemy that came my way. Our men had already reduced (most of them killed by their own brother, Ógù), but the few survivors were dogged. Ofo! I turned swiftly and saw him overpowering every enemy that tries to cut him down. I heaved a sigh of relief. Then, out of nowhere, one gaunt enemy jumped out in front of Ógù and threw a spear with all his might. Ofo was quick to save his brother with a dive and a shove that sent both of them crashing to the ground. Ofo stood up first and advanced towards the enemy with his Nchapu. The first strike was unsuccessful as the gaunt fellow ducked and lifted him with an amazing display of strength, and dashed him to the ground. But, hardly had he bent down to unleash his terror on Ofo when his head separated from his body and rolled like a fallen breadfruit on the ground. Ofo was a wizard when it came to wielding Nchapu. Ofo rose up and saw his brother already standing up before him. By then, there were so many casualties, and the fighting had waned. As Ofo tried to step forward to embrace his brother for seeing him alive, Ógù drove an enemy’s sword in his chest. My eyes popped out of my head. My heart flew away from my body. Before I could run forward to stop the fratricide, Ógù used the same sword and cut off his brother’s head! ★★★ More on >>> www.illufik.com
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| Literature / Raising A Monster (part 12) by Chikezie1245: 4:33am On Feb 12, 2020 |
A Raid too Soon ††† ÓGÙ’S action when we arrived the shores of Setuo surprised everyone of us. We had barely disembarked from our boats when he jumped into the shallow part of the river, and, with an amazing effortless ease, took three strides that saw him on the bank of the river. He didn’t look back. He just ran ahead of us, throwing caution in the wind and shouting war cry. We all froze in shock. Ógù had breached our oath of adherence to our agreement, and he didn’t seem to care. His audacity these days was bizarre. I imagined our mission dying a premature death. I imagined the men of Setuo slitting the throats of our daughters, and daring us, with stiff counter assault, to do our worst. Those men, I knew them. They were sadists — they would rather die than let us rescue our daughters, for they knew that our daughters’ deaths would inflict unhealable wounds in our hearts and cause us great sorrow. It was obvious that they derived joy seeing us pass through ordeals. We watched Ógù’s silhouette grow thinner and thinner as he dug deeper into the belly of our enemy’s territory. Then, torchlights came to life and flickered. Men of Setuo! They’ve been roused from their slumber! I looked at my men and shouted, ‘‘Earlier strategy cancelled! Advance with the spirit of a leopard in you! Have no mercy on them! Kill them all! ‘‘Yeeeees!’’ my men roared in fervent unison. Then, our feet hit the river bed with splattering sounds as we all jumped out of our boats. We ran forward like a pack of lions hunting down their prey. Our enemies’ war cries coalesced with ours and formed a cacophony of eerie dirges. Soon, we were all engulfed in sea of wails, blood and fire. ★★★ More on >>> www.illufik.com
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| Literature / Raising A Monster (part 11) by Chikezie1245: 5:44am On Feb 11, 2020 |
A Stealthy Advance ††† OUR fleet of war boats cruised along the river course without any aquatic inhibition. The air was cool and soothing to the skin, and the sun, because it was almost dusk, was receding into the horizon. No egret nor other other river birds were seen fluttering their wings as usual and clucking noisily as they dipped their long beaks into the river for fish. It was obvious that Okirikiri, the god of the river, was in consonance with our plan to launch our counter assault stealthily. We had our reasons. One, from my experience in the past, people that fight with aggressiveness only end up leaving massive destruction in their wake, but losing the war in the end. This is because aggressiveness hardly does not give the fighter, who harbours it, the time to think, strategize and study his opponent’s move. This flaw makes him vulnerable to defeat, while his opponent, who controls his emotion, has the upper hand. Two, invading our enemy’s territory with tumultuousness would alert them and give them room to be on guard, and, possibly, harm our little girls who were still in captivity. And that would undermine our major mission. We went to this war with seven boats, signifying the number of villages in our small town. Twelve men each rode in one boat, armed with their bows, arrows, Nchapu, and their combat skills. I rode in the same boat with Ofo. Ógù rode in a different boat because he now avoided Ofo. I didn’t want their unhealthy differences to affect my emotion, especially at a crucial time like this. A warrior is supposed to wear a different personality at the moments of war, so that emotions will not affect his courage and spirit. After we disembarked from our boats, I had told my men, we would all take positions. The first group to make a headway was those I trained in the art of spying an enemy land. If they returned with the information that the land was porous, the group trained in rescuing captives stealthily would embark on intelligence mission. Once they came back with our girls all freed, they would take the girls home while the rest of us would, then, proceed to draw the blood of all living things in Setuo and appease the spirits of our slain boys. ★★★ More on >>> www.illufik.com
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| Literature / Raising A Monster (part 10) by Chikezie1245: 4:21am On Feb 10, 2020 |
The Adrenaline Rush ‘‘It is something that made the stem of cassava plant cry ‘nwiii.’’’ — Igbo Proverb. ††† Before I took all the able-bodied young men of Obodo Nta to Setuo to launch a counter assault against the suspected enemy land, we had gone through the combat drills, many times, in order to prepare their bodies, souls and spirits and awaken their consciousness to the Herculean task that lay ahead. We all wore our uniform war costumes, though mine was a bit distinguished from the rest because of my leadership position: leopard hides for our clothes and elbow bands; I was given the rare privilege to be the only one that would put on the headgear. Our weapons — bows, arrows and Nchapu— were perfectly pegged at the right parts of our bodies. We heaved our chests in readiness and desperation to vent our spleen on those ruthless creatures that breathed through their anus. The blood of our slain children must be avenged with a commensurate action: total annihilation of every living thing and non living thing in Setuo! And our daughters must be rescued alive — that was the promise we made to their mothers who had been sorrow-laden ever since the kidnap of their daughters. I knew it was the men of Setuo that had a hand in that assault on our land. I recognized the handwriting on the paper picked from the shore of Okirikiri River by one of our sentinels. The handwriting belonged to Okwesirieze, the only educated man in Setuo land. In fact, he was the first man in the inland towns to be educated. And I had had an encounter with him before — at one of the festivals that their town, Setuo, had many years ago, where he drank bottles of gin like a fish. He had a reputation for drinking but never getting drunk. He must have had a very strong brain, no wonder he knew too much book. O bulu na aka m di ocha O biara igbu m, gbuo onwe ya Ofo na Ógù ka m ji na-asi: Egbe belu, ugo belu Nke si ibe ya ebela, nku kwaa ya! If my hands are clean He that comes after me should kill himself With Ofo and Ógù, I vehemently pray: Let both the kite and the eagle perch peacefully Let the wings of the one that dissents to this break! We sang with great gusto as we marched on, to the shores of Okirikiri River, our adrenaline rush stirred by the fervent cries of our wives and our mothers to bring back their daughters and avenge the death of their sons. That morning, Ekemma had tried to dissuade Ofo from going to the war. Their affection for each other was no longer news. I didn’t like their growing fondness for each other, but, still, I couldn’t stop them now — they were like Siamese twins. I felt that their affection for each other would make Ógù feel like an outcast. Ekemma had cried, pleading with me to make Ofo stay back. But I ignored her, and shouted at Ofo, who had already been won over by his sister’s pleas and sermon of incipient doom, to dress up and follow us. Ekemma had made him effeminate, and this was not supposed to be heard of a warlord. Before we left, Ori, the Chief Priest, prayed for our victory, dipping our seashell necklaces in the river to renew the potency of their protection, and handing them back to us. As we moved away on our fleet of war boats, Ofo turned and started waving his hand. I looked behind us and saw Ekemma, standing in the midst of our elderly men, women and children, and waving back at his lover. I felt a lump in my throat. Goosebumps descended on my body and stirred up premonition. ★★★ More on www.illufik.com
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| Literature / Re: Olamma, The Mystic Child( 2) by Chikezie1245: 9:31am On Feb 09, 2020 |
Thanks for your suggestion, my brother. I will consider that. |
| Literature / Re: Unshackled (part 2) by Chikezie1245: 9:23am On Feb 09, 2020 |
Thank you, Sochey. 1 Like |
| Literature / Re: Unshackled (part 1) by Chikezie1245: 9:21am On Feb 09, 2020 |
Thank you, MhizzPhoney. |
| Literature / Re: Raising A Monster (part 8) by Chikezie1245: 9:05am On Feb 09, 2020 |
I will try and readjust. |
| Literature / Raising A Monster (part 9) by Chikezie1245: 1:40am On Feb 09, 2020 |
The Nightmare ††† The night before the war broke out, Ekemma had a nightmare. Everybody in my family was all asleep when, suddenly, the sound of someone crying erupted. At first, it appeared like a cry in my dream, then, few minutes later, it appeared like the sound of a distant crier. When the crying persisted, my eyes fluttered open and it was then that I realized that the distress sound was coming right from under my own roof! I sprang up from my bamboo-made bed and scurried out for my wife’s bedroom. But I found her snoring in her sleep — her incorrigible snoring habit was why I never allowed her to sleep in the same room with me, because, being a light sleeper, even the lowest of sounds could pierce my sleeping eardrums and wake them up. Beside her mother, Ekemma sat with her knees propped up and her arms wrapped around them, crying and sniffing loudly. My wife’s and my daughter’s voices sound alike. I shoved my wife because I knew that tapping her or calling her wouldn’t rouse her from her sleep. Till now, I can’t understand why someone would sleep so heavily that even the sound of an earthquake can’t rouse them from their sleep. Inside Ekwe’s room, Ekemma told us the bad dream that she had: It was very late at night, and Ofo and Ógù had gone hunting. The forest held promises of large number of games. As the twin brothers walked stealthily, like a cat, through the bushy thicket, their guns held at shooting positions, the torches on fixed on their headgears dazzled and lighted their way. Not long, a strange animal ran into their path blindly and charged at them. Ógù cocked his gun and, before he could fire it, the beast pounced on him and both came crashing to the ground. Both man and beast rolled on the ground, one on top of the other, alternatively, as each tried to subdue the other. The beast snarled and gnawed at him, but Ógù fought on. Fearing that the beast would devour his twin brother, Ofo rushed to them and, with all his might, hit the beast on the head with his dane gun. The beast sprang up and pounced on him, too, its weight sending him to the ground. As they fought, Ógù rose up and picked his gun. Without wasting time, he shot the beast three times on the head until its aggressive movements stopped momentarily. Ofo stood up, panting. ‘‘Thank you for saving me, Ógù,’’ he said. ‘‘You should better thank me for sending you to your ancestors. ’’ Ógù sniggered. Ofo’s face contorted into perplexity. But, before he could get the interpretation of what his twin brother had said, Ógù shot him three times on his forehead, the same way he had killed the beast. I shuddered at this nightmare. Could this be a herald of doom or a warning that could be averted? I knew that Ofo and Ógù had not been in talking terms after their last fight, but I doubt that Ógù had a fratricidal instinct. No child of mine, through whose veins my blood flows, could kill his own blood. I looked at Ekwe, and saw that she was lost in thought. I patted Ekemma’s shoulders reassuringly. ‘‘That was just a dream, Mma. Nothing will happen to your brothers. ’’ She looked at me, and said nothing, but the look on her face exuded doubt over my reassurance and unwavering belief in the power of her own dreams. ★★★ More on >>> www.illufik.com
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| Literature / Raising A Monster (part 8) by Chikezie1245: 5:20am On Feb 08, 2020 |
The Herald of War ††† SEVEN days after Ógù unreasonably killed our nanny goat, our town was struck with a heavy tragedy that stirred aggressive emotions. Some group of women, worried that their children hadn’t returned from Okirikiri River where they had gone to wash their clothes and fetch water, had gone to the river to look for them. It was already dusk by the time they set out for the search, and they had a foreboding that something bad must have happened to their children. When they got to the bank of Okirikiri River, the gory sight that they beheld confirmed their fears: all their male children were lying dead, in their own pool of blood, on the bank of the river, and their female children were nowhere to be found! Who must have done this? It was clear that the tragedy was not masterminded by spirits or the gods because blood and open wounds were not associated with death orchestrated by these beings. And why were the girls kidnapped and the boys killed? Whoever did this must have something up his sleeves. The women marched round the entire land of Obodo Nta, naked, carrying their slain children on their hands. In my town, when women protest naked, the issue is seen as a very serious one, and it is said that their curse in that state of mind is the most potent of all curses. Seeing these women carrying their slain children with unusual strength and marching ceaselessly all round our town evoked a feeling of pity and vengeance in me. I knew that they would never rest until the blood of their children’s killers was shed, too. More so, their daughters’ whereabout was paramount now. But, who must be responsible for this atrocity? I suspected either of the four towns that bordered Okirikiri River: Egbe, Wetaya, Ndorondoro and Setuo. My suspicion of their culpability in this tragedy was hinged on their past unhealthy disagreement with us. They must have learnt about our new procreation arrangement that was aimed at increasing our numerical strength, and were hellbent on nipping it in the bud. If not, why would they kill only the boys? Three days later, a letter picked up on the bank of Okirikiri River (and which was held in place with a chunk of rock to avoid the breeze sweeping it away) by one of the men we had assigned to man the river, confirmed my suspicion. The letter was written in an awkward, familiar handwriting, and it read: IT IS EITHER YOU SURRENDER YOUR LAND TO US OR WE KILL YOUR DAUGHTERS LIKE BIRDS AND USE THEM AS OUR MEAL. The beasts in us were unhinged, and no one could stop us from drawing their own blood! ★★★ More on >>>www.illufik.com
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| Literature / Raising A Monster (part 7) by Chikezie1245: 5:54am On Feb 07, 2020 |
The First Sign ‘‘A fowl that will become a cock starts exhibiting the first signs when it is still a chick. ’’ — Igbo proverb. ††† ÓGÙ became a monster on the eve of Oriri Azu festival, but no one paid attention to that early sign. The wrestling matches were held in the evening, when the fowls were getting ready to roost and the sun was fast receding into the horizon to rest. That day became an epoch-making event because streaks were broken and records were set. Ógù’s fifteen-year dominance in wrestling was brought to an end when the wiry Okpukpu (‘okpukpu’ means ‘bone’ in Igbo, and is a moniker given to anyone who is thin), the last son of Otenkwu, the palm-wine tapper, threw him in a match of display of strength, speed, tactics and stamina. The match lasted more than ten minutes, with both young men hyperventilating, sweating like pigs and exhibiting unusual doggedness. Everybody held their breath as both men fought with the last strength in them. No one envisaged Ógù losing in the match, because Okpukpu was the quiet type and had never given the people of Obodo Nta the clue that he was strong. He had never shown up in any wrestling match, neither had he locked horns with anyone. And so, the people were amazed at his audacity when he slapped out the sand which Ógù had scooped in his hand, daring any young man of Obodo Nta to challenge him. Every young man of Obodo Nta was encapsulated in great fear, because they knew that challenging Ógù was inflicting ignominy on oneself, because the result would always be the same: Ógù standing tall! When the wiry Okpukpu threw him, the whole arena was engulfed in a paroxysm of jubilation. The young men watching with anxiety carried him shoulder high, running around the entire Obodo Nta and singing victory songs in his honour. I was not happy that my son lost the match. The people, no doubt, were happy that he lost the match because of his arrogance and boastfulness. For a few minutes, Ógù lay prostrate on the ground, his face hidden in his crossed arms. Perhaps, he was ashamed for his loss. I looked at the section where the young spectators were standing and saw Ofo and Ekemma looking at their brother. They, obviously, were not happy that their brother lost the match, because their faces exuded concern and pity. That night, our nanny goat bleated so loudly and so long that I feared that some soldier ants might be feeding on its body. But it was not that time of the year when those tiny, black soldier ants invade people’s compounds to seek shelter and food, and cross footpaths in a single file. My spirit was still troubled owing to Ógù shocking defeat, and the goat’s incessant bleated exacerbated my worry and my fury. But, remembering that the poor goat was pregnant, I felt pity for it. I would’ve gone to the goats’ pen to see why the goat was disturbing people’s peace, but the bleating stopped. It was not until daybreak that I and my entire family were greeted with a gory sight: the goat was lying dead in its pool of blood, the head of its foetus sticking out from the gash on its belly! ‘‘Who did this?’’ I thundered. ‘‘Who did this to me?’’ No one answered me. I looked around and noticed that Ógù was missing. ‘‘Where is Ógù?’’ Before my wife, Ofo and Ekemma could speak, Ógú appeared from behind the barn. ‘‘I did,’’ Ógù said matter-of-factly, looking at the goat as if it were some cursed creature. ‘‘It was disturbing my peace.’’ My mouth opened, but no word came out. I was frozen in shock. ★★★ More on >>>www.illufik.com
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