Nigeria Writer: Ekadi Three

By Felix Brambaifa

She waited for them to come. Her anger was now like the beauty of the insane. Days had passed since her first attempt at bringing justice with her own hands. Ekadi was a good runner, it was easy admitting to that fact even though she hated the taste of it. There was a time she had felt her heart rejoice, she had pursued him towards an high fence designed not to be climbed over by anyone but then in surprising shock she saw Ekadi without any physical assistance do the unexpected with flawless ease. In retrospect she had come to agree that, day had been created to bless her efforts with frustration and disappointments. It was minutes after the unsuccessful pursuit, on her way back that she had fallen into the arms of a police van, her pockets had wraps of marijuana and for two weeks she had stayed in police custody while Ekadi rejoiced.

  But now she was back and Ekadi was still ignorant of it, the hunger to bleed his head was now like a righteous calling. Her return had been visited by the numerous rumors of how he had openly celebrated her shame. So now she waited, ready to show how a woman could actually make his life unpleasant.

  One of the boys had gone to his house, to make report of the unhealthy return. He had met the absence of his boss and immediately began his return trip with an insane speed.

    The happiness to run from a house too disturbing to endure because of Nfong had prompted the early morning flight and without planning for the unexpected he had gone ahead with his eyes closed.

  This time he was unlucky, this time he walked into her waiting arms and his legs stood transfixed for the reason of sudden fear. He was too close and any sudden move would put Ngozi on a swift offensive. Their eyes stayed on each other, waiting for the time when their legs would do their commands. Then she ran towards him with a devilish rage and from nowhere she brought out a short machete.

  The heartbeats in his chest congealed as fear came upon him like cold sent from the arctic. But then he moved his hand to the ground and in great desperation gave a great swipe.

  He had embraced the initiative the very instant his eyes fell on a discarded baton very close within reach. She came towards him already feeling triumphant, expecting not even the least attempt at defense but as they say surprise was never a thing to be expected. He flogged her hand; the machete fell as she slowly absorbed the pains, he took flight.

  She had seen his hand move but at that instant her speed became her mistake, the reason Ekadi had once again escaped her fury. She nursed her injured hand, her mind boiling by the seconds and it was then she knew the line had been drawn by her pains and the time for real barbarity had come.

  He had been wise situating his business far from his house. But he knew only foolishness was to be held responsible for falling into the trouble Ngozi would violently turn into a funeral dance. She was like the Mother of the area urchins combined; they respected her and went on errands like pigeons begging to fly into their freedom, Messages that sometimes sent people to hospital beds and others packing. All she had to do was say the words and the name on the list would start asking for God.

  He had attacked in self defense and this was trouble, no explanation or pleading would erase the punishment looming in the dark and this he was sure of. He was now a finished man and like one trying to live his new status he walked his various paths with a certain sluggishness as if to attract pity. The workshop was his everything but because of the need to pay for a certain disaster manifested from Nfong’s troubles which at that time had seemed more important he had gone ahead and not knowing what the future had in store had brought a more serious trouble on his head.

  He heard the familiar shout that was the everyday mood of the compound as he entered. Again he met the land lord who would not waste time on emphasizing his belief.

  “I swear on my old age, that woman will dig your grave even before you are ready to go”

  With his eyes he searched her out from among the crowd and his heart quaked in pains while his head grumbled in disapproval at his greatest mistake

Ekadi two

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Nigerian Writer: Ekadi Two

Felix Brambaifa

The compound had never seen peace nor would ever understand the benefits it could bring. Every day was with its own troubles; troubles always caused by women, women too hungry to bring them into being.

  Ever since Ekadi had seen the need to become tenant in this compound and actually taken the step, his wife Nfong had since then become the strong force in the fore front of the various chaos. She was the Goliath in the colony of Titans but since only a David could do the eventual damage she had continued to live despite the strong female bullies the compound had on parade.

  Trouble was again at the threshold of the compound and Nfong was to be held responsible for it, the reason for the recent madness was far from been a deliberate one but rather from a permissible mistake that should have been ignored. The poor girl like everyone else in the compound knew Nfong had a madness that only trouble could appease and was frightened when tiny drops of water had fell from the bucket on her head, finding their way to the door front of Nfong.

She heard the splash, like a trained maniac she rushed outside and without any words to call the girl to order had descended on the poor thing with bitterness. The beating was beyond the normal measures suitable for a little child. Her crying called out for her own mother and the two adult sharing the same pot of bitterness showed strength.

  That was how the fight had started and minutes later Nfong had once again inflicted a terrible injury on her neighbor. This was the routine; this was why Ekadi was never free from debts and the purging habit of spending money meant for the furniture’s of his customers. He worked to make money; while her efforts were to invent troubles, so unavailable resources could be spent on them.

  He heard the sporadic shouts; they were all gathered at the backyard of the compound. The women were real noise makers as usual, each eager to oppress the other with their combusting voices. But on top of all the voices stayed the one voice his life had come to fear and like all great mistakes, regret. He heard his wife boast that she was strong and ready to prove herself, ready to break the heads of those who would not respect her. He felt oppressed; he felt the burden of a man who had come to realize that peace would forever stay far from his house because of the woman he had made his wife.

   He was still there in his thoughts when he heard the noise from behind, he turned around and there was his landlord. Their eyes met and the landlord started an eruption of mocking laughter’s, his face blessed with a resemblance that favored that of a bald monkey.

  “You haven’t seen anything yet” He said “She is your downfall”

  He sighed in his displeasure as he moved to the outside entrance of the compound, he had never liked Nfong and it was to his great annoyance to see Ekadi suffer in the hands of a woman who was never in want of peace, a pain felt by Ekadi as he entered his one room apartment.

  He was furious, the list of recent debts was on the table and its content had almost made his head explode but somehow he had managed to maintain his sanity, controlling his anger. But it was not to last for long, for as soon as his eyes fell on the pot of soup which was his hope for dinner on the floor his body became the growl of a furious beast as he shouted “Nfong” repeatedly.

  Her face bore the usual disdain felt for her husband as she entered. He was poor and her respect and full loyalty had always feared his quarters. She moved like a pregnant woman, slow and deliberate was her motion and worse the silent insult as she asked. “What can I do for you?”

  “What happened to the pot of soup?” He snarled, in obvious irritation and anger.

  He had seen the content of the pot, that was before Nfong had come asking for money to make her hair, he had refused her request and the workshop calling out quickened his footsteps before she could create trouble he was in no way ready for. But now like a wicked miracle a pot that would have served for two more days was now among the dirty dishes begging to be washed.

  “You would not give me money for my hair so I sold the soup. But still the money is not enough. I think I would have to sell the remaining fresh rice so I can look beautiful for my husband” She said with her lips twisted in that manner meant to insult in a silent buy wicked way.

  His hands were fast, his breathe heavy and his full anger fell heavily on her. His fist did damage for every disrespect she had poured on him, the debts he must now pay for and the danger that might soon befall him if Ngozi should ever succeed with her nefarious plans and most importantly for playing with his appetite.

Ekadi Part One

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Nigerian Writer: Silent miracle

By Felix Brambaifa

Your acceptance meant more

Than life ever gave

More than the darkness of before

But like the light I do now crave

You became life’s greatest anticipation

Like dry lands after Noah’s flood

And to my hopes, you became manifestations

As if you had become my own god

Little is what words can express

For much must remain unrevealed

Though your grace had tempered the tempest

And rejuvenated, when my soul did bleed

My counted blessings now like grains

Shall remain relic of your great worth

You made bountiful like drop of rains

That grace, without which I always, fell short

Your place is beyond the measure of worth

For its roots is in Gods own heart

Surely from above you decided to come forth

And with my soul forged an eternal pact

You are my grace in human form

Your broke the darkest rule

And separated me from the storm

That now you have become my silent miracle

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Nigerian Writer: If Then

Felix Brambaifa

If circumstance were permanent

Then suicide would become choice

If God to prayers remain silent

Then on his grace I rest my curse

If fates were written on stone

Then the purpose of life is scorn

If what we reap is what we have sown

Then why do children fall before a gun

If tears must fall each time we mourn

Then the world a bed of sea would have become

If man cannot truly live without the sun

Then why does it hide when we face the storm?

If traditions were indeed without errors

Then the hinterlands would know no tragedy

If pastors to Africans are not traitors

Then pagans would be choirs of heavens melody

If the will of Angels is truly to obey

Then who pushed Lucifer and told a false tale?

If heaven is most suitable to stay

Then marijuana would surely be on sale

If homosexuals were created by divine will

Then God must be the oldest bisexual

If it is wrong to have the intent to kill

Then why has God not denied devil the chance to prowl?

If hell is the opposite of heaven

Then why is earth not covered in fire?

If what we have is all that is given

Then why is man judged for his desire?

If all said to you make no sense

Then you do not understand the agony of life

If you have ever smelt humanities stench

Then you know, God is male and you, his wife

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Nigerian Writer: Ekadi Part one

Felix Brambaifa

By Felix Brambaifa

    As a child he had lacked the financial means that would have made education accessible, added to this failure his parents were the sort who because of poverty had gone the whole mile of weaving ridiculous lies of how school was very unnecessary, a ploy enacted to hide their inadequacies and so growing up became nothing but aborted chances in that regard. Living up to the expectation of his father meant becoming a carpenter himself and so the road into adulthood was shaped to carry the hammer and pincers, a decision that gave his curse a monstrosity breathing not even a moment’s peace.          

  The sun was again angry and this time like before he complained. The carpentry workshop was his greatest achievement, the inherited property handed down from his father and one venture which over the years had only succeeded in draining his vitality, perpetuating the poverty that he had no business making daily contact with. He gave his all but received almost nothing in return and despite his dedication to serve, the carpentry workshop would bring him almost no profits, bringing to the minds of those curious few of how malnourished it has become, how close it was to a terrible end and how it would gladly accept that fate.

  His complaints about the sun carried with it an undertone, a lone voice begging for a change but too afraid to journey the road that would bring the answers. Pretending he had no use for it but silently wishing for the rain to fall on him, to allow every drop wash his penury from his skin until there was no sign left to show it once existed. The boys who worked under him were wise and understood his paranoia; they had come to see the reasons and kept quiet whenever the session was in play.

   It was fast, it was precise and one after the other the planks fell into the detailed design already planted in his sweat dripping head which at the same time was busy courting the fear from the latest act of poverty he had forced himself into committing, forgetting the many times he had promised not to again venture onto that path.

      He had promised to deliver on time, in complete trust the customer had paid full in advance but his increasing poverty had so eroded his sense of duty and created too many temptations that it became a necessity to squander the entire money without a single piece of wood bought for the purpose it was intended.When the time finally came, Ekadi knowing the manner of trouble counting the distance towards his tent became evasive. He had failed in his promise, the cash meant for the project he had expended, and now the rumors concerning the lady whose money his needs had tampered with were becoming most terrifying. At ungodly hours he would make nocturnal visits to the workshop and diligently he would give his time to the service of those lucky not to have fallen into his need for money.

    With the eventual remunerations for his nocturnal efforts he bought the needed materials, thinking he had averted the calamity, he celebrated. But nothing take’s the normal pattern when the Devil becomes the sculptor.

   He waited for her to come but instead, the message of how his life would suddenly meet a cold end became the returned reply.

   She was popular, the Devils crowned princess, she was troublesome and whenever trouble emanated from her quarters blood was also expected to follow in due course. Ngozi was the end product of what was to be expected when the mind takes to the duty of practical insanity. It was said that her violent handiwork's would make even Angel Michael beg for quick cover. 

 She was angry as she carried herself through the path leading to Ekadi’s carpentry workshop.

 “I will deal with one of his boys rather than make an empty return” She had promised herself before embarking on the journey. Her right hand held the unbroken bottle within tight grip, impatiently praying for the moment.

   He was quick, his eyes were vigilant enough and his legs applied pressure as the fear of Ngozi who he had suddenly spotted became the start of a new and needed knowledge. He dropped the saw, kicked the bucket of nails on his path as he fled for his life. She went after him; in the process of this sudden pursuit she broke the bottle on a concrete pole on her path and there and then was the perfect weapon formed. She pursued, she chased but Ekadi was a man intelligent enough to recognize death even when it was dressed in the form of a deranged woman.

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Nigerian Writer: Unchained

Felix Brambaifa

By Felix Brambaifa

My heart is set on purpose
Your remorse before it is frail
Ours is now like a withered rose
Onto death its destiny must sail

Take with you the memories
Whether sweet or bitter, its yours
For me, they inflict great miseries
Reminder, your love became a curse

Not a moment for thoughts of you
Nor in loneliness wish our union reforged
Now i know good maidens are few
Not even available in Gods own church

Carry your pride further beyond
To a place ignorance high esteemed
Make of him this shattered bond
But a slave he becomes to your greed

Never a man more unfortunate than him
than he fettered to your cold embrace
A minion now to your caprice and whim
Unchained, doomed for a terrible disgrace

Finally i must run beyond your reach
No more victim to the songs of your deceit
Free from the doctrines your deceit do preach
Your claims over me you now forfeit

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Nigerian Writer: Okoro (5) The Final Part

Felix Brambaifa

By Felix Brambaifa

 He cried, the tears fell and his voice was enough measurement of the grief within.  It no longer mattered what his supposed future in-laws would think so he cried out her name, as his tears laid emphasis on the reason why his life had become so sad. The compounds in the area gathered, their attention was the righteous sort and he narrated his woes with every single drop. Eventually their sympathy became audible.

  “Sorry, such is life, it will get better” Filled the air as the women tried to console him. Agnes who had been their beloved now became the Judas they all wanted to stone. But this was not the case with the males who could not conceal their annoyance at the foolishness of an old man, investing on a girl old enough only to be his granddaughter with the intention of marriage in mind. Some held back their irritation while others too angry at Okoro for misrepresenting men were bold to shout. “Old fool”

   The time came and even the night tired of an old man without shame went to sleep, he was left alone to nurse his wounds. Mama Agnes tried her best but he would not come inside for the night, for he had vowed to wait for Agnes to come back before business of that kind would find a place in his heart. But when the time became too lonely and his resolve almost lost to drowsiness he stood up and went to the outside road where the activities of nightlife were gradually taking shape.

 The bar played loud music, the prostitutes paraded themselves, and the crowd frolicking in their carnal pleasures paid little attention to morality as each of every one of them struggled to get the best out of the vanity the moment had on parade. He was among them, trying in his best efforts to kill his pains through too much alcohol, and it was then he saw the car come to a stop in front of the bar. Out came the heavily built guy and to the shocking surprise of Okoro there stood Agnes, beside him.

  They took a table for themselves and drinks were brought. They laughed, they discussed and Agnes was evidently happy with herself, not even worried about the so recent episode she had left still unfinished.

  He looked at her and wondered if she had no conscience, he had sent her to school, helped her family and for this alone he was entitled to her respect but which was never the case as Agnes was so always quick to show, He looked at her and could see the aura of an ingrate, he stood up and walked towards their table.

   She felt her head swell; she saw Okoro’s face and knew this time the trouble had come to stay. He dragged out the empty chair and sat down. He peered into the eyes of Tony who was so surprise at the uninvited guest that for a moment he remained speechless not knowing what road to take. Then he managed to speak.

 “What can I do for you?” Tony asked, expecting to hear the ranting of a drunk gone over the edge.

 “Young man you have insulted me” Said Okoro.

 Tony had expected it and so he laughed like a mad man before saying. “Ok I will buy you another drink”

  Okoro was angry as he replied. “I say I want my wife, she is my wife”

  Tony was silent as he looked towards Agnes.

  “That is the way he has been harassing me, an area drunk who would not leave me alone” Her denial was piercing to the soul and Okoro was again the victim.

  “Indeed I am an old fool” With this he began crying, heavily.

  Every man was created to partake in the ills of life but to be insulted in this manner, be denied by the one who have seen your best and charity was in many words the worse of bad times. He stood up and demanded that Agnes come with him. She declined and the madness which for hours had remained constrained finally caught fresh air and inhaled strength. He grabbed her hand and dragged her to her feet but Tony was there to pull back.

  He heard the bottle break but his anger would not listen.

 “She is not going anywhere” Tony countered, his voice angry as expected.

  He was tall; the type of fellow with strength to start a mini riot and come out victorious and in his clenched fist was the broken bottle waiting to prove itself. Okoro on the other hand had his age to be worried about, he was not at all fit for the moment but his anger would not relent.

  He went for Tony and in the suddenness of the moment the two of them fell. The bar gathered round, no hands went forward to do what was right, instead they stood, watching as Tony gave Okoro the beating of his life.

  She stood there silent as an untroubled night, but when the beating became more violent, she begged and Tony stood up, pleased with himself for beating his father’s age mate. If shame had never before been ashamed of itself, then Okoro certainly with this moment had allowed the impossible. Tony had refrained from using the bottle but yet blood covered the face of Okoro. He stood up crying, the loud music had since reached a forced end and so Okoro’s voice was as the crickets and frogs of the night. He walked out from the bar, his tail between his legs.

  The bar was back to its usual self when Okoro suddenly re-emerged. From where at that time of the night he had found himself a machete remained a mystery but nevertheless he came back with one in hand.

  He had not bothered informing her but left immediately for safety. She was surprised but when she looked behind, she understood why and followed her lover.

  She was the one who shouted the loudest, as Okoro pursued them into another street in the middle of the night, Tony joined her and in no time the atmosphere was reeling with. Thief! Thief!

      He could hear the footsteps gearing up to join strength. He saw the doors open, heard the sound of iron rods been dragged from their sleeping places by hands too hungry for violence but before his voice could put up his defense, that he was not a thief, a piece of block from behind, with full force to his head made contact and to the ground he fell. Even as he fell he had desperately wanted to explain but that piece of block was the Devil which in its cruelty had dislodged this ability, replacing them with pure pains.

   When events like this take the full stage, God in his mercies might interfere and the victim by miracle would survived, but for God to have involved himself would have been so unfair for never before had any one receive so much demonstrated fury and live to tell the tale.

  She shouted for them to stop but when the Devil sits on the saddle nothing was bound to go the normal mile. She cursed them, she went violent on most of them and since she was no stranger in her own neighborhood they did not return her violence as she took time to now explain “He is my husband”.

  But the crowd was just too much to cover with her little shouts, her sudden sense of remorse compared to the growling that was then the atmosphere was like the search of  grain of sand on sea shore.

   She was now bitterly crying, they had by this time relaxed their angry violence and knelt by his body calling out amidst falling tears. “Okoro! Okoro! Come back, I am ready, come back!”

   But it was already passed the hour of grace and needing not a doctor they all knew that he was no longer with them. She cried, she begged for his return but Okoro was finally on that journey into the great beyond where God or Satan must have to punish him for been so stupid.

                                                                                 The End

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Nigerian Writer: Okoro (4)

By Felix Brambaifa

  By the time he returned the night sky had gone dark. He smelled of alcohol and his breath was a murderer in its own right, his eyes were dark as red and his inside cried in rage. He entered without knocking; he looked around at their troubled faces before asking. “Where is she?”

  Mama Agnes could feel the foreboding of a terrible outcome; she feared the worse would suddenly break the bridge which had so solidly connected them this past many years and in its chaos spell an eternal doom, not for her daughter but for Okoro whose age alone was a burden weighing too much on his weary shoulders.

  “She has not yet returned” It was hard looking into his eyes but she tried.

  She saw the lines on his cheek where the tears had earlier touched and she hated her daughter for it. Now more than ever she blamed herself for not becoming the barrier from within even if it meant  her daughter who would have been paraded through the market square a whore, her reason which was designed to see her daughter graduate from the university was now nothing when placed on the scale of moral value, for her conscience was just too bitter and could no longer stand the sight of a man the age of her own elders crying for what he had suffered so much to bring to a taste, which other men were now making  difficult even for him to have access to, though she knew age was now the frustrating factor to the whole arrangement, she still believed that a contract agreed upon was worth honoring..

  He had invested so much on her and never before questioned the sanity of his actions until this moment when everything else had taken the ugly and tiring form of nausea. He had refused to bring this chapter of his life to the notice of most of his friends and those who knew were always quick to frown and show their objections and now he knew why.

   “What normal man would chose to spend his money on the future of a woman and expect to smile at the end” A friend of his once asked. And it was not long before the two of them became enemies, his friend outraged by the matter would not let sleeping dog lie. He was now alone with nobody to cry to, nobody to understand and nobody to share his grief with, the pains were just too much but he endured, waiting for Agnes to return. He sat on their frontage and waited, for his future wife to come home, to the judgment that would certainly go nowhere.

  The time was past eleven before Agnes with her hands filled with fast food eateries returned. She had almost recounted her steps but Okoro was quick to notice her emerging presence.

   “Where are you coming from” He asked, for reasons unknown the rage with which he had so waited the return now failed to announce its presence as if Agnes had somehow watered its salt.

   She faced him without showing her fear; she knew he was not a man of violence at least not when she was the person involved but she could also tell that her actions were the sort to make violent miracles happen and this frightened her. Okoro was her fool and even at this moment she could see the light of hope still lurking above the darkness.

   “I will go inside, drop my things and we shall go to a nice hotel after which I will explain myself” She spoked with authority.

   He had wanted to stop her, wanted to make her pay for the disdain and shame her actions had brought upon his old age but he was an old man in love who knew not the ways of the cunning youths, so like the gentle fool he was he allowed her. For some men the hardship of life, poverty and misfortunes were the only forces that could effortlessly tame them but for Okoro the reverse was the case, he could defile hard times and come out laughing but Agnes that little girl who had once called him Uncle was the force to bend his will and make tears drop, how foolish he was to freely accept the deceit of a woman child.

  Her Mother shouted, her voice threatened to bring down the roof, she listened, her face the form of faked remorse and in response to the present query from her Mother all she did was beg for a little piece of quiet.

  He was waiting for her, his mind divided by the different possibilities that could have led to the long absence and even though he tried to be objective in his thinking his heart was still not at peace for it was convinced of the ugly fact that Agnes was a terrible cheat with an outrageous sense of adventure which his old heart no matter the circumstance would never find pleasing.

   She came out, gave him her purse and cardigan as if nothing ugly had earlier transpired between them with the excuse of going to the bath room and again he was ready to wait. Only a fool can live through another dejavu and not see the similarities and bad itch that made the other unpleasant. He had waited for another thirty minutes and would have continued in his foolishness had Mama Agnes not gone to check the bath rooms. Moments later she was back with a sad report. “Agnes is not there”

  He dropped the items to the ground and rushed to the other side of the compound where the bath rooms were situated and was quick to confirm his foolishness. The small gate became his exit as he ran outside, straight into the busy streets in search of Agnes.

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Nigerian Writer: Okoro (3)

   By Felix Brambaifa
  He sneezed and his eyes watered. She looked at him and could see the old days, when men worshiped her services and were ready to pay so their heads could become heavy and lazy to think properly. But like every other human endeavor with a life span the Shop suddenly became a thing of the past. Okoro was there for them; his presence was treated like word from heaven and he blessed them with every visit. It was a responsibility he gladly answered to and she had come  to depend more on Okoro to bring sustenance. Her husband was the useless sort lost to alcohol and it did not matter to him that his daughter at the time of the agreement was been sent into a marriage contract, instead in celebration he stayed out the entire night, bathing in the Jacuzzi of inebriation.

   As a Mother she was quick to see the changes. The boys came, the men came and no matter how she talked, Agnes already too in love with material things would without worry give herself to them. The rumors became viral and the sordid details of her sexual adventures could no longer be concealed and so became news for those with ears for such things. 

   “He is an old man” She had shouted once when her mother became too much of a pest to handle.

  Mama Agnes in her best efforts had tried to bring Agnes to her senses but to no avail. She would not listen to her. No matter how she designed the questions Agnes was there with answers, it was as if she had no conscience and her Mother had felt more confused than ever.

   “I will pay him back one day” Agnes had said without pity for Okoro nor the mature mind that would have appreciated his sweats, money spent, time soon to become wasted waiting for a deserved reward which must now dishonor her contract even if it simply meant another five years of life tending to an old man who might either go blind or suffer from stroke in the near future.

  She could have long since ended the agreement but each time she brought the matter before Okoro, without giving full ears to her explanations would defend Agnes. She had become  the one the two of them were so quick to disagree with but still her sympathy for Okoro blamed her for not protecting the man who had suffered so much keeping her family afloat. A man who had come to hate reality, covering up for the obvious display of disregard with “She is just a child”

  Time was moving fast and the hours by the minutes were getting more pregnant and Okoro was no longer himself. She wanted to tell him but was afraid, but how could she tell him that Agnes had never been interested in him but greedily had placed before herself the sinful task of  taking from him as much as could be extracted from his large purse.

  He stood up, unable to continue with the moment in peace. At that same instant that lad who had called Agnes to her visitor returned, a small nylon bag held his goodies for him.

  “Mama Look at what Aunty Agnes’s friend bought for me” He said, his white teeth displaying his innocence. “She told me she will marry him and he promised to buy me ice cream whenever he comes visiting. He has a car, a big one”

  She could say nothing but look at her ignorant child even though she had badly wanted to squeeze that mouth. She tried but it was too late as Okoro in anger dashed out of the house, shouting Agnes! Agnes! As if a simple shout of anger would dissuade the inevitable from touching the theater of dramatized facts which old men like himself would quickly find disturbing and probably die from.

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Nigerian Writer: Okoro (2)

  By Felix Brambaifa

  He had waited for too long, she had been gone for almost an hour and it dampened his mood. She had grown big and beautiful and it was not strange admirers would come in their drove. He was happy to see the changes but hated the discomforts that came with it. He was angry.

  Back then he was way younger than the picture of the present. He had gone to visit a friend and the friend in turn was the one who carried him to the SHOP. The SHOP at this time was in its happiest as men in their numbers paid constant homage to its door front, it made many men loose their heads more than anything in the world and alcohol was the snare they all fell into. It was here his eyes fell on little Agnes, then a small girl without the slightest inkling of what she had on her little frame. She was part of the reasons these men came in their large numbers, they all wanted to feel Agnes.

  But Okoro was a man who knew how to get the things he needed in life. How he went about it was unknown but at the end of the meeting an agreement was reached and Agnes the little girl blessed with the body of an adult became the responsibility of Okoro. Her every expenditure became his concern; he paid from his purse and smiled afterwards, not even ready to caution her excesses. He became the Santa of the liquor house and all were made happy. Okoro loved his new responsibility and he poured money into his new project with  a righteous heart as if the money were been channeled into a cathedral for God. From her secondary education to her University, he took charge and was the donkey too burdened to complain.

   In due time she migrated into the fields of higher learning. He was there to foot the bills and roof her material taste. Years brought them closer and the words of feelings conveyed through letters became constant.  

  

He had sent words in advance; his coming was to be treated with complete regard and his presence met with the love his heart had envisioned and labored for but instead, his coming was met with grief, for though he had searched, enlisted the help of others in that search, it was in futility that their efforts was destined. in shame he begged for the path back home, for now he knew she had deliberately avoided his presence in a university ground that seemed too out of place for his age. 

  Life had brought many women to his bed; his money had negotiated for the best and he was always there to enjoy himself when women were the appetizers, their warmth was his pride and he did all to enjoy his consumers right. But since that day when his agreement became law, when he took over the responsibility of another man and called it love, with free will before his very consciousness he went after foolishness and opted to wear on the sweat of celibacy for a girl too young to be mature. From that day of the agreement he had come to see and feel pains only imagined but still he continued, hoping. Pains too bad for his aging heart and shame too insulting for his gray hair became the constant pranks from Agnes. He was now the beast and his age was the fault and Agnes the beauty was not at all the sort to become too romantic to the extent of falling, even when the beast had been her greatest help.

 The house was now as uncomfortable as it should be for any eyes that must have seen its mother's own nakedness in the open. The laughter had long faded away and they sat in silence.

  “I want her now, I can no longer wait” He cried out.

  “Agnes will be back soon and we will put the matter down” Mama Agnes answered.

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