Our Worst Enemy - NaijaStories.com

Our Worst Enemy - NaijaStories.com

                                               IS LOVE FOR SALE

A Short Play by Gabe Onwu Uko

CHARACTERS

David

Elizabeth

Flora

Coulibaly

L      (A huge gate to a cream -painted flat is flung opened. A beautiful Lady in tight fitting blue jeans appears with her Gucci handbag. After a few strides, she looks at her watch and wonders if Taxis drivers would ply Freedom Avenue this day.Suddenly, David emerges from his hideout)

DAVID: Ma Chérie, Mademoiselle bebe, My sugar, my network, ma compasses, my Wifi my recharge card, My ...

ELIZABETH: Arrette ca!Point of correction. Who is your Baby and all that rubbish? Haii, Pourquoi tu me deranger cet midi comme ca? Do you always keep vigil at this vicinity? Ya quoi meme? Your French cannot take you anywhere.

DAVID: You are always in a hurry. I no longer understand you (he adjusts his sun glasses in a stylistic manner and stretches his right foot to reveal his new footwear)   I simply want to let you know that this love of ours is not ordinary. It has been ordained by Jah from heaven (pointing to the sky) and very soon will be signed into law.Thereafter,I shall take you  to the moon for our honeymoon. If only you give me your heart, Baby.

ELIZABETH: Tchei! Toi encore? This parasite! You don’t even know the road to a woman’s heart yet you dream of taking her to the moon. If you admire me, there is always a right thing to do and the best road to follow. There is no longer peace in this neighbourhood because of your presence. See the effect of joblessness in you? (Aside)Oh my God, I am not prepared for this rag tag.

DAVID: Please leave that traditional and barbaric mumbo jumbo speech. We are in the modern era and ought to use modern expressions. All I ask is just a morceau of your love. Baby do you realise that this life is too short to be indecisive in matters of the heart?

ELIZABETH: Matters of the heart indeed! Has your Mother ever taught you anything about approaching a lady? (She giggles and touches her hair to reveal her right eye partially hidden)

DAVID: Like what? By the way, keep my mother out of this or...

ELIZABETH: Or WHAT? Grow up or go back and suck her breasts. Why am I wasting my precious time with this imbecile and circus monkey?

DAVID: Haa? Baby you are insulting me, you know? As I was saying, I swear, I can even drink acid or rat poison to prove my love for you.

ELIZABETH: Ah boh? Then what are you waiting for? Your ancestors will be happy to receive a new member in their territory.

DAVID: You know that I love you. I will do anything humanly possible for you Eliza my Baby. I am ready to go to any length and even climb the highest mountain to prove my love for you. Baby. Can’t you see it in my eyes?

(moves closer to hug Elizabeth but she repels him and adjusts her tight-fitting shirt)

ELIZABETH: Love? There he goes again. When will you wake up from your fantasy? Isn’t it high time you read between lines? Love goes beyond mumbling some poetic lines or being lost in a world of dreams. I am not even moved by your new appearance. All I can see is a confused hungry cockroach in borrowed second hand suit (she hisses).

DAVID: Are you referring to my Italian made suit and shoes that can stand the taste of time? This wristwatch, IPod and golden necklace will speak for themselves. I am fully loaded.

ELIZABETH: What I see before is a full blown he-goat on heat. But I am not one of your victims.

(Flora emerges from the opposite direction to join her friend but is not amused by the presence of David)

FLORA: LI baby (she addresses Elizabeth), what are you doing with this thing and what is he looking for?

ELIZABETH: Flo, ask him. He has mouth.

FLORA: Ehen! Mr Lover boy, what do you want from my aspiring Miss World?

I’m glad you have just called me Lover Boy. What does a charming prince and hopefully a future President want from a girl like her?

FLORA: Hiaaa! He calls himself a Prince and presidential aspirant. Are we dreaming?

DAVID: Three people cannot have the same dream at the same spot on the same day if I may put it to you.

(all of a sudden Elizabeth’s phone rings, out comes the music’s will always love you’ and she quickly picks it)

ELIZABETH: Sweetheart, when are you coming? I am missing you so much that I wish you were here to hold me in your arms.

(David is upset and demands to know the caller).

DAVID: Who is on the phone with you? Isn’t that a male voice? Are you dating someone? Why this embarrassment? I get it! Can I see that phone?

ELIZABETH: The phone you bought for me? Take your filthy hands off my phone.(she wrestles with David and the latter gives her back the handset) I advise you to reserve your questions for your future wife because I am not your candidate.

DAVID: You have been going out with someone else then?

FLORA:  Technically No, but…..em…I mean .if you are wise enough to approach this issue that way. The answer may not be implausible. There are other fishes in the river. My Elizabeth is not ready to be a widow in her twenties.

DAVID: what? How do you mean?

ELIZABETH: Monsieur David, read between the lines. If you could meet the conditions set before you, then we can talk about love.

DAVID: What are they?

(Flora jumps in)

FLORA: Li Baby, go on. He needs to hear the truth today. Give it to him.

ELIZABETH: My needs are not much. I need a car for running around, I need some money to pay my siblings school fees, my mother needs some money to go for cancer operation in India, My Father’s house needs renovation and we need to change our wardrobe. If you can afford these simple things, we can begin from somewhere.

DAVID: Good Heavens! Has someone placed a price tag on you? Isn’t love a free gift? Now I have to buy love?

ELIZABETH: Your questions are rhetorical. Open your eyes and flow with the wave. The Man I just spoke with has promised to do all those things and so has won my heart. Lest I forget, Flora here is in charge of our wedding arrangements.

Holds his head with his two palms, turns around and suddenly changes his posture but snaps his two fingers as he would occasionally do when beckoning his dog

DAVID: Ahaa… I knew it but I was so foolish not to have joined the dots over the years.

ELIZABETH: It is never too late to do so.  At some point in life, someone needs to move a step ahead. Besides, I don’t want to change my name to Miss Perpetual poverty.

DAVID:  He is buying you with his money but sooner or later you will regret everything.

(At this juncture his David’s friend Coulibaly alights from a Motorbike runs towards him).

COULIBALY: They are coming; they are coming with two Policemen to arrest you?

DAVID: Arrest me for what?

COULIBALY: First, I need my ipad and necklace back.Secondly, Bako told the Police that you took his clothes and new shoes without informing him.If they meet you here,we have no money for your funerals.Take my advice.

DAVID: Keep your voice down before you disgrace me in front of these girls.

ELIZABETH AND FLORA: Aha, Oh No. We have heard everything. Just as we earlier suspected. Lover Boy in borrowed clothes! Shame! Shame! Shame on you! (The two ladies guffaw while Coulibaly drags David away before his advancing killers).

CURTAIN

 LETTER FROM COTE D’IVOIRE 

By Gabe Onwu

There are days and memories you would like to keep forever....

      

 “ Ya place, Champion, Grand Pere, ya place, dedans, Montez, Montez,200cfs, Montez Avec la Monnaie” Apprenti (a learner or Bus conductor ), as he and his colleagues are popularly called, had his right leg thrown outside and his right hand stretched  like a puppet from Europe.He beckoned to some passengers who were stranded outside the popular Market of Adjame in the city of Abidjan. The chauffeur was busy trying to squeeze the last puff from a cigarette stick when a thug approached him for ‘Cadeau’ or tip for picking passengers at his territory. Obviously, the driver had to comply immediately to avoid the wrath of other thugs whose ranks and inconspicuous presence constitute a menace to the society. On a positive note, these Bus Stop thugs seemed to have legalised their status. Before now, they were pick pockets, muggers and bandits who were in the habit of denying passengers of their valuables. First came the storm that sent confused shoppers in all directions. Soon the sky opened and it began to pour like it had never done before. Was God angry? The sound of a thunderstorm could be likened to dynamites and explosives used by ‘our friends ‘who had in recent times spread their infamous crusade to destabilise some countries. Women with babies strapped to their backs battled very hard to keep their umbrellas in positions, but the storm overpowered them. Young ladies had their own troubles trying to keep their latest hairdos from flying off their greasy heads. Others struggled to hold some pieces of clothes that seemed to rhyme with the latest design or fashion in vogue at least according to their own judgement but disobeyed and exposed some sensitive parts of their body. A particular lady in her late twenties was on the ground for two minutes. Her shoes probably got tired of her huge weight and decided to go on strike. Three touts went to her rescue and took advantage of her situation to touch her and utter some romantic phrases ”Ma Cherie, désolé”, Tu as blessure? Poor lady! Had she any option?

Koffi and I went after a flying rickety Gbaka that had the inscription” DEIU MERCI”.A novice in French, that I would gladly admit  or I would admit my incompetence in the French language, but it became obvious that something was not right  with the inscription and so I protested silently and mumbled to myself ’DIEU or DEIU’?

Another one with the inscription ’Avec Dieu,, toute est possible’. ‘With God all is possible’. Yes, even our death. We hopped in. Come to think of it, a moment like this no one dared question if the moving corpse would make it to its destination. The killer engine that defiles all road signs and traffic lights. The Chauffeur shared his bit of madness when he almost crushed a student boy whose schoolbag was too heavy for him to carry. My excitement was cut short when I had to occupy a seat next to a lad who from all indications had probably not visited a bathroom for the past fifteen days. If he did, someone must have baptized him with a mixture of rotten eggs and some used water from the abattoir.I reached out for  a handkerchief beautifully designed by my ex-girlfriend to provide a temporary relief for my nose. When he noticed how uncomfortable I was, he asked”Ya quoi dedans, Quelle est ton problem?”I lied pointing at my head to indicate ‘a headache’ and quickly added ’Ma tete’. I chuckled and uttered few words in English. ‘Who is this celebrated sonofabitch with a certificate in bacteria emission Yes,?’.

“Moi.Je Suis pas speak l’anglais”. Aha! I got him and somehow challenged his incompetence as well. His red eyes and unfriendly face almost scared the hell out of me, but the presence of Koffi arrested the little fear in me almost immediately. Koffi’s Kungfu and boxing skills had won him fame in our neighbourhood, turned him to a cocky young man and a braggart.No one undermined his presence in the quartier (quarters).We got home and I had a quick bath at least to remove some stubborn virus that might have disrespected my body during the trip. I made for the kitchen and began to feed directly  from the pot that sat lazily on the cooker. Did I say my prayers before meals? The stubborn hunger in me was responsible for that laxity. All the same, I uttered some few words after the meals like a good Catholic to thank the Man upstairs. I had had a long day, therefore, my bedroom was the next destination. I forgot to switch off my radio. Of course, I had to replace the made in China batteries to keep me abreast with the latest gossips from the BBC World Service.

At daybreak, I had my bath and breakfast in haste. It was a special day and there was no way the events of that day could elude me so cheaply. I joined a train of irate football fans and supporters of Les Elephants and set out for the National Stadium some Kilometres away from where we lived. The excitement reverberated throughout all the Regions and districts. Streets wore new looks adorned with Orange, White and Green their National Colours. Along the route, we stopped to take some snapshots that would later remain our souvenirs of the Century. That month of April was significant in the lives of Ivoirians and indeed Africans who love the round leather game.

 The Stadium was not enough to accommodate hundreds of thousands of spectators and fans. Somehow my friend and I made our way into the Stadium. We met many Ivoirians who slept in the stadium just to catch the glimpse of the Newly crowned heroes or ‘ Roi de Afrique’ After five hours of waiting, the trophy finally arrived in a Motorcade. The golden trophy was jealously held out to the jubilant spectators by the President and the Captain of the National Team surrounded by Security Aides. On seeing the trophy, we all went agog. A juicy lady who stood very close to me jumped and hugged me from behind. She and I never knew each other from Adam. I was glad to get those hugs after so many years of observing canonical distance from such essentials. Before you blame me, we were in the celebration mood, so chapter closed....

To be continued.

A Bleeding Heart - NaijaStories.com

A Bleeding Heart - NaijaStories.com

A Bleeding Heart - NaijaStories.com

A Bleeding Heart - NaijaStories.com

POETRY

OUR WORST ENEMY

A dozen gun salutes rattled                                                       

My stomach, a war zone

Am I a confirmed carrier of ammunition?

Or ballistic missiles?

Unbearable and tortuous

Conference interrupted

Couldn’t you show some respect

To a respected public figure

At least before his audience?

Questions fell on deaf ears

Missiles reassembled, battalion on red alert

Like a professional athlete preparing for Olympics

I made for the other  office.

Tratatata,Yolatatatata,pram,pram, pram,proooooom!

In my groaning and whimpering,

I cursed the roadside food vendor

A premier suspect in my present predicament

The building about to come down, did I care?

Contents of my stomach emptied

Glad  that the intestines did not leave their duty post

Oh Diarrhoea! Oh Diarrhoea! Don’t ever visit me.

Memoirs

                                        MY PLACE OF BIRTH     PART 1

                                                             Written by Gabriel Uko Onwu

In my little village, I had always looked forward to three great feasts well celebrated among my kinsmen.Our new Yam Festival (Igede Agba), Christmas and Easter. In each of these, I was sure my parents were going to buy a shirt, a pair of trousers and sandals or shoes for me. My Mum would always save enough money for this purpose. I was only denied these privileges once when I stoned Onayi for calling me her husband.Onayi was a beautiful girl in our village who grew faster than her age and when she clocked 13, some hungry bachelors had started besieging her Father’s compound for the same intention. She was jealously protected and had to be taken away to live with her tough Aunt in Calabar,one of the largest cities in our Country. Was I pleased to see her leave? If only I had understood the meaning of love at that time. I would rather not talk about it but if anything I owed her apologies and wish she was closer than ever. Time was when I would single out her voice among several  voices of young girls rehearsing their latest tunes to grace each occasion. Each time I looked at her parting gift( a beautiful necklace embroidered with her name and mine), tears were far from drying up. Of course, that was when love was love but my naivety   was at work.

The most interesting part of those celebrations as I could recall was the eve of each feast. I would get up four or five times at night to test my new clothes and  inspect the chickens, goats or ducks that were earmarked for the celebrations. To say the least, Ukpa Ochodu, my sweet home was like a second heaven to my age mates and me. Famine was not known there in my childhood. There were different kinds of food crops, fruits, domestic animals, birds, eggs and bush meat to send hunger back to her motherland.Yams, cassava, beans, rice, sweet potatoes and their twins, okonkilo, ichiri(hard beans). bambara nuts, groundnuts just to name but a few never escape each household. My Dad was highly respected among his age group for various reasons. He was a warrior, a great wrestler, a traditional dancer, a great farmer, a palm wine tapper, and a hunter par excellence. He hardly went on hunting expedition without returning home with an antelope, grass cutter, rabbits and guinea fowls to complement different kinds of soup my Mum creatively launched in our household. Children loved visiting our home especially in the evenings when Mum’s sauce would always lead us into temptation. I remembered that particular day when my mother caught me red-handed trying to extract a stubborn piece of meat that dared me from her Egusi soup. When she appeared, I quickly lied that I was trying to kill a lizard that jumped into the pot.”Lizard”? She asked and quickly added that in all her life she had never seen a living thing inside a boiling pot. She smiled and teased me with my native title”Uko chanyan gbodu”.She hugged me and I was ashamed of that little act. I promised her at that spot never to steal again. The aroma from her thatched kitchen was incomparable. Salivating was part of me.

My Father’s physical prowess was glaring and sometimes he would rather walk around our compound without his shirt to enjoy the natural ventilation although his muscles would vibrate back and forth like a lump of a full-blown beef sampled out by butchers to attract their clientele. One day my Mum teased him with these words “who are you showing these tiny muscles to as if someone is afraid of you’? He moved closer and grabbed my Mum’s hands. Next; she yelled, went down on her knees and asked for pardon. She added that she was only playing and reminded him that she was his jewel. I enjoyed that part of what kept them for years without an open quarrel or fight unlike some husbands who would occasionally beat their stubborn wives for some laxity, negligence and loose tongue. My Dad once instructed me never to beat my wife when I grew up. He added that women would never cease talking even when they are been beaten. Fighting a woman was a crime among male folks in our community. It was okay to slap your wife with the back of your hand but not to thoroughly beat her or inflict any injury on her. Consequences and sanctions were there. Of course; some stubborn men still touch their wives but usually in the privacy of their rooms.

To be continued...

A BLEEDING HEART

The funeral procession began from the very compound that was once noted for her air of exuberance. I thought I was a strong man indoctrinated in the traditional ideology that ‘Men don’t cry’. I gave in and the manliness in me was demystified. Her burial drew a mammoth crowd that one of the mourners who came to pay their last respect remarked, ‘In all the twelve clans of Ukpa community and for the past 60 years of my life, a burial like this had never before been witnessed’. What surprised them most was the fact that the deceased was neither a traditional Chief nor titled man to have been accorded such historic interment. Yes, just like a dream that vital part of me was gone. Among scores of mourners at her grave site was Akala, the village drunk. For the first time he had no companion as he would often refer to a bottle of gin and there was no trace of alcohol in his eyes. In the midst of the silence that greeted our confused community, his words rang out, ‘Madam Papaya is incomparable. I wish other women in the community could emulate her .I knew no hunger because of that woman lying there. She brought succour and joy to many people in this community. There had never been a dull moment in her restaurant. She was the person behind this attire I am putting on today. Look around, even all the birds are silent’. A thousand eyes gawked at him trying to establish if indeed he was the same drunk they used to make mockery of, but now dressed in cream coloured suit with a neck tie to match. His words tore the hearts of many and attracted fresh wailings most especially from the women group she was leaving behind. Defeated by fate I watched the love of my life being laid to rest.

Justina and I had come a long way. She was not a nagging type. Her fidelity was never questioned. She and I had always walked the path of trust. Cheating on each other was not in our dictionary of conjugal expedition. I recall vividly with a sense of pride the day we were traditionally betrothed. A piece of white cloth was presented to me by her mother to signify her virginity. I vouched for her judging from the ordeal I was subjected to. The first attempt I made to woo her spoke volumes. Twice, I was beaten by her brothers in a fight I could ordinarily have won were the enemies from another planet. I was never a weakling but if I had to assume that form to get the woman of my dream, it was done in good faith. Thanks to the youths of their community who rescued me from those cruel hands when they sensed that my intentions were real. She was very precious and priceless to her family and their community. Not until the traditional marriage rites were concluded, taking their daughter away was like plugging a man’s scrotum while he is still awake. She exuded great confidence, very industrious and above all kind-hearted. Being the most lettered, honest and courageous character in the Opiatoha Women Association, her second mandate as their Chairlady was extended. She never had adulterous bone in her body. A month prior to the fifteenth anniversary of our wedding, a man was rushed to our community hospital following a fight with her in my absence. It took the intervention of seven hefty men to remove my wife from a man she wrestled to the ground. She pounded his face beyond recognition. I was later told by an eye witness that her victim was fortunate to have escaped with a missing tooth. She did that because the man poked some dirty jokes on her and even attempted to touch her natural endowment. Her victim forgot that Justina combined the strength of a man and woman to right the wrongs especially in delicate matters. I neither questioned her action nor challenged her integrity. She did what she considered appropriate and it was worth it. If I had been around, I wouldn’t have done better.

Our happiness was occasionally punctuated. No thanks to our son whose incessant suspension from school had become a real source of concern in recent months. My wife and I had been summoned a few times on account of his behaviour and made to sign an undertaking. If anything we wouldn’t have loved to succumb to public shame by putting up an appearance before the school board to address our son’s truancy. During the long vacation, Kelvin returned home in a pair of hole- ridden sagging shorts that were three times the size of a ten kilogram sack of imported rice. As if that was not enough, he pierced his ears and decorated them with some ear rings. I thought ear rings were meant for ladies. That was not all. He had a cap facing backward with an inscription “I DON KIA WAT U FINK, JUST MA OWN WAY”.A long chain dangled around his neck swaying from left to right in a rhythmic style to complement some strange steps he was rehearsing. Our suspicion was confirmed when we found some tattoos all over his body. Earlier in the week he confided in one of his friends about his ambition to be a rapper and was even seen miming two of his favourite’s artists. Media had it that one of those musicians was known for gun running, drugs and had occasionally been in Police custody for crime. Kelvin’s decision to choose a lunatic as his role model beat my heart. As if it was a dream, Kelvin had been expelled from his school. He was brought home hand-cuffed and escorted by two rough looking policemen. Evidence before us were glaring. He and some miscreants sneaked to a night club where he distributed hemp. Unknown to us, he was a celebrated pimp in the club house. On hearing this, my wife passed out. At hospital, scores of sympathizers gathered to offer some prayers for her. Doctors and Nurses did what they knew best to revive her but it seemed like a forlorn hope. Conclusions were made and caesarean operation was carried out to save our premature baby at the expense of my wife. If only I could stand in for her, if only Kelvin had not gone this far. There I was, lost for words, perplexed, disconsolate, looking like a deflated tyre with my hands clutched to her body. I watched my beloved wife die like a vegetable leaf. The woman I vowed to protect was snatched from our midst by the cold hands of death. My world had crumbled.

Kelvin killed the very dream we had for him. Needless to say, my better half and I pulled our hard earned resources together with the hope of giving him the best education that was envisaged. The initial, though erroneous idea we had was to guarantee him a befitting future and being the surviving son from our nineteen years of marriage, it couldn’t have been better if he was sent to the best school. We never wanted him to experience the nature of hardships I went through in my childhood. My parents met their untimely death in the hands of a care free son of a bitch who called himself a truck driver. I was only five when it happened and had to live with one of my Uncles. The joy of being pampered in my childhood eluded me. We were proved wrong by the strange life style Kelvin had embraced in the first semester of his second year undergraduate studies. Kelvin exhibited some strange behaviour barely a year before and for few times, he was confronted by his mother. His grades were nothing to write home about and he was deteriorating. One of such incidents came to limelight when he returned late at night in company of 5 scallywags. They hailed our son and called him ’KEVO AKA AREA SCATTER’. Area scatter denotes a hardened kingpin and law breaker who controls a gang of thugs within certain vicinity. He directs operations and gives orders to goons in their nefarious activities. I could no longer stomach the staccato of noise that emanated from his uninvited group. My thunderous voice vibrated and they fled unceremoniously. Kelvin began to throw up leaving a rancid atmosphere in our common room. The stench from him was unbearable. His mother seized him by the throat and demanded immediate answers to a barrage of questions in a bid to chastise her son. As much as she pressed on, Kelvin took a vow of silence. To the consternation of everyone, my wife made for Kelvin’s school bag that was carelessly kept under his bed and emptied the contents on the floor. Items found were knives, packs of weeds, a dozen sachets of assorted gin and whisky, dark goggles, bandana, hand gloves and bunch of keys. With mouth agape and hands akimbo, I was lost for words. My wife went into the bedroom and emerged with a woven dried cow tail we had not used for months. She unleashed several lashes on Kevin determined to peel off his skin but the latter felt nothing. It was at that moment I concluded that Kelvin had been possessed by some forces and was probably on his way to self destruction. Felicia, our next door neighbour and my wife’s best friend who probably must have heard the pandemonium, rushed in and collected the whip from my wife reminding her that Kelvin was her son. My wife leaned on the dining hall table and began to weep profusely. The night was longer than usual and I could hear her groaning at every hour. It became so horrifying that I had to sit on a chair adjacent to her bed to keep watch over her till daybreak lest she did something strange to herself. In between her blood shot eyes that knew no sleep, she asked where she had gone wrong and what she did to deserve utmost humiliation from our son. The agony of a loving mother could only be explained by mothers who, time without number, have to put up with similar or worse experiences. Mothers carry crosses that are often too heavy for their husbands to bear. Society feeds us with the idea that Man is the head of a family, but I will add that woman is the heart of a family. Her heart is the melting point of the good and ugly things she has to accommodate on daily basis. In domestic chores and affairs, she is a manager par excellence. The definition of a good home is incomplete without a good woman.

Perhaps if Kelvin were an irresponsible son of irresponsible parent, it would be logical but his life style bears no semblance in the family. That is completely intolerable. His late mother and I played our part. We had been through inescapable dramatic and cultural pressures that torment our financial and parental obligations. In all things, bearing children is not a crime, raising them though an arduous task, adds flavour to family vitality.

In addition to the traditional three months of mourning after the funeral, I spent couple of months trying to cope with the loneliness that surrounded me. I was much more confused and everything around me appeared gloomy. Every item I touched in the home gave an aura of my late angel. I knew no sleep for months and my life was just a   mere shadow gradually fading away. It was in the midst of the trauma that our shop and restaurant were auctioned out. I quickly opened an account in our daughter’s name. I insisted that our baby be christened Justina Junior to keep the mother’s name alive. Justina and I allowed some years intervals after a miscarriage she had based on medical advice before she conceived. Thanks to my elder brother’s wife who willingly offered to champion my daughter’s upbringing. According to her, my late wife stood by her through those turbulent days of her life, gave meaning to what and who she is today. She maintained that there could be no better way of showing her gratitude to Justina. Meanwhile I had earlier called at the Juvenile Remand home to sign some documents in respect of Kelvin who would spend the next ten years of his life trying to undergo reform. Despite the fact that I never expressed it verbally, it was good riddance. When my daughter grows up and as I had instructed our lawyer, our family house remains her inheritance, not Kelvin’s. Society occasionally places importance on male child but in our case, my daughter will grow to prove a point just like her mother. I confided in few neighbours about the need to change an environment at least to calm the raging storm in me, the storm of losing my precious jewel. To avoid unnecessary bon voyage or perhaps some persuasion to postpone my plan, I got up before the early morning cock crow and set out on foot. Deep within me, I was going on exile, a self imposed type, to an unknown destination. The trip may be perilous subjecting me to life and death. If it does, it is only a page in the chapter of a book intended to reminisce my wife. She deserves nothing less. Taking another wife is out of question. I swore an oath at her grave and that I would honour.

It is said that marriage is like a parcel, when you open it whatever you find, take it. But for Kelvin, we almost had it all. Justina demonstrated the role of a father, a mother, a sister and most importantly a faithful wife. Undeniably she was, has been and will remain my queen, my super star, my breathe, my blood, my veins, my compass, my heroine, my Udu, my all in all. Do you often wonder why some tears never dry? For this and many other blessings she brought into my life, I owe her much. She is inimitable and nothing would expunge her memories from my heart. This is part of my tribute to her exclusive love. In the time being, I am a walking corpse, a fugitive completely detached from the very environment I was once proud of to deal with this bleeding heart. I wear these shoes and know where they pinch most. Her death leaves a hole in my heart. No price is too much for Justina, my Udu.

*Udu is an Igede word for treasure/wealth.

Execution of dreams.

Can they?

Can you?

Can I?

Can We?

Yes, or No?

They can/cannot

You can/cannot

I can/cannot

We can/cannot

This choice defines success or failure.

Where do they stand?

Where do you stand?

Where do I stand?

Where do we stand?

POETRY

THORN IN OUR FLESH

The hearts that once cared have vanished

Loved ones kidnapped, silenced and isolated

Gallant men and brave women annihilated

Youths slaughtered in their prime and dreams left unfulfilled

Children brainwashed, recruited and indoctrinated

To betray and turn their swords against their very kindred

We swim in this weird ocean of Indelible anguish

To make us absolutely livid at the dawn of a new era

Ambassadors of callousness, brutality and mayhem in our midst

Heralds of carnage clad in masks and hood equipped for suicide undertaking

Showing no respect for the wombs that bore and breasts that suckled you

Decorated perpetrators of atrocities beyond your comprehension

How dare you snatch that priceless piece our damsels preserved for years?

Smacking many hearts with your stained hands and sour saliva

Hypnotized in the compasses of invisible sponsors

The trauma in us has defied all Analgesics in the world

Psychosis let loose swinging your instruments of human impiety

 kra,ka,ka,ka,ka,ka,kriiiii gbum, gbum, gbum rattle and rent the sky

Heaps of lifeless and dismembered victims are witnesses

Explosions here, inferno there and walls plummet

The toils and sweat of many years lay in ruin

Communities reduced to rubble and sacred places desecrated

Our land suddenly metamorphosed to graveyard

How can the dead rest in peace?

Victory is neither in the slitting of defenceless throats

Nor the gruesome termination of vulnerable scholars

Escapees and few who survived the massacre

Render endless dirges in reminiscence of their missing kith and kin

Heads bent over kneels in endless meditations and mourning

Their tears may never dry but heroism echoes in their hearts

United with our men and women in uniforms the hydra is in flight

Firm, hopeful and stronger than before we remain.

THIS LIFE, THIS JOURNEY

I am here but for a moment.

If this journey ends well,

The credit isn’t mine

My loved ones and friends deserve it all.

To each one of you I dedicate this page

Just to say “thank you” for being there.

You have been part of my story all the way

A REFLECTION ON AFRICA.

ON THE THRESHOLD OF REBIRTH

She stands out among others
Renowned for her treasures and wealth
Often misrepresented by descendants of colonial effigies
Her pride visible like a peacock to cow her detractors
Bringing history to limelight in the face of narcissism
That our forebears toiled and built their empire
We are neither fools  nor  perpetual puppets

Strangers come in disguise with monotonous agenda
Aids to the developing Countries  to save souls in distress
Click here, click there, images of unkempt Innocent children
The physically challenged with imaginary flies touring their nostrils
skirmishes of communal feuds and decrepitude structures
To validate their projects   before donors
We, mere victims of poor governance, greed and economic sabotage

Across the desert to the Sea of Mediterranean, night meets morning
Youths traverse the sea and defy death to tell horrific tales
Surrendering their fate and embracing the unknown
In foreign lands, survivors recount their perilous trips
Frustrated back home they opt to pay homage to the nameless
Tales of wars, unemployment, genocide, oppression and repression
Cheap recipes  for foreign media

Degrading jobs in exchange for peanuts you savour
Disillusionment, slavery revisited and prejudice extended
Made homeless, tagged security threats and public pests
Accused, arrested and Jailed for want of no substantial evidence
Injustice knocks, you stammer and thirst for what you left behind
Better life an illusion of yesterday’s dream before your weary eyes
Yes, futility in a foreign land where grasses are always greener.

To the lost, the peons and exiles in hostile environment
Our fatherland beckons you home
Illustrious sons and daughters embrace your mettle
The drums  itch, flutes and horns all polished to echo
Jambo,Bienvenue,Uraba,Akwuaba,Welcome, Ekaabo
Come let us fix this tainted image and rebuild our very  own
Africa! our dear Home like no other.

@Gabe O  

READY TO FACE ANOTHER DAY

My humanity has taught me alot.I have no  regrets for being me at all times.Most importantly people who come into my life leave some traces to treasure.I hold them so dear to heart.