From the Largest Digital Library in Africa, The Adventures of Nihu by Omoruyi Uwuigiaren

 

         The Largest Digital Library In Africa

Old Phil’s time was up. The next day he would be leaving for the countryside. “I am already dreaming of home. It will be the new start to the life I have always wished to live. It will be a heaven every night. A man is for himself, but God is for us all.” Old Phil was once again seated on the log outside the hut.      

          “Yes. You are right.” Nihu was straddled next to him. He nodded. “God is for everyone.”

“Even me. Surviving the perils in this Lonely Forest means so much to me. I ought to give gratitude to the one that protects my soul. I do not do it ordinarily. I have to be tough.”

          “I expect that of you. God is a tough mogul. We need to be worthy if we hope to find His favor.”

          “But which god do you think I’m talking about, Nihu?”

          “The god of our forefathers.”

          “Does he really exist?” He brought his hands together, making recitations as if he was praying. Then he stopped and turned to Nihu. “Any result in that? Nothing. I will say my prayers facing heaven henceforth. My deliverance must have come from there.”

          “Are you sure?”

          “I don’t know. I just want try new things since my past had not yielded any result other than troubles. However, I have prayed throughout my life. Good moral conduct must be trapped somewhere in my heart ever since I set my foot into this world of beauty and terror. Do you believe me, Nihu?” He looked deep into the boy’s eyes.

          “I can’t find falsehood in that, at all. But I think it is too late to start finding perpetual faults in your life.”

          “Oh, faults? They are gone. In the past, I had many. My life was no better than a rat’s, which is left to struggle for survival in the heart of the red sea. My weaknesses brought me a hard knock life. Macques would tell you my odds of survival if he were here with us. He tells my story more accurately and with a lot more feeling than I do. However, he had a talking impediment. Often, his tongue added more excitement to every word that walked out of him. One would think his words drop like wind-blown rain.”

          “That’s a terrible burden to carry.” Nihu thought of something else Phil had said. “Do you derive much pleasure in mediations?”

          “Yes, oh yes. My meditations have yielded results. The last time I was under the influence of morning mediation, I saw dwarf angel. It looked like a green mallard. It told me all would be well with me. I am sure it had come to give me hope of returning to glory after the truckload of the misfortunes I have experienced here. I will hold a holy service of songs when I return home. That is the first thing I will do when I get there.”

          “But you have nothing now. The King now owns your house.”

          “Of course. I expect to join my brother right away. He will be very happy to see me alive. The celebration will carry to the next level.”

“What does he do for a living?” Nihu shifted on the log.

“He is a farmer. And his well is deep enough to swallow ten of your stature.”

          “Then you will be well. I thought you were just like every journeyman whose heaven is the street inn or corner. After every blessed day, he seeks comfort in a wonder of unholy women. When the police come to raid, you will only see his back.”

“This journeyman has served his time for offending others.” Old Phil removed his old hat that revealed rivers of sweat that were carefully gliding down his hollow cheeks. With the back of his hand, he rubbed them off his face and slapped the hat back on his head.

“I have a dream, a big one indeed. My survival means I was not guilty at all. There are people who believed in me because I have had a positive effect on their lives.” Old Phil straightened his shoulders, raising his chin.

“Things will be different for you now. Your travails are over.” Nihu sighed quietly, chin in hand. 

          “Surviving the Lonely Forest to tell the people of the devils here is news. No one in recent memory has returned from here alive. Do you realize that? I am the first. If you survive too, you can expect to increase your fortune ten-fold when you get back to the countryside. God will see to that.”

          “That will be a grand accomplishment for an old soldier like you. I can not hope to follow you.” Nihu revealed a trail of discouragement on his face. “I will be well into my years by the time I am allowed to walk out of here. If I survive to that day.” He gazed desolately at the old man.

Old Phil looked straight into the eye of the disenfranchised youth, “Nihu, there is always hope. God has made sure of that. I believe you can survive just as I have survived all these years. Live bravely, your day will come.”

          He rose to his feet, “Let’s go out together to hunt for the last time. The animal we bring in will be my parting gift for you.” He smiled at the boy. Nihu returned it weakly. Old Phil would soon be gone for good.

“I will be with you in a moment.” The old man said. “I want to bring my old Dane gun that has always hit its mark.” He entered the hut as Nihu lowered his head between his thighs scratching in the Earth with a stick.

          In a few minutes, Phil emerged, fully dressed in his hunting attire. “Boy, you must get ready. The forest awaits our ambitions. So it would seem. But it is a beginning that brings us closer to the end.”          Nihu got slowly to his feet, as if he was being forced to go against his principles. He went into the hut to get all he would need for the hunt. He took the spear that was in the doorway and returned to Old Phil’s side. “I am ready,” he said quietly.      

          “Look, Nihu, upon our return to the cabin, we shall have a long swim in the river, you hear me?”

          “Okay.”

          “And I remember you told me you have a flute and that you can play very well. You must play for me. I will dance like a man celebrating in triumph before leaving for the countryside.”

          “I will play as well as I can. May the gods find favor.”

          “You will engender favor by celebrating with me. It is well that a body casts doubt and fear aside so that he might honor another’s good fortune. So, Nihu, I want the best from you.” He coughed and his hat fell off his head. He went for it and added, “I will send prayers for you every day that your sojourn here will be as uneventful as possible.”

          They walked down the path in silence for a while. Presently, Old Phil inquired if Nihu had his flute with him.

“No, I left it in my rucksack in the hut.”

          “I was tempted to ask you to play now a dreamy song of the countryside.” Old Phil sighed. “Oh well, it will wait until we return.”

They trampled the dry leaves, heading for the interior of the forest, Old Phil leading Nihu who followed slowly behind. Phil was almost skipping in happy anticipation as if heading to a glorious alter. After some time, the forest swallowed them up, as if wanting them to become a part of the Lonely Forest forever. It is hard to say which of them would have bargained harder for his freedom.

          By sunset, the two had not yet found a single animal that Old Phil could have gotten with a clean shot. The evening was beginning to stare them down and there was no animal in sight. The day had finally surrendered to the coming of the evening powers. Both were tired and had little strength left. Old Phil’s shoulder has sagged and Nihu could barely lift his feet. Without speaking, they stopped to rest under a tree. Old Phil broke the long silence that had stood between them. “Nihu, what shall we do? We cannot remain here like stagnant waters on the street of the local district. I wanted to celebrate properly, not in such a weak manner. The fun must start right away.”

          “What shall we do?”

“Just watch me. You may learn the way the army of the countryside celebrates their victories after a hard fought battle.” The old man got to his feet and sent bullets from his old Dane gun into the air. As excitement within him grew, he let more bullets into the air, chanting old spirited songs of victory that every soldier of the countryside sings when the mission has gone the right way. Old Phil let go more bullets until he had none left in his gun.

          Satisfied he turned to Nihu, “Boy, let’s return to the hut. The bullets have served their purpose. I feel as good as if they had brought down a tasty beast. What is more exciting than forest life? A forest where even the trees now believe in my prowess and wits?” He caught Nihu’s eye. “I can see you are glum. Lively up, Nihu. No need to bury your head in discouragement. We can get one of the monkeys near the hut to fill our bellies. I will show you the stores of provisions I have made and of course, the hut is yours to live in.  Tomorrow, I leave you to your life. A solitary life is not such a bad thing.  I have new-found confidence after I have eaten and lived with the jungle devils that never cease to arrive at my doorstep.”

          “At least, I was able to get to know you for a little while,” Nihu was resigned to his fate. “Living with you was not written into my banishment order. It was luck that I met you here and now circumstance is now setting us apart. Your time here is done. The providence that kept you alive all these years can also deliver me from painful claws of death.”

“It is good to hear you say such things. Nevertheless, be careful. Macquesemis had much faith in providence, but today his remains rest under the shade of an old oak tree. Let us go.” Old Phil put his hand on the boy’s shoulder as they set off in the direction of the hut.

          The light was waning and they went along quietly. The dry leaves crackled under their boots. Nihu’s eyes spied a walnut tree; the ripe fruits among its leaves spoke to his stomach. Up the tree he went. With a hand on one of the tree’s fruits, he called out, “Phil, I will be along presently. No need to wait but a moment.” He went for another as Old Phil continued alone.

“I will wait for you by the river. Just be careful.” His voice carried back as Nihu faded into the tree.

“Who would find me up here?” Nihu wondered in a whisper. “I will pluck some walnuts and catch up to him before the river.”

          Old Phil waved his left arm into the air by way of farewell as he went down the path, suffering the dry leaves and grasses under his worn boots. Just as he pursed his lips to whistle a tune for companionship, a lion leapt onto his path. Seeing the old man, it charged without hesitation. Old Phil had less than two seconds to face the animal with his Dane gun, ready with his finger on the trigger to dispatch the animal to its grave. In a twinkling, it dawned on him that the gun was empty and he had no other option but to flee. As he turned to run, the lion pounced.

          Nihu heard the roar and knew Old Phil was in peril. An agonized cry from the old man and another roar from the beast set the forest ablaze in the quiet night. Nihu jumped from the tree, took hold of his spear that he had left leaning against it, and hurried to the scene where Old Phil was battling to stay alive underneath a wild lion. The lion had the attack advantage and had Phil pinned to the ground. Old Phil was trying his best to roll away from the lion’s claws and teeth, but he cried aloud and panted for air.

          Nihu raised his spear above his head and raced into the melee to save Old Phil from becoming a meal for the wild beast. He struck the lion in the neck, a little below the mane. The spear stuck deep in the neck of the lion, but the handle came apart in his hand and Nihu could only hope that a second strike would not be necessary. He stood back, as the lion, knocked off his feet, struggled with fate. Old Phil, battling hard to overcome blackout, made a final effort to send his foe to the world beyond. He drew his jackknife from his boot, sat up and slit the lion’s belly. The lion lay still at last.

          Old Phil sank back and began to gasp for his life in the pool of his blood. Nihu rushed to him in a horrible fright, to see if he could save the old man from dying at the brink of his release. He knelt by the old man’s bloody head, took it onto his lap and tried to encourage the old soldier back to life. “Phil, you are strong. Stronger than the willows in the brook. You must not die.” Tears flooded his eyes. “I will care for you in the hut for as long as it takes.”

          Old Phil struggled valiantly against the incoming blackness. “No, Nihu, it is too late already for medicine. I have met my fate today. A soldier never travels through the woods with an empty gun. Had I remembered that, I would be worthy to see my home again. Former deeds cannot insure survival in hell. My life is tragedy and I hope you might learn something from it. I advise you to take your own life, my boy. Do not wait for the devil of beast or disease to ravage you. You must find a way out of here . . .” He gasped and choked as speech left him. His head rolled to one side as the last of life faded from his lips.

          Nihu stroked Old Phil’s face and wept bitterly as he recognized that the old man’s ghost had gone. “No, no, Phil. No! You cannot leave like this. This is not how it’s supposed to be!” He fell on the dead man and wept, harder than ever before in his life. He wailed aloud in the dark until he could cry no more.

          Somehow, he managed to drag the remains of the old man back to the hut where he found a shovel to dig a grave. After he finished the mound, he built a small fire and went in for his flute. Returning to the graveside, he began to pay Old Phil his last respects. The melody was a dirge, played for fallen heroes in the countryside. It was equally good enough to move one’s feet. However, Nihu remained seated on a log as he played out his despair.

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Excerpt: Ekwe Runs Wild by Omoruyi Uwuigiaren

One morning, Obiefule woke up very sick and tired. He could not get on his feet. He called out to his wife and son. Ekwe was the first to get into the room.

“Father, you called me. What is it?”

“My son, you will go to the farm alone today.” He adjusted and coughed a bit.

“Why?” Ekwe asked and walked quietly to the bedside. He held his hand. “Be strong, father. You know we still have much work to do on the farm.”

Obiefule nodded slowly. He cleared his throat. He raised his head a bit, “You are right, my boy. I am feverish. I will need to get some medications to get back on my feet...”

Obiageli entered the room. “Good morning, my love,” she greeted and went down on her knees.

Obiefule placed his hand on her shoulder, he replied, “Good morning, darling. I have just instructed Ekwe to go to the farm.”

“What about you? Are you not going with us?” she inquired with a broad grin.

He shook his head. “I will not. I am very sick. My body aches everywhere. You will stay to give me some herbs. Or why are you here if not for such a purpose?” He tried to mask his pain with a smile.

“Sorry, my love. I know this will eventually happen, because you have been working too hard for some time now.” She went close to him and felt his neck with the back of her hand. “You are hot. You need rest to get over the fever.”

“Yes, I must rest. Please, prepare some herbs for me while Ekwe hurries to the farm.”

“Okay.” Obiageli turned to her son. “Ekwe, you heard your father. Be careful,” she warned. “Once it is sunset, make sure you return home. Anyone who calls you, tell them your parents are waiting for you. Don’t play on the road. The forest is not safe for anyone in the evening. Is that clear?”

“Yes, mother. I will get back on time. Goodbye!” He left the room in a hurry. Today, the boy will have the luxury of eating whatever he wanted. Roasted yam, fruits and even small animals will all be his. Unlike the days when he journeyed to the farm with his parents, Ekwe was restricted to rations imposed upon him. Sometimes such rations hardly quenched his large appetite. Like a bird that escaped from a snare, the boy grabbed hold of his freedom with both hands. He went to the backyard. Ekwe took his hoe and cutlass and walked briskly out of the compound.  

Ekwe walked happily through the bush paths that led to his father’s farm. Going to the farm alone was like the best day of his life. The thought of hunting squirrels, swimming in the stream and eat as many fruits as he wanted excited him. He could not wait to get to the farm. The forest had come alive for the birds were whistling aloud. At intervals, sparrows dropped from trees like stones to grab their breakfast on the wings of the morning. The birds continued to make a short work of insects as the boy walked to the farm.

 Ekwe got to the farm in a good time. He worked for long hours under the scorching hot day and was tired. When he could feel his skin had begun to roast, he took his hoe and cutlass and went to find a shade where he would rest. He found a spot under a shade created by a mango tree. The shade was comfortable enough for any poor soul to get over the overwhelming presence of the hot day. Just as Ekwe placed his cutlass at the foot of the tree and wanted to sit down, a big movement drew his attention to the nearby bush. He raised his head and flung a glance at the direction of the disturbance. The boy saw a grass cutter in the bush. The giant rat was seeking something to devour. Grass cutter is a good source of protein. No hunter would allow such a meal to slip on a good day. Ekwe imagined himself eating the roasted grass cutter and having a good time in the river. Just like a king having a memorable feast. Then he grabbed hold of his cutlass and gave chase.

Ekwe ran very fast. His pair of legs descended on the earth like survivors fleeing massacre. The bush meat was too big to let go and the thought of a good meal kept the boy in the chase. It was a rat race. They ran from one end of the farm to the other until they strayed away.

Obviously, the grass cutter was not running very fast. Yet, killing it was like a mountain too high for the boy. Maybe the creature had sustained injury in the course of the struggle. However, against all odds, the animal was not ready to let Ekwe have his way. On the other hand, the boy felt he could take his chance and end the day on a bright note. Then he wore the garment of determined spirit and faced the challenge head long. Ekwe was like a motivated four fisted wrecking bull. His eyes were full of hope as he raised his cutlass up to high heavens in a bid to bring down the creature. When the animal was within his reach, he changed his mind and decided to catch it alive. Ekwe dropped his cutlass and dived at the grass cutter. But his legs betrayed him and the move backfired. He lost his balance and was reduced to a heap of rubble on the floor. Before Ekwe could get back on his feet, the animal had run into a hole. The creature heaved a sigh of relief and disappeared from sight.

Ekwe did not give up. He felt all hope to get the animal was not lost. He jumped to his feet. He went for his cutlass. He returned swiftly and dug into the hole. Not long after, the boy realised that the animal had escaped through another way. His countenance fell and his shoulders sagged. He dropped his cutlass and sat on the floor as the sun gradually walked away.

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If you love erotic and explicit stories, this one is for you.

Once I had him deep inside, 

I began a slow rotation of my hips.

 I grimaced at the pale white wall.  

I put my hands on it to help push back into him, 

get his dick to fill up my body until 

there was nothing left of me inside.

I gasped, choked, and placed my hand on my chest. I glanced up at him and replied, “I am married. My husband, on a good day is a dog!”

“You can never have good sex from a drunk.”

“No, it depends on the person.”

“I agree but sometimes good sex is hard to come by! That is not easy, you know.” He began to rub my shoulder gently. He added, “Sweetie, not every problem is spiritual. You cannot solve physical problems with spiritual solutions.”

Before I could blink, his hand travelled slowly down my chest. He was within the reach of my bra. He made a push that left me vulnerable. He grabbed my breast and squeezed it gently. I turned my head away from him. I thought, I do not have to do this. I can stop right now. I can straighten up and walk out. But I did not. He pinched and twisted my nipple and I felt a unique feeling travel through my entire body. The pastor was within the walls of my temple. We were in the closet. Free from the troubles of this life. Just the two of us, there was no end to it, no end to our iniquity. He pulled the nipple, slowly build anticipation, then apply direct pleasure to every area and I was overcome with pleasure. He pretended he was trying to break free. I held him down. How could you travel this far and abandon me?

He stroked my head gently with a hand and pleasured my nipple with the other. My husband was the least of my worries. I just wanted to be free. I wanted a breath of fresh air. Dalmos rested my head on his thigh; he was hard and I was weak. We were both swimming in iniquity. I unzipped his trouser, took out his penis and put it in my mouth. I felt his body growing big and hard inside my mouth. With a long tongue, tender as the sweet movement of the morning breeze, I wrapped it around his penis. He was clean. No stench hung in the air, no rotten banana peel and no sour taste obstructed. I felt I had lemonade in my mouth and it was great.  Even though I hated the thought of another woman sucking my man’s penis, the pleasure outweighs any greed. Now we can actually share and allow Lady Tranquility to reign.

He pulled me up. We kissed as I squeezed his balls. He groaned in pain and pleasure. He was not comfortable; I must have squeezed them too hard. He gently pulled me to a corner where he pinned me with my face to the wall. He pulled down my underwear and rose up my skirt. He took me from behind. I pushed back, forced more of him into me. Once I had him deep inside, I began a slow rotation of my hips. I grimaced at the pale white wall.  I put my hands on it to help push back into him, get his dick to fill up my body until there was nothing left of me inside. The back shots were strong and he sustained it.

I suspected the pastor was on drugs. There was no slowing down. Soon I was out of control. As I began to moan aloud, he covered my mouth with his hand. “Please don’t put me trouble. This is where I get my daily bread. You must not jeopardize it. Let me have my honor. The usher is still in the building!” he whispered. “You cannot moan aloud this time. Don’t worry we will do it in someplace else next time.”

I nodded in agreement, barely muttered words that he could hear.

He was right. Moaning aloud could put the both of us in trouble. He was the resident pastor and I am a member of his congregation. Keeping me quiet was hard because I was under his spell and I doubt if I could ever recover. His penis was bigger than that of my man and he knew how to put it to use. The pastor knows how to make a tough woman crack. I was broken. He was my healer. This could be the reason why I have the nightmares. Each time we had sex, he has left me yearning for more. This is a terrible curse and I am finding it so hard to break. I was on fire and I could feel the heat on my face. “My vagina is yours. Fuck me like a dog!” I whispered to him, tears rolling down my happy face.

My vagina felt warm and at the same time cold. I was very wet. I tried to envelop him, to draw him in, and at the same time to press him out. His erection grew larger and harder. I felt I was about to burst wide open. It was the strangest sensation, something that went beyond simple sexual pleasure. With all the years I have been with Jimmy, he has never managed this. He was a mediocre but I love him. This pastor is a solid man and he knows his job inside out. He knocked me over and over.

There was a sudden and powerful release of sexual tension. He managed to leave his loads out of me. My hips were sprayed with hot sticky mess. It was beautiful because I had also reached orgasm. I think I had it two or more times. He kissed my neck, stroked my hair, he said, “Lizzy, thank you for reaching out today. I have wanted to see you. I nearly stopped at your house this morning. I have been worried about you because you were not returning my calls since we met over a month ago.”

“I deliberately did not want to pick your calls. You were calling too frequently and most of the time, Jimmy was there,” I shot back. “You forgot that I am married.”

“I must confess, I love you with all my heart. Jimmy is my friend but he is a terrible man! He drinks too much. He cannot satisfy you...”

I interjected. “Dalmos, I didn’t come here for sex. I came to see you because I have nightmare and I cannot sleep.”

He laughed and commented, “No, you don’t have any nightmares, my love. You were missing me and I understand.”

"Love Birds" from 

the unpublished

   book by 

Omoruyi Uwuigiaren.

You can 

read one 

of Ruyi's books here.

The Adventures of Nihu

This novel is a classic legend of a young hero’s magical journey through a fantasy world where he is tested with incredible challenges that can only stem from the soul of the author’s genuine African culture and vivid imagination. Being falsely accused of a crime, Nihu, a tribal African boy, is banished to the Lonely Forest. In order to regain his freedom, he must find a way to defeat the unbeatable and confront challenges that draw analogies to our own realities. Like The Lord of the Rings, this epic high fantasy novel carries the reader to another time and place. Nihu gets sucked into a world inside of a stone, visits a powerful ruler in an underwater city, and befriends a group of refugees. The Adventures of Nihu will not only allow an audience of all ages to escape their own realities, but draw them into a world of high hopes, powers, and unimaginable desires.

Buy from 

Draft2Digital

Dalmos Slept with his Friend’s Wife

“Some people are strange.

Do not test a strange man with a woman.

You will be disappointed. 

You will cry and gnash your teeth. 

His eyes are everywhere. 

He walks back and forth seeking whom to devour.

He can give any girl a chase.

If you want peace,

do not give him the key to your heart.”

It was a lazy sunset. I visited my friend. When I knocked on the door, his wife responded from the other side. She asked, “Who’s there?” Her voice was as soft as the savannah breeze.

Smiled paraded my face. The person that I had really come to see was in. “It’s I, Dalmos,” I replied in enthusiasm. I just could not wait to get into the house. I hope that if my friend is not in as it is sometimes, we will see each other. Keep the feelings alive until we are too weak to continue. She always get the best out of me. Quickly, I threw the door open and walked into the house. Stood akimbo in the middle of the sitting room, I probed, “Where is your husband?”

          She stared at me and returned her gaze to the mirror. She answered, “He went to the bar. I thought you were together.”

“No, I have better things to do with my life, Lizzy. He will not stop drinking. If he’s asked to choose between you and a bottle of beer, I doubt if you will ever cross his mind,” I enthused, smiled lewdly, walked to her, and sat down beside her. “You look so beautiful today. You are hot, baby! You deserve something better, Lizzy.” I could not hide my lust for her anymore. We have known each other. I have almost lost count of the number of times I had my way and every time we did it, she enjoyed it. I was the new kid on the block and she was my fantasy!

“In this age and time, I wonder how you are able to get your women. You don’t have anything new to say, Dalmos,” she quizzed, smiling. “Be romantic for once. I have always had the best. The best things in this life are for real.”

I cocked my head. “You cannot stop being philosophical. Do I take the remark for an approval?”

She paused. Lowered her mirror and turned to me. “Approval? For what?”

Chuckled, I explained, “The last time I brought you to your knees, you never wanted me to go. You were all over me. It was a pleasure you did not want to end. I am proud that I could make you happy. You know the difference. My friend looks frail from many years of drinking alcohol. I know he is never at his best. If he is not complaining about his waist, he is crying about lack of energy. That is not good enough, Lizzy. You are young. You are ravishing. You need a real man in your life!”

She stopped applying the makeup to her face and turned to me, she asked, “Did I ever tell you that my husband is not good on the bed? I lovee your energy does not mean you have me. Please we are too close. He must not meet us like this, Dalmos. Go and seat at the other side.”

“I did not come here to look for trouble!”

“Dalmos,” she shook her head. “We can’t do anything today. My husband is around. I just told you he went to the bar across the street.”

“I heard you loud and clear. He is always drunk. We are too smart for a fat drunk like him!”

She dropped the mirror on the table and our eyes met. She said, “I know. Dalmos, you cannot always have your way. Respect me and show your friend some respect. Even though it is difficult to resist you, I will prefer we do it some other time or somewhere else. We cannot have sex in this house today. I just do not want it to happen. He did not go far. You can take me out if you wish. Take me anywhere. I am not comfortable doing anything in this house. This is my matrimonial home. Let us honour it.”

 “Don’t be scared!” I threw my hand around her neck. “I will be fast! I promise!”

“STOP! Don’t push your luck too far.”  She pushed him away. “You are going to get us in trouble!”

Her words were ignored. Before she could blink, I pounced on her. Grabbed hold of the loosed end of her wrapper and forcefully slipped into her. She elicited a loud moan. She struggled valiantly as I ravaged her with my huge frame. Soon we glued to one another. I could see her tears of joy, which only came to an abrupt end because her husband staggered into the sitting room.

He was furious to see me humbling his wife on the bare chest of the earth! The man was heavily drunk.  Yet, he could tell something was not right. His own friend was bruising his wife. “Why is this happening in my house?” he cried out. “Dalmos, what are doing to my wife? Lizzy, why?” he threw out another question. The gift he bought for his wife slipped from his hands.

I jumped to my feet and my pant hung loosely to my waist. I tried to run but I stumbled on a piece of furniture and crashed on the floor. My friend pounced on him and we began to share blows.

Not satisfied with the delivery of his old fists, the man jumped to his feet. He dashed into the room and returned to the sitting room with a cutlass.

I was already on my feet. Sadly, I have sustained injuries from the fall and was limping to the exit.  The cutlass wielding man descended on me and lost his footing. He landed awkwardly on the floor and never recovered. Happy that the weapon did not hit him, I dashed out of the house and limped across the road.

Suddenly, a dreadful heart attack struck the man. Lizzy, his wife tried to revive him but could not prevail. Sensing that her husband had gone to meet his ancestors, the woman burst into tears. She wept bitterly.

She blamed herself for his death. She had betrayed her husband. With nothing better to do, she rose to her feet and rushed to the kitchen. She searched everywhere and found a knife. She paused and looked at the piece of steel as if she was pondering what to do with it.

Once she was clear on how to use it, she grabbed hold of the knife and pierced her veins and the knife slipped from her hand. As she bled from her hand, she staggered back to her husband and fell on him. She bled until she walked along side him to the silent world.

Dalmos did not stop running. Trying to keep his pace and looking back at interval, he ran into the path of an oncoming vehicle and added his poor soul to the tragedy.  The truck knocked him off the road and he landed on the sidewalk with his face to the ground. The truck driver sped off.

Dalmos choked and gasped in the pool of his own blood. He struggled valiantly against the incoming blackness and breathed his last.

 

                                   *            *             *

 

Mollech was right and I was wrong. I felt ashamed of myself. My action had robbed the couple of their lives. The sacred bowl was worth the risk and stress. The scene disappeared from our gaze and my distress mounted.

I burst into tears and fell to my knees with nobody to console me. Mollech was cold and crossed his arms over his body. Then he coughed and our eyes met. He shook his head. He swallowed hard and said, “Find your home in the north!” He turned and walked away.

“No! I am coming with you!” As I got up and raced after him, the ground underneath me cracked as if an earthquake was imminent. Goz and his men emerged from the ground. They overwhelmed me and one of them knocked me over with a single blow.

I cried aloud, called the dwarf, “Mollech help me! Help me! Do not do this to me! Help me!” My cry ignored as Mollech faced the way he had come.

After covering a short distance, he paused and turned to me. He said, “My pact with you is done, Dalmos. I was punished because of you.

“I rescued you from your tormentors when I should not have done so. When you escaped, I had no choice but to find you and bring you to them so that I can be free.

“Now I am free to water my garden and catch as many fishes as I want in the river. You do not need me anymore. I doubt if our paths will ever cross again. If we eventually meet again, please bear no grudge against me. I did what I had to do, because it profits me nothing to share in your pains. It’s sad but it is true.”

After the long oratory, he waved his tiny hands at me. He turned and walked away. He never looked back. Mollech walked very fast until he moved into a shadow.

 It was my cross. It was my sacrifice. It was my misfortune. My lust had brought this upon me.

As they pummeled me to the ground like a common criminal, one of them tied a rope to my legs and dragged me into the ground. One after another, Goz and his men followed us into the ground. Once the ground had swallowed us, the crack disappeared.

Written by Omoruyi Uwuigiaren

 

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WORK IN PROGRESS: The Dark World by Omoruyi Uwuigiaren

It is cruel to negotiate some roads. One could spend several hours and who cares if you die trying. It is a silencer. It hurts. It could bring a man to his knees. The loser is a meal to the bald vultures. In the weakness, I was strong, tough and mean.

Regularly counting the cost of my valor has helped my poor soul to tread cautiously. My loss if I ever had any was taken into consideration because smart people draw strength from their fall. The cost of finishing strong and staying alive against all odds is mine to bear.

I drove through Lawanson road, an old narrow way leading off Itire and I had my first sight of the Palace of the Itire Monarch. It was old-fashioned. It was African with a fine red painted threshold. It was old. Things had changed. Here the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Every day is a journey. The day we close our eyes upon the light of the world, the journey ends. Most times, it is out of our hands to choose how we will embrace the next world. There are forces that rule in the affair of men but fate would place a man where he truly belongs.

Now I am on a journey that looks like a formality. Sadly, in this ever-changing world, there are no formalities. We only have change and challenges and a reasonable man must bend any circumstance to his favour.  

READ:Las' Las' We'll Be All Right by Joy Isi Bewaji

The Lawanson road connects Oshodi-Apapa expressway. If you are in a hurry to embrace silence and get out of a third world misery, you are welcome to this part of the world. You can never have enough of the misfortune on this highway. Trucks queue on both sides, trapped in a constant battle to outsmart one another. There are dilapidated buildings along the road and their numbers scary.

Most of the buildings have no occupants because they are like a dead man bound by horrible tradition that made it difficult for his people to commit him to mother earth without any offence. The cost of maintenance and travelling back and forth from the buildings would leave a deep hole in any pocket. The implications are damning and grievous. Weight of which tied to a large man and tossed overboard a ship into the sea would drown him. Death has no joy.  

No matter how frugal, miserly or clever a man is, he can hardly recover all of the loss of wasting his time. You cannot live out your life in happiness in a city that is poorly organized. It is bad and tragedy to born in such a place.  

The beauty of the city is only a figment of some people’s imagination. The city is overrated. Bizarrely awkward and could cut any destiny short. It is delusional and fraud to put yourself where you are not. Paradise is arguably city of excellence. Is Lagos paradise?

Sanity is a very expensive commodity. You risk raising weak people. When weak people are more in number, they are powerful. If unhindered, they could also raise for themselves a leader. You will think like the people with whom you spend most of your time. The world will perish under the feet of the weak.

The gridlock never dies. The dark nights never end. There is no charity in the air. The cruel hands of fate snatched it. In those buildings are economic losses. Weakness is also borne out of stress. There is no point to prove. You can never live out your life in happiness and freedom in a city under siege. It is tragedy to train up a child in this creepy kind of place.

It is easy to be a prophet of doom when the young men emerging from the college after a hard five years were faced by a world indifferent to their enthusiasm and bursting knowledge. Results that is never palatable. Those who lack courage and a will to survive, leaves the troubled world behind. Others take to vices, which leaves them less human.

Trying to live at all cost, they end up paying the price. The cost of breaking the law far outweighs the price of obeying it. The horror stories of heartless and vicious people cannot be undermined. Tales by young people who managed to secure employment only make one hardened and embattled.

Some were just little bits of dirt to be starved and worked into the ground by the employers who are heartless. There is never a day off. Some to wash the car, dig the garden, feed the dogs, and push trucks and do family shopping for the boss. What about others who are forced to render services to keep their job? Many stretched beyond limit, broken and left for dead. No human is carved out of stones.