Is It A Sin? (Episode 2)
Kidnapper! Kidnapper!! Kidnapper!!! Some villagers were chasing a kidnaper frantically and deucedly, some were chasing her bare-footed. Children, youths and adults were after the irritating kidnapper. All the villagers were handling a weapon each like stones, sticks, cutlasses, swords and all different forms of weapon. I was on my way to the bush, I wanted to go and search for leftover fruit and viands, so as to quench our hunger and esurience.
The kidnapper who was wearing a cloth similar to that of my mother ran into the uncompleted building we are sojourning. She ran past my mother who needed insistent.
“Why is this one running?” my mother asked rhetorically.
The angry hot-blooded villagers/chaser ran into the uncompleted building, they saw my mother lying down mewling.
“This is a prank, she is the one, and she is wearing the same cloth”. One of those angry pursuers noted. “Yes, she is the one.” The other chasers replicates in chorus.
“You think you are wise (pointing to my mother).” The Youth Leader uttered.
“What are you insinuating, I don’t un………………………” my mother never conclude her words before the youth leader bang into her words.
“Stone her to death”. The youth leader commanded.
In short, my mother was stoned to death by the hot-blooded villagers who were pursing the kidnapper.
The chasers carried my mother’s lifeless body in front of the uncompleted building; they were ready to set her dead body ablaze.
I came back from the bush with a bag full of different fruits in likes of Guava, Cashew, Mango and Orange. I saw many villagers holding different type of weapon in front the uncompleted building. I drop the bag containing the fruits as I ran to the scene to see what is happening. Lo and behold, my dear mother is dead, she has been stoned to death by the angry villagers, she was accused and killed for the crime she didn’t commit, what a life of injustice. I wept bitterly, no one to console me, the wild, angry, raging, furious and tempestuous villagers were baffled, befuddled, at sea, lost and confused at my reactions on the death of my beloved and darling mother.
“Do you know her?” The village youth leaders asked confusing.
“You have killed my mother.” I cried out loud as I bang my mother’s chest so she would notice me, but no, she is dead. The villagers were all surprised at the same time shocked.
“So you are the daughter of this foul, loathe, disgusting, skanky and repelling kidnapper.” One of the wild villagers said inhumanely.
“My mother is not a kidnapper, we are immigrant here, and we couldn’t find shelter from your people, so we decided to sleep here (pointing to the uncompleted building) for a night before we continue our journey to nowhere. I went to the bush to look for something to eat with my mother, but I meet my mother lying here lifeless and she was killed by you callous”. I uttered weeping bitterly. All attentions were on me, the villagers did not know what to do, they were so mixed-up, they looks at one another face thinking they mistoom my mother for the real kidnapper.
“I know they were kidnappers, they came to my house yesterday to beg for asylum, shelter and hideout in which I refused bluntly, thank God I did not allow them in, maybe my only son would have become their prey”. A female villager who we begged for shelter from yesterday uttered unkindly.
“You are also acting smart like your mother right? If you can fool some people, you can’t twat all of us, so you don’t deserve to live because if we leave you to live now, you will later take up your mother’s job (Kidnapping), so I think we should also stone her to death.” The village youth leader address at the same time command the depressed villagers.
“Don’t stone her, I will enslave her and I will pay her price this instant.” Behold it was the rich and popular slave trader/dealer from Lagos though he haste from that village.
The Slave Dealer and The Villager Youth Leader opt for a very serene part of the uncompleted building to have some privacy to negotiate on my price.
(Few minutes later)
The Village Youth Leader signaled with his hand to the other villagers to varnish from the scene.
“Shackle her leg with this chain.” He commands as he throws a chain to one of his guard.
“My lord, please I have a last entreaty to make before we leave this locality and I will be glad if you can grant my request”. I said totally discouraged.
“Okay am listening.” The slave trader said, outing a fake smile from his cheeks.
“Please let me bury my beloved dead mother before my leg will be shackled.” I said pleading.
“Is that all?” The slave dealer asked with approval expression from his face.
“Yes, this will be my last entreaty here.” I responded crying.
“You (signaling to one of his guard) dig a grave at that far end of this building; let her bury her yucky and disgusting mother, because we are leaving for Lagos tomorrow.” The slave trader approved, concludes at the same time command.
We embarked on the journey to Lagos. The Slave Dealer rode on his beautiful white horse, we (slaves) were plodding heavily, and his guards were trampling professionally with a very long whip on each of the guards hand, they were beating us as if we stole something costly and expensive from our boss (the slave trader), despite the fact that we are plodding and leaden heavily, different goods were backpacked on our backs like that of a camel or donkey, the guards were still insinuating that we are not walking fast as expected despite the heavy loads they loaded on our backs. We (slaves) were walking bare-footed on the hot land. We (slaves) were sweating and panting intemperately, we (slaves) were very tired and hungry but we dare not jazz, cackle, talk or soliloquize, if anyone does, such person has meet his/her doom.
(Fifteen days later)
We got to Lagos; we are totally exhausted because of the long journey, during our journey we would trek for days without food and water, my body is full of marks from whips/cane from the guard’s. The riches parable that says “the God that create the riches is different from the God that create the poor/slaves.” Getting to Lagos is another dimension of my agony. There I believed that slaves are meant to be anguished and grieved. Slaves are meant to work for their master till death. Slaves work hard for their masters without acquiring any income rather suffering and agony. Slaves’ lessons class only taught all sorts of immoral attitudes like Killing, Stealing, Kidnapping, Drug Trafficking and all other sort of immoral attitudes. In conclusion, slavery must be conclude to be Human Trafficking, Child Abuse and I think this has to stop………
(Two weeks later)
I am working on a field, looking lean and malnutritious, I am now the image of my own self, I am very sick but Slave are not meant to be sick or weak, because their days are already numbered, this is according to one of their rules. On that very day, a slave’s distributor came to the slaves market; she bought me and pays my fee to the slave dealer. I was clothed, she commands me to enter her car and I did as instructed, she zooms out of the slave’s market. “God, what will be my fate now, where is she transporting me to, ah! God! Why is my life stumbling from one misfortune to another, maybe this one is a kidnapper or ritualist, will I be turned into money just like that? God, why does my life seem to be this traumatic? After the death of my parent, I don’t have peace any longer. God! If I have gone against your wishes, forgive me oh lord, and if it is my parent that has pique your laws that may be the cause of this my suffering, Oh lord! Please forgive their soul and also see me through all this nisus, pains and traumas. I cogitate/thought, wholly heart-weeping.
(Few minutes later)
The slave distributor zoom into a mighty building, the building was very beautiful and well decorated; the building was surrounded by a monolithic coop big enough to be mistaken for the Presidential Villa/Aso Rock. The whole building was painted white and powder blue, from the gate toward the house laid a fully adorned field with a well cultivated and mowed grass on the right and left flank leaving a small passage but broad enough to contain a moving vehicle. The house was a duplex with twelve rooms on the upper floor and a wide sitting room down stair to greet any visitor. Also, the sitting room contained three toilets situated at the left side of the sitting room if turned 300 with a dining big enough to build a bedroom, build in a corner somewhere in the sitting room. Hi-sense flat screen stayed glued to the wall facing the entrance with a well arranged set of home theatre sitting consciously on the floor below the flat screen. The building is extremely beautiful and can be said to be the perfect personification of mighty.
We are warmly welcomed by a beautiful woman, dressed in an elegant pink gown, her appearance have shown that she is dwelling in money. The woman offers each of us (The slave distributor and I) a glass of 5 Alive juice. The slave trader addresses the rich woman to me as Mrs. Chioma by name and I will be her housemaid. I greeted Mrs. Chioma respectfully; she answered my greeting with utmost humility.
“My friend, I will be traveling to Dubai tomorrow, and I will return in no specific date for now. And as for this one (pointing to me) you own her, you can kill her if you like, she is a slave, just pay her fee that is all” The slave distributor counterblasted.
Mrs. Chioma sees off the slave distributor. I sat down in the sitting room watching a cartoon shown on the TV. Mrs. Chioma came back looking elegant and gorgeous as usual.
“You what is your name?” Mrs. Chioma asked.
“N….n.e…….na.” I replied stammering.
“Welcome to my territory” Mrs. Chioma said laughing as she opts for her bedroom.
I was baffled by her last statement, “welcome to my territory” that statement re-echoed in my ears, I don’t know what her reaction meant. Many thoughts ran through my innocent mind but I couldn’t fathom exactly what her sentence meant, but I prayed it mean good.
Voom! A Venza 2017 Model, beautifully pimped, arch in colour whizzed into the compound swiftly, Mrs. Chioma went out to welcome the August visitors. Lo and behold they are Mrs. Chioma children, a young, cute and handsome boy, I guess his age can’t transcend 13-15 years old, and a beautiful young girl, she took after Mrs. Chioma in appearance and her age can’t exceed 16-18 years old. They just came back from United State of America for vacation. They school in United State of America, and I learnt that they are three the second child of Mrs. Chioma is also a boy and he is also schooling in United State of America, but he didn’t come to Nigeria for vacation.
Mrs. Chioma ushered her children in. She was quite happy to see her beloved children.
“Nnena!……..Nnena!!..” Mrs. Chioma screamed my name.
“Ma” I replied as I quickly opt for the sitting room.
“How many times must I call you before you answered my call?” Mrs. Chioma uttered disappointed.
“Am sorry ma, I am washing the dirty dish, so I have to wash my hand from been soapy before I came here ma, am very sorry ma.” I responded beseeching.
“Ok, meet my children, his name is Obinna (pointing to the boy) and her name is Chiamaka (signaling the girl), so therefore every respect I deserves from you should be given to my children. They are three my second child is also a boy and his name is Chinnedu.” Mrs. Chioma enunciated.
“Met our housemaid, her name is Nnena, she just resume here today and I think she must be a good girl.” Mrs. Chioma addressed, I greeted her children but they responded to my greeting unsatisfied.
“Go and prepare something for them to eat, they must be exhausted by now, check the food timetable on the kitchen wall and cook what is on the roster for today breakfast.” Mrs. Chioma commanded as I swiftly evanescent/vanished from the sitting room.
“Mum, how can this dirty looking girl cook for me? She is too disgusting and irritating; I don’t think I can eat her meal” Chiamaka presented with a very bad expression showing on her face.
“She is from the village but don’t worry my dear, I will blend her” Mrs. Chioma bridled.
“My sister, she is also a human being, you do go to church in USA but it doesn’t shows on you that you are that religious……………………..” Obinna isolated.
“Will you shut that gutter you call a mouth, I am talking, you are also talking, who invited you to this discussion? Don’t ever again in your life intervene in my dialogue. Understand?” Chiamaka counterblasted.
Obinna soliloquized and opt for his bedroom.
“Mummy I don’t like that girl, she is a foul. Gosh. I don’t even know what you like about her. Or is it because she is also beautiful?” Chiamaka retort.
“Chiamaka, please change the topic.” Mrs. Chioma said with an implied command.
Ehn! Ehn!! That reminds me mummy Chinedu said he is coming home next year October.” Chiamaka said quite happy.
“Okay, he is always welcome.” Mrs. Chioma replied.
“Mummy, My brothers and I have decided to finish our education here in Nigeria.” Chiamaka premised.
“You got your dad permission for that?” Mrs. Chioma replied.
“Mummy, when last did you hear from daddy? He isn’t calling us more often as he usually do” Chiamaka pried Mrs. Chioma who was busy listening to the network news.
“Yesterday, he travelled because an issue came up so he went to Abuja to settle it” Mrs. Chioma replicates.
“What issue?” Chiamaka inquired.
“Chiamaka you are too nosey, what concerns you with the issue that broke out?” Mrs. Chioma sassed.
“Am sorry ma, when his he coming back?” Chiamaka apologized and quested.
“Before Christmas he said.” Mrs. Chioma replied now uncomfortable.
“Mummy, when……………………” Chiamaka unfinished with her words when Mrs. Chioma bangs in.
“Chiamaka, go and eat. When you not a reporter!” Mrs. Chioma said as she opts for the dinning.
To be continued
All Rights Reserved