CHAPTER 6

“Iron sharpeneth iron so a man sharpeneth his friend’s countenance” , but I was daft. Why on earth would I be in a friendship where we both had our individual problems? Not ordinary problems, issues!!!

The most Reverend father of the diocese had a public image of being the holiest man on earth. He was worshiped and his feet were kissed daily. He was regarded as the son of God by the gullible people of Shagbo. After Sunday service, people queued in front of the parish office. One by one, they entered to meet ‘HIS MOST HIGH’ to confess their sins. ‘Father forgive me’ they took turns to say this statement. I obviously had no choice but to join the ‘geng’. That expanded my capacity to engage in sinful activities, since I could just go to the parish office every Sunday and be forgiven. Even in my sins, I still had good morals and virtues. I learnt a lot from mama and I heard her imaginary voice cautioning me whenever I wanted to do whatever doesn’t dim fit. My awe came when I later got to know Father Mokam was the chief of sinners. He had a stainless public image but his inward being was more evil than the devil. My jaw dropped when I heard he engaged in immorality with the nuns. His room was something close to the closet of a drug trafficker. These stuffs annoyed me so much. Regardless, this shouldn’t be expected from a priest, a Vicar!!!

Gradually, Vicar started getting fond of me. Many times he would invite me into his office for a chit-chat and he was also fond of sending me errands. I guessed he just had a spot on me. Sooner I started bearing his cross. I behaved responsible, asin I dey my dey(minded my business) and was a good boy. These traits made Vicar to develop huge trust in me. I started following him to meetings, invitations, etc. such an honor! All these gave me big morale and I grew wings at the convent. Sisters no longer treat me anyhow. Who born dem. ‘Contrabands’ weren’t seen as contraband with me any longer cos I be vicar ‘pikin’(child). I even had the choice to sleep at the Vicar’s quarters, a very big majestic building set for the reverend father alone. That was when my friendship with Ebuka became mutual. It was once commensal because I benefitted a lot from him while he benefitted little or nothing. But now, we got a lot to benefit together from my new found relationship with the ‘god’ of the convent, the most respected Vicar!!!

CHAPTER 7

It was a norm for me to take a walk in evenings anytime I was bored or didn’t just know what to do. My walk areas were the lobby, the sisters’ quarters, around the cathedral and I also loved to explore new places at the convent because it was such a big place. 

“Sister Chiamaka is such a sadist” I overheard some nuns while walking across the verandah of the sisters’ quarters. “She’s so boring, quiet and everything about her is sorrowful and depressing." “How about her poor fashion sense? Did you see what she wore last week? Color riot!" I heard another nun. I just watched the so-called nuns who were meant to be game-changers and influence of positive change gossiping and bad-mouthing someone else. “She wasn’t even a nun! Her husband sent her packing after twelve years of barrenness! She joined the convent just to cover up the shame and paint a new image to people that she was a sister” my heart broke; I never expected such hard words from Sister Tabitha. WTH.

Sister Amaka lived a secluded and lonely lifestyle. As heard, she was a sadist. No wonder! She struggled with a lot of issues she didn’t open up to people. Most times, she took depressant pills to calm her of her sorrows. 

Suddenly, I had a strong feeling to go check up on her. Her room was at the second sisters’ quarters. I rushed down the stairs and started perceiving a feeling of danger. “Is sister Amaka safe?” I thought. I doubled my speed toward her room cos her room was at the outermost part of the quarters; the last room. She lived like an outcast. What the hell was she still doing at the quarters when other sisters had gone to pray?

Before I knew it, I heard a gunshot. It wasn’t so loud but I definitely knew that was a gun. I rushed to her doorstep to find out the door was locked. “My freaking goodness” I banged and struggled with the door to no avail “Wetin dey shele?” (what is going on?)

I thought of a plan B “Yes! The window” I didn’t stress to see a razor blade on the floor. Since the window was a sliding one, I could just tear the net and slide the window to have my way in. I had another feeling of going to report or call a higher authority but smh, I gotta figure things out myself.

I had my way in and saw the lifeless body of sister Amaka in a pool of blood. She probably gunned herself in the head with a silent pistol! Right beside her lifeless body was her rosary and a stainless plate in which she had her depressant drugs. “This is serious” I muttered.

I eaved a sigh. Still surprised of what actually happened. “How come she killed herself?” In the same spec, I started to admire the pistol on the ground. I picked it up. It was a GLOCK-46; it had a rotating barrel breech lock system, so exciting. I learnt so much about guns from my brother. “Nonso would love this” I silently said. He was a hunter who used mere dane guns. Guns with sound loud enough to awaken the whole south-south geo-political zone when shot during his hunting expenditures at night. I started to imagine my brother bringing home games after killing them with the silent pistol, such a nice fantasy. The deed had been done. The Yoruba’s say ‘Obe ti ge omo lowo, omo ju obe nu, shugbon obe ti se ohun ti ofe se’ (The knife had cut the child. The child threw the knife away but the deed had been done). “Abeg we no go throw away this knife” I laughed hierarchically. I could sell the gun at a huge price and make cool money out of it cos it costs a fortune. The question is ‘Where can I hide it for the time being?’

I was late back to my hostel that night. As expected the hostel gate was locked. Fortunately for me, Chukwuebuka’s hostel wasn’t, so as per ‘guy to guy’ stuff nah, I slept at his place. Without his consent, I hid the gun inside his locker. I mean the second one he seldomly used.

The following day, the news about sister Amaka’s death broke out. The convent was thrown into confusion. Everyone wondered who the assailant could be since it was confirmed she was shot, and obviously there was no gun, so it was a suspected murder case. I left Ebuka’s place. The vicar called me to accompany him alongside some other convent officials to the police station for an immediate report of the situation on ground and further investigation.

While at the station, the police alongside the FBI ordered a thorough search of the convent. “All property and every nook and cranny of that convent must be searched!” The pot-bellied DPO commanded. “Mumu me” I remembered I forgot the pistol in Ebuka’s locker. That was a point in my life I got so scared to an extent I peed on my pants. I started to shiver in the absence of cold. I couldn’t leave the station without the vicar, and vicar wouldn’t leave there till the whole case was settled “Mogbe, modaran!!”

****

Yes, as you expected!

Ebuka was arrested; they found the gun in his possession. The same gun was traced to the bullet that killed sister Amaka. They matched!

Ebuka was handcuffed, confused about what was happening. I cried!!! I was pretty sure the innocent boy was hoping everything that happened wasn’t reality, a dream probably. He was placed on trial, prosecuted and charged with murder. He was sentenced to life imprisonment with hard labor. An offence he did not commit!!!

I slammed my forehead with my wrist, belched and sighed. Who go solve this matter as e be so? I remembered the innocent Chukuebuka. "Was it a crime to make friends with me?" Yes you, I’m asking you. 

I have been having series of hallucinations and bad nightmares days now. I envisioned spirits threatening revenge if I don’t confess my crimes and demand justice for him. "But omo, I don’t want to go to ‘kiri-kiri’(prison). Everyone would think I killed Amaka and I am ready to fill that gap."

I’ve heard stories from papa’s elder brother uncle Samson. He worked at the Nigerian prison service. I learnt of how terrible the Nigerian prison yard can be. Is it the poor feeding? He once told me about how inmates in the maximum security prison were treated. Those ones are even on death row. They could be killed any point in time. The maximum security prison consists of hardened criminals, terrorists and beasts under the skins of homo-sapiens. The other two which are the low-security and medium-security are of no difference especially in these Nigerian prisons. Sorry it is not the New York prisons you see in movies where inmates play basketball, watch TV, holla and live a happy life within the four walls of prison. Nah! kojo rara (impossible). I didn’t want to go to any of these prisons anyway. I felt so much sorry having put an innocent person in trouble. Life sentence! I wished I could just reverse time to when I saw the ‘evil tool’ on the ground beside sister Amaka. Man I wished I had a teleporting machine or be like Doctor Strange. If you know, you know.

Within the frames of my strategizing, heavy thinking and brainstorm, here comes Sandra. Sandra, the girl that replied me ‘hello darling’ probably with no strings attached, causing the excitement that led me rushing into Ebuka and spilling over the plates of hot beans causing the ‘twinkle slap’. “Gosh she’s lots prettier now” my imaginations told me. It was hard to behold the damsel coming towards me. Yoruba’s say “ Ere kini aja nba ekun se?” (What do the dog and lion have in common?) To my amazement, she came to me. My body behaved like it was high on something. Yeah, I could feel my hormones raging. “Hi” I heard a soft voice. A voice such angelic like the seraphim of the hosts of heaven. It breathed the soothing cold like the utterances of an Eskimo in the freezing blizzards of the Antantica.

“This time I’m not gonna behave like a ‘wowo’ boy and let loose of this chance like I did before” I was just so lost in the aura of her beauty.

“ Heyo gentleman, I observed for some time now you are brooding over something. Is anything the matter?” she asked.

“Nothing” I faked a smile.

“Oh my gosh, you have dimples, such a cute smile” she said with so much excitement.

“By the way, I think I know you. I’ve been seeing you lurking around with the vicar and you look kind of responsible.” I stood there short of words. Perhaps the fears in my heart days now had wiped off every single word to engage in meaningful conversations from my head. “Thank you” I managed to say. “Thank you? You seem kinda like a man of few words. Cool tho, I’m Sandra by the way and it’s nice meeting you”. Deep down the pits of my mind, my thoughts were “Hmmm, such a beautiful lady. She wants to be my friend, maybe she doesn’t know me. She no sabi scores. I wouldn’t love to ruin her in one foolish way or the other, but why should I allow this big fish slip away?” I had fantasized about her before. She was so un-turn-downable. These thoughts raced through my mind in milliseconds.

"it’s a pleasure” I smiled again, letting out the dimple which seemed like the only thing she liked about me. “My name is Chuka and you were right about my relationship with father Mokam.”

“Now may I know why you maintained a brooding posture like the ‘Thinker’s statue’ of Auguste Rodin? I mean, you’ve been like this for hours and I observed”

“You wanna know?” I asked.