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Monday, 5 December 2016

Mere Coincidence


MERE COINCIDENCE

      Dr. P.C. Obi of the Physiology Department of the University of Akila had, since he joined the department, been reckoned to be one of the best heads, particularly in the field of Human Physiology. He invariably strived to behold the final result of any research he embarked upon; needless to state that he was result-oriented. He would never rest until he got to the peak of his aspirations. In fact, he was not second best, but second to none whenever issues pertaining to academics were raised. This was the singular reason he was widely celebrated among his contemporaries.
      Inter alia, the 47-year-old father of four was obviously a no-nonsense man both at home and in the school. His disciplinary nature knew no bounds. Suffice it to say that he was a core disciplinarian. Each time he entered lecture class, he would take his precious time to lay emphasis on value system, in addition to his academic concernment. Above all, he ran an open-door administration as a class adviser, was very strict though.
      “Good morning class!” He graciously greeted as he faced the 200 Level students of his department.
      That would be the first time he would be meeting with the class since they became students of the institution. Prior to then, they had only been hearing of him but yet to see him teach.
     “Good morning, sir.” They responded in unison.
      Dr. Obi looked at his wrist watch – it was about some seconds to 8am.
     The lecture was meant to commence by eight. He had never been found wanting when it called for punctuality. And, such idiosyncrasy had always spoken for his person.
      “You are all welcome to a fresh academic session,” he rode on as he stood on the podium, clad in brownish Safari trousers and top alongside black corporate shoes. “And of course, a fresh level.” He said, paused. “Before now, you were in 100 Level.”
      “Thank you, sir!” they chorused while seated.
      “Hope you all know me?” he verified.
      “Yes sir.”
      “Interesting,” he appreciated. “Well, for those who are yet to know me…” he added, attempting to write on the white magnificent board only to realized that he left his specs in the office.
       He managed to write his name ‘Dr. P. C. Obi’ on the board with the black ink maker in his right hand. “Where is the Class Rep?” he enquired soonest after inscribing the name.
      One young man seated amidst the class of about fifty students raised his right arm up.
     “Please come.” He urged, gesticulating.
      The Class Representative, dressed in blue jeans, black plain shoes and white T-shirt tucked into the trousers, hastily stood up and joined him at the podium.
      “Do you know my office?” he asked him.
      “Yes sir.”
      “Good,” he said. “Please, go and get me my spectacles.” He enjoined, handing over his office keys to the chap.
       In three minutes time, the young man returned to the classroom, holding both the specs casing and the keys in his hand. He climbed the platform and handed the items over to the Doc.
     “Thank you,” quoth Dr. Obi. “What’s your name?”
     “Daniel, sir.”
     “Daniel?” he verified.
     “Yes sir.”
     “Alright,” the Doc said. “You can have your seat.”
       Daniel immediately resumed his seat which was situated at the front row, let out a deep breath. 
       Dr. Obi wore the specs, kept the casing on a table sited beside him having dropped the keys in one of his trousers’ pocket. “I will be teaching you Introduction to Anatomy.” He informed the class, hurriedly faced the board and wrote the course title as it was rightly pronounced.
      The students looked at him in appreciation. Going by their physiognomies, they could not but thank God for having him as one of their lecturers in their new academic level. Ab initio, they had been hearing of Dr. P. C. Obi, and that was a golden opportunity for them to enjoy a cordial relationship with him having longed for such moment since they found themselves on the campus.
      “As long as this semester lasts, I shall take good time to tell you all you need to know regarding the course, provided you are willing to,” the don notified. “I wish to inform you that the best moment I enjoy with my students is when they ask questions when necessary.” He added, paused.
       The class was attentive.
      “In other words,” he continued. “I urge you not to hesitate in tendering any question whenever you want any clarification.”
       They appeared pleased by the instruction.
      “Did I make myself clear?”
      “Yes, sir!”
       He could feel the gladness on their faces. “Alright.” He said, faced the board and began to write down the course outline.
      The lecture lasted for two hours as inscribed on the timetable. After the class, the students were unanimously elated, thus felt like having more of him.
      The moment he got to his office after the lecture, he observed that a very vital document was missing - a file containing the database of the results of the final year (400 Level) students of the department. They were the results of one of the courses he taught them the previous year. The file in question was kept in his shelf.
       He couldn’t believe his sight, thus took his time to crosscheck the entire files positioned in the shelf towards ascertaining a misplacement, if any, all to no avail. He sat down, deeply thought over it again and again, but could not believe he would possibly lose a document via carelessness. As one who carefully handled issues/documents, let alone a sensitive one as that, he was convinced beyond doubts that the missing item was stolen. Therein, he hastily stood up, dashed out of the office and asked a passerby student to call Daniel.
       In few minutes time, Daniel joined him in the office. “You sent for me, sir?”
      “Yes, I did.” Dr. Obi replied while seated, looked mean. “Please, sit down.”
       Daniel calmly sat on one of the seats positioned opposite Dr. Obi’s
      “What’s your full name?”
      “Uzodinma Daniel, sir.”
      “Mr. Uzodinma.” He called hesitantly.
      “Yes sir.”
      “When I called you in your classroom,” he said. “I saw you as a very responsible student.”
       Daniel looked at him attentively.
      “So, why would you betray me?” he hinted.
      “Betray you?” quoth Daniel, seemed confused. “I don’t understand, sir.”
      “Why did you steal from my office?’
      “Steal from your office?” said Daniel. “Sir, I don’t still understand.”
      “Oh,” quoth Dr. Obi. “You are pretending, right?”
        Daniel looked at him in silent awe.
       “I give you five minutes to provide that document,” the don roared. “Else …”
       “Which document, sir?”
       “Will you get out of my office?” he ordered, gesticulating, fiercely stood up.
       “Sir …?” he tried to utter, keeping his jaws widely open.
       “I said, get out of my office.”
        Daniel managed to stand up, calmly walked towards the door.
       “Nonsense..!”
        The chap left the office, couldn’t know what next to do.
        Two weeks later, owing to Daniel’s inability to provide the missing document as requested, the matter was taken to the university’s Senate. Consequently, he suffered from expulsion.
       What do you think would happen next? Think about it!

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Painful Verdict


PAINFUL VERDICT

      “It has come to the notice of the university’s Governing Council and the Senate,” Prof. Okoro said. “That cultism has suddenly become the order of the day on this campus.”
      The teeming students watched him in appreciation while the invited guests marveled.
      University of Okute had been reckoned to be one of the institutions of higher learning across the country characterized by cultism. Such societal ill had existed in a manner that ‘UniOku’, as the citadel was fondly called, could not pass through a day without experiencing suchlike incidence as rape and robbery, among every other form of intimidation; and at intervals, murder would be the subject matter. The unabated prevalence of the bilious acts remained the most discussed issue in all quarters of the highly revered institution. Worse still, every effort put together by the university management towards curtailing the menace was to no avail.
      As the aforementioned ordeal lingered, on this day of the university’s 17th matriculation ceremony, the institution’s Vice-Chancellor (VC) Professor K. B. Okoro thought it wise to discuss the issue in his welcome address. As he firmly and confidently stood on the podium while audibly reading the eligibly written address, his countenance abruptly changed the moment he got to the paragraph that emphasized on the said ill.
      “I want to use this medium,” the don rode on, frowning. “To warn our new students to steer clear of any act that could endanger their families’ reputation as they mind their studies squarely.” He advised.
      The teeming matriculants of about three thousand persons became more attentive.
      “Because,” continued the VC. “The university cannot tolerate any questionable character from you?” he informed, paused. “Hence, we will not hesitate to rusticate or expel anyone found wanting.”
      The matriculants looked at themselves in silent awe.
      “And to the parents,” quoth Prof. Okoro. “We equally encourage you to check on your wards from time to time.” He enjoined, took a breath. “To enable you monitor their activities, academically, socially and otherwise.”
      The special guests as well as other members of the university’s management, whom were at the podium with the speaker, nodded simultaneously in admiration. “Good talk!” the Registrar – Mr. Akor who sat in the front row whispered to his closest neighbour.
      “And the cultists,” the number-one citizen mentioned bitterly. “Every day is for the thief, whilst one day is for the house owner.” he hinted, paused. “After race, we shall count the miles.” He landed succinctly.
      The address, which was well drafted, bore every aspect of all activities being carried out in the university. At least, the new intakes had gotten a hint on the do’s and undo’s of the institution, thus they needn’t be reminded that expulsion or rustication was the only answer to any act of immorality.
       Few minutes later, the ceremony came to an end having consumed almost three hours.  
      Two weeks on, five youths in their early twenties were caught by the police in a robbery act at the outskirts of the university, and they were all identified as the students of the institution. When investigated, it was discovered they were part of the cult gang that had been terrorizing the school. Thereafter, other members of the confraternity were equally apprehended. Most devastatingly, one of them in the person of Benson, popularly known as ‘Cartel’, happened to be the son of a notable High Court judge in the country, Justice Calo Dandi.
      When the sad news got to the affected judicial custodian alongside his wife, it sounded just like a mere daydream. They couldn’t believe that their highly cherished child who they were of the view would be graduating in few months time, was an armed robber let alone a cultist. Mrs. Dandi was, to say the least, half-dead; Justice Dandi, on his part, couldn’t step out of his home for a whole week owing to shame and depression.
      Come to think of it: who on earth would agree that the son of a justice would be involved in such nauseous act? The entire university community, and of course its environs, were deeply touched when they realized that one of the culprits, Benson was a child of a High Court jury. The news was indeed very, very difficult to believe let alone discussing it.
      Seventeen days on, the gang was charged to court by the police. Fascinatingly, the case was brought to the court headed by Justice Calo Dandi. Prior to this time, the accused persons had been expelled from the university.
      Justice Dandi’s hands were really tied. To assert that he was placed in a tight corner was apparently an understatement. ‘How could he sentence his child?’ remained the most raised question by the public.
      It would shock, perhaps interest you to note that Benson was the only son of Justice Dandi. The latter could boast of four females and a male. He was the last among the five children; after he came into the world, the couple couldn’t beget again.
      “So what are you going to do?” Mrs. Dandi asked her husband as they were seated at their balcony.
       Both of them were seated directly opposite each other.
       At this time, the court proceeding had already begun. The court had met twice over the incident, and the third hearing of the case was scheduled to be held the following week. It appeared the next hearing would determine the fate of the gang.
       “That boy will rot in jail.” Justice Dandi unequivocally hinted hesitantly. “Justice will prevail.” He added.
      “What?” Mrs. Dandi shouted. “How do you mean?”
      “It’s obvious he is guilty,” he said. “Or, isn’t he?”
      “So?” she ranted. “Because he is guilty, you want your only son to rot in jail?”
      “As you can see,” he replied. “My hands are tied.”
      “Your hands are tied?”
      “Of course,” quoth the Justice. “I am concerned about my reputation.”
      “So your reputation is more important than your only son?”
      “Woman, I have been in this job for over thirty years,” he reminded. “And since then, I have never been found wanting.”
      “Is better they found you wanting this time,” she suggested. “Than to lose your only begotten son.” She landed with alacrity.
     “Don’t be selfish, woman” he warned emphatically.
     “Meaning?”
     “As you can see,” quoth the jury. “I am left with no choice.” He hinted frankly, stood up and walked away.
      She sat like an electrocuted human as she helplessly watched him depart from the balcony. She felt dreaming, but it was real. “What a blunt judge!” She finally bemoaned.
      The following week, Benson alongside his accomplices was sentenced to life by his biological father, having been convicted for robbery, rape, cultism and murder. His mother, Mrs. Dandi landed in coma on hearing the news.
      Be sincere, if you were in the jury’s shoes, what would you have done? Think about it!

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Strange Friday


STRANGE FRIDAY

     “Bros,” Chris called. “Good day ooh!” he greeted elatedly.
     “Good day, my brother.” Akpan replied in his police uniform.
     “How was work today?” Chris enquired.
      Both men whom were closest neighbours in the city of Uyo, Akwa-Ibom State, Nigeria just returned from their respective places of work. They were speaking respectively from their apartments situated very close to each other in the same compound as they were about to hop in.
      “My brother,” the 43-year-old Mr. Akpan Okon said. “This our suffer-suffer work sef.” He lamented amid false pretence.
      “Suffer-suffer work?” verified Mr. Chris who seems to be in his late 40s. “No be you dey build duplex so?” He spoke in Pidgin English, trying to differ from him that his police job was a ‘suffer-suffer work’ as he asserted.
       Mr. Okon, a father of four, was reckoned to be a successful police officer. Though he was ostensibly of a low cadre, he could boast of the prime needs of a man of his age. He alongside his family lived in a 3-bedroom flat, and was at the moment erecting a residential duplex in the same city (Uyo) having already built a befitting bungalow in his hometown – equally in Akwa Ibom. No one, not even any of his intimate friends, truly knew the secret behind his excess income. Since it was apparent that an average Nigerian police personnel of his rank could hardly boast of two-square meal on a daily basis, let alone a befitting place of residence, people far and near were very much convinced that he wasn’t depending only on his supposed basic salaries and allowances.
      Although everyone was informed that ever since Mr. Okon purportedly joined the Police Force, he had never worked or been posted elsewhere except on the road – mainly the highway – where he and his teammates invariably focused majorly on collection of gratification, but they (everyone) were still of the view that such earning wasn’t enough to cater for those cost-intensive assets owned by the latter (Akpan).
      “My brother, if I tell you what I pass through every day to ensure that I build that duplex,” Mr. Akpan Okon responded. “You will pity me.”
     “What you pass through?” quoth Chris – the father of five. “Is it not just to stand on the road?”
     “Just to stand on the road?” Akpan echoed. “You call it just?” He added, paused. “Chris, you won’t understand.”
     “Well,” quoth Chris. “Whatever stress that is involved, I wish I am in your shoes.”
     “Are you serious?”
     “Yes nah,” Chris reiterated. “Take a look at me; I worth no penny.” He asserted emphatically, paused. “This my trade, how much is it giving me?”
     “So, you prefer police work?”
     “Yes nah,” answered Chris. “So far money is flowing.”
     “Okay ooh…” exclaimed Akpan. “But I will advise, you shouldn’t ever wish to be a policeman.” He warned, paused. “The job is for hungry men.”
      “For hungry men..?” Mr. Chris inquired, surprised. “And, you are getting richer every day?”
       Mr. Akpan smiled, kept quiet.
     “Look at me,” Chris rode on. “I can’t even pay my house rent talk less of taking care of my family.
      “My brother, leave mata for Matthias.” Akpan enjoined in vernacular. “I am very tired.” He added, opened his door.
      “Well, to be continued.” concurred Chris, kept his own entrance open and hopped in.
       Mr. Akpan followed suit, seemed really exhausted as claimed.
                      * * * * * *
      “Hold it there!” Bassey – a member of an armed 4-man police team, which Akpan was the leader, just stopped a moving Range-Over Jeep on an expressway at about 4.20pm on Friday.
     Bassey was with Akpan at one side of the road, though they were separated by a reasonable distance while the other two were at the other side.
     The vehicle’s driver who was carrying his boss in the car had earlier attempted to ignore a signal from Bassey ordering him to apply his brakes based on the fact that his boss whom was a prominent business tycoon was already late to a crucial board-meeting he was headed for. But he was left with no choice when Bassey pointed his gun at one of the jeep’s front tyres.
      “Officer, we are already late to a meeting.” The young driver informed as he parked by the roadside.
     “So,” Bassey said. “Because you are late, you wanted to disobey the law?” he replied, hurriedly looked into the car and saw the boss who was seated at the owner’s side. “Good day, sir.” He greeted.
     “Good day, my dear.” replied the boss – Chief Ude, who appeared to be in his mid 50s, in a bass tone. “Please, we are late.” He reiterated.
     The stubborn Bassey overlooked the plea and urged the driver to park very well.
     The driver complied.
      In the process, Mr. Akpan who stood about two metres away walked closer to the scene to observe the scenario which seemed dramatic.
     “Can I see your papers?” Bassey urged the driver.
      This time, he was standing alongside his leader, Akpan.
      The driver quickly brought out the papers as requested, though seemed very worried over the time being wasted.
       Bassey who was well dressed in his police uniform, likewise his colleagues, was taking his time to peruse the papers towards ascertaining at least a single fault, but all to no avail. He insisted, thus continued going through the papers painstakingly for the umpteenth time.
      Chief Ude, who wasn’t willing to offer them any gratification, got irritated; hence, picked up his cell phone and dialed the number of the state’s Commissioner for Police (CP) unknowingly to Bassey and Akpan.
       Just a few minutes after the information was sent across to the police CP, a squad of seven able-bodied security personnel from the Department of State Services (DSS), dressed in mufti, arrived at the arena in a civilian patrol vehicle. Before Akpan and his men could realize what was happening, they had already surrounded them. They immediately freed Chief Ude and therein tried to ascertain the division Akpan’s team came from, only to discover that the men in question were nothing but a set of fraudsters who had been operating in disguise.
     The fascinating, perhaps bitter truth was that Akpan was never a policeman, and was never recruited at any time in the Police Force. Owing to joblessness and desperation, he founded the unscrupulous and illicit police team just to extort money from commuters on a daily basis. The worst of all remained that, they weren’t only indulging in collection of gratification; sometimes, they would embark on other criminal adventures, still under police guise, thereby extorting money from their preys. They had successfully operated the syndicate for over two years until that fateful day that could best be described as ‘strange Friday’ when luck thought it wise to turn its back on them.
       Interestingly, one of the members of the fraudulent team happened to be Chris, the neighbour to Mr. Akpan; the latter integrated him into the syndicate after he severally pleaded with him to help him secure a job in the Police Force having decided to abandon his trade. His first outing with the gang ushered in the bad luck.      
      “Guilty or not guilty?” the clerk enquired from the syndicate whom was sued two weeks after the incident with a 5-count charge bordering on unpatriotic indulgence, conspiracy, sabotage, robbery, as well as illegal possession of weapons and police uniforms.
       “Guilty!” the leader – Mr. Akpan Okon testified on behalf of the gang.
       “You have, therefore, been convicted of the charge levelled against you, …” the jury pronounced. “You are hereby sentenced to 35-year imprisonment.” He succinctly landed having made other consequential announcements.
      “Court..!” the clerk exclaimed with alacrity as the panel of Judges took a bow amid the intense uproar that emanated from the verdict.

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