Road To Hades: Enugu Onitsha Expressway – By Emeka Ubesie

 

In an absolute melancholic state, with my heart filled with the mixture of gloom and pity, that I remember the good Nigerians irrespective of their tribe that their breath was halted along Enugu Onitsha Expressway in the past twelve to fifteen years. May their souls rest in peace, and may their spirits never stop haunting and chasing after all the Igbo politicians that ate any allocation that was meant for the construction of this road in Jesus name, amen. Most especially, the souls of so many Nigerian youths that were sent to an early grave, without fulfilling their individual purpose and destiny on earth.

Enugu Onitsha expressway is one of the major Eastern roads that linked so many states in the Eastern Nigeria. This road was formally the pride of the Eastern Region, but in recent time, it can best be described as ROAD TO HADES. For several years, Enugu Onitsha Expressway has been abandoned by the Eastern politicians not the Federal Government. From a reliable source, I was made to understand that this road had been awarded severally, but some Igbo politicians and royal fathers ate or shared the money. What an ignominy. My question to the source was this; does it mean that this road hasn’t been captured in the federal government budget since the past twelve to fifteen years? The answer that I got was capital ‘NO.’ Now, what is actually the problem, why is this road in this sorry state? Question for the gods.

 

With due respect to all my Igbo brothers and sisters all over the world, I have come to realise that the problem of an Igbo man is another Igbo man, not even the Hausa’s or the Yoruba’s. Please, don’t argue this with me. But if you feel like arguing, kindly go to your village and take a good look at your roads, schools and hospitals. Or better still, ask any white hair fellow that hasn’t sold out his personality and conscience to mediocrity and corruption.

 

                                                Enugu Onitsha Expressway

I love Ekweremadu, but I hate listening to his speeches. He has a wonderful and successful political career, having served as a senator since 2003. What a long service year. My questions to him and other senators of his kind are these; what policy have you people been able to influenced towards The Eastern Region? Don’t you people have any plan to come up with long lasting economic policies that will affect the lives of the suffering Umuigbo positively? Why is Enugu Onitsha expressway in this condition?

It’s so appalling too that our people have also decided to sell their conscience to corruption, mediocrity, nepotism etc. Today we hear slogans like; the Hausa’s hate the Igbo’s, same with the Yoruba’s. But we also forget that the Igbos hate themselves more. An Igbo man could choose to help someone from another region, but that same man wouldn’t carryout such philanthropic exercise in his own region or village. No wonder the axiom that says; Igbo ka nma na ezi, Igbos are better people when it comes to helping others.

Today, some part of this road have been transformed into farmlands, hunting yards and grazing field for the Herdsmen because cars no longer pass through them. Motorists going to Enugu, Ebonyi, Abia etc. now have to divert after Nnamdi Azikiwe University, through Ugwu Oba, Oji-River, Nachi, Udi or Eziagu to connect to Night Mile. I strongly believe that these politicians also plied through this road during their undergraduate days and it wasn’t in this contemptable condition.

No state in the Eastern Region can boast of a single good highway. Enugu Port Harcourt Expressway is also a dead trap. Few weeks ago, a terrible accident that claimed the lives of everybody that was inside a Peace Mass Transit Bus occurred along Umuahia road. Nigerians wept for these young souls that perished, but nobody bothered asking what actually was the cause of that accident. No one knows who the next victim would be.

 

 

 

                                            Enugu Onitsha Expressway

The earlier the youths of the Igboland learn to uphold and speak nothing but the truth, irrespective of how expensive it appears, the closer they are in their race to meet their messiah. For our Igbo politicians, always try as much as possible to evaluate yourself and your performance by asking yourself this question; how have you impacted into the lives of your people? Always remember that there is no place like home because aku fecha, I believe you know the rest. A wise man says that; a dead person shall have all the sleep necessary, and that there is unity in strength. Knowledge is never complete: two good heads are better than one. Salute the deaf; if the heavens don't hear, the earth will hear. A word is enough for the wise.

(Emeka is a young Nigerian writer and public affairs analyst. He is a member of Institute of Public Diplomacy and Management (IPDM), The Royal Life Saving Society of Nigeria, Nigerian Institute of Management (NIM), and Chartered Institute of Purchasing & Supply Management of Nigeria (CIPSMN))

 

{Email: emekaubesie@yahoo.com, Twitter: @emeka_ubesie}

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beast Of A Nation – By Emeka Ubesie

Still half way deeply in my sleep, with my inner chums still digging it with their little limbs that couldn’t leave a huge mark on the surface of the earth, as the euphonious blaring tunes from his trumpet soared in the entire atmosphere of my room. The talking drums kept conversing with one another like old wise men, while the enthralled and scrumptious tempo from the other musical instrument that were played by his band members grew ceaselessly. Tony Allen stood on his right, doing what he knows best. The feelings that accompanied this whole shindig made me realised that I was total in a different world, if not the envisaged paradise or heaven.

The saying that an old woman never gets old and tired, whenever a song that she is familiar with crosses her path was the next thought that crept into my mind like a snail. ‘Wow! I bellowed.’ I’m not old either, but the reality of this old adage manifested incessantly on me, as the melody from his ITT (International Thief Thief) track blustered away my sanity. ‘What an outlandish feeling?’ I bawled silently and smiled while still asleep.

Whirling round and round on the bed, as the collection of my Afrobeat VCD jumped from one track to the other inside the DVD machine, I was very much happier in my unconscious state. The thought of every ill practices around me ceased to exist at that moment, and I could relate with the strong link that thus existed between my inner presence and the songs. This powerful bond was orchestrated by the words, rhymes and rhythms that hopped from my two miniature speakers. My strength and emotions continued to grow stronger and stronger, and somehow, I felt as if I had discovered the hidden secret of the old Black Power Movement. Next came his voice echoing;

Motherfuckers, bastard motherfuckers

we yab dem, yeah

hurry up there

say,’ yeah’

(Chorus)

well, well well, well, na true i want talk again o well,

well na true i want talk again o

well, well if i dey lie o well,

well make osiris punish me well,

well make ifa dey punish me o well,

well make edumare punish me o well,

well make the land dey punish me o well,

well make edumare punish me o well, well…

His commanding voice continued spitting fire as the ITT track rolled from one verse to the other. All the ladies that stood in front of their long micro phone, with pieces of clothes that girdled round on their chest and waist sang and hum the chorus of the song directly into their respective micro phone, while twerking their buttocks left and right. Uneasily, my left eyelid flicked open, as the leading voice of the band kept reaffirming the authenticity of his statement, and calling on the various gods to kill him if he had lied against the Nigeria Government and their evil leaders in any way.

Repossessing my consciousness little by little, tears oozed from my eyes as I was still on the bed cuddling my pillow. I couldn’t believe that I had slept for five hours, and the gospel from Fela Kuti’s messages (songs) guided me all through on the other side. His preaching on human right, corruption, the rule of law and its abuse by the Nigeria Government and the politicians was raw. Everything he said or predicted in the past is happening in Nigeria today. Hastily, I made a little flash back on Achebe’s novel ‘There was a country’ and I shook my head up and down, like an Agama lizard and wept for this failed state of ours.

Born Olufela Olusegun Oludotun Ransome Kuti on 15^th October 1939 in Abeokuta, Ogun State Nigeria, by Reverend Israel Oludotun Ransome Kuti and Funmilayo Ransome Kuti, the arrival of Fela the Baptist, the forerunner of Nigeria was registered in the world. The young Fela who was sent into the country to reveal all the cruel and corrupt activities of the Nigeria politicians, and as well to call their attention to the doom that will soon befall the entire country if they fail to heed to his honest revelations.

Having decided to go out of his parents wish for him to study medicine in London, Fela whose call was clear to his soul decided to study music in Trinity College Of Music. He trod on his destiny majestically and patiently, until his consciousness was introduced to the Black Power Movement by his guardian angels. At this point, his purpose and destiny in life were placed right in his palms.

Through his music, his trumpet coughed out so many prophecies about Nigeria, and his unrivaled energetic vocal that invoked respect whenever he mounted any stage was flawless. He lambasted the corrupt military regime that had enslaved the minds of most Nigerians. Ethnicity and religious conspiracy were the two brothers in the hood, which the past military regime and the sick Democracy that we practice today usually employ, in order to disintegrate the assumed United Picture that our colonial masters took and called it a nation. Early enough, he discovered that this amalgamation that had corrupt leaders who careless about the lives of poor and suffering Nigerians wouldn’t in any way usher in the paradise he had envisaged, so he decided to create his own sovereign republic that he called ‘The Kalakuta Republic,’ just to dissociate himself from this ‘Beast of a Nation’ called Nigeria.

On several occasions, he was beaten and locked up in the dungeon called prison by the Nigeria Government, simply because he frowned at their dubious characters. He spoke the truth and challenged their tyrannical method of leadership. Despite all the threats he got from them, he snubbed all and sundry and continued fighting for the just course he believed in - he vowed never to compromise his fate.

So many Nigerians believed so much in his honest struggle for humanity and for the black race in totality. Transforming Nigeria into a peaceful abode, where absolute peace and tranquility would prevail was his driving force. Though, he had no titles like ‘Pastor, Evangelist or Imam attached to his name. Maybe this was why the Nigeria Government and some Nigerians who couldn’t view through his personal spectacle lacked the vision that he had and never believed in his struggle.

He was born with multiple golden spoons, no doubt about that, but he believed that things should be done the right way. He always volunteered to speak for the poor or voiceless through his music, damning any consequence that would befall him. He had challenged the Nigeria Government and politicians, to the extent of calling them names like; ITT (International Thief Thief, Zombie etc.). The military regime felt his existence to a greater extent, nonetheless, the reversal response he got from them most times were disastrous and life threatening.

Sooner than I least expected while still on the bed, Fela’s ‘Beast of a nation’ track unobtrusively began. I jaggedly got hold of the remote control that had laid beside me like a prostitute from Koramo beach all through the night, and tuned the volume of the DVD a bit louder. Gradually, the beat of the song ushered in Fela’s vigorous voice, and he bawled;

‘Ah- Let’s get now into another

 

underground spiritual game

 

just go dey help me dey answer,

 

go dey say, “Aiya-kata”- Oh ya,

 

O’feshe-Lu Aiya-kata

 

O’feshe- gban, Aiya-kata…

 

His voice came reverberated again and again. Immediately, the second sermon session began. His resonated voice had already instructed that I should substitute ‘Hallelujah’ for ‘Aiya-kata,’ so I whispered politely to myself ‘A-i-y-a-k-a-t-a,’ as the tempo of the song amplified. As the sermon continued, it became very much obvious to me that Nigeria Government and his cohorts are evil, having allowed men without conscience and principle to dominate her homes and balconies. I kept wondering what kind of evil have possessed their lives and consciousness.

All of a sudden, I began to count the amount of natural resources and human resources that the designer of this nation had kept in her custody one by one, like a Christian song that said we should count our blessings one by one. It’s so doleful to know that those we asked to manage and take care of these resources have converted each bit of it to their personal use. More so, the returns (money) from these resources have been looted and stolen by these politicians. Mediocrity, abuse of human right, killing of innocent citizens by those that were paid to protect them, ethnic wars that had been birthed by wrong mindset and brainwashing, looting of public funds, just to mention but a few are the trending life style of most Nigeria politicians.

Nigeria Government succeeded in destroying Kalakuta, a Republic where life was sweet, long, fun, and secured. A Republic where freedom of speech, equality, respect for human life and human right were held to a high esteem.

In-between Fela’s sermon, a voice came through my window yelling aloud ‘Down NEPA! Down NEPA!’ The power died away and the song halted.       

Today, Kalakuta is gone, Fela Kuti is a history, but his prophecies and struggle will continue to haunt Nigeria Government, until patriotism, accountability, respect for human life and human right becomes a tradition.

 

 

(Emeka is a young Nigerian writer and public affairs analyst. He is a member of Institute of Public Diplomacy and Management (IPDM), The Royal Life Saving Society of Nigeria, Nigerian Institute of Management (NIM), and Chartered Institute of Purchasing & Supply Management of Nigeria (CIPSMN))

{Email: emekaubesie@yahoo.com, Twitter: @emeka_ubesie}

A Hilarious Adventure Movie Called Nigeria: An Epitome Of A Confused State – By Emeka Ubesie

An Igbo axiom says that an individual who doesn’t know where the rain met him or her, will certainly not know where him or her will get dried up. And one who uses a gun to shoot Ojoko should remember that famine will come one day.  This certainly is the pitiable state that most African countries are in today.

The significant role which the right African values and rule of law had played in the past in our society, have suddenly metamorphosed and gone down the drain in this present day, where right African values, culture, language and religion are gradually been eroded by wrong mind set and corrupt practices.

We want to be free, we want to feel at home, we want to be strong, we want to stand tall like a pyramid, we want to be labelled the giant of Africa, but we don’t want to go down in the history of Africa, so as to make the wrongs right, and as well make mama Africa proud.

She cries all day, as we have jettisoned to answer her calls and heed to her advice. She puckers brows, even when things are done the wrong way, yet we have rebuffed to view things through her genuine, perfect and honest spectacle, which she has provided for us – sorry mama Africa, sorry Nigeria, you have killed you first descendant named ‘Agriculture,’ and his blood cries for a revenge.

The year 1914 scripts the launch of a potential and outstanding great country for Nigeria. After many decades, these potentials and greatness have suddenly disappeared into the thin air, due to long years of both poor leadership and followership. In spite of the unrivalled good gesture, which the supreme being has bequeathed on our land inform of size, population, affordable climate, fertile soil and all kinds of resource within, including blessed hands and brilliant minds, Nigeria has not been able to transform all her endowment into a long lasting monument. Instead, we have continued to be spineless and unpatriotic, leaving ourselves all the time at the mercies of corrupt leaders and directionless entities who think of nothing than their pockets.

They have succeeded in using ethnicity, religion and gender differences, as an effective tool to distract the minds of so many Nigerians, who have sold their conscience to biasness. Nigerian leaders have succeeded in crowning corruption a ‘King’ in our nation, and they have successfully converted our endowed country into a bastion of poverty, where nepotism has suddenly become a way of life.

Yet, Nigeria is a nation where intellect prevails, a nation of ‘pen pushers’, a nation of creative minds. But it’s so sad that majority of Nigerians, both young and old have become slave to mediocrity, abuse of right social values and rule of law because, they have jettisoned to uphold patriotism in its smallest form.

Days are gone when hard work and patriotism pays. Our society has decayed, to the extent that evil has become what we clamour for. Young men and women now strode on the fast lanes and quick ways of getting things done because, morality has gone down the cesspit.

We are now in a country where the grey hair fellows have automatically sold out their values and dignity to the dogs. A nation where arms money was shared by our so called leaders, leaving our dear soldiers to combat well equipped terrorists with bamboo sticks and stones. May the souls of our fallen soldiers that died because of the voracity of our leaders’ rest in peace, amen. This is a country where leaders hide the public funds inside lavatory ditch.

I have so much pity for young men and women that are in my country, who have the burning desire to actualize their dreams and be happy. The bad news is that more dreams are been killed on daily basis, and good potentials are being swallowed by the cemetery every second.

In this recent time, Nigeria can best be described as a hilarious adventure movie, where the actor is supposed to save a drowning child from an ocean, but he is busy throwing bananas to some monkeys that never said they were hungry.

 

An Igbo proverb says that; he who calls whenever Elder Ene kills a deer, let him call if the deer kicks the living daylight out of Elder Ene, and a blacksmith who doesn’t know how to forge a metal gong should look at the tail of a kite.

 

(Emeka is a young Nigerian writer and public affairs analyst. He is a member of Nigerian Institute of Management (NIM), Institute of Public Diplomacy and Management (IPDM), The Royal Life Saving Society of Nigeria and Chartered Institute of Purchasing & Supply Management of Nigeria (CIPSMN))

{Email: emekaubesie@yahoo.com, Twitter: @emeka_ubesie}

         

The Biafran: Fulani Invasion of Enugu State: An open letter to ...

The Biafran: Fulani Invasion of Enugu State: An open letter to ...: Fulani Invasion of Enugu State: An open letter to Governor  Ifeanyi Ugwuanyi Your Excellency, With a heart that is filled with the mi...

Emeka Ubesie: Fulani Invasion Of Enugu State: An Open Letter To The Governor Of Enugu State (His Excellency Ifeanyi Ugwuanyi)

 

Your Excellency,

With a heart that is filled with the mixture of gloom and anguish that I write to you these few lines. My name is Emeka Ubesie. I’m a public affairs analyst with so much abhorrence for the recent inhuman activities of the herdsmen in Nigeria and Enugu State in particular. I’m a true son of the soil and also an Igbo man who wouldn’t dare to compromise compos mentis for insane. I believe that you mean well for all the people living in your territory, most especially the Hausa’s, the Yoruba’s and the foreigners from other countries. Your inaugural address at Michael Okpara Square, during your inauguration ceremony lucidly showcased your preparedness to take coal city to the next level in all areas.   

Your Excellency, in 2010, Mr. Ude, a lecturer in the Department of Statistics University of Nigeria, Nsukka was killed by the herdsmen, who usually rob road users along Opi Nsukka road, as he was on his way to visit his family. The untimely death of this good man with an unalloyed behaviour created a huge vacuum, which no man can ever fill in the department. These herdsmen that usually disguise themselves in black overall jacket like police men, with their guns and cutlass hidden inside of it, while staging an attack on the innocent road users wanted to rob the bus which the late Mr. Ude boarded, along Enugu-Nsukka express way. As the driver of their bus who was paying attention to every pothole and police check points, which littered along this route noticed that these men in black overall jacket that were waving at him to stop weren’t police men, he accelerated faster, so as to escape, but these herdsmen opened fire on the bus and shot sporadically. Unfortunately, one of their bullet pierced through the back window of the bus and buried itself in the head of this lecturer, and his young life was forcefully sniffed out of him. These Fulani herdsmen took away the life of a good man, who was a source of encouragement to many students, who were already frustrated by the cruel structure of the department. The late Mr. Ude was a saint in the midst of other sadist in the department and he was mourned and missed by students that knew his worth. My good friend Paul Abuwa, who the late Mr. Ude was his course adviser can attest to this above stated fact. I was also fortunate to have been thought Operation Research (OR) extensively during my undergraduate years in the University of Nigeria, Nsukka by late Mr. Ude, of a blessed memory.

During my years as an undergraduate, so many people, including those that share the same ancestral heritage with you were sent to an unplanned journey, into the belly of the mother earth by these herdsmen that rear cattle within and around Nsukka environs. The news of their unpleasant activities along Nsukka route is no longer new to the eardrum of some police men in Enugu State, whose hobbies are to build roadblocks along Enugu-Nsukka expressway, while collecting white or wazo, as they have nicknamed some denomination of our naira currency, from bus drivers and other private vehicles.

In 2011, I was almost killed by these herdsmen along this same route, but by the grace of God almighty and my personal chi that bawled aloud, ‘mbanu! No! Emeka your time hasn’t come yet, oge gi erubeghi, I survived. I have come to realise that the life I’m living now is just a borrowed life, after that experience with the Fulani herdsmen because, I knew that I did lost mine on that fateful day. Around first week of March in 2011, I arrived Enugu from Lagos. The next day, I decided to call a friend of mine that reside in the University community, just to know how he was faring.  The young man shrieked audibly through the phone on hearing my voice and said, ‘Emeka, nwanne, owu n’asa boys.’ I needed no interpreter to explain to me what he meant, because his message was well delivered and understood. In a nutshell, he was trying to inform me that he was broke. In his mind, I’m supposed to have some money on me, since I just arrived from Lasgidi (Lagos) to 042 (Enugu), as we popularly called the two states. Finally, after a long conversation on the phone, I promised him that I was going to come around during the weekend to buy him one or two bottles of beer, and as well give him some money too - His broken heart was elated afterwards.

On that fateful Sunday, as I was inside a bus going to Old Park, where I would board a Peace Mass Transit bus that will take me to Nsukka. A thought slipped through my mind suddenly, and I decided to pay a visit to my cousin Nnamdi in Abakpa, before leaving for Nsukka. Nnamdi was very happy when he saw me, and he thought that I was going to spend an ample time with him, but I dashed his joy, immediately I told him that I have an appointment with a friend in the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. He pleaded and asked me to stay with him, but I refused and hurriedly left for Nsukka, after spending about thirty minutes with him in their house.

As the Peace Mass Transit bus which I boarded at Peace Park Enugu left Old Park, the driver of our bus who was driving as if he was drunk furiously zoomed off and all the potholes that scattered on the road felt the screeching tyres of our bus, until we got to Night Mile and diverted to Nsukka road. As we journeyed down further, we spotted another Peace Mass Transit bus which was a bit ahead of ours. Immediately our driver who has been reckless since our departure from their park sighted the other bus, he started chasing the bus, as if they were in a car racing competition. ‘Driver nwayo biko! Driver nwayo biko!’ Everybody that was in our bus started shouting, as our bus suddenly developed wings and started flying on the road. But the driver ignored all and sundry and continued. As we got around Opi, I sighted two men that wore black overall from the second seat where I was seated. These men were waving at the other bus that was in front of ours to stop, but I think the driver of the bus noticed what was about to happen, so he accelerated faster and disappeared. Our bus driver who didn’t observe what just transpired between the other bus and these men applied his brake and foolishly retarded, as he approached to them. Just in a twinkle of an eye, these men pulled out long double barrel guns from their overall, jumped in front of our bus and ordered the driver to park by the road side. Three others also hopped out from nearby bush, with their guns and started shooting into the sky. Other cars and buses that were behind quickly reversed and ran for their dear lives, while we all were matched out from our bus by these Fulani herdsmen.

‘Wey the moni, wey the phone,’ was the next thing they started asking everyone. We were ordered to lie down by the road side, with our faces to the ground, while they search our luggage and pockets, stealing our money and valuables. They took the beer money and my lovely Nokia touch phone that was at the back pocket of my trouser. One of them pointed his double barrel gun to my head and threatened to shoot me, if I don’t give him the other money that was in my front pocket, which wasn’t meant for beer. I obeyed and hastily handed the money over to him. The head of our driver was cut deep with a cutlass by one of the robbers or Fulani’s or herdsmen. After they had taken their time to rob us, a police patrol Hilux came and they ran into the bush, while the police men stood like an effigy of a deity in my village that is called Ishiogba, and watched these robbers as they ran majestically into the bush, without making any attempt to chase them or fire a single bullet at them.

I also heard that these Fulani herdsmen have opened up more branch offices along Enugu-Port Harcourt expressway and as well, some regional offices along Ugwogo Nike, in Enugu East Local Government Area. It is also obvious that they have now graduated from robbery to kidnapping of the innocent people that live in the state, and the people of Enugu did nothing about it.

In 2014, a special adviser to the immediate past Governor of Enugu State was kidnapped by these Fulani herdsmen along the new link road that connect to Nsukka, through Ugwogo Nike and the sum of 1.5million naira was paid to them as ransom, before he was released.

In 2015, a father to a nursery school teacher, whose school is located around Obiagu in Enugu North Local Government Area was also kidnapped by these herdsmen, along this same new connecting Ugwogo to Nsukka link road, and the sum of five hundred thousand naira was paid to them as ransom, before he was released.

I came across this news online by Emmanuel Uzodinma on April 4, 2016 and it read;

Herdsmen abduct catholic priest in Enugu, demand N10m ransom.

A Roman Catholic priest, Rev. Fr. Aniako Celestine, in charge of St. Joseph Catholic Church, Ukana, Udi Local Government Area of Enugu State has been abducted by suspected Fulani herdsmen.

The Enugu State Police Public Relations Officer, DSP Ebere Amaraizu, who confirmed the abduction of the priest, said the command was on their trail.

The development has created serious tension in his country home of Owa community in Ezeagu Local Government Area of Enugu State.

Your Excellency, shall we all fold our hands and watch our peaceful coal city turn into the abode of robbers? Or shall we all sit in our homes with our hearts in our mouths? These herdsmen have eaten more than they can chew and they need to be call to other, before they will take over our homes.   

Your Excellency, please, I’m pleading on behalf of all the people that reside in Enugu State that you should look into this matter as urgent as possible and also take the necessary action because, one doesn’t know who will be the next victim. I also call on the other security agencies in Enugu State to kindly help us save our ancestral land. An Igbo proverb says that; If a woman decides to make the soup watery, the husband will learn to dent the Garri before dipping it into the soup. More so, a grasshopper that runs into the mist of fowls ends up in the land of spirits and may one's visitor not constitute a problem, so that on his departure he will not leave with a hunchback.  

Your Excellency, I want to end this letter by reminding you that Egwu Achi road in Oji-River Local Government Area of Enugu State is the worse road in your state. Please, kindly do justice to this road.

Regards,

Emeka Ubesie 

(Emeka is a young Nigerian writer and public affairs analyst. He is a member of Nigerian Institute of Management (NIM), Institute of Public Diplomacy and Management (IPDM), The Royal Life Saving Society of Nigeria and Chartered Institute of Purchasing & Supply Management of Nigeria (CIPSMN))

{Email: emekaubesie@yahoo.com, Twitter: @emeka_ubesie}

 

Silent Tears (Short Story) Chapter Two and the end – by Emeka Ubesie

Rev. Osondu explicitly gave a touching sermon after they had finished chanting the hymns and so many people that were there felt the power that was in his words. He also confessed that the rate at which some villagers maltreat their fellow villagers, and even kill them had reached to an alarming state in Alum. He pleaded that they should stay away from committing evil. It was obvious that everybody that heard about the death of Nwanyi Oma sensed a foul play in her death, but the question on who was responsible for her death still remained an unravelled puzzle to them all.

Nwokenife and his family members relocated back to their village from Lagos two years ago. Despite this, his wife’s burial ceremony was able to pull great crowd that paid their condolences to his family. Within this short interval of their stay in Alum village, everybody that had ever come in contact with them would attests to their unalloyed good behaviour.

Nwanyi Oma had a first class in assisting people that are in need. In many occasions, she would give out all the food that she had made for her family to some village orphans and widows that usually pay her a visit. The wrappers that her husband bought for her at Oshodi market before they left Lagos, suddenly became the best attire that most widows in village had because, she had distributed all of it to them. She was also very active in their church activities and she does that with her full heart and joy. She was never seen or heard arguing or quarrelling with anybody, since their arrival in the village. Nwanyi Oma was later nicknamed nwunye ukochukwu, the wife of the priest, by some of their church members because she always spent most of her precious time in the church, cleaning the floor and dusting the chairs. She would always smile, when flattered with the name. Her demise touched so many orphans and widows that she had impacted into their lives in one way or the other and they mourned her uncontrollably.

‘May her gentle soul rest in peace,’ Rev. Osondu muttered, as he finished his long sermon. Ebube and Nwokenife who were seated in their parlour were called upon and both of them were escorted outside by Nwokenife’s friends. At once, the reverend requested that the coffin of Nwanyi Oma should be open, so that everybody would have a glance of her for the last time, before her body would be committed into her everlasting resting place. Instantaneously, three Alum youths surfaced, after Osondu’s announcement and her chocolate coloured coffin that lay on two long wooden bench was opened in their midst.

Like roaring hyenas in the jungle, cries ensued again from every corner, as her coffin lay open. The villagers, friends and their church members crumpled in a single file to grasp at her lifeless body and as well, to say final farewell to her. Rev. Osondu quietly had his seat and watched his congregation and other friends of the family, as they tagged along in the queue.

‘Chai! Nwanyi Oma is this how your chapter ended?’ Adanne, who was the first person on the queue howled, as she came closer to her coffin. She shook her head and watched her friend fully dressed in a pure white linen, like a bride on her wedding day. Her hands were stretched on both sides in the coffin, like a soldier that stood on attention, on sighting his superior, and Adanne sobered the more. Everyone took their time to look at her carefully and beaded goodbye to her, because this was the last time they would ever set their mortal eyes on her again.

The crowd that flooded Nwokenife’s compound was something else. Alum village had never witnessed such population in the burial of just an ordinary person. Even when Mazi Ego Igwe, one of the richest men in their village died few months ago, the turnout of the villagers was little to compare to what swamped Nwokenife’s abode. His friends from the Oloko Company where he worked before weren’t absent in anyway. Most of them came all the way from Lagos to this remote village, which was located in the Eastern part of Nigeria.

As time was ticking so fast, the queue was getting longer and longer. Most people found it very difficult to give way from the queue, after they must had taken their turn. Rev. Osondu who was seated on one side and was flipping through his bible looked up and observed the dawdling motion of the line. He appealed to them to walk faster a bit, so that he could finish up the burial mass at the appropriate time, as he had envisaged.

Nwokenife, his two sons and his friends stood at a distance and watched as everybody were all matching on the queue, so as to have a glimpse of Nwanyi Oma’s dead body that lay like a chopped timber inside her coffin. As the culture of the village had it, the husband, wife or the children of the deceased person would always be among the last people on the row that would sight the dead body, before it would be covered. Nwokenife, his sons and his two friends waited patiently for everybody to take their turn and gradually, they proceeded.

Odinaka, Nwokenife’s first son was about twenty years old. He had calmly sat outside alone, since the arrival of the ambulance and he looked stronger than every other family member. He was Ebube’s consoler, before the arrival of his father in the early hours of the day. Mbanefo and Ejiofor were very amazed and excited towards the young man’s courage. At least, he had saved them some joules of energy that would had been dissipated, trying to calm both himself, Nwokenife and Ebube. Consoling Nwokenife and Ebube wasn’t too much of a task for both of them to handle.

All the people that came for the burial were so fervent and nervous to have a peek of Nwanyi Oma’s left over. Finally, Nwokenife, his two sons and his friends matched onwards, towards the opened coffin, with Mbanefo leading the line. Ebube and his brother were in between Ejiofor and his father on the queue. They all walked majestically to say goodbye to their beloved mother, wife and a good friend. Mbanefo who was leading them paused for a while as they got closer to the coffin. He turned and yanked Ebube’s right fist, who was right behind him. Viewing through few meters away, in front of them on the two parallel bench was Nwanyi Oma’s body, which was smiling at her husband and her prodigy that would keep her memories alive and also tell her stories to their unborn children and wives, if the orchestrator of her death would have pity on them and allow them to unleash all their dreams on earth. Ebube was very scared on sighting the dead body of his mother and he couldn’t stand that sight. Mbanefo, who had anticipated what was going to happen ab initial, quickly glanced at her body and pulled Ebube along, as fast as he could and off they went to the other side.

At this point, the reality of Nwanyi Oma’s death became very much obvious to Nwokenife. Odinaka who had been strong and calm all this while broke down, immediately he stood in front of his mother’s dead body. His knees clunked at one another and off he went flat to the ground. He held the edge of her coffin and squealed aloud, farewell mama! Ejiofor who was right behind him gently tapped his back, held his arm and lifted him. Gradually, both of them strode away.

The whole crowd that were there felt Odinaka’s pain. Some of the old women rolled back their pool of tears, which had dried up, because of this touching scene the young man just created in their midst. Most especially, those that had loss either their parents or loved ones understood the depth of agony that had swathed his young heart.

‘Gbosa! Gbosa! Gbosa! Thunder storm hollered suddenly, immediately Nwokenife loomed closer to his wife’s coffin. Everybody were astounded and they all shivered. He felt cold rashes on his body and his heart almost hopped out from his mouth.

There is a saying in Alum village that the spirit of great men and women are always escorted into their everlasting resting place with loud boom sounds. This sound could be humanly created like; sound from the local gun or the nkponana. It could also be triggered by the gods or God through the use of nature, like the thunder storm that rumbled few minutes ago in Nwokenife’s compound.

Rev. Osondu was surprised at what just happened and he looked up, thinking that rain was about to fall, but it’s practically impossible, to have rain at this period in the Eastern part of Nigeria because, it was during the dry season.

‘Nwanyi Oma my lovely wife, I never expected that you are going to leave me and your sons on this earth this soon. Our dreams and plans just disappeared so quickly than I ever imagined. What a life.’ Nwokenife cried and silent tears flowed from his eyes, as he stood in front of his wife’s coffin. He stared at her, with his eyes covered with cloud of tears. He couldn’t stop staring at her remains or move his feet an inch any longer because, he knew that this was going to be the last time he would ever set his eyes again on the mother of his children, the only woman he had ever loved and who stood by him all these years of tough grind. He lifted his face to the heaven and wept bitterly, with droplets of tears from his eyes dwindling to the dust and his two friends came closer, held him and took him away.

The truth of the matter was that Nwanyi Oma was killed by somebody in their village, but Nwokenife had chosen not to enquire from the gods, because he believed in one God that does his own things in a mysterious way.

Straightaway, according to Osondu’s instruction, Nwanyi Oma’s coffin was covered and sealed by these three youths and it was then taken to her everlasting resting place. They lowered it into the heart of the mother earth and her role in the drama of life on earth came to a halt.

(Emeka is a young Nigerian writer who is endowed in a special way with storytelling knack, just   like his ancestors. His short fiction stories and poems have emerged as Guest Post on ‘ALocoVivaVoce,’ and host of other literary blogs. {Email: emekaubesie@yahoo.com, Twitter: @emeka_ubesie})

Silent Tears (Short Story) Chapter One – by Emeka Ubesie

 

“Eeeeeee”, “eeeoooeeeooo”, “weeeoooeee”, “whoop, whoop, whoop”, “wooo, wooo, wooo” ‘Ebube, can you hear the wailing of the siren from afar?’

‘Yes Odinaka’, Ebube replied in a sulky tone, as they were seated on mounds that were on a farmland, which was close to a tiny pathway that steered into their compound that was barricaded with rafters.

‘Chai! So it’s true that mama has finally died? Chineke! This life is just a mysterious drama that everyone just has to play his or her own minuscule script which was squeezed into these black thin lines that are on the faces of our palms called akaraka. I just wonder the secret behind death. The plans that I have for her and her dreams just whisked away into the air and soonest, her story and history will be forgotten. What an unfair world. Why must people die?’

‘My brother, I don’t know oh! Ask God.’ Ebube shook his head and responded, as he was deeply in an agonising mood and rain of tears flowed down from his eyes to the ground.

‘Just imagine mama lying inside that wood called coffin and decaying their few days later, in the belly of the mother earth that can never get tired of eating dead bodies like a chunk of meat. If truth is to be told, I really wonder why men were created, since after this whole stress and drudgery, all will just lie down helplessly in a box one day and the lowest creatures ever, the akikas will feast on their bodies. I’m just confused with this set up called life and the ordeal surrounding it. I can’t even figure out how papa will feel, sitting down close to the dead body of his wife inside that ambulance. You know papa too well that anything that has to do with mama bothers him very much, let alone this unending demarcation that nature and destiny have finally brought in between them. I just pray that he will be strong enough to get over this pain and learn how to live with them.’

‘I pray so oh!’ Ebube hushed quietly.

‘Ebube! I can see the ambulance now, look, look, it’s a white one. Ah! My lovely mother is gone’, Odinaka bawled, as the white ambulance that conveyed the dead body of his mother rolled in between their village bush pathway and clogged in front of their small two rooms apartment, which his father Nwokenife built with the last money he got as pay-off, from the Oloko company where he worked as a carpenter, at CMS, in Lagos State, during the 1990’s. But he later resigned due to strabismus.

Onaa, onaa n’udo, onaa ebe osiri bia na uwa…! The Alum village women, who were already seated under a canopy that was made from bamboo sticks and palm leaves chanted the burial song gently, as they watched the coffin of their member, Nwanyi Oma as it was been brought out from the white ambulance by some Alum youths, who had converged at Nwokenife’s house very early in the morning to dig the grave where her remains would sleep and rest for eternity. Immediately, an outburst of cry ensued from all the angles where the villagers, family and friends sat under their respective bamboo canopies as her coffin was laid on two wooden long bench which were kept parallel to one another in the centre of the crowd.

‘Father! Father!’ Ebube who was fifteen years old yelled, as he sighted his father, who was been held gently, as he alighted from the ambulance and was led quietly into their house by his two friends Mbanefo and Ejiofor. As the boy ran closer to him, he tossed his hands round his father’s thighs, held it and wept bitterly.

‘Father, so it’s true?’ Ebube whose heart had been gulfed by sorrow enquired of his father, as his arm were still girdled on his thighs, very tight.

‘Ebube my son it’s okay, God knows the best,’ Nwokenife managed to mutter these words from his shaky mouth, as he tried to let loose the boy’s arm that twisted round his thighs like an agbu, which was knotted round the stem of a palm tree.

‘It’s okay my son,’ Mbanefo told the young man, bent down and assisted Nwokenife to forcefully unwrap the boy’s arm. He pulled him to his side and they all sauntered straight into Nwokenife’s parlour where so many people clustered around like bees and were weeping.

‘Please Nwokenife, just sit down here biko’, Ejiofor pleaded with him and pulled closer a long bench, which was empty very close to the window and they all sat down on it and viewed through the window space in order to have a sight of everything that was happening outside.

‘Nwokenife my good friend, please stop crying like a woman and be strong. If you continue this way, it won’t be a good idea. Think about this; who is going to console your two sons if you choose to weep like a child?’ Just look at what you are doing in the presence of Ebube, your son,’ Ejiofor squeezed out these words from his mouth, as his eyes were wet and reddish.

‘Ejiofor my good friend, aru emee! I can’t still believe that my wife is gone. Nwanyi Oma my lovely wife. If crying for her loss will make the whole villagers to classify me as a weak man, so be it, because I don’t care. Do you mean that my precious possession has disappeared just like that? Mbanefo, the most horrible part of this nightmare is that she was never ill; I mean nothing was wrong with her. She woke me up in the middle of the night six days ago and started screaming; her head! Her head! And that was it. Before I could run to Nwachi’s house to plead with him to convey us to our community hospital at Oji, she was already gone. We thought it was a joke so we insisted and drove her down to the hospital but Dr Obidigbo confirmed to us on our arrival that she had given up the ghost. Uwa!’ Nwokenife shook his head, folded his arm and kept them in between his legs and tears surged from his eyes, through his cheek and pasa, it landed on the ground.

At exactly 10:00am, Rev Osondu who was the parish priest at the Holy Trinity Anglican Church Alum village arrived in the deceased compound. Other church members, friends and families had already settled down under their respective bamboo canopies earlier and were patiently waiting for his arrival so that he could initiate the opening ceremony of the final burial rites of Nwanyi Oma, which would be given to her as a Christian woman.

Osondu’s arrival ushered in a kind of calmness in the atmosphere of Nwokenife’s compound, as those individual who wanted to cry and express their emotions had taken their time earlier to pour out as many tears as they wished, since Nwanyi Oma’s dead body arrived at about forty-five minutes ago. Shouting and crying was also part of the rites of a dead person in most African communities. Both the evil people and the good ones would always observe this rights and some individuals could even go to the extent of pulping themselves on the dust of the earth and inflicting injuries on their bodies.

Rev. Osondu who parked his motorcycle under an ugiri tree that was in front of Nwokenife’s compound on his arrival, strode straight towards the bamboo canopy where his church members were seated. He sat on a short bench that was in front, close to a wooden table that was covered with a white piece of cloth, and a bible and a hymn book were placed on it. Osondu bent down as he was seated, said a little prayer silently within some seconds and afterwards, he stood up and the burial mass began.

‘Shall we all stand on our feet’, he urged the congregation and some people stood up, while some others ignored him and fixed their buttocks very tight on their wooden bench. He led them in an opening prayer, after which he called out few hymns and it was chanted by the church members and other villagers that came with their ekpere n’abu.

While the burial mass was going on, so many women from Alum village that came for the burial were not paying attention to the mass, but rather, they gathered themselves and were seated under an orange tree that was few meters away from the canopy where the church people were. These women were busy discussing about this mysterious and untimely death of Nwanyi Oma. Some of the women were of the opinion that her death was not natural, that it must have been orchestrated by some evil people or forces. Some others narrated how premature death of young men and women had savaged their village, leaving no clue of those responsible for this evil act in the recent time. They pointed out how good Nwanyi Oma was and they wondered how someone on this earth would think of pointing a finger at her, let alone deleting her from the face of the earth. Adanne, a woman from Umuneri village, who was a very close friend of Nwanyi Oma told them that a similar incident happened in their neighbourhood a fortnight ago. In fact, they confessed that the rate at which people were dying in their villages in this recent time had become so anomalous and very excruciating. They wished and prayed that the law of karma would prevail someday in their land.

-Emeka Ubesie

Visit the blog next weekend to read Chapter two of Silent Tears.