The Untold Story

THE UNTOLD STORY

    “It’s a great day, indeed!” Mr Sule exclaimed right in a prison yard.

    Mr Sule Bala who was sentenced to the prison five years back for a crime he knew nothing about had just exhausted his 5-year jail term, hence he would be headed for his country home on the so-called great day having been discharged and ‘acquitted’.

    On their part, his wife, Risi and only child, Kazim who was barely 2-year-old when he was imprisoned, but now seven, could not wait to embrace the long-awaited moment having been notified on his proposed return. The little Kazim who had been intimated by his lovely mum that his ‘ghost’ father would be home that very day, had been excitedly busy going around the neighbourhood informing every dick and harry that they were awaiting his dad’s arrival.

     Finally, Sule was out of the prison yard as expected at about 11:15am, and he was meant to cover about 25-kilometre distance prior to reuniting with his family which was supposed to last for at least 80 minutes as a result of bad road. While in the commercial bus, though petrifying due to fear of the unknown, the journey was the best experience that could be felt by anyone in his shoes; roughly 260 weeks away from home was enough reason for his mindset that was in tatters to be preoccupied with escapism.

    There and behold, the millennium odyssey was over in about one hour and ten minutes as anticipated. Sule hesitantly stepped down from the bus, filled with scepticism, “Could this be my place?” He thought.

    Obviously, a lot had really changed; his country home Abasi in Kwara State, North-Central zone of Nigeria, which was a rural settlement, was actually wearing a new look. Most of the trees had been brought down, several new houses and lock-up shops erected, and most significantly every old feature that was still present was appearing totally differently. “So, development has finally come to the Ancient Abasi Kingdom?” Sule murmured as he stepped down from the bus.

    He needn’t to board any other cab or bike that would take him home; his house was barely a stone’s throw from the bus-stop. He hurriedly transferred the polythene bag containing his belongings from his left hand to the other, and was set for a pleasurable trek that would eventually usher in his lovely home comprising his wife and kid.

    As soon as he walked into the narrow path that led to his house, so many thoughts came over him. ‘Who knows how my boy would look like?’ and ‘My wife had really missed me’ were a few of the paramount thoughts that ran across his medulla oblongata. While he kept moving, the continued chorus whispers of the bush birds, as usual, made him filled with enormous nostalgia; no doubt, the seemingly forgotten memories of the past were gradually finding their way back to his heart, body and soul. As he moved in his good for nothing dress that could best be described as ‘rags’, he was relentlessly and cheerfully waving to passersby, whom were mainly his kinsmen, that were passing intermittently. He was taking his precious time to walk along the sparingly lonely pathway so could observe every content of the ancient heritage.

    The endurance trek lasted for approximately twelve minutes. At last, the purported ex-convict arrived home, “Home has changed too.” He observed aloud, loaded with unquantifiable gladness.

    Everywhere was absolutely tranquil exactly not unlike a graveyard. The goats and domestic birds in the house just variously but simultaneously greeted his presence with an abrupt unprecedented stare. It appeared they knew a stranger just joined them.

    “Is anyone here?” Sule added immediately.

    His darling wife, Risi who got a glimpse of the exclamation as she was busy in the kitchen, adjusted herself so she could comprehend fully where the sound was actually migrating from.

    “Is anyone home?” Sule reiterated with alacrity.

    “That’s my husband!” Risi exclaimed aloud elatedly, dashed out of the kitchen only to see a young man, though seemed old, who wasn’t just looking tatteredly and hungrily but pathetically. She hastily ran to him and frantically hugged him.

    Sule reciprocated in a more tightly manner. The nylon bag slipped from his hand and fell to the floor helplessly.

    Ever since he was transferred to a farther prison yard two years back, she had been unable to visit him unlike before.

    Her face was instantly covered with fathomless tears; Sule followed suit unconditional.

    It was conspicuously a scene of real pathos.

    While they were still holding each other at the house’s balcony, the 7-year-old Kazim who had been in the bedroom rushed out on hearing some unwonted noises. His mum who was facing where he (Kazim) stood couldn’t observe his presence, neither did his dad who was backing him noticed any sound behind, although the couple was standing very close to him. The little Kazim who had seen the uncontrollable tears on his mother’s face stood aloof while observing the highly emotional drama with keen interest.

    Since he was yet to see the face of the man that seriously and unusually held his mum, he was of the view that Sule, his father was Mr Ali. His mum had earlier told him that his dad would be back probably at night, so he never imagined having his dad’s presence at noon.

    Mr Ali was Risi’s concubine who had been coming to her matrimonial home from time to time ever since her husband was imprisoned. Perhaps, she couldn’t cope with her hubby’s prolonged absence.

    “Uncle Ali, what is it?” Kazim eventually broke the silence.

    Risi was very shocked over the exclamation, particularly as regards the name mentioned.

    Sule turned instantly on hearing the sound that came behind him, “Oh, my boy!” he exclaimed, stretched out his hands for a pleasant hug.

    The brilliant kazim who was able to recognize the face owing to the various pictures he had been glancing at all long, rushed his dad and hugged him emotionally.

    After the hug, Sule quickly turned to his wife, “So, who’s Ali?” He queried calmly.

    The wife gushed out tears again uncontrollably, “Honey, I’m so sorry…!” She managed to utter, fell to the ground.

    “Oh, my God!” Sule who had understood the scenario shouted. “So, you couldn’t wait for me?” He added furiously, left the arena for their bedroom.

    She remained on the ground helplessly and pitiably. Her unfaithful lifestyle was reoccurring to her senses just like a mere daydream. She couldn’t believe it. Therein, she stood up and followed him to the room. Kazim joined her.

    As Sule got to the room, he noticed a female kid who was about 3-year-old that was lying in their matrimonial bed, “Who’s she?” He asked the wife who was coming behind him.

    She was speechless, felt like taking sips of an acidic solution to enable her join her ancestors in a grand style.

    Unbelievably, the kid in question was a product of her infidelity. She alongside Mr Ali mistakenly gave birth to the kid while her hubby was observing his second year in the prison. The moment Sule informed her that he would be home soonest while still in the prison, she was profoundly worried over how best she would handle the ugly situation when he returned.

    Having psychologically comprehended every bit of the untold story, Sule felt like strangling Risi; consequently he madly ran out of the room to an unknown destination, leaving her untouched.

    Subsequently, he couldn’t withstand the ignominy, thus he divorced her and got married to another woman.

   

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Power of Destiny

POWER OF DESTINY

    “Sir, you were spotted in Canada few weeks ago,” quoth Miss Vanessa amidst the interview. “Please, can you tell us what prompted the trip?”

    “I was invited to deliver a public lecture,” the interviewee, Prof. Nkrumah responded. “In the University of Alberta.”

    “What was the theme of the lecture, Sir?”

    “The role of a leader in continental development,” Prof Nkrumah said. “The Ghanaian perspective.” He landed.

    Prof. G.O. Nkrumah, an astute and veteran 53-year-old Ghanaian professor of the Department of International Relations in the University of Accra, Ghana, was indeed the dream of every young and focused Ghanaian student that he was widely celebrated in every nook and cranny of the country. Everybody wanted to hear him speak whenever he was being interviewed on the radio or watch him speak in the case of a television broadcast. The young and agile academic was to say the least highly adored owing to his exemplary proficiency in issues relating to public sphere. There and behold, he was, as usual, being interviewed on one of the most reputable Ghanaian television broadcasting firms – StarCool TV.

    “Sorry for deviating,” the anchor Lady Vanessa proceeded. “Can you tell us a bit about your family?”

    “Well, I have a loving and lovely woman as a wife,” the renowned professor began his family analysis. “Dr Mrs Ann Nkrumah, of course everyone knows her.” He exaggerated.

    The presenter nodded pleasantly.

    Though his wife, Dr Mrs. A.D. Nkrumah who was also an academic, in Psychology precisely, was a famous personality but her popularity could not be equated with his (Prof’s) that could be attested to by even a-day-old child.

    “I would say,” Prof Nkrumah rode on. “I’m that imperfect man that got married to a perfect woman.” He boasted.

    The chocolate skinned Lady Vanessa who clad in ash suit, ash plain trousers, coupled with black shoes couldn’t hold her smile. “How many children?” She enquired.

    “By His grace, I’m blessed with three wonderful children,” he replied. “My last child who is the only male among them is 18 at the moment.”

    “Do you mind talking about them?” She said cheerfully, hastily adjusted her transparent specs.

    “My first daughter at 22 is presently on her Master’s degree programme in London Graduate School; her younger sister who’s 20 will conclude her first degree this year in Dundee University, Scotland,” the dark complexioned academic who dressed in black suit, black plain trousers alongside black shoes answered. “My son Dennis who is studying Law in the Manchester University, also in the UK, is currently in 200 Level.”         

    “At 18?”

    “Of course,” he said. “He left secondary school at the age of 16.”

    “Interesting.” The 33-year-old spinster applauded.

    “What you have to know is that children of nowadays are very fast academically,” the notable Prof asserted. “It’s not like during our time.”

    “Apart from Law,” Vanessa continued. “Would you have allowed him to go for any other profession?”

    “Sure,” he said succinctly, nodding. “The choice is his.”

    “As your only son,” the Ghanaian trained journalist punched again. “Would you have allowed him to venture into acting?”

    “Why not?” He replied. “Actors are great people in the society today.” He added, paused. “Even as a Lawyer, he can still become an actor tomorrow.”

    “But you and I know that there are so many distractions in the movie industry,” Vanessa went on. “And I’m of the view you would like him to be addressed as a Professor someday.”

    Prof Nkrumah smiled.

    His hands seemed tied going by the nature of the logic being utilized by the seasoned mass communicator.

    Obviously, the interview was gradually arriving at a hot zone unannounced.

    “Even at that,” he managed to utter. “All I know is that, he can still attain to that height even as an actor.”

    “So, in other words,” she hinted. “Any profession is okay by you?”

    “Definitely,” the bearded Prof said. “It’s a matter of choice.” He reiterated sceptically.

    The weekly programme entitled ‘Meet your role model’ which invariably came up every Saturday on StarCool TV lasted for an hour as the tradition requested.

    “Beautiful outing,” the Prof’s beautiful wife applauded, kissed his cheeks the moment he arrived home. “Darling, you spoke very well as usual.”

    “Thank you, my dear.” Prof Nkrumah appreciated.

    Dennis, their only son was meant to be in his Ghanaian home that very day. The Manchester University undergraduate had earlier called home to notify his parents – Prof & Dr (Mrs.) Nkrumah. It was in March, 2003.

    Within a twinkle of an eye, the awaited chap finally arrived home as expected at about 6:45pm (GMT), “Oh Dad and Mum,” he exclaimed as he was about separately hugging his parents who had stepped out of the house to welcome him. “You are all looking good.” He added frantically.

    “Welcome son.” His mum said as they hug each other.

    “Welcome, my boy!” the ever vibrant Prof reiterated as he grabbed his own hug instantly after his wife received hers.

    The three hurriedly moved to the sitting room and had their seats while the house-help took the luggage to the apt quarter. The couple sat very close to each other on the only three-in-one upholstery chair in the room whilst, their son Dennis sat directly adjacent to them on a separate single upholstery chair.

    “I know the semester hasn’t ended,” the Prof hastily said. “So, why are you home?”

    The wife assented via a nod.

    “Dad, you’re right,” quoth Dennis. “We’re still in second semester.”

    “So?” the anxious academic interrupted inquisitively.

    “Dad and Mum,” the chap called. “I have something very crucial to discuss with you.”

    “We are listening, my son.” said the Prof, wondered what could be the matter that he couldn’t discuss on phone.

    “I want to go to a seminary school,” the 18-year-old Dennis informed hesitantly. “I want to be a Priest.”

    “You would like to become a Priest?” the renowned academic who was also a devoted Catholic uttered confusedly.

    The wife shook her head, which bore long plaited hairs, with dismay, seemed depressed.

    “Yes Dad,” Dennis responded calmly. “I’ve already made up my mind.”

    “Meaning?” His parents chorused.

    “I’m done with the University.”

    “What!” the Prof shouted.

    Mrs Nkrumah looked at him (Dennis) in awe.

    It was as if the female journalist, Vanessa who hosted the Prof few minutes back foresaw the incident.

    “Are you out of your mind?” the Prof ranted. “Do you realize you are my only son?”

    “Dad,” the chap called. “I never said I’m about to die…”

    “Dennis…,” his mother interrupted loudly. “What has come over you?”

    “You must be mad.” The Prof overreacted.

    Perhaps, he had abruptly forgotten so soon what he told the TV presenter awhile ago as regards choosing a career.

    “Besides, who says a University graduate can’t become a Reverend Father?” He rode on furiously. “Where did you cull that from?”

    The wife calmly clapped her hands, indicating her optimum surprise.

    Thereafter, the altercation continued for several days to no avail until Prof G.O. Nkrumah decided to give the thought-provoking issue a second thought owing to his wife’s importunities. Consequently, Dennis left the University for a Senior Seminary School in Ghana unconditionally.

    Ceteris paribus, many years later, in 2013 to be precise, Dennis Nkrumah was ordained as a Holy Ghost Catholic Priest (CSSP) at 28 having successfully undergone rigorous missionary trainings as the ethics demanded.

    On that fateful and remarkable day, his beloved parents felt fulfilled for having sacrificed their only son.

    Immediately after the ordination, the young and handsome priest - Rev Fr Dennis Nkrumah promised his parents that he would surely become a professor someday.

    Sincerely, if you were in the shoes of the academics, would you have allowed Dennis to proceed to the seminary school? Think about it!

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Paradoxical Discovery

PARADOXICAL DISCOVERY

    “The Horse.” Coach Burgos called right in the dressing room, squatting.

    “Yes, Coach.” Ikem responded as he was seated on the tiled floor unwinding himself.

    The tete-a-tete was necessitated by a football match Ikem’s team just had few minutes back with their closest rival, in the city of Toledo, Spain. 

    Ikem Ogbuehi - popularly known as ‘The Horse’, a Spanish-based Nigerian striker who played in one of the second-division Spanish clubs, Superoni FC had been the talk of the day ever since he joined the club about eight months back owing to his resilient and exemplary attribute. Prior to his stay in the club, he was actively playing in one of the amateur clubs in Nigeria. Aside his dogged and fascinating style of approaching football, since he became a player in Superoni FC, there was no match he couldn’t score at least a goal for the club; as a result of this outstanding and historic record, he was reckoned to be the Horse of the Superoni FC, which remained one of the most respected football clubs in the history of Spain. Ikem who doubled as an Under-17 (U-17) player in the Nigerian Golden Eaglets was doing everything humanly possible to ensure that he lived up to the expectations.

    “You really did very well in that match.” Coach Burgos complimented, still squatting.

    Ikem’s Spanish coach, Mr Wilson Burgos had thought it wise to commend him for his wonderful performance, which wasn’t unusual, during the match the club just had with their rival. In that very match, Ikem who played wing number 8 both in the club and in the Nigerian U-17 team scored a hat-trick. The coach just moved very close to where he was unwinding amid his fellow players.

    “Thank you, Coach.” He replied, head bent. Still seated on the tiled floor.

    “If you continue like this,” Coach Burgos rode on. “I bet you, you will go places.”

    Ikem listened attentively.

    “You’re a blessing to your generation.” The coach asserted, paused. “But you must remain consistent and persistent, because you still have places to go.”

    Ikem remained calm.

    “And,” Mr Burgos continued. “Stay away from women.” He teased, pointing one of his right fingers at him.

    Ikem laughed. “Thank you, Coach.” He appreciated.

    “That’s my boy!” the 40-year-old white coach exclaimed cheerfully, stylishly tapped Ikem’s head with his left hand concurrently. Stood up and walked away.

    Ikem smiled as he watched his pleasant boss depart for other corner in the resting room.

    The following week of the year (2006), Ikem Ogbuehi was invited by the Nigerian U-17 team coach to feature in the upcoming qualifier match against their Ghanaian counterpart for the 2007 U-17 World Cup to be hosted by South Korea, and he complied as usual.

    The match which was meant to take place in Benin City, Edo State, Nigeria was scheduled for March 17, 2006.

    On Wednesday 15^th of March, 2006, two days to the awaited match, every invited player had assembled at the camping ground in Lagos State and therein they headed in unison for Benin City the venue for the match; the team which was made up of over 25 home and foreign-based players coupled with three coaches was travelling via land in two white Coaster buses amid tight security. It was initially a smooth journey till they ran into an unfortunate situation along the Benin-Asaba Expressway in Benin metropolis, Edo State about one kilometre to the hotel they were meant to lodge in. At the front gate of the University of Benin commonly addressed as UniBen, the leading Coaster bus struck one of the male students of the university who was about crossing the expressway as it (the bus) tried to dodge a glaring pothole situated in the centre of the federal road.

    Every player in the two buses including Ikem who was in the second bus quickly moved out to rescue the relatively conscious victim who happened to be a 24-year-old final year undergraduate student of the school amidst an abrupt crowd.

    “Chidi…!” Ikem shouted furiously the moment he got to the spot.

    The sudden and surprising exclamation aroused striking looks from his fellow players as well as coaches.

    “Daddy...!” the victim who was lying by the roadside subconsciously responded, gasped for air.

    He was hurriedly rushed to a nearby hospital, and therein the doctor in charge assured them that the poor dude would bounced back in a short while having ascertained the real state of his entire body system.  

    “Who’s that guy?” the head coach of the team Mr Damilola asked Ikem having called him out to one of the lonely corners in the hospital for a crucial inevitable interrogation in respect to what transpired at the scene of the accident.

   “Which guy?” Ikem pretentiously dished out.

   “The victim, of course,” Mr Damilola reiterated. “We all heard him; he called you Daddy.”

    “He’s my son,” the interviewee who wasn’t obviously in a good mood finally answered. “If you must know.” He added frankly.

    “What?” the astonished Damilola uttered. “Your son?”

    What a paradoxical discovery!

    The mind-blowing and untold truth was that Chidi, the victim, who was begotten out of wedlock twenty-four years back, was the first child of Ikem Ogbuehi; the Lilliputian Ikem who was actually born in February 1961 begot him (Chidi) when he was barely 21-year old, few years after his secondary education. Unfortunately, at that point in his life, nature chose to unravel the hidden idiosyncrasies that were covered by his miniature look; just as the saying goes, ‘Three things cannot be long hidden – the sun, the moon, and the truth’.

    Apparently, the 45-year-old Mr Ikem Ogbuehi was left with no option right in that hospital than to let the cat out of the bag.

    The following day, the banner headline of virtually all the local and national tabloids in Nigeria read, ‘An U-17 player fathers a 24-year-old man.’

    Consequently, Ikem was indefinitely suspended by his Spanish league, whereas he was asked by the Nigerian football governing body to apply for voluntary retirement.

    But, who was to be blamed for Ikem’s bogus odyssey? Think about it!

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