SUICIDAL
FUGITIVE (II)
Afam was seated adjacent to the couple who was making use of the only
two-in-one upholstery chair in the lounge. The couple was dressed in Pyjamas of
different colour patterns while Afam put on dark-blue jeans, purple T-shirt
spotted with strips of white colour as well as black shoes.
“Don’t bother yourself, ma.”
“How?” she said. “You don’t care for any
drink?”
“No ma.” Afam responded, waving his right
hand.
“Afam, what did you mean you don’t care for
any drink?” Chief Okeke quarreled, frowning.
“I am Okay, sir.”
“What about food?” Ujunwa chipped in, stood
still. “Or, have you taken your breakfast?”
“Ma, I am Okay.” reiterated Afam. “Thank you
very much.” He added, smiling in false pretence.
It was
obvious that the young man wasn’t looking bright. He conspicuously seemed pale.
“Na wa ooh!” Ujunwa exclaimed, calmly went
back to her seat.
“Afam,” Chief Okeke called.
“You don’t look happy.” He observed.
His wife nodded in agreement.
“What is wrong with you?’ quoth
Chief Okeke.
“Sir, that is why I am here.”
The couple looked each other
in surprise on hearing the last clause. “Madam, please excuse us.” Chief Okeke
urged.
It appeared the chief host was
already aware of what was on Afam’s mind. Sure, even a blind man could spot the
bitterness written on the latter’s physiognomy.
On receiving the request, Ujunwa hurriedly stood up and walked to her
matrimonial room leaving only the two in the parlour.
Afam abruptly became mute as he sat quietly in his seat, couldn’t utter
a word.
“Is it about your trade?” Chief
Okeke guessed.
Afam looked at him amazingly. “How did you know, sir?”
Chief Okeke smiled. “Because I saw it coming.” He succintly replied.
“Saw it coming…?” uttered Afam. “How, sir?”
“Never mind, my boy.”
There was absolute silence at this moment.
“Sir,” Afam truncated the
silence. “My business is really giving me troubles.”
“Like I said earlier,” quoth
Chief Okeke. “I saw it coming.”
“I don’t understand, sir.” Afam
said, profoundly confused.
Chief Okeke became speechless. “Afam,” he eventually broke the muteness.
“There is more you need to know about this trade.” He disclosed hesitantly.
Chief Okeke who was densely rich was a member of an occult confraternity,
but Afam was not yet aware. And the tradition of the cult was that any
apprentice who was settled by any of its members having concluded his
apprenticeship would never be successful in his trade unless he joined the
group.
Afam
quickly left his seat for that of his boss, sat very closely to him. “Sir, is
there anything you are not telling me?” He anxiously enquired.
“Meet me tomorrow at Braxton Hotel,” Chief Okeke enjoined. “Room 116.”
He supplemented in a jiffy.
Afam was shocked. He apparently least expected the invitation.
Braxton Hotel was one of the
most exotic hotels in the city. Afam was yet to know how its interior parts
looked like because he had never been privileged to be there.
“We need to talk.” Chief Okeke landed.
* * * * * *
“Young man, remove your shirt,” the Grand
Master of The Classic mandated Afam in a thick and frightening voice. “For you
are in the presence of Ogbojiji.” He added.
‘The Classic’ was the name of the confraternity in question. ‘Ogbojiji
happened to be the name of the god or the Supreme Being worshipped by the
members of the cult.
This was taking place at about
some minutes past eight at night of Wednesday June 29, 2011 – exactly three
days, or the fourth night, after Chief Okeke met with Afam at the ‘Braxton
Hotel’. During that meeting, Chief Okeke succeeded in cajoling him into joining
the secret society.
There were about seventeen men,
including Chief Okeke, uniformly clad in black overall in the enclosed hall.
They were all on their feet creating two parallel lines among themselves, and
were facing each other as the tradition demanded. The two lines were about two
metres apart. The arena was undoubtedly fearful that even the blind could
testify to it.
Afam, a plump, chocolate and about 1.7-metre
dude who wore corporate native attire, hastily complied with the directive.
Chief Okeke who stood directly opposite Afam,
nodded in appreciation to Afam’s knee jerk reaction.
“Come forward, my son.” the
Grand Master as he was addressed, urged.
“It is time for you to be cleansed and duly initiated into the big family of Ogbojiji.”
“It is time for you to be cleansed and duly initiated into the big family of Ogbojiji.”
Afam immediately stepped
toward the beast-like creature (the grand master) that was standing ahead of
the group and was equally facing the entire members.
The initiation, which was accompanied with series of incantations,
lasted for several minutes.
“My son,” said the Grand
Master. “Congratulations!” He excitedly applauded the moment Afam went back to
his initial position.
There was some seconds’
silence afterwards.
“By this time tomorrow,” he proceeded. “You shall bring your mother to
Ogbojiji for the final ritual rite.” He ordered, pointing at a huge basin
filled with water that was positioned at the centre of the gathering.
The
white-coloured container was displaying the image of Afam’s mum to his greatest
shock. It’s noteworthy that the master pointed at it with the symbol of
authority he held in his right hand.
Afam who became astonished on
hearing the demand, couldn’t believe his ears as well as eyes. It was like a
mere joke until the reality dawned upon his person.
Prior to this period, right
from when his boss joined the cult about fifteen years back, he had sacrificed
his both parents and two siblings apart from the non-members of his family he
offered as requested by the confraternity. More so, based on the cult’s norm,
he – likewise other members – was not entitled to have or boast of any male
child.
After several days, in spite of the series of
importunities from Chief Okeke, Afam insisted not to comply with the weird and
ungodly request. He remained resolute to the extent that he began to avoid his
boss who was functioning as the cult’s delegate or intermediary.
Two weeks on, having exhausted the grace given
to him by the occult group, the fugitive who felt not unlike taking his own
life was eventually overtaken by madness.
The rest is
history, please.
Comrade Fred Nwaozor
Executive Director, Docfred Resource Hub (DRH) - Owerri
_____________________________
frednwaozor@gmail.com
+2348028608056Twitter: @mediambassador
No comments:
Post a Comment