Tainted Omen (II)

TAINTED OMEN (II)

    “Jessy,” Jessica’s mum, Mrs. Rita Annan called as she entered into her (Jessica’s) room.

    The encounter was taking place immediately after Jessica’s return from Kumasi. She had arrived home at about 7:45pm (GMT) after the ugly experience she encountered at Francis’ home. The moment she got home, she snubbed her parents, Hon and Mrs. Annan who were seated at the sitting room when she arrived; she walked passed them and went straight to her bedroom looking pale and rejected, thus her mum followed her to the room to ascertain what was actually wrong. The parents had earlier been making frantic effort to reach her via her cell phone but the gadget wasn’t reachable.

     On his part, her dad Hon Mike Annan who had sensed what could be the problem was still seated in the parlour seemed like an armed robber in the police net who would soon be charged to court. Since he got married to his wife, Rita, he was yet to share with her what he did to his girlfriend called Kate when he was still single in spite of his eventual encounter with Francis, which would have propelled him to do so.

     “Mum.” Jessica responded in a very low tone as she lied bitterly in her bed.

     She went to the bed as soon as she entered the room having removed her foot-wears; never minded to undress herself.

     Her mum walked closer, sat at the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong with you?” She inquired. “Besides, what happened to your phone?”

     “I switched it off.”

     “Why?”

      Jessica was speechless.

     “Jessy, talk to me,” Mrs. Rita urged. “This is supposed to be one of your happiest moments; on the contrary, you are looking rejected.”

     “That’s the issue, mum.” She hinted, began to sob.

     “Oh my God,” Mrs. Annan exclaimed. “What’s wrong with you?”

      She sobbed heavily. “Go and ask daddy.” She managed to utter amid the weep.

     “Your dad?” Mrs. Rita verified. “You mean, my husband?” She reiterated, placing her left hand on her chest, seemed mesmerized.      

     Jessica nodded. “Yes mum.” She replied in a jiffy.

     “Is okay, is okay.” Mrs. Annan surrendered. “I will be right back.” She assured, stood up and dashed out of the room.

     “Has she confided in you?” Hon Mike inquired anxiously the moment his wife joined him in the parlour, still seated.

      Mrs. Rita walked closer, sat very adjacent to him. “No,” she responded hesitantly. “She refused to speak.”

     “What could be the problem?” Hon Mike thought aloud.
     “That’s why I am here,” quoth Mrs. Rita calmly. “She said I should ask you.”

     “Ask me?”

     “Yes.”

     “Of what?”

     “I don’t know,” she said. “But the way she sounded, it appeared you know much about what she’s passing through.”

     “She just returned from Kumasi,” quoth Hon Mike. “And both of us have been here waiting for her arrival.” He said, paused.

      His wife was quiet and attentive.

     “So, how would I know her plight?” He rode on in pretence. “When did I become a prophet…?”

     Before he could finish the last sentence, Jessica joined them in the parlour, really appeared pale having wiped out her tears. “Dad, you are aware of my predicament,” she interrupted. “Stop pretending.” She emphatically enjoined, standing.

     Her mum looked at her in awe. “What exactly is going on here.” She eventually uttered. 

     Hon Mike was left with no choice than to tell the tale which was long overdue, thus he began to speak therein.

    “You did this to a woman?” Mrs. Annan ranted after the story, which lasted for about fifteen minutes. “My fellow woman?” She added.

     “Dad, you are wicked and heartless.” Jessica shouted, forcedly sat on one of the white cushion chairs in the room.

     “You were lucky she didn’t pour you acid.” Mrs. Rita notified furiously, looked weird. Paused.

      There was a brief tranquility.

     “And, you never bothered to tell me all these while,” she continued. “Not even your daughter who is dating her son.”

     “I am very, very sorry for the inconveniences I have caused you both.” Hon Mike broke his silence. “Just that, I thought I would cause more harm than good if I shared the story with you, especially Jessy.” He concocted.

    “You thought?” His wife quarreled. “Just listen to yourself.”

     Jessica was speechless, looked mean in her seat.

     It was about 8:30pm (GMT)

    “So, why did you do that to her?” Mrs. Rita inquired, referring to the jilted Mrs. Kate.

    “Someone told me he caught her with another man,” Hon Mike hesitantly replied. “So I couldn’t imagine settling down with a cheat.”

    “Someone told you…?” quoth Mrs. Rita. “You amuse me.” She added, paused.

     Jessica shook her head.

    “That means,” Mrs. Annan proceeded. “Someone can as well tell you I am cheating on you, and you would attempt to divorce me without finding out the truth?”

     “I really messed up,” Hon Mike appreciated. “I was even ashamed of myself.”

     “I wish all your children are here to listen to you.” His wife said.

      Jessica was the first child of the couple, and none of her four siblings – all males, were living with the family.

     “Please, let’s stop this blame game,” Hon Mike pleaded. “Right now, we should be concerned with how to make amends.”

     “So, what do we do?” Mrs. Rita enquired having seen reason with him.

     “I suggest we pay them an unscheduled visit.” Hon Mike said. “Thank God she’s happily married too, so she wouldn’t take it too hard on us.” He foresaw, referring to Mrs. Kate.

     “I pray your thought becomes a reality,” quoth Mrs. Annan. “Because I can’t afford to watch my daughter remain in this tattered mood.”

      Jessica stood up calmly, walked back to her bedroom.

     “My dear, take it easy, okay?” Mrs. Rita conscientized Jessica as she (Jessica) took her leave. “All will be alright.” She added, still seated alongside her hubby.

     First thing the following day being Sunday, the three embarked on a journey to Kumasi for the proposed tour. When they got to their destination, their unannounced visit was highly welcomed by the intended hosts, if not the aggrieved Mrs. Kate Ababio who felt like releasing a bullet on the man she had described as a monster; initially, she couldn’t withstand sharing the sitting room with him until her hubby, Chief Ababio sensitized her on the need to do otherwise.

     Hon Annan on his part was very calm and silent, but his wife pleaded on his behalf while kneeling down. “I am your fellow woman,” quoth Mrs. Annan having made several pleas. “I understand exactly how you feel.” She landed, stood up and resumed her seat.

     “My dear,” Chief Ababio called his wife. “Please forgive him...” He asked.

     “Mum, please…” Francis interrupted.

     “If not for anything,” Chief Ababio rode on. “At least, for the sake of these children.” He said, pointing at Francis and Jessica who were closely seated.

     “Please.., Kate.” Hon Annan finally uttered. “That was one of the biggest mistakes I have ever made in my life.” He submissively asserted.

     “I have forgiven you.” Mrs. Kate notified with much ado, smiled.

      Everywhere became agog on that Sunday morning on hearing the last statement. Everyone present including Francis younger ones who were privileged to witness the reconciliation couldn’t hide their joy. At the end, unalloyed harmony was felt among them.

    Behold, the taint eventually metamorphosed into a condiment!

    Two months later, Engr. Francis Ababio walked down the aisle with the bride of the moment, Miss Jessica Annan. It was a remarkable and epoch-making event, to the glory of God.

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Tainted Omen

TAINTED OMEN

    “Angel,” Francis called.

    “Yes Honey.” responded Jessica.

    “It’s high time you met my parents.” He thought aloud.

     Miss Jessica Annan, the 34-year-old Ghanaian-born broadcaster who hailed from Accra the Capital city of Ghana was engaged to Engr. Francis Ababio who was also a Ghanaian and both of them resided in Accra, Ghana, but the former was yet to meet the latter’s parents who lived in as well as hailed from Kumasi - a distant province from Accra. On the contrary, Francis had severally met with her parents because she lived with them. This time, the equally 34-year-old promising bachelor thought it wise to disclose his intention to balance the equation as they were catching their funs at a relaxation joint situated in the vicinity of his place of residence. It was about 5:15pm (GMT) on Tuesday.

    “Really?” Jessica elatedly exclaimed.

    From the look on her face, she had been longing to embrace such moment. She was dark-complexioned, pretty, plump about 1.56 metres tall and was clad in a pink gown, plaited hairs, designer perfume and a pair of ash sandals coupled with her various jewelries. Right before her was an already opened bottle of cold soft drink positioned on the white round plastic table they were making use of; it was accompanied with a white straw.

     “Ya,” said Francis. “It’s time to harmonize the deal.”

     On his part, an equally opened bottle of cold stout was facing him. His white polo, blue jean trousers and white leather slippers to match made him looked smart and younger. He was sparingly fair, slim and about 1.67 metres tall.

    “The pleasure is all mine,” she enthused. “Thanks a lot!”

    “You’re welcome, dearie.”

    “So, when shall we be heading for Kumasi?” She anxiously enquired, sipped her drink via the straw.

     He sipped his too. “By the weekend.” He answered. “Would that be okay by you?”

     “Hmm….,” she murmured, recalling her schedule for the week. “Yes, of course.”

     “Fantastic.” Francis appreciated. “So we have a deal, right?”

     “Yep,” replied Jessica. “What day precisely?”

     “Probably…, Saturday.” He suggested. “What do you think?”

     “Saturday would be fine.” She assented, nodding.

       Francis glanced at his wrist watch; it was almost 6pm (GMT), which was about 7pm Nigerian time. “Wow,” he exclaimed in a low tone. “You need to be on your way now.”

      She quickly looked at hers. “You’re absolutely right,” she consented. “They must be worried now.” She added, referring to her parents.

      They both stood up, walked towards Francis’ red Toyota Primera car. “Lest I forget,” he recollected. “There’s something unclear about your dad.”

    “What’s it?”

    “I think he doesn’t feel comfortable each time he sees me around you unlike your mum.”

    “How do you mean?”

    “Maybe he doesn’t like me.”

    “Honey, why are you insinuating such a thing?” She cautioned. “Maybe he’s just being protective.”

     “Protective?”

     “Yes, you know I am his only daughter?” She thought aloud. “So, he wouldn’t like anything to happen to me.”

     “Well, if you say so.” He said, hopped into the car, and started the ignition.

     She hesitantly joined him, and they drove off.

     By the weekend, Saturday precisely, Francis and Jessica arrived Kumasi to meet with his parents as planned; they travelled in his car. The intended hosts had already been notified about the visit. The moment they got to their final destination, the hosts (Francis’ parents) likewise the guests were closely seated on a two-in-one cushion chair; their chairs were situated directly adjacent to each other.

     “Francis,” Chief Ababio called. “Go to the bar and get a bottle of Champagne.”

    “Okay, Dad.”

    Within a few seconds, the wine was served among everyone in the room in the company of four similar long glasses. Thereafter, Francis resumed his seat, crossed his legs.

    “Make yourselves comfortable.” Chief Ababio urged.

     His wife Mrs Kate Ababio smiled, appeared very elated.

    “Thank you, sir.” Jessica appreciated.

   “You’re welcome, dear.” the Chief Host said.

     There was a brief silence. “So my dear,” Chief Ababio the Chief Host broke the silence in haste. “What do you do?” he asked Jessica.

     “I am a broadcaster, sir.”

      Mrs. Kate smiled, felt fulfilled. 

     “Interesting,” Chief Ababio applauded. “Radio or Television?”

     “Radio, sir.”

     “Okay,” he rode on. “So, what’s your full name?”

     “Jessica Annan.”

     “Annan?” the female host chipped in.

     “Yes ma.”

     “From Accra, right?”

     “Yes ma.”

     “What’s your father’s name?”

     Chief Ababio alongside his son, Francis was so surprised how the woman took over the interview; more fascinatingly, hers was proceeding in breakneck speed.

    “Honourable M.P Annan.” Jessica replied.

    “Honourable Mike Annan?” She verified.

    “Yes, ma.”

    “That bastard!” Mrs. Kate thought, soured her face. “You again?” She hinted aloud, pointing one of her right fingers at the female guest.

    “What’s it, ma?” Jessica inquired.

    “What’s it?” Her hubby reiterated.

     She became moody, thereby ignoring the enquiries.

    “Mum, what’s it?” Francis added.

     She remained moody, seemed brutal.

     Jessica who couldn’t fathom the scenario, likewise others, seemed electrocuted that she almost peed on her panties.

     “You again in my life?” Mrs. Ababio reiterated, furiously stood up. “Nooo…” She ranted loudly, walked towards her matrimonial room.  

     Francis followed her to the bedroom whilst Chief Ababio and Jessica were still seated in the parlour, embarrassed. When he got to the room, his mum was already seated on the bed, looking very mean.

    “Can someone tell me what’s really going on here?” Chief Ababio shouted, seated still.

     Jessica began to sob, stood up and attempted to walk away.

    “Jessica…” Chief Ababio called tenderly. “Sit down, my dear.” He urged, paused. “I must get to the root of this, today.” He eventually assured her.

    She heeded the advice, went back to her sit, still sobbing.

    Immediately, Francis and his mum returned to the parlour. “Mum has something to share with us.” Francis announced having gotten the awaited gist, then went back to his seat and cuddled his fiancée. “Be strong, okay?” He enjoined her.

    Jessica nodded, became sparingly strong again.

    Mrs. Kate joined her hubby in the chair, then took time to share the unknown story, which was long overdue.

      Down the memory lane; about 36 years back, Jessica’s father Hon Mike Annan jilted Francis’ mother Mrs. Kate Ababio when they were still single. Then, the young Kate who was obsessed with Mike was engaged to him and they were about to tie the connubial knots, not until one fateful morning when Mike boldly walked up to her and notify her that he was no longer interested in the proposed marriage for an undisclosed reason. More painfully, few weeks later, she learnt that he had wedded another woman who later begot Jessica among others. Mrs. Kate had some time ago shared the memorable story with her husband, Chief Ababio, but it seemed he couldn’t recall the name of the man in question.   
     So, when Mrs. Kate Ababio shouted ‘You again?’, she was actually referring to Hon Mike Annan; she couldn’t imagine that the image of that very man who she could best be described as a ‘monster’ would appear in her precious life again.

    This is exactly the reason Jessica’s dad had been uncomfortable whenever he saw Francis around his daughter; he was definitely suffering from guilty conscience. And, he was of the view that their proposed marriage wouldn’t work if Francis’ mum got to realize Jessica’s parental background.

     “What?” Jessica shouted the moment she absorbed the gist as being narrated by Mrs. Kate.

     “My dear,” Mrs. Kate called Jessica frankly. “My son can’t marry you.” She declared unequivocally.

     “Mum, please don’t talk like that.” Francis quarreled.

     Chief Ababio who recollected the story the moment it was disclosed to the gathering was speechless, couldn’t utter even a word.

     Jessica hastily stood up, dashed out of the sitting room. Conspicuously she couldn’t withstand the tainted omen. Her fiancé joined her but she warned him to steer clear of her. Therein, she set her journey back to Accra in an aggressive and devastated mood.

    Who knows what would happen to her father when she got home? Think about it, till we meet next week!

       

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Unspeakable Period

UNSPEAKABLE PERIOD

   The entire arena alongside its vicinity was thoroughly calm and cool till the hidden dog in the house, which seemed like a watchdog, eventually thought it wise to initiate an unannounced bark having woken from its slumber that could be best described as a nap. The pet was actually taken unawares that it couldn’t sense the apparently noisy footsteps of the ‘august visitor’ as he approached the edifice not until he got very close to where it was observing the abrupt afternoon nap.

    Oh, the poor pet named Vigor was without further ado shot dead with a silent bullet by the brutally looking invader, unknowingly to the gateman, Metu who was about twelve metres apart from its (the pet’s) location just as he couldn’t notice the invasion of the ‘august visitor’ alongside his accomplices via the fence.

    There and behold, a gang of three able-bodied men surrounded Adaobi in her matrimonial room as she was as well observing a siesta. The 49-year-old Mrs. Adaobi Uchechukwu who put on lingerie was the target. Her hubby had left the country for Italy, Europe the previous week for business talks and all their four children were schooling abroad. So, having sent her maid to the nearby supermarket a few hours back, she happened to be the only one at home aside Metu whose duty-post only existed at the gates.

    She suddenly woke up to see herself surrounded by three totally armed strangers who weren’t looking only unfriendly but untouchable. Fear gripped her, but she was assured by the gang leader that she wouldn’t be harmed provided she cooperated with them.

    Therein, she was urged to change her wears to something more reasonable and she hurriedly complied, though in an apprehensive mood. Quickly, they handcuffed her and left the room in her company for the house’s premises, entered into one of the cars parked at the garage with the effort of a ‘magic’ key, and headed for the gates; to them, asking the woman to get the car keys was a waste of time. When they approached the gates, Metu was inside his humble abode; hence, one of them stepped out from the car and kept the gates open. On hearing the gates’ sound, Metu dashed out only to naively observe a very weird drama; before he could comprehend what was happening, they were off.

     Oh, the helpless Adaobi had been kidnapped!

     Metu who was yet to fathom the scenario, hastily went into the main building only to ascertain that his boss’s spouse was nowhere to be found. “Oh my God,” he exclaimed at the top of his voice. “They don kidnap Madam!”

      His eyes turned red within a twinkle of an eye.

    “I am finished.” He added, fell on the floor.

     The gates were still left widely open.

     Metu confusedly grabbed his cell phone to alert his boss Chief Onyeka Unchechukwu.

     “What are you talking about?” the call recipient reacted loudly at the arrival room of the Murtala Mohammed Airport, Lagos State. “My wife, kidnapped?”

     He coincidentally arrived Nigeria the moment his wife was kidnapped. The distress call, which yielded the rhetorical questions, came in when he was boarding a flight that would translocate him to his final destination, Port-Harcourt.

     On her part, Mrs. Adaobi who found herself amidst a 5-man gang in an uncompleted building situated at the suburb of the city of Port-Harcourt where she was kidnapped, some minutes after they left her home, couldn’t believe herself. She had been hearing of kidnapping, abduction, and other forms of criminality not knowing that she would be patronized someday. A few seconds stay at the den of the lions, which seemed not unlike a jungle, was indeed hell; the room was completely covered with the thick smokes generated by the Indian helms they were respectively devouring, making her gasp for air. She was forced to seat on a folded dead black snake that was kept on the bare ground. Some minutes later, she was relieved of the handcuffs.

    Within fifty minutes, the 50-year-old Chief Uchechukwu arrived at Port-Harcourt. The moment he got to his residence, he ignored Metu as well as the housemaid Abigail who returned from the supermarket few minutes after the incident, and walked straight to his matrimonial room only to see his wife’s phone lying helplessly on the bed bearing several missed calls; that was when the reality dawned on him.

    Within a twinkle of an eye, he was out from the room. “What happened?” He asked Metu who was pitiably seated on the tiled floor of the sitting room alongside Abigail.

    “Oga, I no understand ooh,” Metu cried in Pidgin English, gesticulating. “Oga, I no understand ooh…” he reiterated.

     Abigail, who was also yet to get the gist, was looking like a soured yellowish pap that was packed in an ancient plate.

     “Calm down, calm down,” he urged Metu, stood still. “Tell me, what really happened?”

     As the confused 37-year-old Metu, who had managed to gather himself, was about narrating the astonishing story, Chief Uchechukwu’s phone rang in his pocket. “Who’s this?” He enquired as soon as he picked the call.

     “I am sure this is Chief Uchechukwu?” an unfamiliar and unfriendly masculine voice responded with a bass.

     “Yes, this is Chief Onyeka Uchechukwu,” he said. “How may I help you?”

     “I am afraid, your wife is in trouble.” The caller hinted.

     “My wife?” He inquired. “Please, don’t hurt her.” He hurriedly added having sensed the identity of the caller.

     “Well, provided you cooperate with us.”

     “What do you want?” said Chief Uchechukwu calmly. “Please, name your price.”

     “Fifty million naira, only.”

     “What…!” He subconsciously exclaimed in a high tone.

     “I can see, you are not ready.”

     “I am very sorry about that,” pleaded the victim. “Please, let me give you five million naira.”

     The caller sighed deeply on hearing the proposed amount. “Do you think we are selling crayfish here?” He said bitterly, cut the call.

     Two seconds later, the same number called back. “Hello.” answered Chief Uchechukwu as he picked the call.

     “Darling, please give them anything they asked.” His wife enjoined in a depressed tone.

      “My dear, are you alright?”

      “I am sure you have heard her voice?” responded one of the gangsters having quickly collected the phone from her. “I’m afraid, she is dying in silence.” He added frankly, cut the call.

      Chief Uchechukwu hurriedly dialed the number.

     “Yes?” another strange voice answered as he picked the call. “What can we do for you?”

     “Please, I can’t afford that amount.”

     “Make ten million naira available for us before this time tomorrow,” the voice urged. “And, make sure you don’t involve the police.” He eventually warned.

     “Okay, I will.” replied the frustrated-looking victim. “Where do I drop the money?”

     “Make the money available,” the voice said. “Then we will tell you how to locate us.”

     “Okay.”

     “I repeat,” the voice hinted. “Do not involve the police.”

     “I won’t.” He responded after a brief silence.

     “Good luck.” The stranger added, cut the call in haste.

     Thereafter, without the knowledge of Chief Uchechukwu, his younger brother who had learnt of the incident contacted the state’s Police Commissioner. Without wasting time, the Police went in search of the culprits; this was taking place that very fateful day the incident transpired.    

     First thing the following day, having captured the kidnappers at their hideout, Mrs. Adaobi Uchechukwu who appeared pale was unexpectedly reunited with her husband by the police, though the overall period, particularly a night, spent in the hands of the vandals was a moment she would definitely live to remember; the period was indeed unspeakable.

    It was undoubtedly an emotional homecoming.

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