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.

The Dream (Short Story) By Emeka Ubesie

Two years ago, after the untimely death of Mona Lisa’s parents, which was as a result of the injury they sustained in a car crash that occurred along Enugu Onitsha express way, the future of little Mona Lisa was left for the gods to decide. Like every young Nigerian girl, Mona Lisa had big dreams; I mean her dreams to be great in this most populous black nation in the world were as gigantic as the Iroko trees that littered on the farmland of my grandfather Aganamba.

Mr and Mrs Ngene wouldn’t have died if we had a functional rapid response mobile hospital in Enugu State. Of a truth, the health system of this state is in a sorry condition, just like its counterparts in the other parts of the country.

The victims of the car crash were left in the pool of their blood for hours, after the accident occurred and each passerby that drove closer to the scene only peeped through the window of their car, shouted aloud ‘Jesus’ and off they went in their various ways without assisting these helpless victims that lay half dead on the ground. A pastor, an Imam and a traditional leader were guilty of this inhuman act.

After the pick and drop taxi that Mr and Mrs Ngene boarded collided with a big lorry, as they were on their way to visit their only daughter during her school’s visiting day, Mona Lisa who was 15years old became an orphan automatically and many things began to change in her young life. This sad news hadn’t left the minds of the teachers and students of Annunciation Secondary School and its memory stuck in their minds like a tattoo.

The taxi driver had broken limbs, while the other four passengers that were packed like sardine at the back seat of the Peugeot 504 sustained serious bruises. Mr and Mrs Ngene were seriously wounded because, both of them sat in the front seat of the vehicle. The spot where they were seated was the exact place where the lorry smacked. The driver swerved leftwards immediately he saw the lorry exiting from its lane with a full velocity as fast as he could, but he wasn’t lucky enough to escape from the lorry and gbosa! They pecked one another.

After five hours, a big medical ambulance that had about four medical personnel onboard arrived at the scene of the accident and the victims were hurriedly rushed to the hospital. Mona Lisa’s parents gave up the ghost as they were on their way to the hospital; due to the excessive blood they had loss.

Mr and Mrs Ngene were farmers. Mr Ngene was not educated, not that he never wanted to go to school when he was younger but his father wasn’t financially capable to pay his fees from the little money they made from the sales of their farm produce. His only sister Ifunanya who was as beautiful as a mermaid found her way into the heart of a big motor part importer Mazi Onuoha, aka Eze Gburugburu, who was based in Lagos. Mr Gburugburu was a highly respected business tycoon; even the Oba of Lagos State knows that such a man does exist in his territory. Despite the amount of wealth Gburugburu and his wife clinched to, Mr Ngene the only brother of Ifunanya was never remembered – not even by her only sister. He ended up as a farmer in the village, but Ngene still had passion for education and he wished to give her only daughter the best education he could afford.

Mona Lisa had ever wanted to become a doctor. She had passion for taking care of people and animals. The chicken in her father’s compound would always tell whenever she had returned from school because; she would share her food with them, while sitting under an orange tree that was in their compound. She would also clean their coop regularly and in one occasion, her mother had caught her bathing one.

Few weeks after the car crash, Mona Lisa’s parents’ dead bodies that were deposited in the mortuary were brought home in a convoy of an ambulance and some other cars that tagged along and cries ensued in the compound of late Mr and Mrs Ngene. Their compound housed a small thatched hut, which sat in the middle. Rafters and short shrubs were used to fence it.

Ifunanya, the sister of Mr Ngene gave her brother and the wife a befitting burial ceremony, which later became a topic in the whole village. Everywhere was filled with friends and family members that came from Ogbe ato village and beyond. Foods, drinks and dancers littered everywhere. Their coffins were beautiful and very expensive. Ifunanya read an outstanding tribute to the audience and many people applauded her for an excellent delivery of her write-up. In fact, Mr and Mrs Ngene got the best burial ever when they died. It was so sad that they fed from hand to mouth, when they were alive, but they got one of the best burial ceremonies – what an irony of life.

Mona Lisa relocated to Lagos with the wife of the business tycoon after the burial of her parents because; she had nobody to cater for her in the village. A lot of promises were made to her by her aunty. She was promised that she would be sent to the United State to further her education, where the sons and daughters of her aunty were before they left Ogbe ato village, but everything suddenly became story for the gods, immediately they arrived Lasgidi.

Gburugburu was a nice man, no doubt about that but he was a busy man chasing after money. Issues that have to do with the house and other domestic things were left for Ify to handle. Today he is Japan, tomorrow Turkey and next tomorrow United State. He was a principled man, so he dares not interfere in the affairs of his wife. He made sure that Ifunanya who was a house wife never lacked anything.

Sooner than Mona Lisa expected, everything changed. Her education was stopped by her aunty. Automatically, she was converted to a house girl who mobs and cleans a duplex that had ten rooms on daily basis. Every house help that ever came to that house never stayed up to one week, due to the type of wickedness and ill treatment they got from the madam of the house. Now, the little Mona Lisa was stuck in a house where she feels nothing than pains and the agony of been an orphan at a very tender age. She was starved many times without reasons and her back and face now had stripes of lines, which she sustained from the constant flogging she got from her madam. Her dreams of becoming a doctor quickly disappeared into the thin air.

One fateful afternoon, Mona Lisa had the best dream ever in her life while she was sleeping and she wished not to wake up from that the sleep. Here comes her dream;

Mona Lisa cuddled her pillow tightly in her arm and her consciousness to the world around her died. Her spirit joggled down in an unfamiliar alleyway, as sparkles of light and darkness hovered in her vision and her head spin round and round. Astonishingly, she realised that she had just arrived in a world that was different from where she had rested.

‘Where am I?’ she shrieked audibly, with mixed feelings of ecstasy and fury and a deep scary voice ricocheted; ‘you just experienced a soul travel.’

‘No!’ She yelled back at the strange voice, ‘I guess I’m dreaming, yeah!’ She paused.

Perambulating in this new wonderland where she found herself, everything seemed possible there. Life was sweeter, longer and love wasn’t faked. She could glimpse at her future through a broad mirror that hung up there and she could synchronise her plans to fit in. Success was easier to come by in this new world where she found herself. Mona Lisa wanted to be great and eventually, she found greatness on this path. Her little effort yielded huge results there. She had a white mansion, a white Porsche car and a white Limo parked at her garage and there was neither war nor betrayal in this her new eccentric world. She never had any close friend there, but the entire passer-by cheered her up and wished her well, as they tagged along their dreams to achieve it. Peace, love and hard work was their slogan, in fact, everything was perfect in her new world.

Still in her sweet dream exploring her adventure and wishing that it would never come to an end. Suddenly, she heard a koi-koi sound that came from a creeping foot and the foot walked slowly towards her bed. Out of the blue, the light that was in her vision disappeared and darkness resurfaced from an alien tiny hole that was in her heart and her joy began to evaporate gradually. Things began to change. Feelings of hatred, malice, selfishness and wickedness began to dominate her mind. Echoes of war, cries of starved children and youths, filled her thought and she reached out for help and consolation, but her fist couldn’t get hold of any.

Immediately, a huge spank bounced on her thighs twice pam-pam and a harsh voice that she was familiar with bawled; wake up Mona Lisa! Her eyelid flicked open and there was aunty Ifunanya standing in front of her. Bitterly, she realised that she was dreaming and she sobbed and wished she could go back to her dreams because; she finally made it big over there, but she couldn’t.

From that moment, Mona Lisa kept nurturing the fear of not been able to make her dreams a reality, in this depraved world where she belongs and this thought kept chasing her and she couldn’t stop fighting with it.

(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 ‘A Loco Viva Voce,’ and host of other literary blogs. {Email: emekaubesie@yahoo.com, Twitter: @emeka_ubesie})

The Unprepared Fantasy Paradise Called Biafra; An Eye Opener For Igbo Youths By Emeka Ubesie

The euphoria of the actualization of the Sovereign State of Biafra has become an outlandish symphony, that most young Igbos have decided to dance to under a shimmering hot sun in this 21^st century, without a proper assessment of the benefits and upshot of dancing to such a fatal song of this tempo, at the wrong time.

I’m an Igbo man, whose ancestors had played a vital role in preserving the heritage of the Igbo culture and values, in the little way they could and I’m proud to say here that most of my fallen ancestors that had gone to the world beyond, participated actively in the Biafra Civil War, which was led by Ojukwu in 1967-1970. I wasn’t in existence at that time, but rather, I was privileged to cohabit with some intelligent homo sapiens that fought the war for years and the experiences they garnered, were bequeathed in my consciousness. I’m one of those million lucky young Igbos that were fortunate to hear the Biafra War story from the orifice of some of our ancestors that pulled the trigger, right in the battle field and even participated in the building of the so called  ‘’Ogbunigwe,’’ the local bomb.

My father told me his own version of the Biafra War story when I was younger, of how he fought the war, alongside his brothers at a very tender age. Tony Ubesie, one of my ancestors of a blessed memory, who later became a Captain in the Biafra Army at the age of eighteen, also had his own account of the war. Tony was among the few individuals that were opportune to pass through the four walls of the University of Nigeria, Nsukka after the war, where he studied Igbo linguistics from 1976-1980 and I’m so pleased to have navigated through the same walls and also partook from the same ‘’Lions Heritage,’’ just as he did. He was later nicknamed Bullet, a.k.a Ukpaka Gbagburu Enyi, during the war. Tony dropped an Igbo novel that was titled ‘’Juo Obinna,’’ after the Civil War and this wasn’t his only novel anyway. Through this novel, he was able to decipher gently, his experience during the Biafra War and this well narrated, explicit and articulated master piece was published by Oxford University Press in 1977, if my memory still serves me right. I believe that most of these young Igbos that are busy clamouring for the State of Biafra at this virgin period have not read a single book that told the story of our Civil War. Most of them cannot even speak our native language (Igbo), let alone reading it - what a shame.

I never wanted to embark on this writing escapade, but my instinct revealed to me that some young Igbos really need to hear my honest position on this subject matter. I have, but a few questions to ask my fellow Igbo youths that are flocking the internet with various pictures and written journals about the Biafra War that they never witnessed and my questions go this way;

What infrastructure or frame work have you built for your Biafra to stand upon? Don’t you know that for a state, like the one you all are canvassing for to stand, it needs a strong economic, political and social frame work that will stand a test of time? Don’t you also think that what you should be talking about at this juncture is to sort for the most effective and long lasting ways, of uniting these Eastern States, which have fallen apart like pieces of Ukpaka seeds? Think about this; why can’t the Eastern Governors pull resources together and build your region? Who are those that will manage the affairs of your Biafran State? Is it these same Eastern (Igbo) Governors that have wrecked and stolen all the money that were meant for the development of the Eastern Region? I’m not against your determination in actualizing your Biafra dreams, or either am I an anti Biafra, but the truth must be told, no matter if it taste as bitter as an Onigbu leaf. I believe strongly that the Igbos are not ready and matured yet to possess this their daydreaming state. Brood over on these questions for a minute, while I fill up my ‘who send you glass cup’, with some fresh palm wine that my good friend bought along Epe axis of Lagos State.

 Do you have any wharf in the Eastern Region? How many functional industries do you have in your region? What have these individuals who are busy brainwashing you and telling you to get ready for war done for an average Igbo youth? What is the shape of all the Universities that are located in the Eastern Region like? Do you have an efficient Dam that will power the whole region if you go home now? What is the condition of the Eastern roads like? What are the Eastern Governors doing with their respective federal allocations? Just to ask, but a few.

Take your time as an Igbo youth to assess and analyze the wretched condition of Abia State and other states that are in the Eastern Region and write a report to that effect, without compromising your findings. Are these states not managed by the Igbos (Governors)? Are these Governors from the Northern or Western part of Nigeria? Is this the type of Biafra that you need? The Igbos are busy developing other states and allowing grasses to take over their lands. When was the last time you visited your village as a patriotic son or daughter of the soil, of the Igboland? Of a truth, almost all the elders that fought during the Civil War regretted why they embarked on such an unprepared expensive mission, which almost sent the entire Igbo race into extinction.

Some youths of the Igboland need complete metamorphosis of their psychology because, most of them have decided to compromise rationality for mediocrity. Let’s become more realistic in our judgement for a while, and stop following the band wagon of the jonses. If you really want your quest to transmute into a reality, it is of a greater importance that the Igbos should first build a foundation for their home and stop chasing after shadows. I foresee major ethnic wars and crisis amongst the Igbos in less than ten years, if the youths choose this unprepared means to achieve their Biafra dreams.

I was opportune to have conversation with some old men that fought the Civil War and I can boldly say here that most of them never liked it because; the Igbos were never ready for it at that time. Do you want history to repeat itself? Where you privileged to see your grandfathers? I didn’t see mine either because, he died out of accumulated stress that was bequeathed on him by the Biafra War. The stories of my ancestors ended the same way, after my thorough inquiries and I believe that all these young Igbos, who are busy clamouring for Biafra now have not witnessed a real bloody fight, let alone a war. How many of you can pull a trigger and whisked away the brain of a man right from his skull, just in a single target?

My honest advice and opinion here is that, the Igbo youths should tell those people that are in their various hidden bulletproof cars to develop their home first, before forcing you (the youths) to embark on an unplanned journey home. The aftermaths of an unprepared war is always more deadly and gravely than HIV and the tomorrow of an average Igbo youth is more realistic and sure to an extent, in this present Nigeria that is still looking for her bearing, than this your unprepared fantasy paradise called Biafra.

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