Creative Writing

The Night I Cheated

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The Night I Cheated

The night I cheated on my husband began like any other, but it ended with a series of events that would shatter my world forever.  I can still remember the last day I saw Richard before that fateful night; it was that day in court when he was found guilty of stealing a large sum of money from my father. He was sentenced to 7 years imprisonment, although he pleaded not guilty to the offence. But I saw the checks and signatures, I saw the transfer messages and dates; the evidence was clear, but he still insisted that he didn’t steal anything, not even a dime while working for my dad. Somehow, deep down, I knew he was telling the truth, but I was scared and torn between loyalty to my father and love for him. When it was my turn to testify, I gave a false testimony. My mother had urged me to tell the version of the story they had concocted, and I couldn’t say no. I saw him cry as he was led out of the courtroom. My heart ached for doing that to the man I loved. We had shared many sweet memories, but they didn’t matter at that moment. They didn’t matter the next week when I walked down the aisle with another man my parents had forced on me. They didn’t matter when I took my vows and signed my marriage register, nor when I kissed my wedded husband with the same lips that had once kissed Richard. Eric was a good man; he truly loved me and showered me with care and kindness. In time, I learned to love him, and I fell madly in love. When we had our first child, Corinne, 10 months later, it added to his sweetness. Eric was overjoyed; I’d never seen him so happy, and right there at the hospital, I vowed to keep and protect my marriage. But did I? I started failing the day I saw Richard again. He resurfaced after 4 years and came after me. How he became free, I didn’t know, and how he even found me was also a mystery. He had changed drastically; the beard that adorned his chin gave him a handsome look, and his well-formed muscles made him more attractive. He actually didn’t come for me as I thought; he came for his child. Now, Richard left me with the enormous task of telling my husband the truth so that he could take his daughter and leave. No one knew that Eric was not Corinne’s real father, not even my parents, not even Eric himself. I was one month pregnant before I got married, and Corinne arrived way past months, making it look like Eric was the father. The news would hurt Eric, and that was exactly the last thing I wanted but Richard would tell him if I didn’t, and that would make matters worse. Each time I made up my mind to tell Eric, he would do something so amazing that I’d lose heart, for I couldn’t hurt him. He wouldn’t be able to bear the pain; his blood pressure would fail him, and I feared greatly for my marriage. I would do anything else Richard asked, but this. I would give money, property, lands, just anything so I could keep Corinne and my wonderful husband. So that was it. Richard asked for another chance. He wanted me one more time, just for a whole night. To recover all that he had lost for the past 4 years and finally say goodbye to me and his child. I couldn’t cheat on my husband; it was one sin I would never commit, but it sounded fair enough. A night for my lifetime, a night for our daughter, a night to save my marriage. I agreed. He smiled as he opened the door of the hotel room; my heart skipped a beat as I saw the perfectly made bed. I had never shared a bed with another man after my wedding, and I kept hearing that small voice at the back of my head telling me to leave immediately. I wanted to, but it was at that moment that Richard took off his shirt and came closer to hold me. At that moment, I knew I had missed him and all we had shared together. If only he hadn’t gone to prison; if only we had gotten married, but we didn’t. As he touched me, I knew I had missed that too, and I allowed him to carry me to the bed. Our lips merged with a new urgency, and he took off my clothes as quickly as he did his own. Underneath him, I counted the minutes. Soon it would be over, soon I’d be back home with my family, and everything would be fine; no one would ever know, as usual. “Say you love me,” he demanded. It took me time to decode what he meant. This isn’t a reunion, I thought; this isn’t lovemaking either; this is adultery, and he shouldn’t make it look like it’s not. I knew I still had to obey every part of this contract. “I love…” It hung in my mouth as my husband barged in and stood in shock at the doorway. Richard jerked off my body immediately, and I tried to cover my nakedness, but Eric had seen it all. He didn’t move; he just watched me with tears in his eyes. “How could you?” he said in almost a whisper and wiped his tears in one swipe. “I can explain, Eric,” I started saying, even though my heart was failing me at that moment. Fear and guilt were almost tearing me apart as I searched for my clothes that Richard had discarded in a hurry. How did he find out? Eric wasn’t listening to me; he fell to the ground with a heavy thud. I couldn’t believe my luck; what I was trying to protect crashed … Read more

Torn Between Love and Letting Go – [Cloned #85812]

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Torn Between Love and Letting Go

It started with CREMATION. A word that Merriam-Webster’s dictionary had featured as the word of the day. Little did I know how this morbid topic would foreshadow the way my life would soon be torn apart. Jenny read about it, googled it, and even dug up a full journal article from a medical science association’s website about cremation. She talked about it for hours. I thought it was crazy, but she found it surprising that people would want such a form of burial and would even decide what should happen to them after death. “Their choice,” she had said. Two weeks later, we were sitting in front of our church’s doctor, holding each other’s hands and listening to his words that confirmed she likely had ovarian cancer. I couldn’t help but think of that word again: “Cremation.” Why had it come up at that point in our lives? Why had Jenny downloaded a medical journal about it and studied it for so long? Why had she told me about it? As we watched the doctor in shock, I kept imagining the cancer cells consuming my wife-to-be and reducing her to a walking corpse, much like the act of cremation. We had come for tests required by our church’s marriage committee: HIV, blood group, genotype, and pregnancy tests. Then they discovered something else that led to another test on her reproductive system, breaking our happy lives and scarring them for good. Jenny thought it would end quickly and she would soon be with God, so she cancelled all our wedding plans and even accepted half the price we had paid for some things because we couldn’t get full refunds. She stopped her master’s program, saying she would write an email to the director of the post-graduate school to tell him she was dying soon. She joined the choir and started forcing herself to sing in tune with others. Then she also started knitting and looking for another lady for me. Cancer and the thought of death reduced her to a shadow, and it broke me daily. I couldn’t do any of the things she was doing. The doctor had asked her to join a closed cancer support group, but they never offered me any support. What happens to the partners of people who are about to lose them to cancer? How should they fight? I watched our prepared future go down the drain, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I was with Jenny through her chemo sessions. I watched her hair fall out gradually until she decided to cut it all off herself. I watched my best friend lose her charm and her smile, and I struggled with the thought of letting go. I couldn’t. Jenny came home one day with a beautiful ring with a big diamond on top and told me it was for her replacement. I should propose to the new lady I would meet after her with the ring. It was her gift to her. Despite the pain I felt, I smiled as I took the ring from her. I couldn’t stop her or chide her for suggesting and doing such things; it was her own way of accepting and even healing. The week before Jenny died, she asked me to wed her in church. It was a Wednesday. Even though I tried to make her understand that I hadn’t paid her bride price or married her traditionally, she insisted I skip all those processes. She wanted to die knowing she had married me at last. I nodded and said I would grant her wish. “One more thing, I want you to bury me with that ring I bought,” she said. I laughed through the tears that gathered in my eyes. “You don’t want me to give it to—” She didn’t let me finish. “I’m already jealous.” “I’m sorry,” I said. I shouldn’t have been making jokes about such a delicate matter. I didn’t grant that wish. I didn’t bury my Jenny with the ring she bought. I wedded her against the many protests from our pastors and parents. I did everything else she asked me to do, but I did not throw that ring into her coffin. READ ALSO: Embracing Love After Life’s Hardest Trials

The Night I Cheated

by
The Night I Cheated

The night I cheated on my husband began like any other, but it ended with a series of events that would shatter my world forever.  I can still remember the last day I saw Richard before that fateful night; it was that day in court when he was found guilty of stealing a large sum of money from my father. He was sentenced to 7 years imprisonment, although he pleaded not guilty to the offence. But I saw the checks and signatures, I saw the transfer messages and dates; the evidence was clear, but he still insisted that he didn’t steal anything, not even a dime while working for my dad. Somehow, deep down, I knew he was telling the truth, but I was scared and torn between loyalty to my father and love for him. When it was my turn to testify, I gave a false testimony. My mother had urged me to tell the version of the story they had concocted, and I couldn’t say no. I saw him cry as he was led out of the courtroom. My heart ached for doing that to the man I loved. We had shared many sweet memories, but they didn’t matter at that moment. They didn’t matter the next week when I walked down the aisle with another man my parents had forced on me. They didn’t matter when I took my vows and signed my marriage register, nor when I kissed my wedded husband with the same lips that had once kissed Richard. Eric was a good man; he truly loved me and showered me with care and kindness. In time, I learned to love him, and I fell madly in love. When we had our first child, Corinne, 10 months later, it added to his sweetness. Eric was overjoyed; I’d never seen him so happy, and right there at the hospital, I vowed to keep and protect my marriage. But did I? I started failing the day I saw Richard again. He resurfaced after 4 years and came after me. How he became free, I didn’t know, and how he even found me was also a mystery. He had changed drastically; the beard that adorned his chin gave him a handsome look, and his well-formed muscles made him more attractive. He actually didn’t come for me as I thought; he came for his child. Now, Richard left me with the enormous task of telling my husband the truth so that he could take his daughter and leave. No one knew that Eric was not Corinne’s real father, not even my parents, not even Eric himself. I was one month pregnant before I got married, and Corinne arrived way past months, making it look like Eric was the father. The news would hurt Eric, and that was exactly the last thing I wanted but Richard would tell him if I didn’t, and that would make matters worse. Each time I made up my mind to tell Eric, he would do something so amazing that I’d lose heart, for I couldn’t hurt him. He wouldn’t be able to bear the pain; his blood pressure would fail him, and I feared greatly for my marriage. I would do anything else Richard asked, but this. I would give money, property, lands, just anything so I could keep Corinne and my wonderful husband. So that was it. Richard asked for another chance. He wanted me one more time, just for a whole night. To recover all that he had lost for the past 4 years and finally say goodbye to me and his child. I couldn’t cheat on my husband; it was one sin I would never commit, but it sounded fair enough. A night for my lifetime, a night for our daughter, a night to save my marriage. I agreed. He smiled as he opened the door of the hotel room; my heart skipped a beat as I saw the perfectly made bed. I had never shared a bed with another man after my wedding, and I kept hearing that small voice at the back of my head telling me to leave immediately. I wanted to, but it was at that moment that Richard took off his shirt and came closer to hold me. At that moment, I knew I had missed him and all we had shared together. If only he hadn’t gone to prison; if only we had gotten married, but we didn’t. As he touched me, I knew I had missed that too, and I allowed him to carry me to the bed. Our lips merged with a new urgency, and he took off my clothes as quickly as he did his own. Underneath him, I counted the minutes. Soon it would be over, soon I’d be back home with my family, and everything would be fine; no one would ever know, as usual. “Say you love me,” he demanded. It took me time to decode what he meant. This isn’t a reunion, I thought; this isn’t lovemaking either; this is adultery, and he shouldn’t make it look like it’s not. I knew I still had to obey every part of this contract. “I love…” It hung in my mouth as my husband barged in and stood in shock at the doorway. Richard jerked off my body immediately, and I tried to cover my nakedness, but Eric had seen it all. He didn’t move; he just watched me with tears in his eyes. “How could you?” he said in almost a whisper and wiped his tears in one swipe. “I can explain, Eric,” I started saying, even though my heart was failing me at that moment. Fear and guilt were almost tearing me apart as I searched for my clothes that Richard had discarded in a hurry. How did he find out? Eric wasn’t listening to me; he fell to the ground with a heavy thud. I couldn’t believe my luck; what I was trying to protect crashed … Read more

The Unexpected Birthday Surprise – Copy

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The Unexpected Birthday Surprise

I awoke to the sweet taste of glucose lingering on my tongue, a satisfying sensation that brought a smile to my face as I remembered it was my birthday. I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for turning thirty—an age that had never looked better on anyone. As I stretched and shifted positions in bed, I recalled my husband’s playful comment about my sleeping habit, which he termed “ballet dancing.” I wondered how I twisted and turned that way while asleep. Eagerly anticipating birthday wishes, I waited for my husband and son to initiate the celebration. However, as our morning routine unfolded—devotion, breakfast, and casual conversation—not a single “Happy Birthday” was uttered. My husband proceeded with his day as usual, while our son, Joshua, chattered about his upcoming weekend tests. “Mom, did you know we have three tests this weekend?” Joshua asked, his eyes wide with a mix of excitement and apprehension. “Three tests? That’s quite a lot, honey. What subjects?” I inquired, trying to mask my disappointment at the lack of birthday acknowledgement. “Math, Science, and English,” he replied, counting them off on his fingers. “I’m not worried about Math or Science, but English… ugh!” He dramatically flopped his head onto the table. I couldn’t help but chuckle at his theatrics. “Well, how about we review your English notes together this evening? We can make it fun with some word games.” Joshua’s face lit up. “Really? That’d be awesome! Can we use those colourful flash cards you made last time?” “Of course,” I promised, ruffling his hair affectionately. As our conversation continued, confusion and disappointment began to creep in. How could they forget my birthday? I’d been excitedly mentioning it all week. Part of me wanted to remind them, but I held my tongue, silently observing their laughter and jokes. “My mom invited us over this evening,” my husband announced, momentarily lifting my spirits. Perhaps my mother-in-law would remember. “Yes, we’ll go,” I replied, already envisioning the perfect gift and our next culinary adventure together. My mother-in-law was an exceptional cook, and I always looked forward to learning new recipes from her. Joshua interjected, “But I’m spending the weekend with Aunt Chi. Joan’s competing in the Double Dutch game tomorrow, and I’m cheering for her.” I raised an eyebrow, surprised by this sudden change of plans. “Double Dutch? Since when are you interested in jump rope competitions?” Joshua’s cheeks reddened slightly. “Well, um, Joan’s really good at it. And I promised I’d be there to support her.” My husband and I exchanged knowing glances. “You know, son,” my husband began, a mischievous glint in his eye, “there might be quite a few girls at this event. Are you sure you’re ready for that?” Joshua’s blush deepened. “Dad! It’s not like that. Joan’s my cousin. Besides, Aunt Chi will be there too.” After a brief attempt to playfully tease Joshua about attending an event surrounded by girls, we hurried through breakfast and departed for our respective destinations. At work, my colleagues showered me with prayers, wishes, and promises of gifts. Yet, the absence of any acknowledgement from my husband lingered. No call, no text, no surprise delivery—nothing. I tried to focus on my tasks, but my mind kept drifting to thoughts of my family’s apparent forgetfulness. On my way home, I stopped to buy a cute dress for my mother-in-law, imagining our upcoming conversation and the new recipes I’d learn. The soft, floral fabric reminded me of her garden, and I hoped it would bring a smile to her face. Little did I know what awaited me. As I opened the front door, I was greeted by an eruption of “Happy Birthday!” There stood my husband, Joshua, mother-in-law, sister-in-law Chi, her daughter Joan, and my elder brother. Shocked and confused, I stood frozen, my mother-in-law’s gift still in hand. My husband appeared moments later, carrying an enormous cake inscribed with the words, “Happy Birthday, my Amazon.” The delicious aroma of vanilla and buttercream filled the air, making my mouth water instantly. Overwhelmed with emotion, I realized they hadn’t forgotten—they had been planning this sweet surprise all along. The elaborate ruse, the casual conversations, even Joshua’s sudden interest in double Dutch—it had all been part of their plan. As he embraced me, my husband whispered, “Happy Birthday, Sweetheart. I didn’t forget.” The butterflies in my stomach danced as I joined in the celebration, surrounded by the love of my family. Joshua rushed forward, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Mom, did we surprise you? Did you really think we forgot?” I laughed, ruffling his hair. “You certainly did, my little actor. I had no idea!” As we gathered around the cake, sharing stories and laughter, I felt a profound sense of belonging. This is where I belong, I thought. Home is wherever these wonderful people are. READ ASLO: When Family Becomes the Most Important Destination

Awakening the Sleeping Giant – Copy

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Awaken the Giant in You

In the ancient city of Nebothia, a legend whispered through the ages told of a mighty giant guardian named Elk. Placed by the supreme being to watch over the land. Elk was a giant of extraordinary strength, standing over 7 feet tall—a colossus among the natives. His prowess was unmatched; he hunted wild beasts with his bare hands, feasting on their raw flesh. Rumours have it that at night, he transforms into a bull-like creature with the appearance of a man and patrols the entire land, watching, guarding and defending the nation from even unseen forces. No one has ever seen him like this before but the tale has been passed down from one generation to the next and it was talked about in hush whispers, making Elk, the giant, to be feared greatly. Elk’s solitary nature led him to dwell in the hills and caves on the outskirts of Nebothia. The villagers rarely saw him, save for times of war. Unlike other cities with their grand armies, Nebothia had no standing force of great art or strength. They had only Elk—their one-man army. When danger loomed, an alarm would sound, and Elk would be summoned from his rocky abode. But the task of fetching this unpredictable giant fell to one person alone: a young lad named Elon. For Elk’s temper was as mighty as his strength, and many a messenger had fallen victim to his rage before even reaching the battlefield. Elon, however, possessed a unique ability to calm the giant while delivering news of impending threats. Each time Elk appeared, the natives rejoiced, for his presence assured victory. He always returned triumphant, a living legend among his people. But as time flowed like an endless river, Elk vanished from the hills he called home. The only trace of his departure was a cryptic message etched into a tree: “𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 𝑎 𝑔𝑖𝑓𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑙𝑙… ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑓𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝐼 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑑” The villagers, puzzled by the message’s origin and meaning, continued their daily lives unaware of the profound change about to unfold. When war once again threatened Nebothia, Elon was dispatched to fetch their saviour. He raced to the hills, his heart pounding with urgency. Reaching the cave at the foot of the hills, Elon called out: “Oh, great one! A nearby community who have not heard of your might is camping just by the seashore ready to attack us!” Silence greeted his words. Undeterred, Elon tried again, his voice echoing off the cave walls. “Great Elk of Nebothia! Your city is on the verge of attack by some invaders who are ready to strike us at any time. You need to come down quickly and save us!” “Are you talking to yourself?” A voice startled Elon from behind. Spinning around, Elon found himself face to face with a Dublin—a watcher of the sky, suspended in mid-air by wings attached to his legs. The Dublin’s piercing gaze seemed to look through Elon as he repeated his question. Confusion clouded Elon’s mind as the Dublin revealed a truth that would shatter his world: “Or rather, you were sent to get yourself to fight off the invaders!” “I don’t understand you,” Elon protested, his mission to fetch Elk momentarily forgotten. “What is there not to understand, dear son of Elk?” The words hit Elon like a thunderbolt. “What did you just say? Me? The son of Elk?” “Yes. Can’t you see it, Elon? Elk is your father sent to watch over and save Nebothia. He has finished his race and is gone. It’s your turn now to do the same.” “What are you talking about?” Elon asked, entering into more confusion. If he was the son of Elk, how did that come to be? What was he doing in the village with others? Why was he not on the hill with his father? As he asked these questions, realization dawned on him as the answers came. He has never felt normal, his body mass keeps increasing by the day and so is his appetite. He noticed he was also getting taller, even taller than most of the villagers. “But-” “There are no buts, can’t you see the handwriting on the wall, Elon? Your father has completed his race and has handed it over to you, you’re the next watcher and guardian of Nebothia” “But how come-” “How come you never knew right?” The Dublin asked, cutting him short. “Yeah,” Elon replied confused. “That’s because Elk, your father gave you up to the villagers at your birth. He wanted you to know everything about the people you’ve been sent to guard. He wanted you to fall in love with them first and so you can care for them. He didn’t have that opportunity and most times, he was quite violent towards them but he didn’t want the same for you and so he allowed you to live with them,” He explained. “So great son of Elk, what are you going to do with this information? Will you continue to be an errand boy, one sent to go call a giant or one who will take up his place and identity as THE GIANT and fight?” Elon was at a loss as he watched the Dublin, his mouth was open but no words came from it. The Dublin knew he had carried out his mission and so he left Elon with these parting words. “Awaken the giant in you or watch him die from sleep!” As the Dublin vanished into the sky, Elon remained rooted to the spot, grappling with his newfound identity. The weight of his destiny pressed upon him, demanding action. So all along, he was a giant and he never knew, no one knew. No one told him. 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑑𝑖𝑑. And what did the Dublin say again, “What was he going to do with that information?” Elon roared, one that was heard even far beyond the land and stumped down the hill as … Read more

Strong Beyond Measure

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Strong Beyond Measure

“Baby, you are strong. You can do anything you want. You can be the best. Only if you believe in yourself.” Those were Mama’s words every morning. I woke up to the sound of them. They seemed to energize me and spur me into action each day. On the wall in my room hung my medals, awarded to me for excelling in each class. My dressing table held my awards; they stood tall, telling tales of my success: Best in this and best in that. The biggest of them boasted to everyone that I had recited Psalm 119 in Sunday school. I faced my opponents the same way, looking them in the face and saying, “I am your fear” as Mama taught me. And they’d all scramble like rams, letting me emerge the winner. I never knew I could do all that, but Mama said I could. But what about me? What was I saying? Deep down lay great fear. I jumped the rod not because I believed I could; I jumped it because I was afraid I couldn’t. I strained myself because I was afraid to fail. I hated to see the disappointment on my mama’s face. I waited to hear my name each time, knowing nothing but excellence would be enough. I could see the heights of expectancy on her face, and they’d wear off by inch if I wasn’t called yet. Then they would rush back in a moment when I was announced as the overall best in my class. I cried each time, not tears of joy, but tears of fear that I could have failed altogether. “Baby, you are strong.” “No, Mum, I’m not!” “You can do anything you want.” “I do them all for you.” “You can be the best!” “I’m so scared I won’t be.” “Only if you believe in yourself.” “I can’t even find myself.” My voice was so lost in hers; my world revolved around her. Maybe because I never saw Dada; he died the day I was born. I was told too much joy killed him; he never believed he could be a father. He had a disability that confined him to a wheelchair just before he married my Mama. I only have a picture for keeps, and I praise Mama for her bravery. I wished I could find my own place too, and make her proud in my own way. I wanted to get to the top not for the money or for the fame but simply because I loved it. I really wanted to believe in myself. I wanted to go beyond my room and be the best in my own way. But what I wanted didn’t matter unless it was what Mama wanted. My choices were pointless, my dreams nightmares unless Mama said otherwise. She had planned out my life already. “At 22, you should be a barrister. The world would applaud you for being so young. People would bow to your wisdom,” she said. It sounded welcoming, and I’d do it for her. **** The goodbyes were slow, so slow that they drained me. College called immediately after high school, and I had to leave. I wouldn’t see Mama until summer break. The car moved slowly too; we waved and waved until we were out of each other’s sight. I wiped my tears and promised I’d make her proud. I lied. I failed. Two weeks went by, and I was in the other queue picking up a transfer form. I did not want to do law anymore. The wig and the gown never attracted me, but equations and formulas did. I called her. “I’m sorry, Mama. I have to disobey you this time. I know you won’t be proud, but please allow me to feel that pride even for once. Allow me to see my reflection in the mirror,” I said. She was not happy. Her voice sounded so low on the phone. She didn’t say “Baby, you are strong” in her usual way. I failed so many times. I had carryovers and stayed on probation. What happened to the usual overall best student? My medals and awards would be damned. They would walk off if they had the chance. Mama said it wasn’t too late to quit, and that I could still go back to my first course, but I wanted Mathematics, and I was ready to fight for it. I would conquer mathematics and physics to the end. I needed to jump this rod with so much faith. I needed to be me. But the end came too soon. It was convocation morning, and nothing had changed; I had been conquered. I sat in the back seat, according to our CGPA. I wasn’t the overall best. I wasn’t the best-graduating student. Tears stood in Mama’s eyes. Even when she smiled at the camera, they were still visible, but I wasn’t moved. For once in my life, I was ready to face the world with courage. I faced my post-college education. This time, I finally understood myself; I saw that failing wasn’t that painful. Failure is just a scratch. Mama’s words finally made sense. I am stronger than the ground. I can conquer fluid mechanics. I can do it because I believe I can. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5—57 times and eureka! I proved the existence and smoothness of the Navier-Stokes equation. I did what other students couldn’t do. I solved a millennium mathematics problem. Now and forever, my name is written in gold in the hall of fame of mathematics. Mama said with pride this time at my convocation, “Never forget, baby, that you are strong.” READ ALSO: How One Girl Faced Her Family’s Dark Legacy

A Journalist’s Dangerous Pursuit

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A Journalist's Dangerous Pursuit

Amanda’s heart raced as she stepped into the dimly lit bar on Okeyilo Street in Shandam, Kaduna, a street renowned for housing dangerous criminals. The pungent smell of cigarettes and cheap liquor assaulted her senses, but she steeled herself. This was it—the breakthrough she’d been waiting for in her investigation of the notorious Ben Edet. Amanda had been tracking Ben’s activities as an investigative journalist for months. Rumoured to be a ruthless kidnapper and drug kingpin, Ben had recently made headlines by allegedly abducting the State governor’s son for a staggering 50 million naira ransom and has threatened to kidnap the first lady next if his demands were not met. With her wedding drawing close, Amanda was determined to crack the case, expose the truth and be back on time to get married. The bar’s patrons eyed her suspiciously as she ordered a beer, trying her best to blend in. It wasn’t until later that evening that Amanda realised her mistake—her conservative attire stood out like a sore thumb among the scantily clad women who frequented the establishment. Despite her initial setback, her persistence paid off. She learned two crucial pieces of information: Ben’s real name was Dogo Sylvester, and he had a weakness for women. Armed with this knowledge, Amanda knew what she had to do. She called her editor to give him the update and he simply told her to do what she has to do to get him the story. She would have to turn in her report to the state CID as well but, her newspaper house needs it firsthand. With a heavy heart, she called her fiancé, Jason, to explain her next move. “I have to go undercover,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s the only way to get close to him.” Jason’s concern was palpable. “Be careful,” he pleaded. “Don’t let him touch you.” Amanda’s transformation into “Sandra,” a down-on-her-luck prostitute, was swift and convincing. She rented a room in a nearby brothel and immersed herself in the seedy underworld of Shandam’s red-light district. She had to blend in so they could trust her as one of them, she needed to get into Ben’s life by all means. Her act was so convincing that she soon caught Ben’s eye. On the night she was brought to him, she couldn’t believe her luck as she sat face-to-face with him. She forgot all about the report and was so scared for her life. He smiled at her and asked her to sit on the bed. He took in puff after puff of weed which he offered her but she refused. She thought of what to do but her mind was so dumb. She was still thinking of the next thing to say when he spoke. “So tell me about yourself, you see all the girls for your cabal I know them, all of them sweet- sweet girls but I’ve never seen you, so I want to know you.” Amanda broke down in tears as she told her story of woes, how she lost her parents and her uncle who was supposed to take care of her took away the properties of her father and left her to suffer. She had no other option than to do this dirty job to get money. She was surprised at her theatrical display and wondered where the story even came from. He looked at her strangely as she narrated her ordeals and what pushed her into this kind of life. He looked as though he knew she was lying but he said nothing. He kept looking at her and puffing his weed. “Come,” he said eventually. She walked up to him in her tank top and shorts praying he wouldn’t try to manhandle her. She was so defenceless except for the pepper spray she managed to tuck inside her bra. He sat her down on his lap looking deep into her eyes and spraying the smoke from the weed into her face. She held her breath as he did that wishing she could strangle him already. “I like you, I won’t hurt you as your uncle did and I can even help you kill him if you want.” Amanda’s stomach churned at his casual offer of murder, but she saw an opportunity, the possible way of making him talk about his escapades and confess to the various crimes attached to his name, she gave a sinister smile and hugged him then whispered into his ears. “I would love that!” Over the next week, Ben became infatuated with Amanda. She played her role to perfection, carefully extracting information while maintaining her cover. With each passing day, she gathered more evidence of his crimes, but she knew she needed a confession. On the night of reckoning, Amanda prepared herself for the most dangerous part of her mission. She set up hidden cameras and recorders, then invited Ben to her room. As they shared a bottle of wine—which she had laced with a mild sedative—Ben began to open up. His story was one of tragedy and pain. His father would come home drunk each night to beat him, his mother, and his younger sister. He hated his father. Each day brews new hatred for his useless father and all he wanted was to take care of his mum and sister but that never happened for his father killed his mum one day during their fights. His father was drunk as usual and everyone blamed it on the alcohol but Ben didn’t and the judge too didn’t and sentenced him to life imprisonment. His kid sister was assaulted by government officials who raked down their kiosk by the roadside alongside others calling it illegal. She fell sick after the manhandling and died weeks later. That incident changed him a lot and he took this path. He had no regrets as he looked at Amanda. He would avenge his sister and mother but first, he is starting with the State governor … Read more

Awakening the Sleeping Giant

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Awaken the Giant in You

In the ancient city of Nebothia, a legend whispered through the ages told of a mighty giant guardian named Elk. Placed by the supreme being to watch over the land. Elk was a giant of extraordinary strength, standing over 7 feet tall—a colossus among the natives. His prowess was unmatched; he hunted wild beasts with his bare hands, feasting on their raw flesh. Rumours have it that at night, he transforms into a bull-like creature with the appearance of a man and patrols the entire land, watching, guarding and defending the nation from even unseen forces. No one has ever seen him like this before but the tale has been passed down from one generation to the next and it was talked about in hush whispers, making Elk, the giant, to be feared greatly. Elk’s solitary nature led him to dwell in the hills and caves on the outskirts of Nebothia. The villagers rarely saw him, save for times of war. Unlike other cities with their grand armies, Nebothia had no standing force of great art or strength. They had only Elk—their one-man army. When danger loomed, an alarm would sound, and Elk would be summoned from his rocky abode. But the task of fetching this unpredictable giant fell to one person alone: a young lad named Elon. For Elk’s temper was as mighty as his strength, and many a messenger had fallen victim to his rage before even reaching the battlefield. Elon, however, possessed a unique ability to calm the giant while delivering news of impending threats. Each time Elk appeared, the natives rejoiced, for his presence assured victory. He always returned triumphant, a living legend among his people. But as time flowed like an endless river, Elk vanished from the hills he called home. The only trace of his departure was a cryptic message etched into a tree: “𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 𝑎 𝑔𝑖𝑓𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑙𝑙… ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑓𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝐼 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑑” The villagers, puzzled by the message’s origin and meaning, continued their daily lives unaware of the profound change about to unfold. When war once again threatened Nebothia, Elon was dispatched to fetch their saviour. He raced to the hills, his heart pounding with urgency. Reaching the cave at the foot of the hills, Elon called out: “Oh, great one! A nearby community who have not heard of your might is camping just by the seashore ready to attack us!” Silence greeted his words. Undeterred, Elon tried again, his voice echoing off the cave walls. “Great Elk of Nebothia! Your city is on the verge of attack by some invaders who are ready to strike us at any time. You need to come down quickly and save us!” “Are you talking to yourself?” A voice startled Elon from behind. Spinning around, Elon found himself face to face with a Dublin—a watcher of the sky, suspended in mid-air by wings attached to his legs. The Dublin’s piercing gaze seemed to look through Elon as he repeated his question. Confusion clouded Elon’s mind as the Dublin revealed a truth that would shatter his world: “Or rather, you were sent to get yourself to fight off the invaders!” “I don’t understand you,” Elon protested, his mission to fetch Elk momentarily forgotten. “What is there not to understand, dear son of Elk?” The words hit Elon like a thunderbolt. “What did you just say? Me? The son of Elk?” “Yes. Can’t you see it, Elon? Elk is your father sent to watch over and save Nebothia. He has finished his race and is gone. It’s your turn now to do the same.” “What are you talking about?” Elon asked, entering into more confusion. If he was the son of Elk, how did that come to be? What was he doing in the village with others? Why was he not on the hill with his father? As he asked these questions, realization dawned on him as the answers came. He has never felt normal, his body mass keeps increasing by the day and so is his appetite. He noticed he was also getting taller, even taller than most of the villagers. “But-” “There are no buts, can’t you see the handwriting on the wall, Elon? Your father has completed his race and has handed it over to you, you’re the next watcher and guardian of Nebothia” “But how come-” “How come you never knew right?” The Dublin asked, cutting him short. “Yeah,” Elon replied confused. “That’s because Elk, your father gave you up to the villagers at your birth. He wanted you to know everything about the people you’ve been sent to guard. He wanted you to fall in love with them first and so you can care for them. He didn’t have that opportunity and most times, he was quite violent towards them but he didn’t want the same for you and so he allowed you to live with them,” He explained. “So great son of Elk, what are you going to do with this information? Will you continue to be an errand boy, one sent to go call a giant or one who will take up his place and identity as THE GIANT and fight?” Elon was at a loss as he watched the Dublin, his mouth was open but no words came from it. The Dublin knew he had carried out his mission and so he left Elon with these parting words. “Awaken the giant in you or watch him die from sleep!” As the Dublin vanished into the sky, Elon remained rooted to the spot, grappling with his newfound identity. The weight of his destiny pressed upon him, demanding action. So all along, he was a giant and he never knew, no one knew. No one told him. 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑑𝑖𝑑. And what did the Dublin say again, “What was he going to do with that information?” Elon roared, one that was heard even far beyond the land and stumped down the hill as … Read more

Confronting the Secrets of the Past

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Confronting The Secrets of the Past

I saw Anna again after 15 years. I saw her but she wasn’t the little infant whose image has secretly been on my mind for eons. She wasn’t the 2-day old baby I left to die at the refuse dump. Anna was representing her school in the quarterly spelling bee competition and so far, she’s been scaling each phase without burning out her memory. She kept spelling till she got to the nationals where I happened to be one of the judges. I’ve been hearing a lot about this nerd who has been setting the whole central East on fire with her brains and I wasn’t surprised when I learned she would be at the competition. Her school is head-bent on milking all the awards through her. She’s their best student. “Anna Patrick for Greenfield High School,” The chief judge called her and proceeded to call others who made it to the nationals. She walked up to the stage and took her seat. She is my exact replica and I hid part of my face with my wig trying my best to comport myself. I met her two days ago when they arrived, she was in the company of a woman and a man, supposedly her foster parents and also the school proprietress. I met them at the entrance to the secretariat where every student would have to register. She had the mark on her face, on her neck, and her right hand. I had a baby when I was 15. I wasn’t ready and so was my boyfriend. It was best I got rid of it but I couldn’t for fear of losing my life in the process so I ran away from home. I had the baby, a little healthy baby in a cold dirty infirmary. She was so small and beautiful and I forgot my fears for once as I looked at her. My baby had those birthmarks, tiny starish marks close to her eyes, her neck, and on her right hand. I know I couldn’t take care of her so I opted for the easy way out. I rolled her in folds of wrappers and dumped her in her sleep at the refuse dump close to the area where I lived and I turned back and fled. Anna wrote down her name and I stared at her in shock, the room suddenly became so small for me and stuffy too. I couldn’t breathe and sweat broke out on my tiny frame. My colleague asked her for other information which she provided in that shrill voice the same as mine. She has my eyes and lips too. Anyone who looked at us closely would see the resemblance, I nearly fainted as she talked. I was just holding on to my sanity by a thread. She left with her parents and I walked back to my room complaining of a headache. My mind was cast back to that day when I dropped my motherly cloak and abandoned a child I brought into his world. Now fate has played a fast one on me by showing me how wicked I was and a treasure that I’ve lost to another family. I’ve not even been able to conceive in my marriage after 5 years already. I cried myself to sleep filled with guilt and sorrow. She was at the last two words that would crown her champion, she and another girl from the west were the only two remaining after defeating the other thirty-four contestants from other states. By missing a letter, the other girl fell out and it was remaining just Anna. My own Anna. I looked at the last word for her to spell. “Eccendentesiast” The chief judge said something else instead. “Spell Motherhood.” Anna looked at him with awe as her jaw dropped from high expectations. No one was expecting such a simple word to spell. I could see the sly look on the face of the proprietress and the triumphant look on the face of her parents, scratch that, her foster parents. I flinched in lethal dread. This shouldn’t be happening now. I was filled with sorrow as she asked for a dictionary definition. It’s such a simple word, why would she want a definition? Abiding by the rule, the chief judge said the definition. I was sitting there trying hard not to make my tears spill for it reminded me of how much I’ve failed. She brought the microphone close to her mouth and started. “I was told that I had a mother who gave birth to me but decided to throw me away for reasons best known to her — ” Anna wasn’t supposed to be doing this but I saw that the chief judge was quiet and didn’t try to stop her. I guess everyone wants to know about this brilliant girl and who she was. “I’m not angry at her action, I’m just sad that she hated me that much to want to end my life. I have a mother today, who picked me up from that dump and it’s to her I dedicate this.” Anna continued. She walked down the stage to where her parents sat, her mum was already in tears as she came closer. There My Anna spelled the word ‘Motherhood’. I wiped off my tears quickly as it ran down my cheeks. No one would ever see it and I managed to speak into the microphone. “Correct.” I watched the crowd grow wild in ecstasy as they clapped for the new national champion. Her parents hugged her tight crying. I slipped away into the restroom and sat on the cold tiled floor. I let go of reasoning as I sat close to the toilet bowl crying in heart-shattering pain. I couldn’t believe what I’d done to myself. I was too weak to even go back to the hall. How would I tell the story? She will hate me even more, that I walked away from her only … Read more

A Regret that Lasted a Lifetime

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A Regret that Lasted a Lifetime

I regretted the day Father told me I would marry David, the day he summoned me to the courtyard to meet him. There I saw the man, fully clad in a soldier’s armour, only his face visible—and it was the most beautiful I had ever seen. His eyes spelt such peace that I wondered how it could be so for a man of war, a man who had just slain 200 Philistines single-handedly to win my hand. His hand rested on his sword hilt, ready to draw at any moment. “Be still, man of war!” I almost said, but held my tongue. There was no imminent battle; the only war was the one raging in my heart. “Meet my daughter, Michal,” Father said David removed his helmet and bowed slightly as Father introduced me. I returned the gesture as nicely as I could. As Father spoke, my eyes roamed freely over his form. His golden hair cascaded to the nape of his neck, his skin the colour of caramel, and his lips a perfect feature on his face. Oh, how I loved him! Father must have known this, perhaps explaining why he chose me to be his wife. Secretly, I was grateful that Merab, my elder sister, had been given to another. Now, this man could be mine alone. Father beckoned David forward and placed my hand in his. As our hands touched, he knelt and kissed mine. A shiver ran through my entire body, from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. When he released my hand and stood, our eyes met, and I blushed—a princess, flushing for a man in his very presence! But he was no ordinary man. He was a commander in my father’s army, the one who had saved our land from the Philistine giant, Goliath and ended the war. Father dismissed me, and I tried to walk gracefully back to my chambers, conscious of his gaze boring into my back. Years passed, and he became not just my husband and the greatest warrior in the land, but also the King. He ascended the throne after my father’s death, elevating me to the position of a queen. My warrior king was everything to me: my passion, for he alone could set me aflame; my priest, for he kept his covenant with God and communed daily with the divine; my king, who made me his queen; my husband, whose leadership and priesthood I submitted to. He was the envy of all, and I felt blessed to be his wife. But there’s more to our tale—he was also a fiercely jealous lover. In a cruel twist of fate, my father gave me to another man, a spiteful act aimed at wounding him. Yet, upon his triumphant return after my father’s passing, he demanded my restoration as his rightful wife. Seeing his devotion to me, I vowed to reciprocate. I resolved to be the epitome of a devoted wife—to desire him ceaselessly, to commit myself to him alone, and to adore him with every fibre of my being. These were the expectations placed upon a wife, and I embraced them wholeheartedly. But I failed him. I failed the day the Ark of God was returned to Jerusalem. That day, I looked upon my king with contempt and despised him in my heart, for he debased himself before the people. Why should the great King of Israel dance so vigorously, nearly becoming unclad? Such behaviour did not befit royalty! It was a complete humiliation of royal dignity! When he finished the offerings and came to bless us, I took him aside and berated him for his unseemly actions. “We have a legacy to uphold,” I hissed. “What will our servants think?” My king listened silently to my anger, then replied, “In God’s presence, I’ll dance all I want! He chose me over your father and the rest of your family and made me prince over God’s people, over Israel. Yes, I’ll dance to God’s glory even more recklessly than this. And as far as I’m concerned… I’ll gladly look like a fool…” His words left me speechless, and as he walked away, my heart shattered. I realized then that I had despised not just him, but the God of Israel.  I had forgotten the scripture that says, “He inhabits the praises of His people.”  He had been dancing for Him, not for me or the people. It was his expression of love, shown through jubilant dance. I had despised his worship, his sacrifice to the King of kings, his devotion to the Maker. I had despised a man of God, a man after God’s own heart. I had despised the very offering for the Ark of the Covenant and the fact that he had gone out of his way to bring it back to Israel. I had despised the man on whose shoulders God had placed the governance of His people. I had despised his priesthood and his kingship. I had despised the covering over my head. Oh, how I had despised my king! Afterwards, I would go to my king when summoned, or he would come to me at will, but I could not conceive. It was as if his seed fell on infertile ground—for that is what I had become after I disdained him. A mark had been made in the womb of time: a woman is to honour her head, and I had failed to do so. How could I conceive for a man I loathed? What good could I receive from a man I disdained? What blessings could I obtain from his God, whom I had treated with contempt? I remained barren in his house, the only barren woman in Israel until the day I died. READ ALSO: Religion Creates no Boundaries in Love