Op also include J.D Salinger, author of "Catcher in the Rye"
This particular man hated publicity a lot. He even sued a publisher to stop them from releasing a biography about him.

Joshmodest:
Chinua Achebe remains one of my favorite writers of all time , he made me fall in love with Modern African literature , with all of his works from Arrow of God , Things fall apart , No longer at ease ,just name it ...
for those who despise the Igbo people , at any slight chance ,I recommend Achebe's works , it would give you an insight , into the rich Igbo culture. make you appreciate it more , even if you're not Igbo ....
He's one of the few writers who talks about pre colonial era in his works , disapproving those sentiments cooked up by Trevor roper and his followers that Africa has no history before the colonial era ....he highlights tge strength , organization pride and religious beliefs ,of Africans before the colonial masters came ...and the confusion they brought in the name of civilization...
Achebe will forever remain alive in the world of literature !!!

His critic of Joseph Conrad's work also became and remains a standard that the man's veiled racist literature is judged by. Much much respect for the legebd

tsephanyah:
Sometimes when you shine a light on a cockroach he just thinks it’s time for his solo.

Interesting signature, is it your quote or...

Vulcanheph:
Breathtaking story as usual oga soul.... Love your work and the story was so touching, but you didn't include me(one of your biggest fan/follower ) on the role call, I've literally read virtually all your stories( the devil Wears okrika, delayed diagnosis, the hole in the wall etc)..... I'll pretend as if my feelings aren't hurt.

Pls forgive me boss, the roll call was just a copied post from another story. It surely wasn't intentional. I really appreciate your constant ginger. Thanks and God bless

[quote author=chibestjerry post=77567554][/quote]

Thanks for the call bro, I love the intro already..
Following!

Cc

Queenitee mhistahrah Pinkberry meneski cyber5 cadec007 igyeseh donkelz pinkfeet helenbee shurley22 tenderblaze chommieblaq oroolorun

Oroolorun:
I should not have read this on a sunday morning... So touching... Someone once told me that if maids (house-girls) had opportunity to tell their stories, the moralist will wish the world should just end once and for all.
Thanks for sharing this.
(I laugh sometime whenever I heard someone say another writer stole the story or pick an ideal from their work. One of the lessons I had learn in this sinful world is that once God gives you a talent/vision/idea, He also give exactly that to hundred others. It now left for individual to work on their into realization. Oga Souloho19, I had similar short story with me for the past ten years which I have never share before. Reading this your wonderful work made me wonder how manage you sneaked into my house, stole my work without my knowledge. Then I realized that while some of us are burrying the coins, you are investing yours not caring about the immediately profits or loses. Oga Souloho19, you are born to write, don't ever, never ever give up written.

Thanks bro, this means a lot. I realized things that happen in our society really affect me a lot and writing about it is a means to speak up in my own way, even though it doesn't look like it has any ripple effect at the moment but still we just have to try. This particular story was written for a 200 word competition here on NL about 2 years ago, but reading Ochanya's heart breaking tale inspired me to give it a background and expand it a bit. I've found out I really hate pedophiles more than anything and I've been writing another story 'Memoirs Of A Serial Killer' about a female journalist who uses her first hand access to information to investigate, track and kill child molesters because she was abused by her step father as a little girl.

About your own story, I honestly would like to read it. One writer told me recently, "there's nothing new under the sun, everything has already been written about. But we can only find our own unique way to tell it again."
God bless bro.

(p.s; Solly1 if I doze in church I'm holding you responsible)

*
*
*
*

:::::::
Benue
Back in the Obasi residence, the children were up and running about, it seems they could sense the tension had been lifted from their parents and now they could play freely. Emma was busy with her cousin and best friend Soma, making imaginary tea and plaiting the hair of their dolls. Both twin boys were busy playing 'police and thief,' shooting with their index fingers and dodging imaginary bullets, their mouths providing the bullet's audio discharge with their boyish adrenaline filled shouts.

Alli no joy sat at the dining table, watching his grand children. His face was expressionles, if there was one thing he had long mastered, it was the act of maintaining a poker face no matter the emotions going on in him. Especially when he was married to someone like his wife. Martha had the uncanny ability of sniffing out trouble or worries. A long time ago when he was a degenerate gambler and thought gambling would dig him out of the hole it had previously placed him in, his wife had seen through the facade and fake smiles and empty assurances.

That had been a trying period for their young family, but few months later she had gotten pregnant and their son had been born. Rex. Well he was proud of his son, proud of the man he had become, of the lives he had impacted, but.....

He watched as one of the twins (he always had trouble differentiating them, and the little rascals loved playing mind games on him) ran to the dining table and gripped his chest, staggering as if he had been shot. The scene disturbed Alli no joy and he couldn't hold himself anymore.

"Hey Peter....Paul, what kind of play is that? Stop that rough play this instant!"

The boy looked hurt, as if he had been slapped, then grudgingly ran out of the dining hall.

"Al"

He looked up to see his wife in the doorway. She had just come out from Olivia's room and had seen his little outburst. "Al, what is wrong?"

"nothing dear." He almost smiled but stopped himself. Martha could sense a fake smile from a thousand miles away.

She watched him but didn't say anything for a while, instead she pulled out one of the chairs and sat opposite him. "Olivia has been asking for Rex, I don't even know where he is..."

"Martha, you know Rex....He's pursuing a lead to make sure nothing happens again, but I'm sure he'll be back soon. We exchanged texts not long ago." At least that was true, they had exchanged text messages an hour ago. Alli had given him directions to a torture room or interrogation chamber if you will.

"Hmmm....Al, what's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"we've been married for 40 years, give me some credit. Now what's troubling you?"

"Excuse me sir," his in-law Paul, major with the Nigerian Army approached the doorway and Alli gratefully excused himself and made his escape.

"What is it son?" he said immediately they were out of earshot.

"One of the agents is back, he's outside, he said Rex sent him back for reinforcements."

"Reinforcements against what?"

"I think an attack is imminent." Paul sounded really tensed. His entire world was in the house. His three kids and his wife. "I think we should vacate the premises immediately."


:::::::::::

I've never really been a spiritual person. As a matter of fact, I realize, throughout most of my life, I was more religious than spiritual, going through the motions, when I was young; sunday school, the occassional communion on sunday, then back in school on monday, crushing on Sofie the class rep in those days, then as I grew older, and preteen hormones became wilder, I also began crushing on Amanda, the choir director's daughter in church.

Fome had even been the one to drag me to campus fellowships during our uni days, I guess I never really thought much about God, or heaven or even Jesus. Sure it was always at the back of my mind, usually the first exclamation to come out of my mouth whenever I was shocked, but I was as spiritually aware as a blind man looking at rainbows. Then something happened, I stared down the barrel of the gun countless times, faced death a billion times, held my breath while detonating a deadly nerve gas, with seconds to spare and somehow I had managed to save scores of women from an unknown but surely gruesome fate. Somewhere along the line, there had been a paradigm shift. I was not the same person I had been before. I had become a husband and a father but was I a better man?

I stood in the cramped apartment, looking at the injured driver who was still flat on his back, eyes open wide in fear. He really thought he was going to die, he thought I was going to shoot him, and I thought so too. After-all I had gotten every information I could get out of him already, Tonye was already on her way to the airport, heading to the hotel location the first minister was said to be lodged. As a matter of fact she could very well be on the plane already.

Blood still trickled down my arm from the shoulder where the bastard driver had aimed for my heart but missed, I didn't even feel the pain. I kept pointing the gun at him, as my blood went cold. Not in the way you're thinking but in another similar yet different way indeed. I don't know how it happened, but one second I was about to pull the trigger, wondering if I had it in me to be so cold blooded and the next second I went cold blooded, literally. It was like a dejavu feeling, but the last time I had felt this way, was when I had been jerked out of a nightmare. A nightmare which, 'big mummy' aka the Chief's wife aka the old witch of the west had stabbed me, repeating the phrase 'so you want to be a hero' over and over again while I drew my last breath.

Now there was a chill in my spine and heat on my flesh, for before my very eyes, my flesh seemed to burst into flames, it was like my spirit left my body and I could watch my body burn, the gun dropped from my hand as the flame began to spread all over my body. I didn't shout, I don't think I could. I didn't even try to put out the flames but instead knelt to the floor slowly and went still.

I began to sweat profusely but the chill still remained. Slowly the vision cleared and I became aware of the pain in my shoulder. I blinked rapidly as the room came into focus and the pathetic form lying on the floor, saying his last prayers, expecting a one ticket trip to hell, via the bullet.

What kind of hallucination was that? It felt like a warning, what kind of warning? Hell? Or.....

A vibration in my pocket snapped my thoughts clear and I staggered backwards till I rested on the small table. The driver remained on the wooden pile on the floor and when I dropped the gun beside me, I sensed him heave a sigh of relief.

I grabbed my phone and checked the ID. It was my father.

"Rex, we want to leave here....the other agent just came back, its too dangerous. And Olivia has been unable to sleep, she has been asking for you all day."

I checked my watch, it was quarter to 6. The day had flown by. I felt a pang in my heart at the mention of my wife's name. I suddenly had a strong foreboding, like I was never going to see her again, a shiver ran through my spine.

"Where....where are you planning on going?"

"What's wrong with your voice?"

"It's just a little cold. What will you tell Mama and the others?"

"Well Paul and I spoke about it and we don't think it's wise to wait for any attack that would likely be overwhelming. The smart move is to portray the possible danger to the family, although I'm still keeping the other part close to my chest for now."

The 'other part' was the alleged involvement of our in-law, our own honourable Sam as the first minister.

I nodded, but my dad wasn't finished. "Rex do you remember the corner in my room, beside the bookshelf that was forbidden to you?"

"Yes..." I was confused, I remembered my dad had flogged the curiosity out of me whenever I went too close to his bookshelf. Until I had finally grown older and lost interest.

"I'll send you a detailed message with directions, after this call. The thing is, back in the day, during the military coup there was massive political unrest and inter tribal killings, I fashioned something like an emergency exit."

"Okay...." I still wasn't getting him. Why was he telling me this now?

"I just felt you should know that, I didn't want you wandering about stumbling on it and getting lost, that was why I was so hard on you back then."

"Okay dad..." I continued eyeballing the driver. The pain in my shoulder was getting real intense now. Maybe I should just shoot the bastard, after-all the chill was gone.

"Transporting Olivia may be a challenge. You guys went with the ambulance, remember?"

"Oh that's true..."

"We'll think of something, I'll send the directions to you."

"To the exit latch?"

"No, well that too....but I mean the location I'll be taking the family. it's an old friend of mine from back in the day."

"Ok, i'll be expecting the text."

"Son....I know I never told you this while you were growing up but, I love you and I'm proud of you."

You know how they say some men go their whole lives seeking validation from their father? Well my father had just given me his but it left a strange vibration in my ear and a sour taste in my mouth and a lethargy in my soul.

It felt like an epitaph; here-in lies my son, whom I loved and was proud of.


::::::::::::::
Tonye was not yet on the plane. She had missed the first flight by few minutes and had to wait in the airport for another 30 minutes until a connecting flight from the north would touch down briefly and be off to Lagos again. She sat in the airport cafe, with a small box of juice and brought out her phone and stared at her husband's number for a full minute and finally, she couldn't hold back anymore. She dialled his number and almost gave up after it rang and rang but then he picked the call.

He sounded super stressed. "hello, babe."

"Bami...how are you....what's that sound, what's going on?"

She couldn't place it, it sounded like a banshee of some sort, a crazy and spiteful wail.

"Tonye....it's a long story, that's the chief's daughter?"

"Oh you found her..?!" She heard her boarding call and quickly got to her feet.

"well, something like that, actually she killed....."

Her husband voice faded to the background as she saw a peculiar man come out of the immigration clearing; 'Arrivals'

She didn't know him, his face didn't look familiar at all, yet.....yet she knew she had seen that face before, but she didn't know where.
She chewed her lip deep in thought and absentmindedly ended the call while her husband was still speaking. She handed the phone to airport security and was searched, before being cleared to board.

Maybe it was just a coincidence, she couldn't really place the face after all....maybe it was a look alike....but yet....

:::
25 minutes later and 10,000 feet in the air, she snapped her fingers and jerked so suddenly that the woman beside her flinched away like she was crazy.

She brought out her phone and powered it on. She had switched it off just before takeoff, now she waited impatiently for it to power on and activated the flight mode. She hurriedly scrolled through her pdf documents to the report Kirsten had compiled weeks ago. She could almost swear she had seen that face pop up alongside the Shadow's underground associates.
She scanned the pages hurriedly, ignoring the discreet cough from the sassy stewardess.

This time it was her turn to feel cold.


::::::::

Mynet11 found the car in the parking lot exactly where it was meant to be. He entered and drove out, consulting his google maps to the hotel which had been booked for him in advance. It was a stones throw from the Obasi residence and left to him, he would have performed the hit tonight and left the shitty town immediately. But the first minister wanted it done in the morning. So he'll have to wait, maybe get a nice LovePeddler to spend the night with. If not he'll spend the night branding his bullets. He never fired a bullet that didn't have the 11 mark.


::::::::::::::
Somewhere in Lagos..

The hand movements were swift, they sliced the air perfectly, causing a swishing sound with each strike. The movement was purposeful and painfully slow but yet almost fast at the same time. The tongue was glued to roof of the mouth, to enable the swift ride of the autonomic nervous system and to fully gain unremitting mindfulness that connects through body and soul, the breaths were short and deep, controlled with every movement, every stance. His heart had reduced drastically to 26 beats per minute.

This was no routine meditation, it was dangerous, energy was in the air. Sparrow was literally on the edge, but he had to. The heaviness in his spirit hadn't just been because he had killed a lot of men, well that was mainly the reason, plus the alcohol hadn't helped either. But there was something else. Something his QI was trying to tell him, he needed to literally toe this line. The birds continued to dance and fly about him, chirpping excitedly, increasing their pace slowly as he arched and rose, raising his left leg till it was high above his head, almost like a ballet dancer, that is if any could achieve such perfect gracefull movement.

Suddenly the birds began to move in one accord, round his body in one crazy frenzy, feathers flying about as they began to whistle and chirp. Only expert bird watchers would know that was a war cry, not a mating or playful cry. Sparrow slowly opened his eyes, flowing with the birds and immediately he saw the Crow. Perched on a tree a little way off. Watching him with the dead eyes crows are infamous for. The moment Sparrow saw the bird killer, the hundreds of smaller birds flying around him headed for the Corvus.

Most of them would be killed, but they had sheer volume and overwhelming force on their side. Their short but strong beaks together would tear the black bird apart.

Sparrow had just received his insight. He rushed out of the woods to where he had left the truck running.

He sped towards BROTA.

:::::::::::
Fidelis dropped his gun in the security gate and headed toward the pickup truck. He could recognize Old man Rosco holding a carton of bottled water, standing akwardly as he watched the glass doors, unsure whether to drop the crates or walk into the building.

"Bros Rosco, evening sir!" Fidelis called out, eyeing the other crates of beer on the floor. The other man was bent into the truck, probably trying to wedge free more crated drinks.

"Oh officer, evening. why the kit up, hope we're safe?" the old man asked playfully. He sounded a bit nervous.

"Yes o, but we need to do this quickly. Just drop all the drinks, I'll do the rest."

The walkie talkie on Fidelis' arm beeped suddenly. "......(Static) approaching....(static) over?"

"Come again...I didn't get you....over?"

"I repeat, truck headed over, perceived as unfriendly..."

Fidelis turned to look at the gate on the other end, although it was pure steel and didn't afford any view.
The young man straightened up from the pickup. He had finally retreieved what he had been battling with, but it was a shotgun. He aimed it at the guard's chest and pulled the trigger.

::::
Cornelius had been feeling foolish, watching stupidly as his partner strolled towards the pickup truck when movement from the far end screen caught his attention. A camouflaged truck had branched of the road and was no doubt heading malevolently towards the gate. He immediately reached for his walkie talkie to alert his Fidelis but ended up distracting him and he couldn't believe his eyes when the young man with Old man Rosco shot his partner in the chest at point blank range. The man began running towards the security house and Cornelius' eyes flew through the different boxes on the screen, the different camera angles. The truck was outside the gate and armed mercenaries were jumping out.

"Oh my God, Oh my God Oh my GOd!" he shouted, almost freezing in fear.

He froze for what seemed like eternity and finally hit a button and grabbed a microphone off the desk. "We're under attack!"

::::::::::::
Meanwhile, just inside, Dagnet was catching up with Short Sam's wife, telling her about her perfect record of closing cases, as a matter of fact the only case she hadn't closed or was yet to close was the one with the hole in the wall.

"Your life is just so different from what I'm used to....." S.s' wife was saying, her voice filled with admiration.
"What was that?" She asked as a loud noise from outside vibrated the building.

Dagnet knew what it was, or what she hoped it wasn't. It sounded like a pump action gun. She froze, raising a hand and silencing the barrage of questions which was no doubt about to rush out from the other woman's mouth.

Then almost immediately there was a screeching sound in the speaker and the frantic shout of man almost fully mad filled the 2 story building.
"We're under attack! We're under attack!"

"Oh my God, where's my son! Junior where are you?!"


To Be Continued...

vakjay08:
Souloho how have you been? My lyrical kungfu ninja.

I've been good bro, long time!

Roll call;

Samexdx stephengee12 hadampson dview001 rachealfst alarmednigerian vakjay08 meneski yommy20 prettyrose bibijay123 oyindawealth maltaleeza bakeuhappy supizino queenitee honourable356 debbycreamy dabila olufemiwhit kimkardashian Kimberly west iamloyalty countrygirl ayoshewa donteanz smokeydrinky chisiudeh dupsai sirgoldejike vincad skillful01 captainpower sikells castleberry maryclaire1 modik rhayne kunbeex princessadeola soulminister heemah osch10 Nmaglit forzarush sofiaamrozia misselocon jazmiynne mobecs damselbae igyeseh nanadeeva01 tolezy001 eitsei raintaker slimberry123 segibambo ladysunshine94 khennykhay rchilee dimssy boderline politicalthug Rodriguez12 prisivileth pweetywizzy charytea laraemi emzyme tillaman niwdog jekonmor officialflex bleeze2 cjizzy citygold121 aminatope247 jaesharp emmyn donnad diegonakel ogmeekzy07 hardeybay princesam10 bleeze2 cruzyteekay freshestmanny oluwaemmanuel sleekhoyen sexyolori pinkfeet ayodijex cyber5 succyblinks jupitre cindymorgan shurley22 ayodijex damibiz criis costal alamiendagash jide219 switkera renybenks osmon1996 queendd oroolorun shawdey tlordz toyin223 funnyfun precial419 boldndbeautiful tenniebae mightyfortress rosalieene nawtielizzie yourradiance tzminaj adeculate creeza go4success swankmee marvwhite aka sherlock Holmes
Dominicnuel skeetz gallantemory senatorpope holar1993 clemsworld donkelz beetunez44 myself2 ironlion1 blendmanuel mrsochy patjane seven jasmine2013 dreyman21 lyrink matherson tuba69 heeyhun sistaj komforth sowole007 dztzl johngainsville deadrat gmekx stainless239 queensiju niphmmy subtlemee in4matic ephay mzztega ayomicome kingsamm anaselizzy elvisojugo erudite202 korinnesta ebydarling bossy512 wapapod light4life chommieblaq dinabella surddick Godsmileforever officialbazor bibi294 Queen golden tenderblaze areros honeydawealth shotunz mariinee kukoyi larride oluwabuqqyyolo gabsi422 pinkberry5 zaheertyler hantonia jagugu88li oscardafuscar heymorse spdazzy omorlehwah itxayce kpagogin missnande chimeluv mrintegrity247 sussybae theabider bigbauer neenie phayth tife101 biggietreasures emmy091 queenjuli barag connkg emmydan hottadiva kinah favouritetega osch10 queen494 civilizedtyger sleepingqueen25 itsjezzy sheycrown dupsai yaronjos heirapparent cruzyteejay jaybee96 mrgudmood amikeem horlorlardaey kemam sexyfire911 kikiwendy neurojosh erock247 teekaycarter moonnstar negudugrace rayvelez xlozer timmyshot gamesound shekinah190 waacut elshberry bammylee002 iamdaquin01 bestie93 crislyn spiceybae holuwaphlexy gr8skillz virtuedagirl lildiamond seunnla cerowo kingsuave medrehab roastedcorn yemsy13865 snowboi360 hormobolanle jeedope hobbyheart mhizfavour juniho77 johncasey1 moyenii chinedubrazil sapy apostolate kendrickmykell slayer2 cindy1000 cbella brohimot royh mhizclair bankiev anneboyo2 lizzyparx lorlahlizzy dotwillis1 omomifamily patotelli thiannah observer3 mexzzy47 nikz marvin902 helenbee mhizterauto kayceerilyn iwakacome twinkle004 centitan kajsa08 babeflenz nickibeauty chillgist iralife tjpromise mancrimes oluwafeolami do4luv cynicgod queendaisy smartgenius10 kingphillip inkdbetty ksslib hidhris gracito smileing trggasg geektrovert matrycx osedagal qasar4life peppirina jey4all boywest1 drachel1993 folake25 lugar14 iheyhun connoisseur selimdeon kasey18 chigold121 erudite202 kayus621 kerr9 geosilye iamlynn lordshola billirayz augustinesilva ceecane2 hardeydun schlastica16 julietbae adfijem aries26 olueaseun15 dreyman21 virtueblazer harkinlowyeh gracyblaze donblzer10 ayokunmi24 mhizsuccess veevean0 amanda24 chinachris chara019 mexzzy47 chemicalreaction herosakin777 emerortj93 elshberry tomzz gotios latbons nerdychukz tijehi chigold121 mzposhberry90 tuhndhay brendy01 danyceo trendytessy hobbyheart lecdope okeyben10 itsandi jtofineme tripplexon biggysmolz oluwasheenah awalat172 steediamond antonineutron classicladyk moseph arabaribiti chiexcel retake89 authorityspeaks bensam2040 sleekhoyeen ultimategeneral officialflex stainlexxx tobymoore go4success kingzero lordpeckxy chinacriss ikechizoba obicoolnino fadahunsilegend seteejax optizzycute teebilion dammypat olori1992 ladybandie sussybae incredible2017 mickeyjaggers40 labelle123 akiewillis bidemmy4real kayjay007 sleemon chitheo smartaphyl joshnes badohemmy oluwakemi65 arinzevictor illicitblood arrestdarrester chuks000 mitchelljnr bishop818 ladyhal1 hilariousthiago aseke1 coolie1 ekopsparoayara ebonyqueen001 kingso23 solomonbrown64 whocarex clint237 lorlahlizzy engracedmay jennymaryjane01 kunleseshan enekwesylvia auric Emerich smartaphy1 dondemex nuelzy charminee epbere21 opeade939 agbenuanna obezeeco seanwilliam mazimee dohyinsolah ladeturner69 marychommy provabz renybenks horladstar blessgj olalekank lilymax vicoch agp19 jchemmy1 5iecreepy ochyglowsglows jadedgrace98 paqman shadow melodydennis yemike nittroboy ahmedbanj phemorison hazardman omnisparrow trebron damon147 jchemy1 fameg helenbee dreofGod tdyke4 gabi98 uchman48 jiikye1 genius43 mizsylviah bimsee jasonex4 obedugo seanatist anthcunny hawlascho kunmisola majole austinsamekpo pratiba phemochee marvin902 magicmeemee jacoik stephmiracle odyx blackel trendymiss johnsown1

This work of fiction is dedicated to the memory of Ochanya Elizabeth Obanje. You will never be forgotten,
Rest on.

:::::::::::
The rest of the week went on as usual; I went to school in the morning and kept watch in the shop in the afternoon. Saturdays were spent in the farm. It was hard work, digging the soil and pulling out the cassava root crops and piling it into the basket but I loved it. It was my favourite day of the week because I got to play with my brothers and sisters.

That Saturday, I was running around with my empty basket on my head, laughing and shouting while my brothers clapped and drummed on theirs and my sisters sang. We may not have had much, we were yet to even eat breakfast but we were happy.

When my mother burst onto the clearing, the singing stopped immediately and we all scattered to our respective spots, feigning serious devotion to our duties. But my mother didn’t scold us or pay us any attention. She had a spring in her step and a glint in her eye as she shouted my name and beckoned me to follow her.

“Mosu, God has finally answered our prayers….come with me, drop the basket.” She held my hands and walked briskly and I had to skip to keep up with her.

“Mama what is going on?”

“My child you’re going to have a better life….a family has come for you, they will take you to the city and provide quality education for you and take good care of you.”

“But mama I don’t want to go” I tugged her hand and she held me fast.

“Look here Mosu, I’m your mother and I know what is best for you. Do you know how many people are looking for this opportunity God has decided to bless you with?”

I was silent.

“Now when we get to the shop, I want you to be on your best behavior okay?”

I nodded solemnly and she hugged me, “it is well my child.”

From the distance I could see the very same Jeep I had seen earlier in the week. It still gleamed in the early Saturday sun and I suddenly knew who had come for me.

The woman sat on the only chair in the shop while another man leaned on our broken fridge. My father was standing in the corner, still in his singlet, his skin caked with the patches of sweat that had dried at different stages that morning. He looked nervous and was shuffling his feet nervously. I did not like to see him like that. When we entered the shop he gave a sigh of relief; “Oh there she is. Mosuirat, these nice people are here because of you”

“Good afternoon ma, good afternoon sir.” I knelt down as a sign of respect.

“Oh, what wonderful manners,” the man said and when I looked at him, I felt a great fear at the way his eyes narrowed at me. I quickly looked away and my eyes ran into the glare of the woman. Her eyes were still hard but she had a thin smile. It was not comforting but scary.

I didn’t want to go with these people.

“Okay honey. I guess we’ll take her.” The man said and straightened up.

The woman he called ‘honey’ also stood up from the chair. She turned to my mother, “we’ll be here tomorrow morning, please ensure she’s ready."

“Yes ma,” my mother half knelt in gratitude and I didn’t like it either. I didn’t like the way my parents were shaking at the sight of these rich people with the wicked eyes.

I watched the four of them as they left the shop, irritated at the way my mother kept bowing her head in reverence and the way my father kept shuffling his feet. Still I wondered what was really going on.

Then I saw the man bring out a wad of money and count it before handing it to my father, who also half bowed in gratitude.

I held my head with both hands as a feeling of trepidation came over me. Did my parents just sell me?

:::::::
Moving to Lagos was like a dream come true. A dream I never knew I had. The drive was a quiet one and I tried my best not to cry as I remembered the teary goodbyes I had shared with my siblings that morning. I missed them already. I wondered when I would see them again.

But then; the buildings began to catch my fancy, the people standing at the road, dressed colourfully, the cars and bikes, the yellow and black buses, the young men standing on the road, collecting money from the buses, the numerous colourful signboards. It was something I had never seen before in my life. For the first time, I began to feel I was really lucky. What did my mother say earlier; that a lot of people dreamt of this kind of opportunity and here I was, in Lagos to live the dream.

But I would come to learn that there are dreams and there are nightmares.


I was to call her madam, and call him Oga. I was to wake up every morning by 4 o’clock and sweep the compound and mop the floors, rewash the dishes I washed the night before and wipe the furniture in the house till it sparkled. Then I was to wash the clothes I had soaked the night before, wash the toilets and bathroom so that Madam and Oga could have their bath. If I performed my duties diligently, then they would send me to the public school in the neighbourhood. If I kept on with my duties without slacking and making mistakes, then they would withdraw me and place me in a private school.

“We don’t want any useless liability in this house, am I clear?” Madam snapped after telling me my duties. I nodded hurriedly.

My instructions were very clear and it became my mantra, chanted over and over along with the multiplication table they had taught me in my former school.

The first few weeks I started living with them, I cried myself to sleep most times because I missed my family, missed my sisters and my brothers and missed my parents.

I performed my duties because Madam had a temper. She never hit me but she would always go through the dishes, checking for any trace of oil, or running her finger along the center table, for any trace of dust. It was always clean but I began to imagine if they would send me back home if I slacked in my duties, to be honest I wouldn’t mind. Oga on the other hand hardly paid me any attention. He was not interested in the cleanliness of the house and only shouted at me if I did not polish his shoes properly.

The days went by in a monotonous routine and became a blur. I found release only at night, when my tired limbs were stretched on the bed and I had few hours to myself to reminisce about my village and remember the fun times I used to have with my brothers and sisters.


Then one night I was pulled out of the sweet escape of my dream. I was back in the farm, dancing, with my basket balanced on my head while my brothers clapped and my sisters sang when a hand suddenly clamped over my mouth and pulled me out of the sunny dream to the reality of the dark room.

Oga was in my room and he had his trouser on the bed. He was naked. Residues of the dream and sleep still clouded my senses and I was confused. What was going on? I could still hear the clapping and singing from the dream deep in my head and I thought maybe I was having another dream, somehow dreaming inside my dream.

The pain that spread from in-between my legs was unbelievable and it shattered every illusion. I cried out but Oga’s hand was over my mouth.

“shhhh….if you make any noise I’d kill you and your poor parents would die of hunger. I bought you….you’re my property now.”

His big hands muffled my sobs and his animalistic grunts filled my ears. I would never hear the beautiful songs of my sisters, or the clapping and drumming of my brothers again. That grunt is all I would hear whenever I closed my eyes.

:::::::::::
He left as quickly and silently as he came although it felt like forever. I lay in the dark, crying softly as the pain spread to my very soul. Just in one moment I had lost everything, I was broken, I was confused and I felt betrayed.

I never wanted this, my parents had betrayed me for money, all in the guise of sending me off to a better environment but in reality they had sold me off to slavery. I was a slave, a modern slave but a slave nonetheless. I spent the night crying, unable to sleep, unable to forget what Oga had done to me but unwilling to remember it.

The cock crowed by 4am which was my normal alarm to get up and begin my daily chores but I ignored it. I remained on the bed, drowning in my tears which continued to flow.

Madam shouted my name in the morning when she didn’t see any sign of me washing the dishes.

“Mosuirat!”

I couldn’t answer.

She stormed into the room and saw me sitting on the floor, my hands around my folded legs as I swayed dejectedly, sobbing in the corner. She looked round the room then saw my bed sheet was stained with blood.

She didn’t say anything but crossed to where I was and dragged me roughly to my feet.

“You piece of filth, make sure you scrub the sheet and do your work, I’m going out.” Then she slapped me, a backhand slap that dazzled me and made me see stars. The slap left a ringing in my head but I still heard her hiss with a lot of venom before she stalked out.

That was the first time madam slapped me, but it would not be the last. From that moment, any time madam gave me an instruction, she would always leave an exclamation mark on my face.

Oga paid me another visit that night, and the night after that. I begged him and pleaded but he seemed to enjoy my tears. Seeing his eyes reflected by the little moonlight that seeped into my room, I noticed he looked happier and smiled as I cried and begged him to stop. Whenever he left me, I would crawl to the floor and promise myself never to cry again, never to give him the satisfaction of my tears. But then he would creep into my room the following night and I’d begin to cry and beg him to leave me alone.

And Madam would always hit me and beat me. She got a leather belt and would always be on the lookout for any mistake I made so she could beat me. No matter how careful I was, nothing was ever good enough for her.

I had no one to confide in. I was yet to receive the education that had been promised me, I spent all my days locked up in the house like a prisoner.

:::::::
The day my father came to see me, I sat in the chair stiffly while he kept on bowing and thanking my captors for taking me into their loving home and providing food and clothes for me. He could see I was unhappy. I had tears in my eyes but he chose to ignore me like I didn’t have an opinion and whatever I said or felt didn’t matter. I had long since learnt to lock myself deep into a room in my mind, a room where I could continue to dance with my basket while my brothers clapped and my sisters sang. That was the only place I could be happy, even though it was a mirage, even though the memory was now black and white and devoid of colour and life.

So I sat in the chair, looking at them while I found reprieve in the fantasy of memory.

Still I made a last minute effort. I cried after him and told him I wanted to go back home with them but my father just hugged me.

“Don’t worry Mosu, you’ll come and spend some time with us at home, and Jumai would come and join you soon, so you’ll have someone to talk to and play with. I love you okay?”

I doubted if he loved me as I watched Oga count some money and give to him. He showered praise on them and left.

I was ashamed of my father.

That night Madam brought out the belt again. “How dare you cry that you want to follow your father?”

She beat me and sent me to bed without any food. And later that night Oga woke me up.

:::
I have been raped and abused for 10 months. What was my crime? Being poor? Born into a poor family? Having parents that didn’t really love me as they should? What did I do to deserve this? I was suffering for the sins of my parents. For the illiteracy and primitive mentality that made them think we were not good enough and had to serve other humans.

I was too young to go through all these but I had long accepted my fate, dreaming of the day I would run away and find freedom was the only thing that kept me going.

But days after my father left, I kept on thinking of what he had said; my sister Jumait would be joining me soon in this hell. She was going to suffer just like I had. Madam was going to beat her and Oga was going to touch her with his filthy hands like he did me.

I cried almost every day, either when Madam was hitting me or whipping my back with the leather or when Oga was crushing me with his weight, grunting and grinning at me but as I thought of my little sister Jumai going through the same fate, I cried. This time the tears were different. It drained me off energy and left me lying in bed through the day. By nightfall I had made up my mind. My sister was not going to suffer the same fate. I didn’t know what I would do about it, but I had to do something.


Then the rats attacked. Somehow they found their way into the house through the sewage plumbing. Big, black sewer rats with long tails and slimy furs. They scurried about the house, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. They; nibbled the edges of the curtains, nibbled the television cables, nibbled on Oga’s work documents and Madam’s sandals. They destroyed everything and Madam couldn’t stand them. She would scream and scream at each sighting, shouting;

“Filthy rats! Filthy rats!”

Her screaming annoyed me because I thought she was just being hypocritical. Compared to her husband, the rats were almost spotless. Her husband was the dirtiest animal and she knew it. I had seen the way she looked at me, the way she looked at him and I know she knew. She knew the terrible things he did to me but she overlooked it.

Madam hated rats so much she bought a carton of rat poison home one day from work. I watched her as she mixed the powder with pieces of meat and fried fish and placed it in strategic positions around the house; in the dark corners the rats always disappeared to, under the sink, behind the cupboard, behind the cartons in the store.

Two days later, an unbelievable stench filled the house. She instructed me to find all the dead rats responsible for the smell and dispose them before she came back from work that evening.

I followed the smell and found 4 big dead rats around the house. I disposed them outside and returned to the spots to spray disinfectant and mop the floors and I marveled at how effective the poison was. I began to wonder how it would be if ingested by a human.
I took a box and hid it in my room.

That was last week.

I went through the rollercoaster of emotions all week. Should I or shouldn’t I? Could I or couldn’t I? But all it took was one more visit from Oga and I knew I couldn’t survive the abuse anymore. I couldn’t let my sister come and suffer the abuse too.

I waited patiently for my opportunity.

Now that my mind was made up the opportunity wasn’t forthcoming. I waited all week, growing frustrated with each passing day, each passing slap from Madam and each passing night visit from Oga until today. Today I finally carried out my revenge.

Lately Oga had been coming home earlier than usual. And whenever he got home before madam, he would hold me roughly and instruct me to do dirty things to him. He came home earlier today and immediately called me to his room but before he could get started we heard the sound of the gate opening.

“Madam has arrived. If I hear you say anything, I’ll kill you.” He shoved me roughly and buckled his belt. I ran out, adjusting my gown and managed to enter the kitchen before Madam.

“Welcome Ma.”

“Idiot! Hurry up and wash this fish then put it on fire!”

I already turned my cheek, expecting the slap which she dished out happily. I hurried to the sink while my cheek throbbed.

I stayed in the kitchen with madam, to lend a helping hand as she prepared dinner, fetching the ingredients she needed, being helpful but I was waiting for my chance.

When she put the soup on low heat and left the kitchen I waited till I could hear her voice in the room talking with Oga then I quickly opened the cupboard and emptied the whole box of rat poison in the soup. Then I rushed into my room and shut my eyes. I had finally done it.

“Mosuirat.”

“Yes ma.”

I rushed to the kitchen as my heart pounded. Somehow she had found out about what I had done and I was in big trouble. But she was already dishing the soup. The melon soup smelt delicious and I looked at the large quantity she had put in the bowl for she and Oga. They loved eating together and this was their last supper.

“Go and set water to wash hand on the dining table.” She snapped and I hurried away.

I stood at the entrance, with my heart in my throat until they began to eat and then I began to smile. But my smile disappeared when I heard the words that hunt me to this very hour;

“Honey guess what, I’m pregnant!”

:::::::::::::::::

So here we are. They continue to laugh and talk as they enjoy their last supper, making plans for the child.

They don’t know the child would never see the light of day. Tears begin to trickle down my face as I dish my own soup. I’m too young to have made the kind of decisions I made today, too young to have gone through the physical and emotional trauma of the last 10 months.

At least Oga and Madam are not going to put another child through their abuse. My sister isn’t going to suffer what I suffered. They are going to pay for their sins.

If you hear my story, I plead with you to search yourself, there are other young girls and boys going through what I went through, suffering physical and sexual abuse and they have no one to stand for them and speak for them. Please, don’t be like my parents, don’t sell off children for money and don’t turn a blind eye when you see a child crying because most times the tears run deep, deeper than we can ever imagine.

There are wicked people in this world who enjoy torturing and abusing helpless children just because we can’t fight back. Please don’t let us suffer for sins we did not commit.

The truth is that two children are going to die tonight, the unborn child and I, for the sins of our parents.

If you read my story and still find me guilty, I agree with you, my innocence was stolen after all. But first, let me eat my meal in peace.



The End

My pulse keeps racing as the weight of what I’ve done keeps dawning on me afresh. I can still hear them rejoicing and laughing from the dining. They don’t know what I have done.

I stand over the gas cooker, peering into the pot of soup, shaking as the single phrase that chills my blood continues replaying in my head.

I have done something terrible.

I’m a murderer.

My name is Mosuirat and when you read this in the newspaper tomorrow, you’re going to hate me. I don’t expect you to understand but I have to explain myself, explain what pushed me down this one-way road of no return so that my story can serve as a lesson to the world about the wickedness that resides in the heart of man and how a beautiful soul was turned dark and a kind hearted girl was turned into a murderer.

Okay, I don’t have much time. Before I let the emotions overcome me let me sit down and tell you my story.




::::::::::::

I come from a village in Osun State, Nigeria. My parents had more children than money and my earliest years growing up was filled with so much memories of sleeping hungry and waking with tummy aches carried all through the night. But I was happy.

I had brothers and sisters and we would play together and run round the compound and at night we took turns in telling stories under mango tree while the moonlight provided a luminescent illumination that seemed to add some kind of flavour to the night’s tales.
I was the youngest child of my parents. I had 3 elder sisters and 4 brothers and right from the moment I could walk, I was expected to contribute my own quota to the family growth.

My parents had a farmland and our daily routine was simple enough; go to the farm and till the soil, water the earth, harvest the crops. It all depended on the stage and the season of the crops.
Other days I assisted my mother in our shop where she sold provisions. But sadly, the business was not really moving. We didn’t get as much customers as we normally should have because our next door neighbour also had a shop. And two houses down, there was another shop. They both sold the same goods we did and more. Their shops were even much bigger than ours, more attractive and painted with bright colours with the goods arranged and displayed in a beautiful manner that just seemed to call to the customers, while ours was a rundown shop with peeling paint and cracks in the walls. If I were to be a customer, I know where I’ll be going to buy the things I needed. Still I loved our little shop. I would arrange the Coca-Cola bottles in the crate, imagining they were my pupils and I was their teacher. I had a dream to be a teacher, to educate little children and tell them that no matter how poor they were or where they came from, they didn’t have to let the background define them, they could still change their lives and make it better.

I attended the community school a stone’s throw away from my home and my father decided my daily trips to the farm be suspended till weekends. And so every afternoon after school, I stayed in the shop with my sister while my mother went to town to run some errands.

The woman who would change my life came to the shop on a sunny Wednesday afternoon. After school, I had gone straight to the shop as usual so I was still in my uniform, hunched over the broken fridge in the corner as I tried to tackle the quantitative reasoning homework our teacher had given us. I liked math and always enjoyed calculating our customer’s bill and subtracting their change from the cost.

I was hungry, I hadn’t eaten that day and until my mother came back from the market to cook, there was nothing I could do but wait. Although I could easily take one of the biscuits we sold in the shop, but the last time I had done that, my mother had given me a thorough beating for stealing. After my tears had died down, she had hugged me and told me not to cry anymore, that all I had to do was ask. She said she didn’t want me to grow to be a thief and from that day she frequently bought little treats for me from the market.
Till today I don’t know how she found out about the biscuit I stole but no matter how hungry I got, I always preferred to wait for her, knowing she would get me something and if she didn’t, I only had to ask. Besides they had taught me in my social studies class about stealing and I never wanted to be a thief, never!

On that faithful day, I was alone in the shop. My eldest sister Simbiat always left me to go God knows where every afternoon, but she always came back before my mother returned from the market, making my mother think she had been in the shop all along. I suspected she went to see a boy because he had accompanied her back once. I didn’t understand what she saw in boys, they were rough and dirty and always insulting the girls in my school. But my sister didn’t share my thoughts about them, so I was usually alone in the shop for two hours every afternoon.

I was cracking my head over the quantitative exercise, tapping my pencil on my head when the jeep drove to the front of the shop. The shiny colour of the vehicle caught my attention immediately and I shut my textbook as I admired the way the sun glinted on the gleaming red surface.

The moment the woman got down, I began to fear. I don’t know why, I don’t know what it was about her but I found myself wishing she wasn’t coming to our shop but would pass and go to the more attractive and neatly arranged shop of our neighbour. But she proved me wrong and approached our shop. I got up immediately and smiled just as my mother always instructed me. A friendly service would always bring the customer back, again and again.

So I smiled, looking at the woman as she approached. She removed her glasses slowly and her eyes almost caused my smile to disappear. There was something in her eyes. Something hard that made me want to run away. But I was determined to make the sale so I greeted her, “Good afternoon ma”

She swept my whole length with her eyes and looked round the scanty shop. She didn’t seem impressed, by either of us. “Are you the only one here?”

“Yes ma, my mother went out”

“Hmmm….” she looked at me and I began to feel uneasy. “What’s your name?” she asked

“Mosuirat ma.” I replied

“Mosuirat, how old are you?”

“I’m 11 years old ma”

“hmmm……and you’re handling this shop. Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Yes ma, I know the prices of everything.”

“hmmmm….okay I want to buy eggs.”

She continued watching me with her narrow eyes as I selected our freshest eggs for her. When she was done, she gave me a thousand naira note and instructed me to keep the change.

I was overjoyed. I watched her walk back to her car and even waved at her when she looked back once more. Later, I told my sister about the woman with the wicked eyes and the kind heart and how she had left over 800naira behind which was about half the week’s profit in one single day.

My mother was also overjoyed when she came back and she gave me not one, but two biscuits from the shelf.

I slept happily that night.

MacSmart:
I can't breathe. I am crying. You won't understand what this means to me.


After three years of trying and failing, I finally made the top 200 in the world.

The Commonwealth short story prize is an annual writing competition that accepts short stories of not more than 5000 words.

You too should enter.

Keep it up bro, the sky is the starting point

mitchelljnr:
souloho19 what's happening, hope you're okay, come and give us update na.

Honestly bro it seems the demons of the literary world have been against me, imagine all my gadgets suddenly ganging up on me? I'm fine tho and I've started scripting yet again, by evening the update would drop no doubt.

Solly1:
Sometimes I think, I think too much.

Pls coman update mbok, Akant coman kee mysef.

Lol!

Tuhndhay:
Meneski, Souloho19, queenitee, Apollux, cyber5, cyberrex, Donteanz,
Damibiz, bigbauer, hadampson, creeza, emzyme,
hormobolanle, boffinjay,
slimsky,...... Make unah come chop

ReuEl12, Ironkurtain

Thanks boss

Thanks for sticking around fam, Soulo is back now. Updates would resume this week.
Graciàs

dimssy:
Souloho19 finally came back for us.
Thanks manh...

But then, how you dey?
Thanks for the update.

I'm very good bro, happy Sunday. Wish I could update today but it's basically out of my hands right now

EbonyQueen001:
Oga, where you dey?
I hope all is well?

Thanks for asking, I'm good, just trying to recreate the updates I had written on my laptop before. Facing some technical issues but really soon it would be back on track. How's the family