A Story By Ayodele Adeoye “IMPREGNATE ME OR I DIE” (Episode 7 - 12)

A Story By Ayodele Adeoye “IMPREGNATE ME OR I DIE” (Episode 7 - 12)

*PART SEVEN*

My husband practically dragged me to the hospital. He made all the complaints to the doctor as I was economical with information about my health so as to avoid any treatment that will jeopardize my chances of conceiving that month. Immediately the doctor asked me to lie on the patient stretcher so he could observe me. He did I quick scan on my abdomen, 'madam you may stand up.' He said after the scan. My eyes were fixed on his lips, anxious to hear his diagnosis. 'Sir, madam is having an infection and that is the cause of the pain, I will place her on medication for two weeks. I will also treat you so you won't pass it to her again through sexual intercourse.

Does it mean I am not pregnant? I asked myself and unknown to me my silent question was loud enough that the doctor heard it. 'No madam, you are not pregnant. Even if you were pregnant I would prefer we take care of this infection first.' At that moment I hated my husband for bringing me to hear this bad news, I hated the doctor too for giving me this bad news. For the period we spent with the doctor I was quiet all through. Inside the car while going home I didn't say a word to my husband neither did I reply any of his conversations.

We got home and my husband gave me the dose for that night. 'I won't take these drugs because I know I don't have any infection. Even if I have an infection, my God will heal me.' I told my husband.

My husband was not happy about my attitude and I could see anger all over his face. The drugs were too powerful for an expectant mother and I didn't wish to take such medication at the moment. It will suspend my plans of getting pregnant for two months. If I take the drugs now, it will flush out my pregnancy and will not allow me observe my ovulation time for the next month. I refused to take the drugs but kept praying to God for this month's pregnancy to stay.

I started vomiting some days later. I quickly rushed to the calendar to calculate the days I missed my period, it was the 29th day after the last circle. I quickly put a call through to Sally, 'I think I am pregnant', I told her on phone. 'Have you gone for a test?' she asked me. 'I have been vomiting for two days now and I haven't seen my menses for 29 days, do I need any test to know I am pregnant?'
'Missing your menses for 29 days and vomiting are not enough to conclude you are pregnant. Dear friend, please go for pregnancy test tomorrow. I know it will surely be positive, congratulations in advance.' she said. I couldn't explain what I felt because of what Sally said and the congratulation greeting.

My fear with going for pregnancy test is the fact that I will not be able to withstand "madam you are not pregnant" or "madam the test is negative". I decided I won't go to the hospital for a test until I see more signs of pregnancy.

My husband and I had not been friendly terms because of my refusal to take the drugs prescribed for the treatment of the infection. I knew I was still in control of his heart because of the love he had for me, so I wasn't afraid. More so, I know telling him that I was pregnant will change his attitude, all I needed was just to be sure I was pregnant.

I waited on till the 36th day before I told my husband I was ready for a pregnancy test. He smiled and said 'pregnancy test you will have.' He quickly dressed up and we drove to the hospital. This time I was more optimistic because I had seen almost all the pregnancy signs I have heard of in my life. My blood sample was taken, 'you may wait at the reception, 'the lab lady announced to us. But this was not the method last time, I sat with the man while he did the test. Why is this lady asking us to go out first for a test that's less than fifteen minutes? We obeyed and went to sit at the reception. Fifteen minutes later she called out my name to come for my result. My husband asked me to sit down while he went for the result but I pretended as if I didn't hear him, so I followed him right behind. As soon as I saw the lady handing over a brown envelope to my husband I started feeling dizzy. Before my husband could collect the envelope I was down on the floor. All that happened thereafter was explained to me when I regained my consciousness.

*PART EIGHT*

My infection had gone bad at this time, with whitish and creamy fluid coming out of my private. I knew I had no option this time other than to submit myself for treatment. The drugs were intimidating and horrible but I didn't have any other choice than to complete the dose. I took the drugs in pain and bitterness. After two weeks I was asked to go for scanning to know the level of my responsiveness to treatment. The doctor wasn't satisfied with my condition so he placed me on another two weeks heavy treatment. Those times were close to hell for me. One whole month of swallowing pills and heavy antibiotics.

I became jealous of Sally as her pregnancy advanced by the day while I was battling with an infection. Three months later nothing happened, all my attempts to get pregnant never materialized. I became tired of life and wish I could just die. My inability to conceive turned into a nightmare. My husband had grown leaned for too much of sex yet I was not pregnant for once. I made a lot of research on Google and other fertility websites all to no avail. I forced my husband to see a specialist on my inability to conceive but I was advised to calm down and that I had no need to worry until after one year. One year looked like ten years. I can't wait for one year, I told myself. I must be pregnant next month by all means.

My phone rang while I was in the bathroom twice. When I came out to check my caller, it was Sally. I called back, "hello Sally,' 'hello Maryam', she greeted back. 'I called to inform you that I was delivered of a baby boy yesterday,' she said. I managed to congratulate her, I faked happiness but I was not happy deep inside of me. After we ended the conversation my body system changed immediately. Many evil thoughts took hold of me. My friend who we thought will not be able to get pregnant is now a mother, Maryam the holy virgin cannot achieve one day pregnancy. It was useless keeping my virginity all these years. I should have enjoyed myself like Sally did. All the years of denial were needless after all.

My husband came back from work that day with a news of promotion in his office. He was so excited about it but I was indifferent, neither did I show any sign of happiness. "Sweet heart, you didn't even congratulate me for my new promotion,' he queried. 'Why should I congratulate you? Other men are impregnating their wives you, you are bringing promotion letter to the house. I want positive pregnancy test result in a white envelope not a promotion letter in a brown envelope.' His countenance suddenly changed from good to bad. He just quietly left me in the sitting room to the bedroom. I went after him and screamed at the top of my voice, 'impregnate me or I die! Strong and real men give their wives children. My husband did not alter a word and that made it painful. I moved closed to him, held his cloth as if he was owing me money. 'If you are man enough make me pregnant now,' he held me and said in a calm tune, "God makes all things beautiful in his own time".

Our marriage will soon be one year and I have not been seen with pregnancy. I no longer attended church regularly for shame and unnecessary questioning from church members. In fact, I began to hate those prayers people do whenever they see me. Those prayers makes everyone know you are waiting on the Lord for fruit of the womb. I started avoiding some women in church for the embarrassment from their so called prayers and wishes. This continued until I met with mama ibeji, they call her mama ibeji because she had a set of twins. She walked up to me after Sunday service, 'Mrs Omeiza how are you?' 'I am fine ma'am', I replied. 'Can I have a chat with you? Yes ma'am.' I already knew she was going to talk about conception because she's one of those zealous women who will not mind their business in church. I just wanted her to say what she wanted to say so I can go. 'I know what you are going through Mrs Omeiza because I was there too. I waited three years after our wedding before God answered me.' I didn't know she waited that long anyway before having her children. She told me about a pastor in Abaji who God has been using to answer the prayer of waiting mothers. She promised to take me there if I was willing. Why won't I be willing? I want to carry my baby too.

How to tell my husband I want to go and see a prophet over conception is a big problem. He will never subscribe to that idea because he is a man of faith. I started thinking of lies and immediately I thought of telling him I want to go and see my mom. I got it all planned out with Iya ibeji and we took off to Abaji the following day. When we got to Abaji I was expecting Iya ibeji to take me to a church since we were going to see a prophet but I was shocked to my bones when we got into the hotel and iya ibeji bought a ticket in my name at the reception. I summoned courage to asked her, "ma I thought you said we are coming to see a prophet, why are we here in a hotel? Do you want to carry your baby or not? She asked me as she looked through my eyes. Of course I want to carry my baby. So I replied, 'I want to carry my baby.' It seems a section of the hotel have been leased to prophet David Evans for this work. We got to the section and met two other women on the waiting queue. We sat down and waited for our turn. When we got in, I was expecting to see a man on suit with a Bible on his table and probably a bottle of anointing oil but that was far from it. Rather I saw a funky man with a well furnished office surrounded with beautiful electronic gadgets. This man can't be a prophet, I thought within me.

What do you think Maryam is into? Let's see in part nine.

*PART NINE*

'Sir, this is the woman I told you about on phone, she has been married for a year without a child. Please kindly help her like you did for me sir.' Iya ibeji pleaded with prophet David. 'Have you told her the terms and conditions?' 'No sir, but I know she will cooperate because she needs a child desperately. I will excuse you now with her for further counseling.' Iya ibeji stood up and was leaving me and prophet David alone in the room. I became afraid as she closed the door behind her. No prayers, no quoting of Bible, nothing religious at all.

'Madam do you want to carry your baby or not?' He repeated same question Iya ibeji asked me as we entered the hotel. 'Yes sir I want to carry my baby,' I replied with fear all over me. 'How do you want it, a male or female, twins or triplets?' I didn't know the conditions but I quickly said triplets. 'That's good madam, give me your hand.' I stretched out my hands towards him and he looked at my palm like a man reading something on it. After two minutes he released my hand and went back to his seat. Triplet is N600,000 with three weeks prayer camping. When you are ready you can inform iya ibeji. 'You may go,' he said. I took my bag and left his office in hurry to join Iya ibeji at the reception. 'How did it go?' She asked me. 'Ma, I thought you said we are coming to see a prophet? This man in there is not a prophet of God. I didn't see any Bible on his table neither did he offer a word of prayer. He charged me N600,000 for triplet with three weeks prayer camping. Ma, I doubt if I am interested, I am a Christian and I can't do anything ungodly because I want children. I will wait on God, his time is the best.'

Where on earth will I get N600,000 when I have not started working? There's no way I can ask even N100,000 from my husband without him investigating what I want to use it for. If I have to lie to him it must be a well planned lie. But I am a Christian, I can't pay N600,000 just to have baby.'

But how long will I wait for God? In my tears I told God to prove himself within three months or else I will give prophet David's proposal a trial. "If you are God and you don't want me to go back to prophet David you must answer me within three months." I gave God ultimatum. I became a chronic liar as I had to tell my husband many lies to cover up my visit to prophet David Evans. My husband must not know I visited a prophet without his consent, it will be a serious issue if he knows. My thoughts were divided, should I consider prophet David's proposal or not?

One month came and passed nothing happened. I made life really difficult for my husband within this time. His fasting lifestyle became a big challenge in the home. I became worried for the fasting because he was getting leaner and he began to lose interest in the bedroom. This became our major reason for quarrel daily. This night you must break this fasting, my ovulation starts today and I can't let you continue the fast and let my ovulation time pass. 'Sweet heart, why haven't you conceived all this time you have been observing your ovulation period? Let's deal with the root cause, the Bible says this kind goeth not out but by fasting and prayer, he quoted. I wasn't interested in the scripture he's quoting, I wanted to maximize this time because the ultimatum I gave to God will elapse next month.

Iya ibeji did not allow me to breath since our visit to prophet David. 'You don't have to wait for three years like I waited when you have solution to your problem at the tip of your finger. All those you wedded around the same time are all carrying their babies except you. Will you wait until you get frustrated by your husband's people? You better make hay while the sun shines,' Iya ibeji encourage me. Her words penetrated me even to my marrows, "all those you wedded around the same time are all carrying their babies except you". These words echoed in my ears now and then.

The three months ultimatum I gave to God elapsed and I was still not pregnant. Obviously God wanted me to go for prophet David's proposal. But why me? Why do I have to go through this? What's my sin before God? What is my reward for serving him all these years? Why will God abandoned me this much? Where are his promises? How do I raise N600,000? What will I be doing for three weeks camping with prophet David, I know for sure it isn't going to be prayer. I picked my phone and scrolled through iya ibeji's number. 'Good evening iya ibeji......'

Do you think Maryam will accept Prophet David's proposal?

 *PART TEN*

'I have made up my mind ma, I want to see Prophet David but I have some challenges ma.' 'What are the challenges? Don't worry when we see in church tomorrow we will talk of the challenges. I am happy that you have finally made up your mind.' She was so happy about my decision. My challenges are how to raise N600,000 and how to do all these without my husband knowledge.
My husband was suspicious of my new relationship with iya ibeji because I have never told him anything about her nor the topic of our discussions yet we were always together after every of our services. I had to keep my husband waiting most times just to see iya ibeji. My husband could not hold his peace anymore because today's discussion with Iya ibeji was just too long. I knew he will insist on knowing the subject of our discussion today so I started planning out lies before he confronted me.

Just like I predicted, my husband insisted I must tell him what I have been discussing with Iya ibeji. Nothing serious, she has been encouraging me and praying along with us on the issue of my inability to conceive. He wasn't convinced but he had to accept my explanation like that. All through the night I couldn't sleep because of the terrible things iya ibeji suggested to me. How can I sleep with Chief Mike just for N600,000? Things I didn't do while I was single, why I'm doing it now that I am married? This is pure adultery. But I needed the money to pay Prophet David. After all it is just one meeting with Chief Mike. I will do it, God has to forgive me. If he could forgive Sally for all the atrocities she committed why won't he forgive me for just a one time adultery? Chief Mike is considerate for requesting just a one time meeting for N600,000. I made up my mind to do it.

I had never seen Chief Mike before until iya ibeji took me to his guest house. He was an elderly man in his late 60s. He kept to his promise as he handed over a polythene bag containing N500 notes of N600,000 to me. We didn't talk too much as it all sounded like a deal. Iya ibeji was glad when I came out of his room with the black polythene bag. 'Congratulations, you will soon be a mother,' she held my hand and we walked out of the guest house together. But I was really ashamed because all of chief's staff who attended to us knew what I came for. A married woman for that matter.

I had crossed the first hurdle, I have the money but how was I going to make it for the two weeks camping with prophet David without my husband's knowledge? I kept the money with Iya ibeji because there was no how I could keep it without my husband discovering it. Two weeks after I got the money there was no idea of the type of lie I could tell my husband until he came home that day with a letter for a three weeks course in Port Harcourt. I was so happy because this came at the right time. My husband was perplexed with my reaction towards his course compared to when he was promoted.

The day my husband left for Port Harcourt, I left for Abaji the following day. I made all payments and was given my room. It was room 5. I was there all alone until around 8pm when a lady knocked at my door, 'who is there? I asked. 'It's me Stella.' I headed towards the door since it was a lady's voice. We greeted and she told me the lord Bishop will be seeing me by 9:45pm tonight and I should get set. I lost my peace after Stella told me Prophet David will be seeing me by 9:45pm. What exactly is he coming to do? I couldn't eat the food they served me because of fear. But I had reached the point of no return. At exactly 9:45pm, there was a knock at my door and I knew it must be Prophet David but for courtesy sake I asked, who is there? It was Stella who responded, "the lord Bishop". I opened the door as Stella led him in and took her leave. I couldn't look at his face because I knew I was in for something dirty. He sat on the bed as he opened his bag and brought out a bottle water and stretched it to me, "take drink, this is the blood of my new covenant that was shed for you". I know I normally hear this quotation whenever our pastor wants to serve us holy communion in church. I took the water and drank as he instructed. The next thing, he pulled of his clothes and was standing before me stark naked.

*PART ELEVEN*

I was half conscious and half unconscious. I knew all the time he came on me but I couldn't resist him or say anything. Was this what iya ibeji went through before having her twins? For the two weeks Prophet David took advantage of me. He gave me no breathing space day nor night. He will always sprinkle water on my private part before using me. My phone was taken away all through and switched off. I was to leave on Thursday, by Wednesday evening I was in full control of myself. 'Where is my phone? I asked lady Stella. 'Your phone will be given to you later tonight.' When she brought my phone I quickly switched it on and I got more than ten SMS. Most of the messages were from my husband. While I was trying to go through the messages my phone rang, 'Lo and behold, it was my husband, I didn't pick as I had to think of a lie to tell him. He called again and I picked, 'what happened my sweet heart?' He asked anxiously. 'My phone fell inside the three-seater sofa and I didn't know it was switched off. I just discovered it today. It didn't take him time to believe me. We talked at length and he narrated all his experience in Lagos. I will be back in a week's time, he said and ended the call.

Many things happened thereafter but after six months I was not pregnant. Iya ibeji kept encouraging me to be patient. She assured me I will be pregnant. My life became a mess - I started perceiving an offensive odour around my private part ever since I returned from Prophet David's place. It came with itching and pain. I hid what I was going through from my husband but he noticed the odour and I guessed he couldn't tell me.

One year after, I was not pregnant. Sally was already pregnant with her second baby without stress. I told myself that if I didn't get pregnant before she gave birth to her second baby I will denounce my faith in God. As far as i was concerned, it wasn't worth it, serving God without anything to show for it. I had stopped observing my ovulation period because previous efforts had been fruitless. N600,000 had gone down the drain yet I couldn't make trouble. Prophet David had abused me yet I had to remain mute. I had been battling with STDs I contacted from Prophet David but I couldn't speak out. My salvation was already at stake, I couldn't return back to God because I was angry with him for allowing me go through all these shameful and painful experiences. If God were human, I won't forgive him.

'Madam why did you wait for so long before coming to the hospital? The doctor asked me. This is one of the dreaded STDs medical science has been battling with in recent times. I may have to refer you to a gynecologist for better attention. He wrote a short note on his complementary card and gave it to me to give to Dr Robert. He promised to call Dr Robert before I got there.

"Madam, where is your husband? I can't treat you until I see your husband or any representative of your family, Dr Robert told me. I was afraid my secret was about to be leaked out. This was the end of the road for me, I began to contemplate suicide, because I couldn't face the shame. I refused to tell my husband until my condition grew worse. The odour became unbearable, I practically stank like a dead fowl. At this time my husband became bold enough to ask me why I was smelling. And without waiting for an answer, he said, 'We will see the doctor tomorrow.

Your wife is suffering from a chronic STD and it has affected her kidneys and her womb. If we don't carry out a surgery on her in four days she may not be able to conceive again. My husband was shocked. 'Doctor can we do the operation today?' My husband asked, yes of course, if you are ready, the doctor told my husband. In less than thirty minutes I was wheeled to the theater for surgery. When I opened my eyes I saw my mom, our pastor and some brethren surrounded my bed. The way they all looked at me made me suspicious that something bad had happened. I was discharged but I kept seeing the doctor every week for check up. My journey of barrenness lasted for 14 years. All my friends and family connived not to tell me that my womb was removed during the operation in order to save my life. I knew this when I went for a check up in another hospital while my husband was away to Ghana. I have been without a womb for over ten years without knowing.

Watch out for the last episode.....

*PART TWELVE*

After God did not answer my prayers I totally backslided. Sally had three wonderful kids already and had since stopped giving birth. To help me overcome my frustration I started taking alcohol secretly. Alcohol could not suppress my depression anymore and I tried hard drugs. I became a professional adulteress not minding if my husband knew or not. In all these my husband was still faithful to God. He was always praying for me. Whenever I messed up myself, he will clean me up and get me to sleep. If you are looking for a Christian, Omeiza is one. I wanted God to judge me so that I can tell the whole world how unfair he is but his judgement tarried except that I had no womb and I could not conceive.

For a long time I didn't hear from Sally. That didn't bother me anyway because anytime I hear from her it was one good news or the other. She seemed to be moving from glory to glory while I moved from shame to shame. I saw a post from one of our coursemates on Facebook of a friend  who wedded at 42 and Sally was in the selfie, but Sally was really lean in the picture. I started making contacts on how to reach Sally, I needed to know what happened to her that she became this lean. In no time I got across to her. 'Sally, what happened to you? I saw your picture on facebook and I was shocked that you had grown so lean.' For almost forty seconds she didn't say anything. 'Sally are you there?' 'Yes Maryam, I have been sick but I am better now', she replied. 'I will need to come and see you.' I promised to see her in two weeks.

When I got to Sally's place, she was leaner than what I saw on Facebook and I was afraid. My friend's beautiful skin had shrunk badly with black spots all over her. As I was about screaming I saw a pack of retroviral drugs on her dinning table. 'Sally you are positive?' I asked in surprise. She bowed her face without saying a word. I knew she was HIV positive already. I became more scared but I had to encourage my friend. I hugged her and whispered to her ears "God will see you through". I still had to pretend I was still a Christian but I had a sharp pain on my chest with a voice telling me "it would soon  be your turn". I tried to rebuke that voice but there wasn't any inner impetus to do so. I wept bitterly as if I was weeping for my friend, but no, I was weeping for myself. I couldn't stand what I saw so I left the following day.

On my way back to Lokoja, 'I kept having thoughts of accident. "If you die now where are you going to?" I asked myself. The Sally you have been using as yardstick to judge God is already paying for her sins, the voice kept talking to me. I was restless all through the journey. Maybe I am also HIV positive, I thought within me. Suddenly I noticed I have been foolish, I told God I was sorry. If you can give me another chance oh Lord I will serve you all the days of my life with or without a child. I got relieved as soon as I made that prayer. I arrived Lokoja safely. I knelt down before my husband and confessed all my sins before him, I wept and asked him for his forgiveness. He wept along with me but he felt very bad for the story he heard about me for the first time. I could read the handwriting in each drop of his tears. "I have forgiven you sweet heart, he lifted me up and hugged me tight for what seemed like hours. I wept the more while on his arm, my tears were tears of genuine repentance and regret. I became indebted to my husband for his patience and endurance.

Since it was obvious I couldn't get pregnant after my womb was removed, we adopted a boy of six months from the orphanage and named him Joseph. The day Joseph clocked one year I was confirmed to be seven weeks pregnant. How can a woman who has no womb be pregnant? Until my stomach started protruding I didn't believe I was pregnant. This is the hand work of Jehovah overdo.

On the 3rd of December I gave birth to a set of quadruplet, two boys and two girls. God wiped away my tears of many years. The chief medical director of the hospital was perplexed with the stark possibility of a woman who had no womb but was yet able to give birth not to one but four children at a time. He invited African Independent Television(AIT) to cover my story. This drew the attention of the First Lady of the state who paid us a visit at the hospital. She placed the four kids on scholarship up to university level. Many other families who watched the program on AIT paid us a visit and each of them came with huge gifts. In less than one week we became millionaires from the gifts we received from the general public. Who says God is not alive?

Peter, Paul, Elizabeth and Esther will be two years in December. Praise God who turned my captivity around.

For waiting mothers who are reading this story, don't give up on God, don't try alternative means, don't be too desperate, don't use anybody's life as a standard for yours. God is not dull, he makes all things beautiful in his own time.

This story is dedicated to all those who are waiting on the Lord for the fruit of the womb.

The End.......

Please share, like and comment your view on the story. 

Thanks 

DONT JUGDE PEOPLE

EVERYONE IS FIGHTING THEIR OWN BATTLES OF LIFE!

“My boss drove a luxury car everyday and it was my duty to greet him and to open the gates for him, as I worked as a watchman in his villa. But he never responded back to my greetings. One day he saw me opening the garbage bags outside the villa in search for any leftover food. But, as usual he never even looked at me, it was like as if he never saw anything!

The very next day I saw a paper bag at the same place, but it was clean and the food inside was covered well. It was fresh and good food like someone had just brought it from the supermarket. I didn't bother as to where it came from, I just took the paper bag and I was so happy about it.

Every day I found this paper bag at the same place with fresh vegetables and all that we needed for home. This became my daily routine. I was eating and sharing this food with my wife and kids. I was wondering who this fool could be?! To forget his paper bag full of fresh food everyday.

One day there was a big problem in the villa and I was told that my boss had died. There were too many guests coming to the villa that day and I didn't get any food that day, so I thought that one of the guests must have taken it. But the same thing happened the 2nd day, the 3rd day and the 4th day.

It went on like this for a few weeks and I found it difficult to provide food for my family, so I decided to ask the wife of my boss for a raise in my salary or else I would quit my job as a watchman. After I told her, she was shocked, and asked me, how come you never complained about your salary for the last 2 years? And why is this salary not enough for you now? I gave her so many excuses but she was never convinced!

Finally in the end, I decided to tell her the truth, I told her the entire story of the bag of groceries, and as to how it was my daily provision. She then asked me as to when this stopped? I told her after the death of her husband. And then I realized that I stopped seeing the paper bag immediately after the death of my boss. Why didn't I ever think of this before? That it was my boss who was providing this for me? I guess it was because I never thought that a person who never replied to my greetings could ever be this generous!

His wife started to cry and I told her to please stop crying and that I'm really sorry that I asked for a raise, I didn't know that it was your husband who was providing me with the meals, I’ll remain as a watchman and be happy to provide my service. His wife told me, I'm crying because I've finally found the 7th person my husband was giving this bag full of food. I knew my husband was giving 7 people everyday, I had already found the 6 people, and all these days I was searching for the 7th person. And today I found out.

From that day onwards, I started to receive the bag full of food again, but this time his son was bringing it to my house and giving it to my hand. But whenever I thanked him, he never replied! Just like his dad! One day, I told him THANK YOU in a very loud voice! He replied back to me to please not be offended when he doesn't reply, because he has a hearing problem, just like his dad!”

Oh! We have been wrong so many times judging others without knowing the true story behind their actions. Be kind and courteous in dealing with others, for everyone is fighting a hard battle. Be careful, not everything is about you. Before you assume, there is this thing called ASKING.

Don’t just jump to conclusion, because that is truly not an exercise, it may cause you more harm at the end of the day. Many of our problems are caused by how we process what happens around us. Don’t judge a situation you have never been in. Be humble enough to learn. You do not know it all. Lets change the way we feel about ourselves and others.

There are two sides to a story. Don’t believe everything you hear. Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.

#DONTJUGDEPEOPLE#

SHORT STORY BY LARRY SUN "AN ACE FOR OSCAR"

“I have a terrible news for you, Mr Oscar DaSilva.” The interviewer said cruelly. He was tall and dark. He was solidly constructed. His neck, shoulders, arms and chest were thick with muscles, powerful. The muscles could have been gotten only from years of weightlifting. He could as well have subbed for Samson, pulling down pillars and collapsing roofs upon the Philistines. He was wearing a white shirt; the sleeves were rolled up, and his forearms were matted with hair. He had a moustache that looked as if it was drawn on his upper lip with an eyebrow pencil. His eyes were probing from behind the horn-rimmed glasses he strapped on his face. It was with these vicious eyes that he was drilling an imaginary hole into my skull; he seemed to be peering into my soul and discovering my innermost secret. But, judging from the significance of his statement and stare, he must have truly discovered one of my secrets—a secret as shameful as masturbation.

“What bad news?” Although I had suspected what the news was going to be, I still expected—even prayed—that the news was something far different from what I was thinking. Anything but what I feared. It would even be a relief if the ‘bad news’ was the rejection of my application. Deep down in my mind, I knew that I was in a serious trouble. The man smiled and the smile scared the bejezuz out of me. The smile was evil. Malevolent. It was like a snake smiling at you; such smile would not be assuring.

“What bad news?” I asked again. I could feel the trickle of warm sweat travel down my spine. The office was well-ventilated; there was a working air-conditioner and another big standing fan turned its neck to-and-fro close-by, but they did little to dry my perspiration.

The man could see the fear on my face, and I could tell that he was glad with what he saw. He took pleasure in seeing the horror plastered on my face. His face twisted into a smile and it was like the grin of a skull.

Smacking his lips, the interviewer said, “The bad news is that you’re going to jail, Mr DaSilva.”

“What!” My incredulity could not be contained.

“Yes, young man. You will be spending fifteen years of your life behind bars. Did you honestly think we would not know that you forged the results? Forgery is a very grave crime in this country.”

“I can explain everything—”

“There is nothing to explain, Mr DaSilva.”

“If you would listen to me, I—”

“Like I said, you’ve got no excuse. You are a criminal, and you should be ready to face the consequence of your criminal acts. You are going to jail. All I have to do is call the police.”

I was surprised to hear that he hadn’t already called the police. Mr Dada wasn’t someone who would hesitate to put another person in trouble. Surely, there was a reason behind his delay to make the call.

“Why haven’t you called the police?”

“I don’t want you to go to jail.”

The biggest lie of the century.

“I’m sure you won’t mind committing a little crime to keep yourself from being imprisoned.” Added Dada.

“How do you mean, sir?”

He shifted his huge bulk in the chair and said, “Be smart, Oscar. I have a little proposal for you. You can’t expect me to turn a blind eye at your crime for nothing. You’ve got to do something for me. It’s a little dirty. I don’t think you’re in much position to refuse; except, of course, if you would rather be in jail for forgery of results and certificates. I’ve got some people who would gladly drag you to court.”

My sweat still refused to dry up. That expression ‘It’s a little dirty’ seemed very ironical. With a shaky voice, I asked, “What do you need me to do, sir?”

The evil smiled came again. “We’re kidnapping the Managing Director’s daughter.”

********************************************

The plan seemed simple enough, but the risk involved was quite dangerous; we could be put in jail for a long time if our plan was foiled. There was never a time I looked forward to a durance vile after spending two months in Kirikiri over a minor contretemps between myself and one belligerent bus-conductor. By sheer luck, I succeeded in breaking the arrogant man’s nose bridge and making him a deficient of three teeth, considering that he was bigger and possessed more strained veins than I was or ever would. We had been dragged into the courtroom for ‘fighting in public’ (I still wonder if fighting privately is legal), then we were pleasantly escorted to that notorious prison to spend the next sixty days. It was hell! The sixty days felt like sixty-one years of terror. I wouldn’t wish such fate on my worst enemy; I would rather shoot that foe dead than see him spend his holidays in Kirikiri.

On the day we were to kidnap Anastasia Oputa, the Manager’s daughter, I met Mr Dada at the location he provided. He came in a black Camry absent license plates. The location was an old bungalow at the end of a very quiet street. The street was so long and quiet that I wondered if people were really living in those other houses. The gate of the house was locked; Mr Dada brought out a bunch of keys and unlocked it before driving into the compound. The bungalow was painted in blue coating. The interior of the house was well-furnished; everything was spick-and-span. At a corner of the living room was a small refrigerator stocked with Coke, beer, and bottles of natural spring water, though not so natural that it came with dysentry, typhoid fever, cholera, or ravenous parasites that would eat you alive from the inside out.

“This is where we are going to keep Anastasia until her father pays up the ransom.”

“How much is the ransom?”

He gave me that revealing stare again and I almost flushed under the scrutiny of his probing eyes.

“We shall decide that after the package has been grabbed.” We? Why would he use that royal plural personal pronoun? Who were ‘we’? Surely, I couldn’t be among whomever he was using the ‘we’ on. I fight publicly, yes, but I don’t do kidnaps. I was only doing this because my refusal might send me back to Kirikiri.

We spent about an hour discussing how we would make the grab. Mr Dada did most of the talking. I listened patiently and nodded my head when the occasion called for it. I was soon nodding like one of those crazy dolls in the rear view of one of those cars with Abuja license plates. I couldn’t even shake my head in negation; the man seemed to have gotten everything in place. He had even taken the pain to get us some costumes and stocking masks to cover our identities. It was when he brought out two pistols that the gravity of what we were about to do dawned on me. Kidnapping is no beans; it’s a very grave crime the law frowns deeply upon. We could spend the rest of our lives in prison if anything went wrong. I wanted to advise the man against going further with the crime but my advice would be useless; the man’s face was set towards the task. Decided. Nothing in this world was going to change his mind. Still, I was expecting one of those Jehova’s Witness members to knock on the door and pass Mr Dada a copy of Watchtower.

An hour and a half later, we drove out of the house to kidnap another man’s daughter. We drove to her school, University of Lagos. As we drove on, I wondered how Anastasia would be located among the multitude of scholars in that institution. But still, it seemed like Dada had everything under his control. We were dressed in black attires; our sartorial tint complemented the colour of the vehicle. It was a sheer miracle that we didn’t encounter any police officer to pull us over for driving a vehicle without license plates.

When we got close to the school, Mr Dada stopped the car and relinquished the driving to me. All I had to do was drive; he would grab the girl. I was all too glad to oblige. The time was already 4:15pm when we finally stopped at a quiet spot, somehow awaiting the arrival of our prey. The plan seemed dumb to think about. How would a prey just walk towards its predator? Where we were parked was even one of the least plied roads in the locality. I suggested that we drove to a more likely place we might find our subject but, as usual, Mr Dada was adamant. He was convinced that this was the route Anastasia always took after lecture. I didn’t dispute that; evidently, the man had done his homework well, but I wondered why the girl would choose to take the road, of all the roads that led to the school. There was only one reason for that: this was the shortest route to wherever she lived. In life, even the shortest routes are less paved.

It was already many minutes past five but Anastasia was not spotted. I had been given the picture of the girl, so I knew whom to expect. I scanned the face of each female that passed by but none looked even remotely like Anastasia. The girl in the photograph was fair-skinned and had a somehow pointed nose. The clothes she had on in the photo accented her hourglass figure, and the smile plastered on her face was genuine and beautiful. For a moment, as ridiculous as it might seem, I think I was falling in love with the photograph I was holding. When I’m not near the person I love, I love the one I’m near; in the case though, I was near a photograph. Go on, call me a cad. See if I care.

Just then, we saw the image from the photograph approach us.

We were parked at the side of the road. We quickly reached into the car and pulled out our stocking masks. Donning the mask, I sat behind the steering wheel. Mr Dada was already at the back seat; his gun was drawn and he was ready to attack. Anastasia walked slowly towards us. She seemed totally oblivious of our presence because she had earphones in her ears and was somehow gyrating to whatever music was playing from her BlackBerry. One word for Anastasia: Gorgeous! She was dressed in a yellow shirt and a pair of blue jeans trouser, a flat-soled yellow and blue Prada adorned her feet. She had the curves any man could die for. She was totally adorable. She moved gracefully, she could as well be walking on air. When she reached close to us, Mr Dada stepped out of the car, yanked the earphone off of her, pressed the nozzle of the pistol against her temple, and ordered her to enter the car. Anastasia’s face immediately registered fear and she was already weeping, begging my partner to spare her life. Mr Dada gave her a nasty slap and ordered her to keep quiet; quite an unnecessary thing to do. Within seconds, the left side of her face turned red from the assault. He sat in the back-seat beside the girl and ordered me to drive. The man was becoming too authoritative for my liking.

It was hard trying to focus clearly on the road with an oversized mask occasionally veiling my vision. But when I checked the rear-view mirror and saw Mr Dada take off his mask, I did the same. The two sat together in the back like a couple, and I felt like a common driver. The man had his gun pressed against her side, and the girl continued whimpering—scared. Mr Dada was busy smiling at something funny I failed to see. Soon, I stopped pondering over what could be hilarious to Mr Dada and occupied my mind with the hope of arriving safely at our destination. A vehicle without plate numbers would make us too conspicuous than one with. What was Mr Dada thinking to have gotten rid of the plate numbers in the first place? A dumb precaution, actually.

And with another sheer dint of good fortune, I managed to drive us all to our location without any glitch. While I tried to find a parking space for the car, Mr Dada had dragged the girl out and forced her into the house. By the time I finished parking the vehicle, the girl had been tied in a chair and locked in another room. We—Mr Dada and I—sat on a chair and planned the next action. And as usual, he presided over everything. I wasn’t even sure if he needed me anymore; the girl had been successfully kidnapped, my job was basically over. Still, he would not hear that I was leaving. He treated me as if he had dominion over my life.

The time was around 8pm when he picked up his phone and called the girl’s father. He put the call on speakerphone so that I could hear. Then he placed the phone on the table.

“Hello. Am I speaking with Mr Oputa?” Mr Dada said.

“Yes, Mr Oputa speaking. How may I help you?”

Mr Dada laughed at the question and said, “I honesty believe you are the person who needs the help. Please hold on, I want you to speak with someone.” He picked up the phone and unlocked the door of the room where the girl was kept. Her mouth was gagged with a thin cloth. Her eyes were already swollen from crying. She now looked dishevelled, all thanks to Dada. Behind her was a bed that had it’s sheet cover it entered. The sheet even draped to the floor of the room. There was an oil painting of a nude Abacha over the bed, one hand hiding his privates, the other raised in a military salute. An apple showed in the background. There was a faint scent of disinfectant in the air.

“Your father would like to hear your voice.” He said unkindly. He moved the phone close to her mouth.

There was a brief moment of silence. Then she spoke to the phone, “Daddy?”

“Ana, is that you?” Her father asked. I couldn’t help but detect the tremor in the billionaire’s voice. “Where are you? Who is the person that called me?”

“I don’t know, Daddy! I think I’m being kidnapped, Daddy! They’re doing terrible things to me! Daddy, I’m scared. I think they’re going to—” Mr Dada terminated the call. The locked the door behind us as we left the room.

“Why did you cancel the call?” I asked.

“That would show the man that we meant business.”

“Of course he knows me mean business. We kidnapped his daughter, remember?”

“If I hadn’t cut that call, he would be calling our bluff and threatening us with imprisonment and stuff like that.”

“Surely, he’s going to call the number and actually threaten us now. He could have even given the number to the police. We could be in serious trouble.”

“Negative,” answered Mr Dad, “he would never be able to connect with the number because, one, the number would appear PRIVATE on his phone. Even if he were able to discover the number, he would still not be able to connect. You see, this number is a very specially one. I had it specially made and tweaked. It’s totally untraceable. I paid a hundred thousand naira for this SIM card. He might not even have any record of receiving this call on his call log. We’re perfectly secure. Just put your mind at rest.”

Easier said than done. How would my mind be at rest when I had become the partner in a grievous crime? Or when we were busy maltreating a beautiful girl; someone on whom I was already developing a soft-spot?

“I will call back the man after half an hour,” continued the master-planner. “The thirty minutes would give him a better time to want to listen to our terms.”

I stared at the man and decided that he must have been a born-criminal. He was gifted with an impressive criminal acumen. This was the kind of person the Kirikiri inmates would be glad to have among them. It was a pity that I was in league with this paragon of criminalhood.

At exactly 8:45pm, Mr Dada placed the call again. He made sure the call was placed on loudspeaker.

“Ana! Is that you?” The bereaved man asked immediately.

“No, Mr Oputa, this isn’t your daughter.”

“Where is my daughter?”

“She’s still alive for now.”

“What have you done to her?”

“You should worry about what we are going to do to her if you don’t keep your mouth shut and listen to my instructions.”

“Please don’t hurt her. I’ll do everything you ask.”

“Good. Today is Monday, in two days’ time, a hundred million naira should be ready to be delivered by you to a location which would be given to you early Wednesday morning. So, naturally, you should know that the money should be ready tomorrow. Listen to me carefully, Mr Oputa, there will be a terrible consequence if you don’t comply. If the money is not available on Wednesday, I’ll send you one of your daughter’s ears. If the same occurs the next day, you will receive her other ear. Then I’ll send you her finger every hour until the money gets here. You are free to get the police involved if you are ready to receive her head in a box. You shall receive further instructions later.” Before the man could protest, Mr Dada terminated the call.

He turned towards me and said, “I’m going out to get us dinner. Watch the girl.” Then he was gone.

That moment, I knew I would never like the man. His Messiah complex was quite annoying. I sat there in the living room, thinking about everything. How did I get myself in this mess in the first place? Was it only because of the false certificates or my greed to have a part of the ransom? It could be plain stupidity. I allowed myself to be manipulated by a man conceited as Mr Dada; someone whose moral compass had never pointed north as far as I knew. Then my thought drifted towards our captive. Anastasia. That name alone sent a sensation through my body. I didn’t like what the terrible man was doing to her. I thought about freeing her, but that would be very risky. I would be done for if the man returned and discovered what I had done; he could shoot me dead. His gun could be loaded, mine was not. I wasn’t ready to take the chance of standing before a pistol, loaded or not. I stood up and went into the room where Anastasia was kept. Her head was rested against her chest, but she looked up as soon as I came in. She looked at me with pleading eyes. I gently moved close to her and loosened her gag.

“P-please, l-let me go!” Her voice was shaking.

“I’m sorry I can’t do that.”

“Th-the man i-is going to k-kill me.” She stammered on.

“Nothing is going to happen to you. I will not allow that. You will be free as soon as your father pays the ransom.”

Her lips shook as she spoke, “wh-why a-are you doing th-this?”

“I have no choice.”

“You s-seem like a n-nice man.”

Okay. That was it. I returned the gag and returned to the living room. Another nice word from her might make me do something I would regret; something that would cause me to wear a bullet like perfume.

Mr Dada returned thirty minutes later with sizzling fast food for three. He went into the special room and untied Anastasia. The three of us went to the dining table and attacked the food. The food wasn’t the greatest, but it was edible. Barely.

“It’s time to go to bed,” God remarked, “tomorrow is another day.” Then he turned to Anastasia, “Listen to me carefully, young lady, I don’t want to tie you down. So, you’re going to behave yourself. All the doors are securely locked and the windows are burglary-proof; there is nowhere for you to escape. And please don’t try anything funny. I’m a very dangerous man. Don’t try to play smart with me. You’re a very beautiful woman; it would be such a pity if you lost that beauty. You will be allowed to sleep on the bed in your room while we sleep here in the living room. Because the room has no personal toilet, I’m not going to lock you in. But always remember that I’m a very light sleeper. There would be a loaded pistol under my pillow. The lights would be on all through the night. Sleep tight. Good night.” With that, he went to lie down on the couch, with his gun resting under his pillow. Anastasia stared at him for a moment before heading to her room.

“Where am I going to sleep?” I asked.

With his eyes still shut, he abruptly replied, “The floor.”

Again, my hatred for him grew like pregnancy. The man could really make a sunny day cloudy with his dispositions. I laid on the bare rug; there was not anything on which to literally rest my head. Undoubtedly, my neck would be sprained by dawn.

Dawn came earlier than I thought. The major part of the morning was spent watching our captive. Mr Dada went out again to get us some breakfast. I was even beginning to feel like a captive too. The day went off slowly. He spent a longer time trying to find us dinner this time; he spent over two hours.

Finally, the D-day arrived—a Wednesday. At exactly ten o’clock, he placed a call to Mr Oputa.

“Good morning, Mr Oputa,” he said, “Listen very carefully, sir. You will have to deliver the money by 2 this afternoon. Failure to do that will cost your daughter an ear. Now this is the instruction: leave two bags containing fifty million naira each at 55 Alora Street, Yaba. Alora is a very popular street in Yaba and number 55 is an uncompleted building. Remember, the bales must be in a thousand naira denominations and the bags must be padlocked. Just drop the bags in the building. You shall be contacted by 3pm about where to find your daughter or a part of her.” Call ended. He turned to me and said, “Oscar, this is where you are most needed. Pull this successfully and you’ll have a clean record with me, and an additional twenty million naira reward.”

I knew what was coming but I asked anyway, “What do you need me to do?”

“You will go and bring the money.”

“Why me?”

“Because I need to stay behind and watch over Anastasia.”

A plain-faced lie; an obvious phonus-balonus. From small fibs, mighty prevarications grow. I was no stupe; I knew he was pushing me forward to walk into the lion’s den. The Managing Director could have gotten the police involved. I could be walking into a trap. Mr Dada was pushing me as a pawn. I found myself agreeing to go into the den. I must have been under a spell.

He checked his wristwatch and said, “You should now be on your way; there may be heavy traffic jam. The earlier you leave the better. You should arrive there by three o’clock. Take the car.”

“I’m not going in that car without its license plates!”

Mr Dada shrugged, “If that’s what you want. The plates are in the booth. You can screw them back on.”

I spent thirty minutes to fix the license. Then I drove out of the compound at exactly one o’clock. I got to the location at a couple of ticks past 3pm. The street was a filthy one in which fierce dogs chased piglets through the refuse and barefoot children played in the mud. Before getting out of the vehicle, I carefully scanned the area for any suspicious person lurking around. I exercised a patience that would have made Job weep with envy; I spent a whole fifteen minutes in the car, surveying the environment. Satisfied that there was nothing suspicious, I came out of the vehicle and went into Number 55, Alora Street. There, at a corner, were the bags. The zips were locked securely as instructed. Without wasting time, I picked up the bags and headed for the car, whistling like a frightened kid walking through a graveyard on his way home. A part of me was expecting policemen in large numbers to come out of their hidings with guns drawn. Fortunately, nothing of such happened; all I could see around me was a priest swearing at a cab driver over a fare. I dropped the bags in the back-seat and drove away. My heart was banging furiously as I drove homeward. Here was a hundred million naira in a seat behind me! My mind told me to get lost with the money. No one would find me. Even Mr Dada would not be able to do anything to me. I would live in affluence under another name. I had a chance to become a very rich man. I could change my name to someone else. I had been a hussler all my life, and I didn’t foresee the day when I would be able to finally relax comfortably and stop scrambling for a crust—an opportunity to redeem myself from my wretchedness had just presented itself. I would be a fool if I didn’t grab it. The crazy man could go ahead and report my fake certificates. To hell with him.

I was about to take a different route when one other factor crept into my merry-go-round brain; my mind drifted back to Anastasia. That poor girl. I couldn’t imagine what Mr Dada would do to her if I didn’t return with the money. I couldn’t allow him to cut off her pretty ear. He could even kill her in anger. No, I couldn’t allow that. Anastasia was worth more than a hundred million naira to me. No, I wasn’t going to run. I hoped someday Anastasia would realise the sacrifice I made for her.

I drove back to the bungalow. By the time I was close to the house I was singing mightily and revising the lyrics of that old spiritual to ‘Swing high, sweet chariot’, for I was in a frolicsome mood. The gate was ajar so I didn’t need to come out of the car. I drove straight into the compound, debouched from the car and carried the bags out. They were quite heavy. I was expecting Mr Dada to come out of the house and help with one of the bags. But the over-bloated proud man didn’t come out; I wasn’t surprised. Well, he should have the money and get everything done with. I might not care to break bread with him, but I was more than happy to bake the loaf. He should release the innocent girl to her father.

But there was no Mr Dada when I entered the house. I dropped the bag on the floor. I called his name but there was no reply. I sat down tired. Maybe he went out to get some dinner. The time was already about 6pm. After resting for five minutes, I decided to go and check on our captive. I went to where Mr Dada usually hid the key of the room.

When I opened the door, what greeted me was shocking.

Lying faced down on the bed was Anastasia. There was a gruesome bullet hole at the back of her head. There was blood everywhere. The room was like a slaughterhouse. I shrank back in horror. How the hell did this happen? Why would Mr Dada kill her? What did the girl do wrong? My heart shattered into pieces! Hot rage clouded my vision. I was so mad that I couldn’t stand straight. I held onto the doorframe for support, still confused and angry. There was a hundred million naira in the sitting room and the corpse of the girl I loved in the bedroom. Where the hell was Mr Dada? I was in a state that wrath could go no further.

Then my phone rang.

The number was hidden. I needed no one to tell me it was Mr Dada calling. I picked up the call immediately.

“Mr Dada—”

“Hello Oscar.” I nearly fainted when I heard the voice. Rationality spun out of control. At first I thought I was losing my hearing. Sweat broke out of my forehead. The voice—the voice I was hearing wasn’t Mr Dada’s. Oh, my God!

Unless my hearing was beyond repair; by jove, it was Anastasia’s voice!

The voice gave a loud laugh at the other end. I couldn’t believe my ear. How was this possible? Before me was the corpse of Anastasia. How come she was speaking to me on phone?

“A-a-a-nastasia?” I asked, my voice breaking horribly.

“You sound surprised to hear my voice, Oscar.”

“You-you are dead.”

“Am I?”

Then it dawned on me. My eyes were opened. I understood the horrow going on. The phone was still pressed against my ear as I walked towards the corpse. I turned it around and my fear was confirmed. The corpse wasn’t Anastasia; it was another fair lady dressed in Anastasia’s clothes.

“She’s not you!” I heard myself whisper into the phone.

“Finally!” She breathed.

“What’s happening, Anastasia?”

“What’s happening is that you’re being played for a sucker, Oscar. Like an Ipod Shuffle, you allowed yourself to be played.”

“A sucker? Where is Mr Dada?”

“Dead.”

“Gracious God!” I cried, all in a dither. “Anastasia, what have you done?”

“It’s nothing personal, Oscar. You’re just a pawn in this game. You see, Dada and I were lovers. No, let me start from the beginning. I’m not exactly Mr Oputa’s daughter; I was adopted by him when I was only seven. I never considered him my father but I decided to live with him because of his lovely wife. The woman was the greatest woman I had ever known. She made me feel so loved; she was a true mother to me. I loved her as much as she loved me. Then she died three years ago. Her death was the knife that severed my connection with the family. Since that moment of her death, I never wanted anything to do with Mr Oputa. I just dislike the man for no reason.

“To cut the story short, I met Dada, one of Mr Oputa’s employees, six months ago. He fell in love with me and we started having a secret affair. My supposed father didn’t even know Dada was one of his hundreds of employees in one of his companies. It took me a very short time to realise that Dada was interested in me because I was the Managing Director’s daughter. Two months ago, I told him that I had found a way to make us very wealthy. We needed a scape-goat to make us very rich. Then you came along with your false certificates. There was no better scape-goat to use.

“So we planned to blackmail you into participating in a well-planned kidnap. Everything was perfectly timed. I was never a student of University of Lagos. We planned everything. He had to handle me roughly to make it look real. So he slapped me and pushed me into the car. The idiot couldn’t even pull a straight face. He kept smiling as you drove us to the hide-out. He was making jest of you, not believing how silly you could be. It was really funny to him. I was trying to cry and he was there laughing.

“You know all that happened thereafter, except the calls to Mr Oputa. In your presence, Dada put the call on speaker and told Mr Oputa to get the ransom ready by Wednesday. What you didn’t know was that when Dada went out to get us dinner that evening he called Mr Oputa again and told him to get the money ready the next day—which was yesterday evening. But you didn’t know that. He went over to retrieve the money yesterday evening. Following my instructions, he replaced the initial bags with two other bags filled with newspapers, the zip of each bag was securely padlocked.

“He returned with the money in the booth of the car and our dear dinner in a fancy nylon bag. We had our dinner as usual. Now, it was in the middle of the night, when you were fast asleep, that he retrieved the money from the booth. The money was hidden under the bed in the room I occupied. Of course, you didn’t know anything, you didn’t even know that there was another human being under that bed. So, this morning, Dada placed a false call in your presence, speaking to an imaginary Mr Oputa. This time, he didn’t put the call on speaker, because he wasn’t making any call. You were sent on a fool’s errand.

“But there is one last thing you need to know. Before you and Dada kidnapped me, Dada and I had already kidnapped the daughter of another Managing Director. She was in the same room I occupied, but you couldn’t see her because she was hidden under the bed, and she was always injected with sleeping drugs. Now, when you were busy driving to pick the money that was never there, we brought out the girl—someone who shared my skin colour—and dressed her in my clothes, then we placed her faced-down on the bed. With a gloved hand, he picked up the gun he gave to you, loaded it with bullets and shot the girl on the back of the head.

“As soon as that was done, we hired another car, put the one hundred million naira in the booth and went to retrieve another ransom of a hundred million naira very close-by. Now, I’m two hundred million rich. All thanks to you and Dada. Oh, I haven’t finished. I’m afraid I’ve been stalling. You didn’t hear me drive into this compound in the other hired car. Now I’m driving out of this godforsaken place with the vehicle you drove in. The other car is now left with you. It contains the remains of Dada. I shot him with the same gun he used to kill that poor girl.

“I have a very terrible news for you, Mr Oscar DaSilva. You’re going to jail. I’ve tipped the police about the whereabouts of the Managing Director’s kidnapped daughter. I think they’ll reach your gate anytime soon. Goodbye, Oscar.” The call was terminated.

I rushed out of the house like someone whose clothes were on fire. Outside was the other car. I quickly sat behind the wheels. There was a key at the ignition. I turned it anxiously. Nothing. The police must not find me here. At the back-seat was the corpse of Mr Dada—a bullet hole on his forehead. I panicked and turned the ignition again. Still nothing. I quickly stepped out of the car and ran towards the gate. Down the road was a police car approaching with sirens blaring. And farther down was the back-view of the black car speeding away—the car that contained Anastasia and two hundred million naira.

The police car was very close now. The sirens blaring loudly. The sirens seemed to be speaking one word over and over. Kirikiri-Kirikiri-Kirikiri!