What Goes Around

WHAT GOES AROUND

    ‘She’s talkative, brainless, possessed and troublesome, though naturally pretty.’ That was the apt way the 17-year-old Funke could be described by anyone who knew her person to the core. The annoying teen who was still in J.S.S-3 owing to her several failures during exams wasn’t just a nonentity but a girl everyone saw as someone who was mistakenly created. When others were learning, she would be busy disturbing the class. Every effort displayed by her teachers and kin to reshape her unbearable lifestyle were all in vain. The most worrisome was that no one including her helpless parents could prevent her from doing whatever she intended to. She was indeed naughty.

    The good side of her idiosyncrasies was that being the first child of the parents among their six children she was a good cook, though she could help her mother, Jumoke in the kitchen only when she felt like. She was really giving her mother hell; to assert the least, she detested Jumoke unconditionally with passion. Going by her actions, it seemed as if Jumoke was sharing the same man with her. She had been like that from birth, but the attitude was ignored or laughed over hoping that she would definitely turn a new leaf when she grew up.

    ‘What could be the problem?’ ‘Something must be wrong somewhere.’ everyone wondered. In spite of the gravity of the insinuations accompanied with wonders, the bone of contention remained to see who could unravel the mystery.

     The unfortunate intrigues proceeded unendingly to the extent that one fateful day she framed an unspeakable lie against her mum. She falsely notified her dad, Mr Biodun that her mum had been sleeping around with several men.

     “What?” Mr Biodun exclaimed at the top of his voice right in his sitting room the moment he got the forged news.

     “Dad,” she called passionately. “Have I lied to you before?”

     Mr Biodun who was still shocked shook his head.

     Another good side of Funke who was her parents’ only daughter was that, although talkative, she hardly told lies and everyone to include her parents could attest to the fact.

     Both of them were seated in separate upholstery chairs in the sitting room. It was about 3:17pm; she had earlier in the day told the dad that she had something very tangible to discuss with him when she returned from school. The man in question couldn’t wait for her arrival because that was the first time she would engage him in such appointment.

     Jumoke - a hardworking civil servant and an industrious housewife, was yet to return when the lamentable incident was transpiring.

    “So I wouldn’t start now.” Funke claimed.

    “But why haven’t you said this all these while?” Mr Biodun queried.

    “Dad, there’s time for everything.”

    “Oh my God!” the confused Biodun lamented. “Are you very sure about this?” He added.

    “Since you don’t seem to believe me,” she furiously said, stood up. “I’m out of here.”

     “Hold on, hold on, hold on.” He urged.

     “What’s it?” the brat ranted, stood still.

     “Sit down, my daughter.”

      She hastily resumed her seat, frowning.

     “Since when have you been noticing this?”

     “Dad, I have told you all I know,” she responded unfriendly. “No further questions.”

     Thereafter, the successful trader, Mr Biodun couldn’t wait for his wife’s arrival to confront her with the breaking news. In less than fifteen minutes time, the awaited guest whom could best be described as ‘the most wanted’ arrived home just as her intended host anticipated. Therein without much ado, she was confronted with the weird allegation, which she refuted frantically in a depressed and shattered mood. He never disclosed to her the source of the information.

     Consequently, despite the frantic rebuttal from the accused person, within 24 hours Mr Biodun got estranged with her. He sent her back to her paternal home that was virtually deserted owing to her parents’ eternal exit.

     None of her male siblings was residing at home; three of them were all resident in the city. Only members of the extended family could be found within the vicinity. Jumoke was the last child and only daughter of her departed parents amidst their four children.

     Biodun’s abrupt divorce, though informal, with Jumoke was the greatest mistake he had made so far. Jumoke was reckoned to be virtuous that everyone within saw her as an epitome of a real housewife, and every bachelor that knew her longed to settle down with her like. Owing to this, he was severely blamed by all his friends and kin for the unceremonious action taken by him. He never told anyone, except his intimate pals, the genesis of the whole brouhaha. The deed had been done; the most valid question then was who could proffer a remedy to the unwanted scenario.

     Funke later blamed herself for the wicked lie told against her mother. Apart from the guilt, Jumoke’s absence was seriously telling on her alongside her younger siblings; that was when she understood the inevitable impact of a mother, even a cruel type, on her children.

     In spite of the overwhelming speculations as well as blames, Biodun remained firm in his decision, even though the situation was also telling on his person. And, the circumstance lingered unbearably for several months.

     Those who knew the origin of the incidence were of the opinion that Biodun really went astray. To start with, how could he have listened to a girl who was believed by all and sundry to be a member of a coven?

     Jumoke was left with no choice than to go in search of the root cause of her predicament. With the help of one of her childhood friends, Kemi who was deeply touched by her condition, she was lucky to meet a genuine soothsayer who told her the story of her life that was seemingly forgotten.

     “My daughter,” the soothsayer called Jumoke in the company of her friend. “You are the cause of your problem.” He frankly hinted.

     “What?” Kemi exclaimed in awe.

     “How do you mean, Baba?” Jumoke enquired apprehensively.

     “Many years ago…” the soothsayer began the awaited tale.

     Jumoke being the only daughter of her late parents, prior to her marriage with Biodun, she was the only companion her mother had when she was still alive, after her father’s departure. And, she was a very stubborn and wild girl, though she later calmed down the moment she tied the nuptial knots, that in most occasions she ended up nagging with or talking rudely to her mother; she never cared a bit for her (the mother). Her endless unconditional hostility towards her aged mother was giving the woman invariable sleepless nights. The series of intervention coupled with severe warnings from her elder brothers whom were visiting home at intervals, proved abortive. The awful experience lingered till one fateful day when the old woman cast a spell on her (Jumoke); she was told that her daughter would definitely treat her in a similar way when she got married.

     kemi and Jumoke were left dumbfounded after the narrative essay; it was really an untold story. Truly, what goes around comes around. All the men of God Jumoke and her estranged husband had consulted regarding their daughter’s plight never disclosed such tale.

     “What do we do, Baba?” Kemi said.

     “She needs to appease the spirit of her late mother.” The old man landed succinctly.

     After all said and done, Funke was delivered from the attack and her parents were happily married again. The reunion as well as the deliverance ushered in a totally different era in the family of eight.  

Follow: @mediambassador

http://facebook.com/fred4nwaozor

       

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!

Follow me: @mediambassador

http://facebook.com/fred4nwaozor

 

         

    

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!

Follow me: @mediambassador

http://facebook.com/fred4nwaozor