My mother told me my father was very hardworking and successful until he lost everything to a fire accident. When everything changed for him, he tried to work his way back to the top but was stopped by an unfortunate accident that disfigured his right hand and leg.

When he got better, even though the accident’s scar was very obvious in the way he walked, he lost his old life and found a new life in palm wine.

Whenever I watch Nigerian movies and see those drunkards who sing funny songs and tell you all the village secrets, I see Papa. Sometimes it makes me cry; other times, it makes me laugh, depending on my heart’s situation.

As I grew older, I started becoming aware and ashamed of the situation. So, I gave myself the task of looking for Papa every morning to avoid neighbors from seeing him.

One morning, I woke up by my usual time of 5 am, took my wheelbarrow and touch, and went to look for him. I knew all his palm wine customers, so I tried all the routes to their place. On that day, because it was the harmattan period, everywhere was cold. When I found Papa, he was sleeping inside a gutter full of mud. I tapped him, “Papa, papa, come, let’s go home” he turned to me, looked at me as if he was trying to see through me, and said, “Ebuka, is it you? Please close the window, am feeling cold”. If not for the Deeperlife Sunday school lessons in my head, I would have just left him there, I wanted to, but I carried him into the wheelbarrow and pushed him home on the second thought. On getting home, I just toppled him out like cassava and went inside. My mother had the duty of taking him inside and washing him up.

On the 23rd day of December, he didn’t come back home, so I went on my usual early morning Gulder Ultimate search, I didn’t find him. I decided to go to his favorite joint, which was across the only major road through our village.

On getting to the road, I saw numerous people gathered - the police and some people. When I got close, I noticed a terrible accident in that place at night. The police were telling us that the whole 19 passengers died. The accident happened at night, so the police had taken away all the bodies. The site was horrific as there was so much blood there.

After looking around, I left there and continued my search for Papa but went home when I could not find him.

That evening, my mother and I were worried; we told the village youth leader, who started calling the youths to start a massive search for him.

Then a black police Hilux van accompanied by a white ambulance, Volvo, drove into our compound. My mother was about to start shouting and crying when she saw Papa also sitting inside the car.

We were all confused.
The policeman dragged Papa out of the car and asked him, “is this your house?” we all helped him answer, yes sir.

Then he started the story…

“Yesterday night, we hurried here when we got the news of the accident that occurred on the road there. We check all the bodies in the accident scene and thought this man was dead, so we bundled this idiot here together with all the corpses in the accident scene and took them to the mortuary. This morning the mortuary attendants ran away from the mortuary because they said they heard one of the corpses saying, shift na your body is too cold. Do you know that this idiot here made everyone in the main hospital to run away? Including sick people, because everyone who came close to the place was also hearing his voice. At a point, he started screaming and calling Ebuka. Look! I want to sound this as a warning, any day, this man tastes any alcohol again, or doesn’t come back home, ever. Just call me.”

Since that day, because of fear of that policeman, Papa doesn’t drink again.


Written by: Peniel Samson


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Our family had just parked in the area newly, so I did not know people around the neighborhood, and my friends had to come from our former compound to play FIFA with me.

The area was a developing area as houses there were sparsely built, many uncompleted buildings around, and many empty lands, although most of the lands were cultivated.

We had light, so I invited some friends over to play soccer on my laptop. We were just three games in when I heard my mother’s call. “Chimaaaaa” “Chimankpamuuuuu”… Chai, I know exactly how my mother’s voice sounds when she wants to send you on an errand you would not like, so I came after the fifth call, “mummy biko ogini?” (mummy please what?).

“Take that N200 on the dining table, go to the mini-market at the junction and buy me fresh pepper”. “no, oh… I am not going anywhere, Chidimma should go Biko”. She just paused what she was doing and, in Hollywood slow motion, gave me that I-will-slap-you look, then said, “if I stand up from here, I will seize that laptop for two months this time, just try me”.

The last time the laptop was seized, it was locked up for a good one month, 27th July to 27th August, no pity. I didn’t want to take that risk, so I quietly folded all the muscles in my face, especially my mouth, mumbled some gibberish which only I could hear, approached the table with a robust military gait and angrily snatched the money from the table, then walked out of the house angrily.

On coming out of the gate, I saw a miracle in human form, a Sunday creation walking towards the junction. My angry and enraged face didn’t want to smile, but then she was stunning, so I started thinking of smiling.

I wanted to say hi, but I couldn’t, so we just walked to the junction together at meters apart. That day, I took my time to mark her face to launch my attack later when I am prepared.

That was how I first met Gloria…

One faithful day, My mum sent me to our former house to check something, on my way there I saw a woman selling Moi-moi (beans cake), the aroma coming from a passenger who bought it was wonderful, so I got mine. I didn’t care about anyone or anything; I just devoured the thing inside the bus while on transit. Wow, it was so sumptuous, ‘who sells this Sheraton Hotel class Moi-Moi for just N50’ I said in my mind.

On reaching my destination, I did what I was asked to do, stayed a while with my friends before I started coming back home.

In the bus, my stomach started giving me clues of heavy rain, thick dark clouds had started closing up in my stomach, and the thunders were beginning to come into the show. ‘chai, it must be that Moi-moi ooo’ so, I placed my right hand on my stomach and said a short prayer “Father Lord, biko let Peace be still.”
I hoped it would reduce, but it didn’t, it kept increasing in geometric progression, and when I got to my bus stop, I was literally on fire.

It felt like the two world wars were being fought in my stomach. I wish words could explain the royal rumble happening inside me that day and something kept running up and down my stomach that day.

My house was still like 12 or 15 poles away, and there was no Okada. So, I hurried home on foot; at some point, I was tempted to check if this whole disturbance was just gas, but I didn’t want to gamble it at allllll before a grown man like me colors his jeans.

When things like this happen, I don’t know why; I will open my eyes to the fullest. I noticed that just walking wasn’t helping, so I started added salsa dancing to steps.

I sent my stomach region in, and my waist region protruded out as if I was doing waist out… then I contracted every single muscle in my leg and buttocks area and tiptoed.

This whole method helped me but not for long. When I knew things would fall apart since the center wasn’t holding, I swerved into a nearby bush. Well, I felt it was a bush because I could no longer see with my eyes.

On entering the bush, I chose a random hidden spot, and with the speed of light, I started undressing. I don’t know why the devil is always punctual in my case. Can you imagine that my belt decided not to open? I got angry, used all the little strength in me, yet! It refused. Then I decided to calm down, then slowly pampered it, then it opened. Mtcheww!! Wicked belt.

Thank God it opened when it did, because milliseconds after my boxers came down, all hell was let loose, and the sounds started going up. Even Hiroshima atomic bomb didn’t produce the kind of thunderbolt blasting sound I heard that day.

Seconds into the whole process of taking a resounding crap, I started hearing voices. Chineke mee… the person was coming towards me and saying, “who is shitting inside my farm?” For the first time in my life, I didn’t know which lie to tell. Should I run? Should I hide? I was confused… Then, I just said to myself, “Chima, stay and face the person, abi who no dey shit?
She was an older adult, a normal Nigerian mother who came to the farm. Bia, who are you, and why are you shitting inside my farm? Didn’t you see other places to go and shit? So, you are the one who has been shitting all over this farm?

While talking to me, my stomach problem did not even decide to respect itself and stop. The sound kept trying to interrupt every question the woman asked me as if it wanted to speak for me.

With a good-boy-face, I said, “Mummy biko am sorry, afo n’asam biko, I didn’t even know this was a farm.” She just hissed and said. “Biko make sure you pack that your shit or you bury it there before you go ooo, Oya Gloria throw for him that hoe so that he will use it.”

Ewooooo!!! It was that fine girl oooo…

Oya na, common to throw hoe for somebody, she started doing as if there was shit on the hoe. She didn’t even throw it far. As if the woman knew, she said, “Gloria, also throw one sachet of water for him in case he needs it.”

Devil was just using the Gloria that day, common to throw pure water she was doing nyanga… and putting her hands on her nose. Then when she threw it, she threw it a little far from me; thank God it didn’t burst. I just stood up a little bit and sneaked to the pick the sachet water while covering my bumbum.

Since that day, I have not dared to say hi to Gloria, well maybe its because anytime she sees me, if her face was normal, she starts smiling, if she was smiling, she starts laughing. Even though I don’t want to believe it is because they caught me poo pooing in their farm, I still hope I will say hi to her one day.


© Peniel Samson

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My father was a terrorist. It was complicated for me as a child, as I would always see my father beating my mother. My mother was terrified of my father, and that fear diffused into me.

My father could beat my mother just for not cooking with fish if what he wanted to eat was meat.

My father was a carpenter, and I have always been the one helping him in his shop, so most times he tells me Susan (that's my mother) is too weak for him, I wanted a strong and hardworking woman, and God gave me this weak woman, I regret ever marrying her.

I didn't understand because I didn't know what he meant, but those words were registered in my subconscious. I can not remember ever talking to my mother about the incessant battering she had been receiving before she died.

I was shocked when my father cried during her burial. How? What? Maybe he meant it; perhaps he didn't, I don't know.

Fast forward 15years later, I wanted to get married, I had the money but no girl yet. I will say I was selective because I did not want what happened in my father's marriage to repeat in mine.

So I wrote my list of characteristics I wanted my wife to have. She must be very strong physically, must be very hardworking, must be very intelligent, must be very bold, must be very respectful, must be very... (every good thing I could think of)

I started my search. I noticed that most women I saw, had nothing more than two of those characteristics, and since I was getting old, I had to make my choice quick.
I found Felicia, she didn't possess all my criteria, but she was very strong physically, she was hardworking and respectful.

After our first year of marriage, I think my father's demon came after me. Felicia was no more what I wanted, I began to see all her flaws clearly, and a wave of deep anger started rising inside me. I couldn't explain it, but I was not happy.

One day I came home to meet her younger brother in our house, he came to visit us but didn't inform us that he was coming. I tried to talk to her about it, but she started reminding me of my relations who had also come to visit us without prior notice.

Her reply got me seriously angry, and for the first time, I gave her a clean slap, 'kpasss' thinking she will behave like my mother who would have held her cheek and started crying.

She just looked at me like one evil boss in Indian movies, stepped back, took off her wrapper she was tying and wore her shorts.

At this point, a voice which I now know was the voice of angel Gabriel himself, said to me, "Johnson run". "I am a man, I cannot run from a fight with a woman" I replied the voice.

I was watching to see her reaction. When she came to me, I did not hear the sound of my slap. Even now I can't believe any human on earth apart from Mike Tyson would have such brain resetting slap. Did this woman wear iron gloves or what?

Five seconds later, when I regain my senses, I couldn't feel my right cheek, I believe all the cells there died, and it was as if someone rubbed starch on that part of my face.

I held my face and began crying in soft tune "Felicia, so you slapped me. My God will judge you!! So you beat your husband Felicia, My God will judge you."

That was the last time I ever thought of raising my hands on Felicia my loving wife. Even when I think if it, I remember that slap and I rekindle our love.

© Peniel Samson

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‘This life no balance’ is a popular phrase almost everyone uses and this lockdown has just as much explained it to me .

I work nightshifts as a security guard in a secondary school and double up as a waste collector in the town market during the day. All these to make ends meet as the breadwinner of the family .

Although regarded mostly as lazy probably because I like drinking ‘Kaikai’ (dry gin) but that is just me cutting my coat according to my size; should I be buying bottles of beer when my meager N20000 salary can barely sustain my wife and six children?...(and don’t ask me to give up my alcohol… lol never! ). So I just make due with mama Uju’s two shots for N50; and even though I still end up using more than N200, at least I’m getting more value for my money.(don’t judge me plix plix).

This corona period has really been hard on me. First, the private school where I work stopped payments so, I had to live on N10000 from my garbage disposal job since getting an alternative job wasn’t going as planned. But on the bright side, I always found solace in mama Uju’s shots even though they were now mostly on credit.

One day, while on my sixth shot, someone, during our usually unproductive but engrossing gist, said there was an ongoing construction nearby and they were recruiting workers. Elated at the news, the next morning, I rushed to the said site and talked to the Engineer in charge.

He told me he had taken the number he needed and didn’t need any more workers but I persisted (I know how to get favors from these type of people; just tell them a really long and sad version of your perpetual suffering and they would yield… grudgingly of course, but surely. ).so as usual, my method worked and I was slated to start the next week and would be paid daily.

I resumed work and for five days, I didn’t get any pay. On Saturday, I came for my money as I was already fed up with the incessant nagging from my wife who kept reminding me that there was no food at home and I should have joined her with farm work as it was planting season. But instead of defending myself, I reassured myself that the money I would bring home would calm her down (izit nor women again?...we are used to all these things. ).

On getting to the site, the engineer who hired me was nowhere to be found and I had to go home penniless again and face the torment of my wife. But I wasn’t going to do this alone, I needed a morale boost and as you might have guessed, mama Uju’s kaikai is going to serve as my ‘odieshi’ from the verbal bullets of my wife .

On getting there, mama uju refused to give me the normal dose, giving me just 2 shots for N50 to bring my debt to N1750. That day was hell in a cell for me, the kaikai didn’t do its work and how I escaped death that night was a pure miracle . I sha promised her I will come back on Monday with N5000.

We managed until Monday and I rushed to site and waited for the engineer but he hadn’t come. I was angry, hungry and confused. Lost in thoughts, a tough masculine tap envoked back to reality…. wait, my wife?!!!!!... chai Nne biko not here or now, biko(please) biko.

Apparently she didn’t believe me and decided to follow me to see things for herself. While we were still talking, the engineer drove in. (my God never flops… ). He apologized, counted N5000 and handed it to me. I felt real butterflies and crickets in my tummy that minute. I hadn’t even finished thanking him when my wife held my wrist and snatched the money from my grasp. While most people would see it as a display of love we both knew she was securing the family’s stomach from mama Uju’s bottles. So she went straight to the market while I went home.

After about two hours, I sighted my wife coming from afar; I quickly wore my best smiles . But this smile kept reducing as she kept getting closer , by the time she was in the compound , my face was like...(you know when you’re in a bus and you buy eggroll from a hawker, and your bus moves only for you to discover that there’s no egg in it; or you buy something in hold up and the person gives you incomplete change…. you get the point now).

Look at me expecting her to employ people to carry the amount of things she would buy from the market, instead I was seeing nylon (hian ).

So many things were running through my mind (are you sure this woman is not feeding her boyfriends with my money?...cus this life no balance ooo )

I didn’t reply her greetings, I just followed her straight to the kitchen and with an upset demeanor, I demanded an account of how my N5000 was spent. “Biko take it easy” she told me, “I bought a painter of beans and rice for N1000 and N1500 respectively; soup condiments and spices for N1000, and I know you like akpu so I got N500 worth too. And don’t forget the N500 we were owing that lady and this remaining N500 is to repair our barrow for farm work. Please let me go and fetch water so I can prepare food” I just weak , I slowly wore my disappointment face[sup][/sup] and buried it in my palms as I rested my elbows on their corresponding knees and switched to thinking mode… ’when did it become this bad in this country’ I thought to myself…

While in thoughts, I raised my face and somehow noticed one unscrupulous, miscreant and heartless rat disappearing with one crayfish right in my very before…(hmm you must be joking...) what nonsense, who you... Who gave you the temerity, the audacity, the comcombility(no meaning oh ) to take all my N50 fishes... I immediately sentenced it to death by hammering.

The rat knew it was going to die when I took my wife's pestle and raised it above my head. Kpam! Kpass... I kept hitting and missing... My anger, mixed with my determination to kill the rodent was 100% but I just couldn't get even a shot on the miscreant. Me that didn’t even buy meat! My sweat and hard labour for 5 good days.

After about 15 heavy weight artillery strikes (all missed) it entered a hole. To help my esteem feel I succeeded, I quickly mixed concrete and covered that hole area, I even raised the pavement to form a kitchen stool.

I really wish Nigeria will be fine again...

Written by Peniel Samson [facebook https://www.facebook.com/peniel.samson.33 ]
Edited by Edozie Obidile

Please if you like it, kindly like and share biko

There was a big program being organized by the church and the children department were to perform choreography. I started the rehearsal with them until I became sick... Just 3 times of attending rehearsal I fell sick and I had to miss the rest of the rehearsal ... By then the tailor had already taken and sewn my own uniform...

My people ooo...

A night to the event... My village pipo decided it was time to set me free I became well... So I started a midnight crash course that night! my cousin who was also among the choreographers was my teacher that night. I knew I had learnt everything well ooo I didn't know my village people went to sit down to watch me act Bollywood movie for them...

When I came to church with my uniform the sunday school teacher in charge asked me... Can you do it? Trust me na... With my Igboman sense and resting on my laurels; I just said to myself "is it not me again... Me that used to memorize last week memory verse in the car on Sunday morning and still deliver like Obama's speech?... Haha I can never carry last..." I gave her a confident lizard nod; telling her my sister thought me everything at night...

We were gorgeously dressed, with our purple on black uniform, pure white socks and hand gloves... Chai we looked angelic...

We were called in ooo... I can't forget, the song was 'sing out' by Ron Kenoly. It started and I was doing just great until a major part of my brain started whispering to me, telling me Oga you dey do rubbish . I thought as much because my moves were coming 3 seconds after everybody's.

I kept on freestyling anything I saw my neighbors doing, I was seriously doing it and hoping the congregation would think it is part of the style.

I felt like dying there.... oya to make matters worse my sister didn't tell me, Abi I forgot we were to change positions which had to bring me from the back to the front... (Chai I can't stop laughing). That was were I put the icing on the cake... I was caught totally off balance and I didn't have any front neighbor to copy from except my side one... So the one I see from my neighbor , I copy. The one I don't see, I do as my heart leads.

Now, you should understand that this was the biggest church around my area at that time... So the congregation were really really much... I just kept on copying from my neighbour and begging God to please open the ground so that I can jump in,

At a point wen I looked at the audience, so many people were laughing, I didn't need an angel to tell me why... I just managed myself until we finished....

Am not sure o but I think what happened on stage played a part in the snacks finishing when it got to me. And since that day, even to answer question during Sunday school, that teacher no dey gree me...

Thank God it's no longer embarrassing

Na wa for Some Drivers…

As a member of the choir in my local church at Yenagoa Bayelsa state and coupled with the free time I had after my Senior School Certificate Examination, I was told to represent the choir in a music program at Mbiama Rivers state. It wasn’t really a long journey, just about forty five minutes’ drive. My journey there was quite normal and the program was a big success. I still wanted to stay but the day was getting dark as nimbus cloud slowly covered the sky. I quickly made my way toward the bus stop.

At the bus stop I noticed there were four people there, a very old man (who I will call Papa) who was blaming government for the way cars were flying past us in high speed, two elderly women and a young girl who stayed a little bit far from the group smiling sheepishly and looking at fine cars passing, in my mind I was just laughing and murmuring, ‘no body go pick you madam, come and enter bus’.

Shortly After, a bus came and the conductor brought out his head and beckoned ‘four chance’. At first I was happy because I knew the fine young girl will be left and secondly because the rain won’t have to beat me. As an experienced person in the art of struggling for buses, I knew where to stand and be the first to enter. I quickly stood there and was the first to enter; I got a good sit on the second roll just behind the driver and sat beside a very small girl of maybe eleven or twelve years, making the place more comfortable. The others had to sort themselves out, I turned and noticed that Papa sat on the roll second to last, and saw the two ladies on the last roll.

Just as I looked outside to laugh at the young girl, I found out she was heading towards one Prado Jeep, a short conversation and bam! She enters and they zoom off. I had to find something to console myself with so I murmured again ‘dem go use you do money’. I am not a jealous person oh, why should I be? She will be enjoying AC, sitting comfortably in the front seat and am here in one rickety bus.

The driver seemed nice at first, was discussing with one of the passengers sitting adjacent to him. Shortly after we started the journey the rain started and increased seriously, it is a normal thing to have heavy rains here. I was sitting close to the door with the conductor facing me, the glass was slid closed and with time, the place was stuffy, I was even sweating inside at some point, but the rain was so heavy to slide open the window. Maybe I should have stayed with that young girl and try her method out, many thoughts filled my head.

All of a sudden, from the back seats, we all heard someone make an authoritative demand. I knew it was that old man because it sounded like him. With strong guts as if he owned the bus he called the driver, ‘driver driver abeg stop I want shit’. Eh? This must be a joke everybody said, bus friends started convincing the old man to please hold himself because of the rain. Maybe he didn’t want to hear them or he was too pressed, he repeated it again, ‘driver I want shit eeeh…’. Some people just kept quiet because maybe they feel it was not their business while others like me just kept saying no na, the rain it too much. If we open the door, some people will have to come outside for Papa to come out under the heavy rain.

After much countering from everywhere, the old man kept quiet. In my mind I heaved a sigh of relief and the journey continued. The driver didn’t even talk, but when everywhere became quiet he broke his silence and said ‘if you like shit for your trouser, this motor no go stop’. We all laughed.

Hmmm, in all my years of learning at community secondary school Okutukutu Etegwe, never have I experienced an example of energy conversion first hand. Papa, knowing the bus will not stop, decided to change the solid shit into gas and released it for us inside the bus. The same bus that was so stuffy, the same bus that had no AC, the same bus we were all managing.

The first people to get the good news were those sitting near him, a woman sitting near him shouted ‘Jesus! Papa don mess eeh!’ I smiled thinking it was funny, I didn’t know what was coming for me. I started preparing for the worst when one quiet man behind me shouted, ‘Papa, wetin you chop na, which kind mess be this na’ within five seconds, everybody was screaming to the driver to please stop, nobody cared about the rain, the old man’s fart was thick. I could feel it, I just couldn’t decipher what papa ate really, it smelt like real unadulterated fart.

I turned and looked at the small girl sitting beside me; she neither said ‘hmmm’ of make any face gesture of someone who the smell was disturbing. Well, I was too busy repelling my portion of the smell but I noted it and planned to ask her.

In all this, the driver did not say a word, he just kept driving, was he trying to keep to his words? Everybody just kept singing the chorus to the fart verse as usual; hmmm hmmm hmmm. I turned to look at Papa with this disgust on my face but Papa’s face was just normal I think it felt like fresh air to him, so there was no need asking if he did it.

The driver did not help us that day, after like three minutes of steady gas exchange, I started perceiving another version, something different from the first one, I felt it’s not Papa’s own because I knew how the first one smelt so maybe someone used this time to also spoil the air too.

After about ten minutes I think I felt my stomach size increased, I just prayed in my heart that I don’t fall sick. The rain had reduced and things were returning back to normal, I think we all in the bus used our nose to change Papa’s fart to carbon dioxide or whatever it was changed to.

I then turned to the small girl sitting beside me and asked her why she was so calm, or was Papa’s gas dodging her nose or what? She just grinned and gave me the second shock of the journey. She said she has a trick she uses when a place smelt, and the trick was that instead of breathing with her nose she would use her mouth so that she won’t perceive the odour.

I frowned my face in disgust, I didn’t say anything to her, I just kept wondering, do you mean this young girl swallowed Papa’s entire fart? I was still in that state of pondering when I sighted my bus stop.

Walking into the compound I started thinking of the whole journey, which kind of driver is this? Why didn’t he just stop at least? But on the second thought I started to regret joining that bus in the first place, I should have joined that young girl and see if there would be any kind lady to pick a fine boy like me in an AC car free of natural gas.

Story Written by
Anichukwugoziri, Peniel Samson�
Edited by
Uzoma Favour Chimamaka�


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