Could it be Real?

COULD IT BE REAL?

    Wonders, they say, shall never end. The least he foresaw; the bashful Nneka just bashed into his matrimonial room. “Could she be drunk?” he thought while sceptically and astonishly glancing at the pale-looking beautifully created creature that was clad in a white night gown as she stood at the room entrance leaning on the closed metal door. Emeka who was lying in his bed in his boxers couldn’t fathom his view; it was unarguably just like a dream. But could he be dreaming while his eyes were widely and enthusiastically open?

     “Nneka,” he managed to exclaim. “What are you doing in my room at this time of the night?”

      It was about 11:08pm.

     “I was feeling lonely,” she shyly responded. “I’m sorry.”

     Nneka was Emeka’s sister-in-law, precisely the immediate younger sibling to his newly wedded wife, Adaku. The couple tied the knot barely a few months back, and Nneka who was awaiting her National Youth Service programme having successfully rounded off her degree course some weeks back had been asked by the new couple upon request to join them in the city of Port-Harcourt, Rivers State while she await her NYSC; she just arrived their home three days back.

     Right from when the couple was still courting, Nneka had been attracted to Emeka without his knowledge nor his fiancée’s. Each time he visited their home in the absence of every other person including their parents, she would employ every tactics to prolong his stay even when he was very anxious to take his leave, unknowingly to him that she was up to something. Even on the day the couple tied the nuptial knots in which she was the chief bridesmaid, she felt as if she was the one getting married to him; the fantasies, euphoria as well as the not unusual sensational thoughts peculiar to such epoch-making moment were being nurtured by her person.

     On that very night when she appeared at the couple’s matrimonial room unannounced or like a ghost, Adaku – a practising gynaecologist who was engaged with one of the government general hospitals in the city had been called earlier at the night at about 8pm via telephone to report at the hospital for an emergency and she complied as usual, not knowing that her darling hubby was a targeted prey.

     “You were lonely…?” Emeka verified, still lying in his bed.

     The fair, slim, and about 5.1 feet tall Nneka nodded calmly.

     Her sparingly transparent night dress was showcasing her nude boobs coupled with her white panties thereby making her seemed irresistible.

     “Was that why you couldn’t even knock at the door?” He queried, though in a friendly tone. Kept his head upright with the support of his left arm.

     “I’m very sorry, Sir.” She said, gushed out tears and attempted to leave the room having kept the door open.

     Emeka was moved by the deceptive tears. “Hold on, hold on.” He urged, stood up from the bed.

     She stood still, held the partially opened door with her right hand.

     “Come.” He enjoined passionately, sitting on the bed.

     She quickly closed the door and walked pitiably to him with tears on her face.

     “Sit down.” He requested soberly.

     She complied.

     He asked her to wipe out her tears and she heeded the advice.

     They were seated on the bed about two centimetres apart from each other.

     “What’s wrong with you,” Emeka inquired. “Is there anything you’re not telling me?”

     The 24-year-old Nneka quickly looked into his eyes romantically. “I fell in love with you the very first day I set my eyes on you.” She disclosed vocally.

     The 37-year-old Emeka who became dumbfounded and depressed, frowned at her, stood up.

    There was a moment of silence 

    “Are you out of your mind?” He ranted. “Are you insane?”

    She stood up and joined him, holding his waist with her arms. Her booms were stylishly touching his bare chest. “I’m so sorry,” she dished out. “Just that I couldn’t hide my feelings anymore.”

    The chocolate, plump and about 5.4 feet tall young man couldn’t resist the unpredicted tender touch and lyrics; she was already all over him. Every dick and harry in him was feeling the unimagined warmth sensation, and of course his ancient driller was therein seemingly on her going by its renewed posture; it seemed her sinister motive had been actualized. Apparently, there was no need for a prolonged preliminary since every needed instrument was within their reach. In view of this fact, in less than ten minutes time, the deed had been done.

     Immediately after the unscheduled tango, they concurrently but coincidently took a glance at the clock hung on the wall – it was 11:45pm. Adaku had called to inform them the moment she got to the hospital that she may be back at the midnight.

     Could it be real? Did it really happen? Those were the thoughts expected to be running through Emeka’s medulla oblongata as he lied in his bed watched Nneka depart for her alleged lonely room.

     On the other hand; who knows, would she feel lonely again as she earlier claimed, or had the loneliness been quenched by Emeka’s rugged trustworthy driller? Any good observer who was privileged to observe the melodrama wouldn’t hesitate to ponder over this required inquiry.

     Who on earth would presume that Nneka, the renowned mouse-like and sanctimonious girl would attempt to seduce a bachelor let alone her brother-in-law. Anyone who knew her very well could swear that she was still a virgin. As the saying often goes, ‘the known devil is better than the unknown angel’; that was the most suitable clause for Nneka’s case.

     Four weeks on, Nneka who was really obsessed with Emeka deliberately conceived for him while Adaku was yet to be impregnated. She disclosed the latest development to the father of the unborn baby who frowned at her and persuaded her to get rid of the pregnancy but she refused.

     Emeka’s wife, Adaku who never knew that wonders were happening behind her or imagined any antics, was totally kept in the dark until the said pregnancy became conspicuous in two months time. When confronted, her kid sister disclosed to her unequivocally that her husband was the owner of the unborn child; the disclosure was tendered when her affluent husband was away to Dubai, United Arab Emirates, for one of his numerous business trips.

     Adaku who couldn’t wait to have her hubby’s presence to confront him with the accusation, felt like an electrocuted creature within the two days and nights that ushered in his return.

     Upon arrival, the awaited Emeka was issued the query. Surprisingly, contrary to his poor wife’s expectation, he never refuted the allegation, though it was admitted with the aid of an apologetic utterance.

     Adaku died shortly afterwards owing to the poison she took. She couldn’t bear the awful reality of the news relating to incest.

     But I repeat; could it be real? Think about it!

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Monster Personified

MONSTER PERSONIFIED

    That cultism is a dreaded and deadly confraternity, which remains a posteriori reasoning to any sane being, was unarguably a laughable assertion to each member of the ‘Scorpion tattoo’ whose actions or decisions remained a nightmare across the lengths and breadth of Ajala University of Technology situated in one of the states in the South-South geopolitical zone of Nigeria. The overall members of Scorpion tattoo, which was the most terrifying secret society on the campus, could not hold their breaths until ‘justice’ was tendered with cruelty to anyone whom they felt deserved it; their unequalled weird and irrational prowess proceeded unabatedly that most prospective students of the university were repeatedly deterred from enrolling for the institution during Unified Tertiary Matriculation Examinations (UTME).

     “Butcher them all!” the Capone would always exclaim each time he sent his men to the battle field.

     On their part, his subjects comprising 23 able-bodied dudes wouldn’t hesitate to gladly and emphatically respond “Their heads remain our meats” whenever the aforementioned instruction came up.

     Any rational creature who happened to be close-by each time they chant in such uncanny and bilious manner may wonder if one’s head could actually serve as meat; though apparently something that was chanted in a bush, if not thick forest, might not be lucky to be heard by a second party or a passerby.

     Scorpion tattoo was the order of the day not just within the said zone but across the country as well as a nightmare to any genuine and dedicated security personnel resident in the zone. Unravelling the brain behind the seemingly unstoppable nefarious syndicate causing wanton destruction of lives and property was indeed a case study to any meaningful stakeholder both within and beyond.

      It is worth noting that the federal government declared a one-week state of emergency in the affected state when the incidence became colossally unbearable; this gesture was necessitated by two identical female twins who happened to be students of the university that were murdered on the campus in broad daylight by stray bullets during a duel between the Scorpion tattoo and its closest rival – the ‘Red legend’. The parents of the deceased persons who were influential personalities in the society had propelled the federal government to delve into the unfortunate matter with a view to ensuring that justice prevailed.

     “I want you to ascertain whosoever that is behind this mess.” The Inspector General of Police (IGP) instructed the Commissioner of Police (CP) of the affected state on a telephone conversation during the era of the state of emergency.

     “Sir,” the CP voiced out. “I promise you that I will leave no stone unturned towards capturing the bloody fool within five days.”

     “Did I hear you say five days?”

     “Sorry Sir,” the CP said apologetically. “I meant three days.” He assured sceptically.

     “Sorry for yourself,” the IGP roared. “I want the culprit in my office within 72 hours.”

     “Yes Sir.”

     “Did I make myself clear?”

     “Yes Sir!” the CP reiterated.

     The die had been cast; no doubt, the clique was in deep trouble. It was only an imbecile that would not comprehend that going by the IGP’s order, his person was boiling immensely and the CP needed not to be told that 72 hours actually meant three days, and nothing more.

     How would the Police loosen this vertex of poignancy? Where and whom were they meant to go to? The paramount concernment was to discover the idiot fueling the movement of the Scorpion tattoo. Since it was obvious that ‘no smoke without fire’, every security expert understood that for a clique to operate fiercely and fearlessly, there must be a ghost in their midst; and undoubtedly the case of Scorpion tattoo wasn’t exceptional.

     Thereafter, having charged and challenged his men to step up their actions, the state CP, Mr Sule Ibrahim came up with a more viable strategy. A tight round-the-clock surveillance was set in the entire state and its environs.

     The most worrisome and intriguing point was that students weren’t mainly the prey of the syndicate; lecturers were not left out and most importantly, they (the lecturers) were the prime target.

     It wasn’t that the Police hadn’t been trying or proactive towards capturing the vandals, but each time they came up with a unique strategy the university’s Vice-Chancellor (VC), Prof P.O. Akpan would calm the team down by convincing them that the school management had concluded a different internal mechanism through which the cult would be subdued, all to no avail.

     But this time, the language had automatically changed. In view of the IGP’s directive, the Police were not going back in their decision to holistically track down the ‘fucking’ gang that had almost dominated the entire land.

     “We can do better!” Mr Ibrahim conscientized on the top of his voice while addressing his men in the state’s police headquarters.

     “Yes Sir!” They loudly chorused bitterly.

     From the look of their faces, they couldn’t wait to have the riffraff in their custody. To them, that was the most uncompromising tax they needed to pay.

     It was the following day, specifically on Thursday 16^th of July 1998, after the mandate was issued to the CP; the 72-hour ultimatum was not unlike asking a banker in the marketing department, whom was still under probation, to consider losing his/her cherished employment if he/she fails to attract cash deposits amounting to one billion naira (#1b) or thereabouts within a week. To Mr Ibrahim, the handwriting was boldly and legibly inscribed on the wall, thus there was no iota of need for interpretation by a seer or whosoever.

     Amidst the state of emergency, terrors and perils were still unleashed in the university by the gang; the extremism of the nonentities kept everyone on the campus, particularly Professor Akpan, in a very jittery and comatose mood. Nobody knew what the fate of the next day entailed.

     “What have I done to deserve this?” Prof Akpan queried the clique in a hidden arena, precisely at night.

      It was the second night after the ultimatum was issued to Mr Ibrahim by his superior.

      It would depress and perhaps interest you to note that the VC of all people, Prof P.O Akpan was the brain behind the syndicate. He had vowed to make his leadership as well as the environment unbearable to any staff or student that intended to oppose his administration’s style and principles; against this backdrop, he thought it wise to set up the Scorpion tattoo to witch hunt any scapegoat.

     Unluckily to him, the Scorpion-tattoo grew so wild in the process that they weren’t only doing what they chose to but anything acceptable by them, rather than adhering to his instructions which was the basis of setting up the confraternity. Funnily enough, they were acting as if they owned the university which wasn’t unconnected to the fact that the head of the institution was the gang’s founder. Prof Akpan was left with no other choice than to ignore them or remain silent not until the night of the aforesaid date (July 16, 1998) when he decided to break his silence which was long overdue.

     “Prof,” the Capone called furiously amid the gathering. “Stay away from this.” He warned.

     With the look in his eyes likewise that of the other members, Prof Akpan needed not a soothsayer to inform his person that they were ready to waste his life if he dared proceeded with his persuasion or intended ‘sermon’.

      “I surrender.” The heated VC disclosed, raising his arms up.

      “Better for you.” The ugly looking Capone applauded in an unfriendly voice on behalf of the gang.

      His subjects gladly nodded unanimously.

      Barely six hours later, precisely on Friday 17^th of July 1998 and the expiring day of the ultimatum, the clique excluding the Capone was captured by the relentless police squad in one of their hideouts in the bush. Consequently, the Capone alongside the big masquerade – Prof Akpan was arrested.

     “Prof…,” the IGP exclaimed in shock, spontaneously stood up from his office seat as soon as he caught the sight of the deceptive creature in the distance when he was brought to his office in Abuja in handcuffs. “Oh my God…!” He landed.

     Instantly, the general public wore a paralysed and pathetic physiognomy having ascertained that the highly respected VC was not just a misleading leader but a monster personified. The news went viral afterwards.

     If you were the IGP, what would you have done to the culpable VC the moment he (the VC) got to the point where the said police boss stood? Think about it!

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Such a Mess

SUCH A MESS

    “Hello handsome!” Lady Bolanle greeted.

     The salutation was dished out as she walked closer to the supposed recipient having caught sight of him in the distance in one of the most famous supermarkets in Yaba, Lagos State, Nigeria.

      Bolanle, a single mother at 45 whose only child begotten out of wedlock was ten years old, was no doubt a prosperous importer who specialized in all kinds of gold jewellery. Owing to her ego, she had vowed never to settle down with any man or to be under any mortal in the name of ‘marriage’; to her, marriage was a forsaken union. Towards quenching her libido, she went for any young man whom she chose or whomsoever she found suitable for her classy person.

     “Hi!” the supposed recipient, Akeem responded, still concentrating on the wares showcased in the shelves.

      Going by the tone of her abrupt greeting, he needed not a seer to interpret what she was up to.

      Akeem a bachelor at 30 though deeply engaged, was a graduate of Human Physiology from the Lagos State University (LASU), Iyana-Oba, Lagos State who was yet to secure a promising job.

     “Sorry for bashing into you.” Bolanle tendered.

     “Noted,” Akeem said, looked at her. “What can I do for you?” He added unfriendly though seemed charmed by her elegant look.

      Balanle who had her handbag in her left hand was indeed both in nature and appearance a very attractive lady that had all it takes to win the attention of any man regardless of what he was made up of; she was fair, huge and about 1.8 metres tall. She put on a multi-coloured dress, grey balanced-heeled sandals, low-cut hairs and sunshade spectacles coupled with designer perfume and various gold jewellery ranging from earrings to necklace, wristwatch and what have you – everything on her was golden in appearance as it could be testified by even a visually impaired being.

       On his part; Akeem, clad in black jean trousers, light-green shirt, black trainers spotted with red colour and a red cum black baseball cap, was about 1.74 metres tall, chocolate and plump; though financially less-privileged, he was actually looking resplendent and buoyant in his dress.

     Bolanle who leaned on one of the shelves stylishly removed her specs. “Don’t you think you are being harsh?” she queried cheerfully. “Common.., be a gentleman.”

     This time, they were facing each other and closer too; both of them were carrying their trolleys in their right hands.

      “Sorry if that was harsh.”

      “It’s okay,” she said. “Well, I’m Bolanle.., but you can call me Bola.”

      “Alright,” he replied. “I’m Akeem.”

      “Let me not waste your time,” she hinted, dipped her right hand into her handbag. “This is my card.” She added handing over her complimentary card to him.

      “What for?” He queried, ignoring the offer.

      “Please take it,” she urged. “Call me anytime, we need to talk.”

       He reluctantly collected the card and glanced at it stylishly.

       She smiled over the compliance.

      “I still don’t understand,” said Akeem. “What are we to talk about?”

      “Till you call, Mr…” She said, seemed to had forgotten his name.

      “Akeem.” He reminded.

      She nodded. “Mr Akeem, please try and call me, okay?” she enjoined looked into his eyes passionately. “You would be glad you did.”

     “I will try.” He said, looked away and continued with his shopping.

     “Cute man indeed.” She thought pleasantly, looked at him for the last time and left the arena for where she was, felt fulfilled.

     On Friday March 22, 2002 being exactly three days cum three nights after the incident having employed reasonable delay and tactics, Akeem made up his mind to put a call across to Bolanle with the opinion that the lady might be of help to his future since he was still job-hunting; a call that instantly transformed his status from a weary to a magnificent one just like a magic.

      During the phone call, they scheduled for a meeting at her office. Consequently, she succeeded in luring him into her net; Akeem concurred with her proposal to go on a date with him having disclosed to her that he had a fiancée. Keeping a ‘sugar mummy’ in his life was one of the ‘evil’ experiences he never dreamt of, little did he know that he would someday fell prey to such a mess.

      Afterwards, the moment the romantic affair commenced, Akeem was provided with everything a man of his age needed as he was promised; he could boast of a car, expensive wears and a befitting house in Benin, Edo State where he chose to relocate to. Prior to this time, he had lied to his pretty fiancée Bukola who was also resident in Lagos State that he secured a job in Benin with an oil servicing firm; the lie became consequential because he needed to distance himself from her in order to avoid any iota of suspicion that might arise in the future. Bolanle was very comfortable with the arrangement; she was frequenting Benin whenever she wanted to meet him, or she would send for him directly to a hotel suite in any locality in Lagos – apparently the choice was hers.

     The ugly scenario proceeded for over six months till one fateful day when Akeem thought it wise to lead Bukola down the aisle. Subsequently, he disclosed the intention to Bolanle who rejected it emphatically and threatened to make his precious life miserable if he dare went ahead with the plan. The unpredicted altercation dawned the awful truth on his person.

      He was so myopic to be preoccupied with the notion that whenever he disclosed to her the intention of settling down, she would hastily hug, cuddle him and therein lick his toes since he told her from the onset that he was seriously engaged. Though at the beginning she agreed to allow him get married with his fiancée whenever he chose to, but obviously it’s easier said than done; no sane woman would be glad to watch her man walk out of her life let alone when the woman in question had spent a fortune on him.

      The depressed and flabbergasted Akeem who felt suppressed later wore a bold skin, hence decided to give her warnings a deaf ear. Thus, he went ahead with his plan to settle down with Bukola having estranged from Bolanle. In view of this, he sold his duplex in Benin and relocated to Asaba, Delta State having told his wife-to-be that he got a transfer.

      Bolanle seemed to had been spying on Akeem right from when their estrangement set in contrary to Akeem’s presumption that there was no way she could trace him; needless to state that she was smarter than him.

      Two weeks on, Saturday 14^th of December 2002 specifically, Akeem who hailed from Ogun State headed for Oyo State to pay Bukola’s dowry. On his way to the epoch-making ceremony in the company of his friends and relatives including his parents, the beautifully groomed bridegroom who wore a traditional tartan kilt was brutally murdered in cold blood along Lagos-Ibadan expressway; the assassins comprising three huge men whom had stopped the deceased’s motorcade for a brief scrutiny disguised themselves as policemen.          

      It was a very hard blow to his parents alongside the bride who got the news in a jiffy.

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