Family Court

It came to her suddenly. “A courtroom. This is what a courtroom looks like and feels like.” A small laughter escaped from her mouth, making mama turn sharply and give her the cold eye. Before now, Immaculate would have been frightened after receiving one of mama’s cold stares. Now, she just smiled sweetly at the old woman. ‘You can’t do anything to me old woman. You have already done everything. You have taken everything away from me. What else can you do? I have absolutely no reason to be afraid.’

Sister China turned and whispered into mama’s ears and mama turned and glared at Imma, a look of triumph in her eyes, her hands and legs tapping in quick succession as one impatiently excited.

Immaculate closed her eyes and leaned back on her plastic chair. ‘How did it all come to this?’ For a moment, the bitterness welled up deep within her, causing tears to spring up in her eyes. Vehemently, she shook her head and willed the tears to go back in. ‘No! I won’t cry in front of these people. No matter what, they will never have that satisfaction.’

They were seated in Sir Baristo’s big and spacious balcony used to hold family meetings. Sir Baristo was the oldest man in the Chinda family. He was so old and frail that he needed to be carried around. A former military man, sir Baristo still commanded the family’s deepest respect and his word was the final say. He was the chief judge of the family and usually was the last resort for family matters threatening to spiral out of control. When everyone arrived, he would be put on the chair at the head of the table.

The living room was arranged like a courtroom. The table at the wall was the Chief Judge’s seat, surrounded by his two aides, mazi Nlemchi and papa Junior, two elders of the Chinda family. The chairs were arranged on two sides with the table in the middle. The disputants would sit facing each other as they tried to settle their disputes.

Already, mama sat with sister China on the opposite side. Every member of the Chinda family who came would sit on that side, and they would come in droves. She knew it. Brother Clement and his long toothed wife would most likely be filling Chinonso’s head with all sorts of poison. From the look in Mama’s eyes, Immaculate knew that today, she would most likely be labeled a witch, , a bad wife, a lazy hag and a disrespectful woman.

Oh that one pained her a lot. Disrespectful. She, who had sat down and ignored mama and sister China’s taunts and excesses. Every time they had come into her house, rained abuses on her housekeeping and used her kitchen as a gossip centre, she had kept quiet all in a bid to be respectful. What had her so-called respect brought to her?

Her legs tapped and swung hurriedly. Today, today would be the day that she would speak. Oh today she would speak. She would pour out her heart and damn the consequences. There was no saving this marriage, mama and sister China had made sure of that. But before leaving, she would pour out everything she had endured. Let them come. She was ready, prepared for anything.

As if on cue, the black Range Rover drove into the compound, revved hard before halting just inches to the wall. Chinonso. Immaculate closed her eyes and tapped her feet. She didn’t have to look to know how mama and sister China would rush up to him and practically spread their wrappers for him to walk on. Of course he would strut in all proud and arrogant as if he owned the world.

‘who do you think you are?’ she screamed at him in her mind, putting her wrapper to her mouth to stifle her screams. ‘If I had known, if only I had known. I have no one to blame but me.’

Not wanting to look at her crowd of enemies, Immaculate opened her bag and brought out her phone to call Emeka, her brother. Why hadn’t they arrived yet? It was almost time. Emeka didn’t pick. She called Nnenda her sister who picked on the first ring. “Imma we are coming. We’re just close by. You’ll see us in five minutes…” Nnenda said. Immaculate nodded and cut the call. If Nnenda said they were close, then they were close.

“Ehn Ehn…”

Chinonso cleared his throat loudly, directed at her. The hall became silent. Papa Junior and mazi Nlemchi paused their mouths in the middle of their talks, watching to see what drama would unfold.

“Ehn Ehn..”

Chinonso cleared his throat again. Immaculate ignored him and concentrated on her phone, just looking at her screen as if it was a billion dollar contract. Let them think whatever but she would not open her mouth and greet him.

Mama and sister China clucked their tongue, looking at her in victory. Too late she realized it was a trap to show the elders that she was disrespectful.

Heat filled her face, her body trembling. Another of mama’s diabolical plan. ’God, how did I end up in this family? Wasn’t I good enough? Didn’t I do everything you asked me to? Then why? I met and married Chinonso a virgin. I left Kehinde because you asked me to. What have I done to be labeled a bad woman? I am tired of this marriage. If this is the end, so be it.’

She used her wrapper to clean off the tears before they could pour down. “its okay” she heard Nnenda’s voice before she felt her strong reassuring hand on her shoulders. They had arrived. Emeka with Jane, his wife, Nnenda and her mother. The meeting could start.

Chinonso signaled to Ignatius, the young boy who aided sir Baristo, to bring him out. He carried the old frail man like a baby in his arms and carefully kept him on the seat at the head of the table.

Sir Baristo was just clearing his throat to officially declare the meeting open when another car drove in, a white Toyota pick-up. They weren’t expecting anybody else.

Everyone looked at the car in surprise as a huge tall giant of a man, emerged from the back seat in white crispy shirt and jeans. The man wore a black boot sneakers, and walked with a confident  poise into the hall.

Chinonso stood up and spoke to the elders “please forgive me. This is Pst. Onyegwache, a senior colleague in my office. I invited him to be the third party as one who is not related to any of us’’.

The elders nodded in consentment  and   Ignatius  brought out a wooden seat from the dining for the man. ‘Pastor Onyegwache , would he be another weapon in Chinonso’s side or would he remain unbiased?’

Later, Immaculate would be grateful to him. He sat silently throughout  the meeting and didn’t say a word until……..

Sir Baristo cleared his voice again, spoke in low tones that nobody could hear or understand but they all nodded as if they heard a word.

Mazi  Nlemchi took over . He carried the gift of gab in the family “Our people say, it is only the foolish squirrel that sees his house burning and goes to drink.” He paused and cleared his throat again. “It will be a very bad thing, a very bad thing, if we, as elders of this family, will see fire burning in any of our houses and keep quiet.

“Two weeks ago, news filtered into my ears that Chinonso, my nephew here, chased Immaculate his wife out of his house in the middle of the night after discolouring her face. This kind of thing has never been heard of in this family. Its unheard of. As a concerned old man, I summoned Chinonso and I asked him what his problem with his wife is. The young man poured out his heart to me and at the end, he said he would never take Immaculate back into his house as his wife. Infact, he said he was already making plans to divorce her.

Immaculate stifled the burning in her heart, not caring as the tears slid down her face.

“I heard what Chinonso said,” mazi Nlemchi continued. “But it will be foolish of me as an elder, as an uncle, to simply go home and sleep after hearing all that he said, to not ask Immaculate to tell us her own side of the story. Now I know that most of you in this meeting have hardened their hearts but please I beg, let us sit down and make one last final attempt toi stop a bad thing from happening. Let us allow these two young people to tell us their problem with each  other. If after everything we do today, they say they still want to go their separate ways, we will let them be but today, I beg all of you to please speak your mind today, say what the problem is so that we can resolve this thing. Have I spoken well?”

All heads nodded in agreement.

“Now, when two people marry, they don’t just marry themselves. They marry their families. For this reason, I will allow members of the two families to speak first, then Chinonso and Immaculate will speak last.

Let me sound a note of warning to the women. This is not a place to talk about gossip. Don’t come and tell us stories if you were not there when it happened. Speak the truth only…” He turned to papa junior who nodded emphatically.

“Okay! Eh, let us start with you, China. I know you were in the house the night Chinonso chased Immaculate away. We know that you have been taking care of Michael and Gabriel since that night. In fact, we know that on several occasions, you have not allowed Immaculate to see her sons ever since that night. We are not condemning you; after all, you are only looking out for your brother. So let us hear what you have to say. Start at the beginning.”

Sister China stood up and bowed slightly to the elders, then to mama and Chinonso, to the silent pastor and finally to Immaculate and her family like a proud student in a school debate, brimming with intelligence and impatience. Knowing sister China, she probably she probably had been involved in her school debate team. She cleared her throat.

“My elders, I thank you for this opportunity you have given me because finally, finally I can speak my mind. I have been keeping quiet since inspite of everything this woman has been doing. I am not a troublesome woman. I like peace…”

Feets shuffled and throats cleared but nobody said a word in disagreement. Sister China ignored them all and continued.

“On that night two weeks ago…”

“No…” mazi Nlemchi interrupted. “You said this woman has been doing some bad things even before Chinonso chased her away. Start from the beginning. Tell us some of the bad things she has been doing or never speak of it again.”

Sister China smiled widely. “Okay, if that is what you want. Let me start from the every beginning. When Chinonso brought this girl Immaculate and introduced her to me and mama that he wants to marry her, we welcomed her with open arms. I remember that very day, how mama with her arthritis and her waist, rushed to cook peppersoup for her. She was so nice, so quiet. She used to come and wash for mama, even sweep and clean the compound. That one I cannot deny because all of you saw her when she used to do all those things. We were all happy. Let me ask, since Imma married Chinonso, how many times have you seen her come and help mama again? Immaculate changed. Now to even greet mama is a problem…”

Mama gasped and held her hand to her mouth, shaking her body in self-pity. Chinonso held her hand in comfort.

“Yes, if Immaculate refused to greet mama, is it now me, small China that she will greet? Tufia. I didn’t say anything then. Sometimes when mama would go and visit them, Immaculate will not give mama food till in the night. Mama will call me and be crying. I told her to talk to Immaculate, that maybe she has offended Imma in anyway. So mama called Immaculate one evening and was begging her to forgive her if she has wronged her in anyway. Immaculate laughed, this woman here…” She pointed fiercely at Immaculate “…laughed at mama and said that the only thing she wants is for me and mama to stop visiting brother Chinonso . In fact, she warned us to not come to their house again without taking express permission from her, that we are disturbing their married life. My elders, can you imagine what a woman will tell a mother, an old woman like mama to stop visiting her son that she carried in her womb for nine months? Where was Immaculate when mama was pushing Chinonso out of her belly? Where was Immaculate when mama was struggling and suffering under the rain and sun in her farm to make sure that she can pay Chinonso’s school fees? Where was this woman …” another pointed glare at Immaculate “…when mama made me stop going to school because she could only afford one person’s fees? Eh? Where was she?’”

China’s voice rang in the quiet hall, loud and angry. She glared at Immaculate who just sat with her eyes closed. One would think she was sleeping if not for the agitated rise and fall of her chest and her tapping feet.

Damona

Angela had always seen them, things she couldn’t explain, things no one else could see. The first time she had seen one of the creatures hanging on the roof of a building, she ran to tell her mother. ‘It’s only a dream’ her mother had said. But it wasn’t a dream. Nobody believed her, they warned her heatedly to stop talking about it. ‘Such things are not for kids to talk about’ they would say. So she kept it to herself now. It didn’t matter how horrible or how kind a creature would seem, it didn’t matter what they were doing, she kept silent. They saw her, some even tried to speak to her but she could never hear them.

She called the creatures with white apparels ‘faeries’ for lack of a better word. The ones with horns and black scales for skin she called ‘damona’. For the first ten years of her life, she never understood why only her could see them, until her eleventh birthday when her ‘Maadam’ visited her in a dream.

Her Maadam was a beautiful and delicate woman with a kind, gentle smile. She always wore a white apparel. She was the one who told Angela that she was a ‘Kondra’, the one who intercedes. Maadam visited her every Saturday night without fail, always kind and willing to answer all Angela’s questions. She was the one who explained to her that a damona influences situations negatively while faeries did so positively.

She had seen them in action, watching as a damona perched on a woman who was arguing loudly on the streets until it erupted into a violent fight. She watched as the woman had bit the other until blood gushed out.

It was a bright Tuesday morning when she saw a damona hanging on the roof of her house. This could not be good. She ran inside the house, calling out her mother anxiously.

“Mama, there’s something on our roof, we must leave this house, a bad thing is about to happen.”

Mama looked at her in surprise.

“Go slowly, what’s on the roof?”

“You never believe me when I tell you anything, mama, we must all leave this house.” She was crying.

Mama slapped her across the face. “Stop all this nonsense and get to school. I’m tired of your tattle tales.” She grabbed her arms and dragged her forcibly to the car, throwing her in and slamming the door. Angela was restless in school. She knew the damona was there for a reason, she just didn’t know what.

She was in a state of anxiousness until school hours were over and the driver took her home. She ran inside the house, searching for any sign of trouble. There was none. She was perplexed. Her father came home in the evening from work, no sign of trouble there.

She felt uneasy. The damona had been there for a reason. Or had she imagined it? If only it was a Saturday, then she could ask maadam. That would have to wait she thought as she prepared for bed. It wasn’t until later that night when she heard a sound. It came again. And again.

She rushed outside her room. There, at the top of the stairs, her dad was having an argument with her mother. It was starting. She went outside through the back door of the kitchen. Sure enough, the damona was hanging on their roof. It looked at her darkly. Frightened, she went back inside. The argument was getting louder. As long as the damona was there, it would only end in violence.

“Mama, papa!” she screamed. They turned to look at her. ” Stop arguing please, please I beg you.”

“Go back to your room.” Her mother shouted harshly. They wouldn’t listen. She ran outside again, and shouted at the damona “Get away from here.”

The damona gave her a look of contempt. She picked up some stones and threw at him. The stones passed through him and landed noisily on the roof. This was not helping.

Another loud sound sent her scurrying inside just in time to see the slap that sent her mother tumbling down the stairs. She landed like a heap at the base of the stairs and lay still. Angela ran to her and held her head up, trying to stem the blood running down her nose with her hands. Still, she made no movement. Her father walked past and headed into the kitchen, barely glancing at the motionless woman on the floor.

She didn’t know how long she stayed there, it could have been hours or mere minutes but she knew the moment her mother drew her last breath, her body became cold and rigid. Still Angela did not leave her side. When at last she stood up, her mother’s face was soaked with her tears.

She walked slowly, like one in a trance into the kitchen. Her father was there, nursing a bottle of beer at the counter, staring into the night through the window at the sink.

He turned to look at her, a bleak expression on his face.

“I know you saw it. I know you saw the damona. Am the one who called it here.”

Papa didn’t give her time to ask the questions that flooded. His seeming lethargy deserted him and he sprang into action.

“I’ll answer all your questions. Just go to your room and pack a few essentials in your back pack. We have to leave before the Police gets here.”

He put his arm on her little shoulders and gently pushed her to her room. She tried not to stare at her mother’s corpse just lying there, by the staircase. Tears sprang to her eyes as she packed but she brushed them away.

Her world had just come crashing down and there was so much uncertainty. But one thing she knew for certain; her life would never be the same again.

Love And Lust Part 1

"I shouldn't be here." Even as Lisa said this to herself, her legs moved forward steadily. She had no control over them, their determined strides contrasted with her quivering heart. She got to the gate and knocked. 'Leave! Leave now. It's not too late to back out' a small voice whispered in her ears. She turned slightly to leave, then the gate opened. She smiled tentatively at the security and walked into the elegant duplex. The evening breeze ruffled her hair, sending it flying in several directions. Harmattan season was near. She patted the hair, walked hurriedly to the door and rang the doorbell. Her heart was now beating loudly. 'You can still leave. If that door opens, there is no going back.' the small voice whispered again. She glanced back at the security who sat in a plastic chair, whistling an old tune. Then the door opened.

The bright smile that greeted her was reassuring. Her mind steadied. She smiled back and entered. Everything would be alright. Nobody would find out.

The living room was beautifully painted in shades of red, yellow and orange. The sofa was a soft cushion in a lovely shade of brown, an exquisite glass table sat on a soft orange centre rug. The effect was relaxing. She sat down as he went to get some drink for her. She shouldn't have come here but suddenly, all her defences fled. While she was here, she would be bold enough to do everything she had been fantasising for weeks now. Abiye came back with a glass and a pack of Chivita juice on a silver tray.
She smiled at him. He smiled back and poured the juice for her. Awkward silence. She shifted closer to him till their thighs touched. She saw his Adams apple bob up and down. She smiled. She put her hand on his thigh and squeezed lightly. He remained still. She could see his chest pounding away. She put her hand on his chin and lightly pushed his face to hers. Then she kissed him.

She woke up with a start the next morning. The sun was almost up. She hurriedly showered and began dressing. She found her shirt behind the chair and put it on. She went to the mirror and combed her hair slowly, her mind reliving the past moments. Abiye was sleeping soundly, his body relaxed and his mouth hanging open. She felt nauseated and went to throw up. She flushed, hoping the sound wouldn't wake Abiye. She grabbed her bag and was about leaving when his voice stopped her.
"Where are you going?"
She paused. "Home."
"Will I see you this evening?" He turned to look at her.
"No." She still faced the door.
"Why?"
She didn't answer. She opened the door and walked out into the morning sun. She hailed a cab and went home.

Home was a one bedroom apartment she shared with Amaka, or Doris as she preferred to be called. Doris was still sleeping. She dropped her bag on the bed and changed into a comfortable short and an old tank top. Her eyes fell on the dresser. Her engagement ring lay there, the diamond glittered in the early morning sun. She checked her phone. Desmond had called severally. The nausea came again.

That evening as she walked into church in black trousers and a pink shirt, the ushering uniform for the evening, she felt sure that everyone would know what she had been up to. Everything seemed normal. No accusing finger pointed at her, no one noticed how black her soul had become. She felt stained and dirty, her skin still crawled. She greeted Gilbert and Judith in her department and took a stand behind the first row. Desmond was already in church, seated at the front row as all the pastors did.

Thirty minutes into the service, Abiye walked in. Her body knew the moment he walked in even before she saw him. He walked past her, his familiar scent followed closely. She closed her eyes and saw him as he had been last night. She quickly opened them and looked straight at him. He gave her a look filled with hidden messages, glanced down at the engagement ring on her finger, then he sat down. Her body started to shake. The nausea came again. She swallowed and bit her tongue sharply. Different scenarios ran through her mind till the service ended.
As people poured out of the building, she went to the back seat where she had kept her bag and sat down heavily, taking deep breaths. Then a hand touched her shoulder. She looked up. Desmond. She smiled at him. He didn't smile back.
"Where were you last night? I called several times. You didn't pick." He sat down next to her.
"Am sorry. I forgot my phone in the parlour last night." She hoped he wouldn't see the weakness in her eyes.
He smiled and took her hand. "Are you okay?" He asked with a look of concern. "You seem a bit tense." He said, brushing the hair from her face with his hand.
"Am fine. I just need a good sleep tonight." She replied.
Somebody called out 'pastor Desmond' in the front row. He stood up. "Wait for me by the car. Am coming."

"Okay" she said but he had gone. She carried the bag and went outside, answering the greetings that came her way with a smile. She got to the car and leaned on it, hoping desperately that Abiye had left. She looked up and saw him coming. No such luck. He reached her and immediately took her hand, squeezing her ring so it bit into her skin.

"What are you doing?" she muttered through gritted teeth.
"Meet me at the back staircase right now." He left.

She looked around. Nobody seemed to notice. She walked slowly to the back staircase, hoping nobody would suspect anything. Abiye was leaning on the wall. He smiled when he saw her.

"What do you want Abiye?" she asked coldly.
He frowned. "Last night you were all over me. Now you're asking what I want?" He seemed perplexed.
She smiled bitterly. "Last night was a mistake."
He paused, then took a deep breath.
"If last night was a mistake, then we're going to make that mistake again and again. You think you can use me to slake your lustful desires then dump me? Think again."

He pulled her close roughly and kissed her. She struggled in his arms but it didn't last. Soon, she began kissing him back. She didn't know how long they stayed there. She would have continued if he hadn't pulled away.
"Now tell me last night was a mistake."
She didn't say a word.
"I'll see you tonight." he said.

A throat cleared behind them.

To be continued.

In The Jungle

Emmanuel was only nine when his mother sent him off with Mrs Obilor, a rich woman in her thirties who needed domestic help. He had travelled to the city with her and there, had become a cook, cleaner, gardener, babysitter, and laundryman. It had not been an easy task but when he remembered the weathered lines on his mother's face, he got the strength he needed. He was an only child of the late Mazi Mpi, the village palm wine tapper who had been doing quite well until he fell from a palm tree and died days later.

His mother always reassured him of her prayers and the weight of carrying on the family name rested heavily on his young shoulders.

Mrs Obilor had three children, a three year old boy and two daughters of five who were quite mischievous. They delighted in hiding his washing soaps or pouring salt into his food so they could see whatever creative punishment their mother deemed fit to give him. He didn't mind, even though his little body carried many scars. Until the day the twins happened to be playing around with the gas. He was sixteen at the time. The lick of flames that crept up from the cooker seemed to enchant them so they switched it off and on again and again. They left the gas unattended and wandered off to another play when Emmanuel came to prepare indomie for their lunch. The flare of gas had caught his shirt and burnt part of his hand severely before he was able to remove it.

Mrs Obilor had shouted on seeing the burn, then had given him an ointment to apply. The oil brought no relief. Three days later, the burn started to smell. His hand felt weak. That night, Mrs Obilor had come into his room, packed his clothes and sent him away quietly. He knew nobody in the city, he had no means of getting home. So he took to the street, begging alms. The money came in trickles. Nobody paid any attention to the boy on the street. Some days he didn't eat. It was on one of such days that he wandered to Orlu street. He hadn't eaten in three days, his belongings had been stolen in the incomplete building he had left them in. He had nothing. Despair tugged at his soul. He sat by a gate, crying silently.

Then the smell of freshly cooked soup wafted into his nose. His stomach grumbled in anxiety. He looked around, the street was quiet. It seemed everybody had gone to work or school. He walked through the bush to the back of the compound, scaled the wall and jumped into the compound. It was a small but beautiful house. He walked around to the back until he got to the kitchen. Leaning on the wall, he peeped in. The pot of soup was on the gas, steaming hot. His mouth watered and he opened the kitchen door, making a grating noise he had not anticipated. He darted inside to grab the pot. He didn't expect anybody in the house.

But Ochuko, the first son of the Belema family was inside his room, locked up and smoking marijuana. He had just returned from school. He heard the slight creaking of the kitchen door, stood up immediately and tiptoed to the kitchen. He peered in and saw the huddled figure of Emmanuel on the floor, eating straight from the pot his mother had just prepared before she went out. He grinned wickedly and grabbed the pestle by the door.

Emmanuel never heard the footsteps behind him, all he felt was the blow from the pestle that tore open his head. Blood spilled out, soaking his shirt and running into the pot. He slumped on the ground, his mind in a tumultuous whirlwind of pain. He couldn't move as Ochuko grabbed him and carried him outside the gate.

Ochuko, dumped him on the ground and began shouting thief. Soon, Emmanuel was surrounded by a small crowd. Ochuko grabbed a nearby wood and began hitting his head, the blood that splashed on his shirt added to his excitement. It wasn't the first time he was spilling blood. He had been a henchman in his cult. Soon, another hand grabbed wood lying about and joined Ochuko. A third hand materialised with a machete and joined the melee, the crowd watching with curiosity. Nobody thought to say or do anything. They all wanted to see what would happen to the thief. The thief lay motionless on the ground, unable to lift his battered hand.

After several minutes of frenzied beatings, Ochuko left the group and ran to the generator house. He grabbed the tin of fuel, snatched the matchstick on the gateman's window and ran back outside. The onlookers cheered as he poured the fuel on the unconscious body. They watched with morbid fascination as he lit the flame and threw it on the body.

The Kidnap

The baby was in his stroller in the mall, the biggest mall in the city that attracted thousands, especially on weekends. There were couples holding hands and giggling, friends hanging out and having fun, the old trying to understand what the noise was all about and the serious shoppers who hardly smiled. But everyone was busy. A few sat at the restaurant, sipping cool drinks and talking gaily. 

The music was an old love song, dimming the voices. Still the baby slept in his stroller, blissfully dreaming of milk and candies. When the stroller moved, the baby didn't wake up. He didn't notice that the hand and face was different. The strange hands took the stroller to the second floor before picking him up. The baby's face settled on a smooth material and soft chest, the thick smell of the perfume intruded and roused him up. He looked at the face holding him. That wasn't his mother. Then he opened his mouth wide and began to scream with all energy. The woman holding him smiled nervously and began to pat his back. It didn't work. The cries began to attract attention. She immediately brought out a feeding bottle from her bag and put the nipple in his mouth. He sucked tentatively, then rejected the milk. It was cold. The woman hugged him close. She stepped on the moving staircase and descended to the last floor. She walked past the security woman who was sitting on a yellow plastic chair and went into the big car park.

The security woman, Ruth, was bored. The task of standing for hours while people walked in and out was one that encouraged boredom. She usually played a game as she stood there, trying to determine the personalities of the people who walked in. They were always the same. She could tell when a married man brought his mistress to shop, the guilty boyfriend and his angry girlfriend, the husband and wife on a tight budget, even the young ones who came in just to take pictures. The first bites of hunger were beginning to gnaw on her stomach and her mind was trying to decide between buying snacks with juice or going out to buy bole, roasted plantain with fish when the woman passed with the baby.

She looked absentmindedly, then paused. There was something about that baby. Something was at the back of her mind but she couldn't place it. Meanwhile the woman got to her car and opened the back door. She put the baby in the back seat and was moving to get into the drivers seat.
Suddenly, Ruth remembered. That morning, a couple had walked in with that baby. She remembered them because she had watched the husband struggle to get the stroller out of the car as the wife watched impatiently. She could see the woman's arm getting heavy from carrying the chubby boy so she had gone to offer her help. The wife had looked at her disdainfully and snubbed her open arms. Ruth had left angry and gone back to her post, wondering how somebody so rude could have such a handsome baby.
Ruth began to run to the car. The woman was already driving away. She took a detour and moved to the west side and stood directly in front of the car. The woman stopped the car, frowning. She pulled down the window and stuck her head out.

"What is it?" she asked impatiently.
Ruth motioned to the security guards at the gate. Two of them began to walk towards her. She walked to the woman and peeped into the car. The baby was in the back seat, still crying.
"Is there any problem?" the woman asked again.
"Please step out of the car madam." Ruth said and stood politely by the door, her eyes on the ignition.
"What is wrong with you? I need to leave now. As you can see, my baby is hungry. Get out of my way." The woman said.
"Madam step out of your car. I will not repeat myself." Ruth said fiercely.
The woman switched off the ignition and came down, muttering angrily.

The two guards came up to her. "What's happening here?" asked Peter, the oldest guard there asked.
"What nonsense is this? What kind of embarrassment is this? Is this how you treat your customers? I want to talk to your manager." The woman shouted.

Ruth ignored her and turned to Peter.
"This woman has stolen this baby, I know the...." a wild slap interrupted her. The woman grabbed her shirt and began screaming.
"Are you mad? How dare you insinuate that I stole this baby? Do you know who I am? Do you know who my husband is? Where is your manager? Call him..." she directed at Peter.
"Madam calm down." Peter said, trying to placate her.
"Don't tell me to calm down. This woman must be fired for this. Call your manager here." she still held Ruth by the collar.

Peter placed a phone call and briefed Mr Nyebuchi the manager.
"He's on his way madam" he told her as he dropped the call.
He took Ruth aside and asked "are you sure? Se,e this woman will make sure they fire you oh. Better apologise now and let her go before manager gets here."
Ruth smiled wanely. A small crowd had gathered around, watching intently.

Mr Nyebuchi hurried down, his short fat frame jiggling up and down as he walked fast.
"What's going on here?" he asked even before he reached them.
The woman turned to him.
"Are you the manager?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Listen, you are going to sack this woman here. She has insulted me."
"What did she do?" Mr Nyebuchi interrupted.
"I was leaving to go and feed my hungry baby when she stopped me and accused me of stealing my own child. Can you imagine this thing, insulting me?"

Mr Nyebuchi took a deep breath.
"Madam, right before they called me here, I received a call from my security on the fourth floor about a missing baby. It seems this two incidences are related. You'll have to wait while I call the other couple looking for their child."

Ruth could see the woman's heart beat faster. She smiled inwardly and leaned on the car beside the side window so she could keep an eye on the baby.

The couple arrived. It was the rude woman. She rushed to the car and peered in, heaving a sigh of relief as she saw the baby in the back seat, now sleeping. She turned to the other woman, the kidnapper, and gave her a slap. The other woman reeled.

The rest happened quickly. The kidnapper was kept in the security room awaiting police custody. The relieved couple took their baby and went to the car. The mother couldn't stop kissing her sleeping baby. The father watched her happily.
It took ten minutes before the wife remembered. She went to Ruth who had gone back to her post.
"I...i..i..want to apologise. I know I treated you shabbily this morning. But..you saved my baby..." tears rose to her eyes and spilled down her face.
Ruth smiled. "You don't have to apologise madam. I understand."
"Thank you so very much" the wife said and hugged Ruth.
Of course Ruth was offered some compensation. She refused it.

The Black Tussle

"Carrie, oh Carrie, how I love you" Priye was singing in his Donald duck voice, his dark blue shirt was a sharp contrast to his light skin. He looked as handsome as the first time she saw him, sitting on the steps and sipping a tropic alcoholic drink covered with a brown paper bag. He always sat outside his father's house with his two dumb friends, gisting and laughing at people who walked by. 

Carrie pretended not to hear him. She walked past, swaying more extravagantly so her flayed pink shirt danced above her knees, showing off her spotless straight legs. She was just sixteen but she knew the dance.
So she went everyday, always an excuse to go buy something, anything towards evening. Any excuse to see Priye's face and hear his funny antics as he tried to profess his love. He was only four years her senior. She knew the hard-to-get game was getting old so she made a plan. On the Friday of that week, she would finally give him an answer.

Although she never told anybody, her sister, Violet, knew. She could tell from the shine in her eyes, always teasing her. Priye was the popular boy in the area, feeding off his father's fame. His tall lanky frame and light complexion, coupled with his dark curly hair and pink lips earned him the term 'oyibo'.

She dressed carefully that Friday, stealing some of violet's lip gloss to make her lips shine. She styled her hair artfully and left the house on the pretext of going to buy popcorn for her little brother. She slowed down as she came towards Priye's house and started her cat walk. It was a waste. Priye was not there. Just his two dumb friends snickering and laughing.

Her smile dimmed and she walked past like she was in a hurry. Priye was inside, she knew. His two friends wouldn't be standing outside if he was not around. She was going to say yes to Priye today, come hell or high water. She spent as much time as she possibly could, to make sure he would be out by the time she walked past again.

This time, she saw him. He was coming out from his house, wearing a red singlet on an army green short. She stood straight and was about to start her famous walk, when she noticed that he wasn't alone. He was with a girl, they were coming out together. His hands were on her shoulders possesively and even though her back was turned, she couldn't mistake that purple skirt and green top the girl wore. It was Violet. She stood still and watched as they hugged and Priye gave her a goodbye kiss. Violet giggled and sashayed away.

It took ten minutes before she could get her legs to move. She walked woodenly past the boys. Priye acted unabashed. He didn't know he had been seen. She ignored his calls and went home.

Violet was lying on the bed, reading one of her novels. She dropped the popcorn on the bed and asked her "What were you doing with Priye today?"
Violet paused, her eyes went hard. "What business of yours is that? You've been playing hard to get so I took over." she replied staunchly and went back to her novel, like it didn't matter.
"But you knew he was asking me out. You knew I liked him." she exploded as tears filled her eyes.
Violet hissed long and hard. "If you liked him so much then why haven't you said yes? You think you're the prettiest girl abi? You think you're finer than me. You want to date Priye so that you'll be boasting that you have the finest and richest boyfriend in this area abi? Let me see how that will happen."
"Yes am finer than you. Yes am prettier than you. Is it my fault that boys like me instead of you? Am I the one that told you not to be fine?" she burst out.
Violet dropped her novel and stood up shaking her head. She walked to Carrie and released a sound slap on her face, her eyes filled with hatred.

Carrie stood there, shocked. If it came to a fight, Violet would beat her black and blue. She was helpless. She was the one supposed to date Priye. She was the most beautiful girl in the area. Everybody said so. How could she show her face again if she lost him to a less prettier girl? Violet of all people.
Then an unrealistic calm took over. Suddenly she knew what she had to do. Nobody saw her as she left the house or as she came back. She waited until the food had been dished and her mother had left the kitchen. Then she went into the kitchen and looked at the plates. She knew Violet would pick the soup with the big meat. So she poured the rat poison into that soup and went away. True enough, Violet picked that soup and ate it. She watched her gleefully, her mind not bothered about anything. All she could see was Priye.

Neptonia

Junior was eating sweet jellof rice seated beside the couch. His head was bent as he read his new reader. He scooped spoons of rice as he turned each page and chewed slowly, his mind and mouth in perfect rhythm. A small feet appeared by his plate. He didn't turn his head nor acknowledge the feet. He kept on reading. 

Then a big feet came and stood for a while. He didn't move. His mind was faraway in Tokyo, dreaming of a place where the cars swam and the oceans wailed and flew at the same time. His mind was in a place where the sky was green, the aqua green he saw in swimming pools in movies. He wanted to see a dog quack and a rabbit paddle a boat. He wanted the alligators to sing in perfect soprano voices and he wanted to feel the salty spray of the ocean as it wailed and flew across his head. He wanted a place where the grass grew taller than his head and he watched the sun set beautifully on a kayak. He wanted the moon to sing to him haunting hymns and touch his cheek gently. He wanted the world empty and he alone in this world. He called it "neptonia". He wanted to be in neptonia, where nothing was impossible and the world was turned upside down into a mashless goo. 

He wanted to swim in sweet boiling sugar water alongside a dolphin with red, blue and green eyes. He wanted the birds to stomp ungracefully so close to the water that he could reach out and touch them. He wanted the big whale to be his ever present companion, knocking down yellow and red vases awkwardly as he went by. He wanted the little fishes to carry him to the huge tree that would hug him close and carry him so high there would be no difference between him and the green sky. He wanted his body to be coloured aqua blue, aqua green and slashes of yellow, red streaks and purple violet flowers here and there. He wanted neptonia and he refused to wake up from his dreams.

In the full moon, he would leave through the window, crawl up the short fence and wander aimlessly. Those were the times he wanted to be a werewolf. He would imagine his teeth growing longer and sharper, his bones getting harder and his skin covered in hairs. He would make howling noises with his small voice and pull the grass. He wanted to be in the books. His own book. Where he called the shots and made the rules. Where he didn't feel so small and irrelevant. He wanted to fast forward into the future where a single tall violet would be standing on a field of grass and he would be it's sole friend.
He wanted the trains and the cars and the houses and the bags and the shoes and the clothes and the humans to disappear forever, so he could live in his own perfect world.
He often dreamt of building his own bubble where he would exist and be anything he wanted. He wanted the world to love him. In his rage, he wanted to destroy the world. In flashes of rusty reds and green blues, he wanted sweet music that would calm his spirit and heal his soul. He wanted acceptance. Everywhere he looked, it wasn't coming. The breaking of a new day was the breaking of senseless omelette to him. He hated it all. He hated them all.
The world he wanted, he desired and craved, the world that his stomach wanted to birth forth in sweet agony, neptonia, was not a dream anymore. It was not far away. The world was him. Neptonia was all his dreams, and agonies. Neptonia was to him as a drink to an alcoholic. Neptonia was to him as the baby's cries for the mother's milk. Neptonia was the fiery slash of water that would sway his soul and fill every pore, every cell, every hunger inside of him. His soul was a bottomless drum, getting deeper each day. And no one noticed. No one cared. He was all alone, empty. He had nothing left to give. His soul was weary and dragged down. The only constants in his life were the colours, the fearsome reds, the deep purples, the hazy violets that were never clear, the gory blues and yellows mashed together in a representation of nothingness. Neptonia was not a colour. It was him.