Vinapriscaz Blog

We were in the sitting room one night watching television when we heard loud laughter from Chima’s room. We ran to check, and there was my brother seated on the floor pointing at the window and laughing hysterically. My mum broke down in tears, ‘heeeeeiiii my enemies have done it! My only son has gone mad. What have I done to deserve this? Haaaaa! I’m finished. My only son!’. At the word “mad”, I remembered Aunt Esther’s words, “let madness fall on you”. I looked at my brother and felt goose bumps on my skin. Chima had indeed gone mad. I was stupefied. Was Aunt Esther a witch? How can Chima be mad? These and many other questions filled my heart as I watched my mum wail. My dad walked in the room while I followed him and became aware of the smoky smell. We didn’t have to search for the source; right in front of my brother were rolls of tobacco wrapped in papers. My dad opened his mouth in shock. Chima was a smoker. My dad looked like he had been punched in the chest. We couldn’t fathom

‘Let madness strike you there this boy! Chidera, carry this basket and follow me’. I looked at Chima again, thankful that he had not gone mad yet, considering the fierceness with which Aunt Esther uttered those words. Chima is my 16 years old elder brother and we came to the village last week to spend the Easter vacation with our aunt Esther and her husband. Aunt Esther is our father’s elder sister. She has been married for what?- 8 years or thereabout, without a child of her own. I overheard someone say she is frustrated and that is the cause of her constant edginess. I looked at Chima again, checking for even the slightest sign of madness until my aunt’s voice forced me out of my stupor. ‘Chidera, I said follow me!’ I gave Chima one last look and followed her with the basket. Chima had obviously angered her by refusing to carry the hoe, so I had to bear the brunt of her anger. ‘You children are so spoilt and lazy. You hate doing work. This is what happens when you’re in a house wit

When we got to the bus stop, I walked up to her and commended her kindness. She gave me a smile that would melt stone and replied, “Oh it’s nothing. We should be nice to people.” We introduced ourselves and by the end of our introduction, I felt like I had known her all my life. I asked for her contact, which she gave me and the rest is history. Our relationship grew from one level to another, and today, I’m standing at the altar with the love of my life. “Yes, I do”, I replied to the pastor while my eyes danced all over her face. “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride”. Just then, there was pandemonium among the congregation and as I turned to look, I heard a shot, then screams and I saw Juliet fall to the floor, blood pouring out from a hole by the side of her head. For an instant, I felt my heart stop. “It’s a dream Nath!” Repeating the words to myself didn’t help. I just wanted to wake up from this horror. In my shock-induced paralyzed state, it hit me. The

“Do you, Nathaniel Lawson, take Juliet Cookey to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part? I looked in to her eyes again and I felt a thousand butterflies fill my stomach. I made it! Here I am, standing at the altar with the woman of my dreams, my better half, my life partner, my twin. I’m getting married to Juliet, my crush for over three years! And in those brief seconds, my mind went down memory lane. I met Juliet during my NYSC days at Asaba. Ours was not the typical “love at first sight” thing. On my way home from work one day, a fight broke out in the bus I boarded between the conductor and one of the passengers; an elderly man who couldn’t pay his fare becaus e he had forgotten his wallet where he was coming from. He was pleading with the conductor to pardon him. Trust these agberos. It was like pouring water on zuma rock.

The treatment continued for the remaining nights before their mother came back. On the fourth night, Leonard said to me, “I hope you aren’t thinking of telling our mother. Do you really think she will believe you over us?” At this, his brothers burst into laughter while I cried silently. I knew he was right. I was indeed on my own. I felt worthless. I couldn’t interact with other girls my age; I didn’t feel like a little girl anymore. Those boys took that away from me. The assault continued till I was 16. Any of them would come into my room at night and rape me. I usually never made any sound. It was useless. I went to school one day and decided I wouldn’t return to that house. I didn’t know where to go, but by night, I ran into a church where a lady cleaning saw me with tears in my eyes and took me to the pastor’s wife who took me in. After hearing my story, she took me to the hospital the next morning where I was thoroughly checked. It was a miracle that I didn’t get pregnant. I b

I was sleeping in my room that night when I felt rough hands shaking me. I woke up to find the three boys in my room, with scary and mischievous looks on their faces. It was Julius who spoke first, “We’ve come to give you what you were looking for by going to watch Leonard in the bathroom”. Before I could say a word, Pascal and Leonard had appeared on either sides of my bed and held my hands apart. I was filled with panic from the pit of my stomach. When I tried to scream, I got the slap of my life that dazed me for a moment from Leonard. With a wicked smile on his face, Julius spread my legs apart and knelt between them. Then he proceeded to unbutton my pajama shirt slowly; he wanted to make sure I’ll always remember every moment of it. My face was already drenched with tears and Leonard jeered at me, “we’ve not even started and you’re already pouring out all the tears in your eyes. Better keep some for the main thing”. I was too afraid to even say a word. I only cried the more. I’ve

Since I had no known relatives; my mum was the only child of her late parents and she left everything and everyone related to my dad after their divorce, I was taken in by my mum’s closest friend. She was a business woman with a very big boutique. Her husband worked with an oil company, so he wasn’t always around. I was registered in a school with their three sons, Pascal, Leonard and Julius aged 11, 14 and 16 respectively. Maybe it was because their parents were wealthy, coupled with the fact that they were over pampered, they were excessively spoilt. They treated me like an object to be avoided. I was 13 years old when I rushed back home from school one day really pressed. I was at the verge of peeing on myself. My mum had always told me that the bad habit of holding back urine till the last minute would cause trouble for me if I didn’t stop it. I guess the trouble decided to come on that day. I rushed into the bathroom without knocking, only to be met with the naked and soapy form

In this century, I’ve always watched marriages fall apart. Sometimes after many years and sometimes in less than five years like my parents’ and sometimes even after months. But I never thought I will come this close to being a victim, just after seven months of being married. Like I said, I’ve being married for seven months, and in all that time, I’ve never slept with my husband. You heard me. And before you start thinking, my husband is perfectly okay and innocent. He’s at the receiving end of all these. You’ll understand better if I tell you my story. I was two years old when the three years old marriage between my parents came to a bitter end. I still don’t know how it happened; my mum never talked about it. She took me away from my dad and relocated to another state- she wanted to be as far away from him as possible. But sadly, she didn’t last. She died eight years later. Cancer. I don’t know how long she’d been living with it, but her death was the beginning of my nightmare.

Later that evening, as I sat with papa outside, his friend uncle Barinua called in and they began to talk over a keg of palm wine  about Unle Barido who had just died yesterday. I watched their mouths fill with palm wine and wondered if uncle Barido also drank palm wine, swirling it in his mouth for some time like papa did before swallowing and how it must be for him to not be able to drink palm wine anymore because he was dead. Uncle Barido had died shouting that he couldn't breath. He had been having such experiences for some time just like Uncle Dornu that lives along the way to the stream. I guess Uncle Barido wasn't a strong fighter. As I listened to Uncle Barinua talk about how his Uncle died from the same condition two years ago, I began to think that maybe, my village had done something wrong that we were being punished for. First loosing babies, next dying of breathing problems. I also remembered hearing nma & papa complain last week that the taste of the fishes c

Later that morning as I watched her wash the bed-spread heavily soiled with blood; a ritual I had witnessed for the fourth time now, I couldn't help but wonder if nma was really a witch like I overhead aunty Zorlesi and aunty Barido talking the other day on my way from uncle Letam's house, with the little keg of palm wine papa had sent me to get. I know my nma & papa had me after being married for 7 years; nma said it every time anyone tried to beat me. And Aunty Waka even said aunty Dumle, aunty Leelee and aunty Barine who suffered the same fate as nma were all in the same witchcraft coven. It was rumoured that they ate up their babies from their womb. As I watched nma wash her wrappers with tear in her eyes, I shook my head vigorously. It couldn't be. Nma is one of the kindest women in the village, and I know witches are always wicked like Nàà Sorka, the village witch that had been abandoned in her hut by her children because she bewitched all of them. No, nma is n