OIL SPILLAGE (Final part)

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 caught from the stream has changed recently. I tried to remember the last time I ate fish and how it tasted. I couldn't remember- it was last night and I had been overjoyed that nma had given me two pieces of fish for completing my chores early.

As I thought of the recent events in the village, I wondered if they were related to the fact that the harvest this year was not as rich as before, and why those men who wear helmets on their head; the ones papa called oil people that I see in the village have began to come in larger numbers.

The Niger Delta is faced with the major problem of oil spillage. I'm sure everyone knows about the case of Ogoniland and the fact that till now, the publicized "Cleanup of the Ogoniland" has not even started. & these spills cause a lot of environmental problems which in turn affect the health of the humans living in such areas. Researchers have found that babies in Nigeria are twice as likely to die in the first month of their life if their mothers were living near an oil spill before falling pregnant. Oil companies and the government should stand up to their responsibilities and ensure that these spills are cleaned up, and on time too. The health of the members of these communities should always be considered.

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CULTISM (Final part)

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

OIL SPILLAGE (part 2)

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

SEXUAL ABUSE (part 2)

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

WIDOWHOOD PRACTICE (part 2)

When I got to the village, it wasn’t much of a problem settling down because my mum was from the eastern part of the country and I spent a good part of my childhood vacations with her relatives in the village hence, I was very fluent in Igbo, the language of the east. It wasn’t difficult to find an elderly woman who was willing to rent one of the rooms in the small house she shared with her son to me at a fair price. The people of this village were known to be kind to strangers- history had it that many years ago, one of their gods in form of a weary looking man had visited the house of a widowed woman one night. And due to the hospitality shown to the human- god, it blessed the community and that led to a very bountiful harvest that year. So it was a law to always be kind to strangers; you never know when a god will come visiting. Part 3

WIDOWHOOD PRACTICE (part 3)

When I had settled down, I engaged my host in a conversation and I found out that the village was in excitement over the refusal of a woman- a widow who had just lost her husband, to obey the laws laid down by the Umuada to be observed by all widows immediately her husband dies. The woman, Akunna a mother of 4 children lost her husband two weeks ago. She and her late husband resided in the city and were forced back to the village due to hardship seven years ago. Though without any formal education, Akunna was an enlightened woman. She wouldn’t bulge to the pressure mounted on her by the Umuada to keep to the age long tradition of the community. Hence, the village head called for a meeting of all the villagers to the market square the next day to decide on the suitable punishment for her. It was the first time the law was disregarded. I was just in time, I thought to myself. Being present at the meeting tomorrow would enable me get the information I needed first hand. So I thanked my

CULTISM (part 1)

“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.

DRUG ABUSE (final part)

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

WIDOWHOOD PRACTICE (part 4)

Early the next morning, I got ready and went with my host to the village square, not forgetting my tape recorder, writing materials, and camera. I wanted to do a wonderful job. Who knows, it might land me the promotion I’ve been praying for. When we got the village square, the place was crowded. I guess everyone wanted to see what would be done to the woman who had the guts to disobey the custom of the land. The air was tense. People were engaged in conversations with each other, no doubt, about the issue at hand. A woman beside me said to her friend, "that Akunna that refused to grow out of her pomposity. Since she came back from the city with her husband, she acts like she's better than all of us. Are you sure she didn't kill him with her sabi sabi? I hope they teach her a lesson". Part 5 Enjoying the story? Let me know your thoughts. Leave your comments in the comments section. Thank you!

SEXUAL ABUSE (part 1)

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.

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