THE SILENCED VOICE OF THE DYING - LIFE, SUPERSTITION, DEATH AND A MOTHER'S STORY.

He gave us hope and courage.

He was the son of a wise man, the pride of a very good mother and he was my brother. His name was COURAGE.

He wasn’t just loved, he was respected and adored.
From where did he get his composure, his calmness, his intelligence, his brilliance, his authority and his amiable aura?

With a good head on his young shoulders, he was an embodiment of everything that was good.
Boy! How eloquently he spoke! And we were all proud of him.

When street fights were commonplace, Courage was never involved in one.
His aura of strength and meekness could calm any tense nerve and make docile the evilest of minds.
He fought no one and no one would fight him.
When I battled with my siblings especially Kennedy Oriakhi in a never-ending childish feud, he was always there to make peace and save me from my no-nonsense brother.

When sickness came we thought it was one of those that would pass.
But when the doctors started speaking in subdued voices away from my mum we suspected it was something big. But still we never thought that death was near.
Yes, death was very close and it eventually visited and took our Superboy away! It was 1985 and he was just 17years old.

Father was devastated and mother was broken. I thought they were never going to make it.
A vacuum was created in our hearts and souls. We were confused and lost for many months to come.

Mother’s pain was worse.

As she cried she kept saying “If I had known I would have given him the pen and paper when he asked for them.”
She said this so many times that it registered in my heart and left me with so many questions up to this day.

In November 2016, 31 years after we lost Courage, I called my mum to ask her about Courage’s request before his death.
I warned her that my questions were going to bring back sad memories but pleaded with her to be strong.

I explained to her that It was important for me to know exactly what the request was and why he was refused.
But before I could even finish my question my mother started crying. I could tell from her quivering voice that her whole body was shaking.
I too couldn’t help but cry with her.

In her words she told me her story:
“The day Courage died, he was very weak and poorly. The doctors spoke in hushed voices but that didn’t bother me. I believed he would pull through it.
When I later sat beside him he looked at me and said ‘Can I have a pen and a paper, I need to write something?’
I politely declined his request and assured him he will be fine and back home in no time. But that was not to be the case.
I miss him every day my son. His death still causes me so much pain and his last simple request that I refused makes it worse for me.
Every day I ask myself – what was he going to write? What have I eternally deprived him of telling me? Did he have answers to his pain? Was it about life after his death? Was it about his imminent death? Was it a secret he needed to share? What was he going to write?!
I will never know the answer my son and it hurts me every day. I allowed myself to be guided by superstition. I thought giving him a pen and paper would mean encouraging him to say his final words on earth. So denying him his request was a way to keep him alive.
I was wrong my son. I should have granted that last request and would have received answers to all or some of the questions that plague me today. The pain would have been more bearable for me”

Mother cried again and I comforted her.
She misses her son and the answers he could have provided.
I told her that it was not her fault. She did what she thought was right at the time.
Keeping her boy alive with her beliefs and convictions at the time was more important than debating with herself whether it was mere superstition.
I ask myself the same questions that my mother asked herself.
They trouble me as much as they trouble her.
Just like my mother, I too will never know the answers.

Now I try to think of it in another way.
What if she had given him the pen and paper? And he had written something for us to see, but he eventually died. Will that same superstition not turn around to make mother blame herself for killing her boy?

Who would have been able to console my mother then?
With your action or inaction, you will feel the blame and pain.
Now superstition has failed us and Courage has left us.
 All we have left are just questions that will never be answered.
Only Courage would have won superstition if he had written those words and survived death.

Mother misses you my brother. She still cries for you after so many years.
Father missed you so much before he died even though he tried not to talk about it. I guess that was his way of dealing with the pain.
We all miss you so very much.
My eyes are moist with tears as I write these few lines for you.
Your last request was to write before you died. Be rest assured that I am doing that for you now.
I will continue to write before I die. And I pray that whatever it was you wanted to tell us will one day find its way into my script.

We love you my dear brother. Continue to rest in peace.

Dedicated to the Memory of Courage Oriakhi. 1968 to 1985

Written by: Eseosa Ebony Oriakhi

EKUASE AND OVBIEBO

'Ekuase my dear son, we will live to remember your story. 

If you ever experience reincarnation, your life will never be

cut short due to the antics of the female folks.'

He was a young promising prince of the great Bini kingdom. Handsome as can be. Full of life and vigour. He lived in the 18th century and his story occurred in the period during the British occupation of our empire shortly after Oba Ovoramwen n'ogbaisi was taken away on exile to Calabar.

A very successful young man, he naturally was the toast of the young women of his days.
He was legally married to two women. His household experienced enormous peace due to the attention and love he showered on them. Along the line however, he fell in love with a white woman and this experience was to change his life forever.

The white woman loved everything about Ekuase including the women of his household. She looked forward to becoming his third wife. In return she was fully welcome and accepted. But Ekuase acted foolishly as he withdrew attention from everyone else and focused only on 'ovbiebo'
He practically eloped with his new found love and neglected all responsibilities to his immediate family. This drew the ire of the women and they resorted to seeking the help of a native doctor on how they can get back their husband's attention. 

The native doctor asked them for three items viz: a soap, a dog and a honey bee. The charm incorporated these three items to symbolize grudge, violence and quarrelsomeness. This was an attempt to break the bond between Ekuase and his new found love engaging the elements of quarrel and violence. The charm was to be applied in his meal on one of the rare occasions that he visited.

Probably the dosage of charm recommended was not strictly adhered to by the agitated women. This may have been the reason that Ekuase turned against the love of his life with a ferocious anger and beheaded her. EKUASE MURDERED ' OVBIEBO' UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF THE CHARM.

His senses then came back to him. He turned himself in to the authority. Unfortunately he was made to pay for his crime

This is the story of Ekuase the handsome prince of Bini.

By:

Kennedy Oriakhi

https://www.facebook.com/kennedy.oriakhi.3/posts/10152308706891193

Edayiniken n'uselu

Uzama n'ihirion is a group of hereditary chiefs in the Benin Kingdom that was during the reign of Oba Ewedo in the 13th century. They were six in number originally. But in the 15th century during the reign of Oba Ewuare n'ogidigan they became seven in number. The seventh chief that was added to that original six is called Edayiniken n'uselu which corrupted to Edaiken n' uselu the heir apparent to the  throne.

Iken was an ancient warrior and the Duke of Uselu province. He was fabled to be the great warrior who knew all the skills of battle except how to beat a retreat. He was successful in all his battle campaign including the very last one that claimed his life. Oba Ewuare sent him on that expedition. Instead of coming straight back home after his victory, he tarried still in the land he had conquered at the persuasion of a young beautiful woman he met at the battle  front. News reached Benin that Iken had executed his mission successfully. A welcome party was being organized for his  arrival. But Iken was destined never to return to his Dukedom. There were whispers in some quarters that the Palace had ensured by some supernatural means that the great never returned home alive. His prowess was rumoured to be winning fear and admiration amongst the people of Benin to an extent that some had started mentioning him in the same breath as Ewuare n' ogidigan the greatest Oba Benin ever had.

As the wait for Iken became endless,the Oba decided that the heir apparent should be sent to Uselu to hold brief before Iken comes back from battle. The word Edayiniken means go and hold brief for Iken. If today Iken shows up, there will be no question as to who the real occupant of Uselu palace is.

Owi iken no guokwuo, no ma g'ule(2x)
Ogw'kwuo n'omag'ule
En'okwuo y'arie

The Crown Prince performed the Isoton rites on June 4th as part of the Burial rite of the Late Monarch.

Edaiken gha to kpere

 By

Kennedy Oriakhi

POLICE CATCH THIEF

A.    AMERICA POLICE STYLE:

Allow the thief to finish stealing, then they use sophisticated gadgets to catch thief.

B.    CHINESE POLICE STYLE:

Chase the thief until he becomes tired then catch him.

C.     ARABIAN POLICE STYLE:

Kidnap the thief's wife and then threaten the thief to surrender.

D.    INDIAN POLICE STYLE:

Sing for the thief until he comes close to the trap, then catch him.

E.    NIGERIAN POLICE STYLE:

Catch any person on the street, beat him until he agrees that he's a thief.....

TRUE or FALSE

BY:
Tracy Chapele

The Lure of Fun

Nneka wakes up feeling more dead than alive. Her body feels numb as if she isn’t in charge, like an enormous malfunctioning machine. Her thigh is sore, dry and harshly hot, as if lacking all feline juice. Only her mind feels like hers. Slowly, she trains it to match her surrounding and realizes she is in a quiet room smelling of chemicals. In an instant it dawns on her she is a hospital.

What am I doing here? What is happening? How did I get here?, she asks herself in a rush.

In a flash, she realizes what and how.

*               *              *

‘It’s time, blockhead!’ yelled Rachael.

‘Take it easy Rach, can’t you sense newness when you see one?’ cautioned Omos. She then turned to Nneka, ‘Nne, aren’t you coming? It’s almost 8pm.’

‘I am. Just that I almost forgot. I am sorry.’

She hurriedly slipped out of her bed and into the showers. In barely 20 minutes, she was dressed in red, tight-fitting, provocatively short gown. The three friends walked gaily to her parked Cadillac and headed for Mirage, the hottest nightclub and bar in town.

Nneka and her friends, Omos and Rachael are 300 level Accounting students of Igbinedion University. While her friends sex-peddle part-time, to measure up with the ‘big girls’ on campus, Nneka had virtually no unsatisfied need. Her wealthy parents ensured she had no unsupplied want. She even has a car, a first year gift from her mum.

What she felt she lacked was fun, raw fun like her friends were indulging in every other week. The type that brings them to the brink of ecstasy. Tales of their escapades and conquests always drew her to fantasy where she nudges and yearns for their kind of daring fun. This lure was what finally broke her resistance to illicit acts, alcohol, drugs and all.

Tonight was her third time on the streets fun-seeking. Though she can now handle alcohol, she had never gone over the edge, not yet. 

Usually, she would sit alone at the far-reaching end of Mirage’s bar, cuddling a glass of Cognac or Red Label and watch her friends dance and flirt about. Often, she returned to the hostel alone, her friends seizing on some willing stud or rich stag.  Tonight however, she decided to join in the flirting and go all the way. She danced herself beyond contentment, carelessly slapped away the probing hands of a fun-seeker trying to steady her twerking buttocks.

Tired of winging her hips, she returned to her usual spot to watch her friends and other ‘swagger’ guys around, determined to fish out her class and crown her night of fun. What a night this will be! She noticed this idler sitting alone, almost oblivious of the noise, as if removed from the scene. He had on a blue fitting denim pant, a black polo t-shirt that hugged his barrel chest, spreading fittingly across his muscled frame. His chiseled face bespoke of handsomeness, his thoughtful eyes intelligence. Clearly he was in a league of his own. The gold Rolex and silver metal ring on his left wrist and mid finger told of wealth and power.

Why on earth is such a perfect specimen idling away while less smashing guys are going in for the booty kill?, she wondered. Curious, she decided to check him out.

‘Hi, all alone?’

‘Nope. My friends are dancing and catching their fun.’

‘Why are you here if not for the same reason?’ she asked.

‘I should be asking you the same question,’ he smiled. ‘I saw you sitting earlier by yourself over there.’

‘Oh, me? I just sat down not quite 20 minutes now. Just a bit tired. Besides, I am not the dancing type. I prefer to just drink a little and … em, sorry, I am Oge’, she lied.

‘Sam,’ he answered truthfully.  ‘You don’t look like the partying type.’ He observed.

‘Well, you could say that,’ she admitted. ‘How about you? Do you usually hang out or is it just boredom?

‘A bit of both. But I do enjoy taking a drink sometime.’

‘And you are all alone, not joining in the game like your friends. Oh! She must be around.’ Nneka sarcastically looked around, then turned back to smiling face Sam.

‘Where is she?, ‘ she mock-inquired.

‘Hmmm….,’ he mocked-pondered. ‘she ran when she saw you coming,’ he joked. ‘I’m alone, save my guys.’ He pointed towards his friends who were actively dancing and chasing and grabbing some chics.

She paused and waited for him to continue. He did not. Instead, he took a long sip from his white vodka, feigning a burning tongue.

She wondered why the diplomacy.  Come out straight and let’s see if I may gift you myself. Who knows, you might be worth your looks, she mused.

Sam could tell she was green and might foot his need and erase his predicament.

‘So you are all alone? I doubt,’ he asked.

‘Actually, my girlfriends are dancing too. That’s part of their type of fun.’

‘What is your definition of fun?’

‘For me, it means abandoning myself to enjoyment, drinking, flaunting my hips in a worthy man’s face, the likes’, she cooed.

‘What happens afterwards?,’ he needed to know, ‘I mean you can’t possibly just drink, shove your gorgeous behind in, say, my face only. What’s the price for the cr…

‘Wait!,’ she cut him, sensing his implied point. ‘I am not a peddler. In fact I have never…’ she stopped herself mid-sentence not to sound naïve or too innocent or immature. I am an adult 21. ‘Look, I indulge for the fun of it. If I want money, I got my own. I chose my crushes and dates.’ And you are my first, Mister. Better not blow it.

‘Sorry for misinterpreting you. I actually did not mean it the way you read it. But does this mean I am…’ Sam prodded tactfully, hiding his joy with an innocent look.

‘Maybe, but no strings afterwards.’ Unless deserving.

‘You mean I ...’

‘If you are willing to massage my back as payment,’ she cuts him off, ‘I might make your night.’

‘Let’s drive to my hotel room. it is around the corner,’ Sam suggested.

‘How about your friends?’

‘Oh them? They won’t miss me. How about yours?

‘I’ll take permission. But you must bring me back.’

‘For sure.’

Nneka walked over to Omos and took permission, leaving her with her car keys. She drove with Sam to the clubhouse’s adjoining hotel.

Three hours later, she was back in her hostel room from a night of fun that totally damned her future. Sam survived the night a complete victor, having achieved his sole goal—to pay his due.

*               *              *

Thank God for Oge.

Ogbonaya Sam had been asked to bring a human essence as the crowning of the two-month ritual to complete his initiation into the League of Power and Wealth. This had been a war raging within him for two weeks and today was his final day to pay his due, failing which he was certain to find his manhood forever shriveled and lifeless. He was sure to lose all human essence in him by the end of the night. He had witnessed the consequence of failing to complete the process happen to his friend who died on the open street, with his heart ripped out two days before. He had been asked to provide a virgin’s heart to complete his initiation. As a rule, when you fail to fulfill the prescription, it becomes your lot at the end of the allotted time. His friend failed and earned his lot.

Sam’s due was to lay with a willing virgin—to have sex not provoked or paid for. It didn’t matter if he used a condom or not, his meeting such virgin will suck the living essence off her and secure his place of wealth and power. Sam knew he was boxed. For two weeks, he had been searching for a willing prey. All the girls he had come across had been broken eggs. He was down to his final night when luck dropped Oge on his laps.

Thank God for Oge.

To create a likable picture for unsuspecting preys, and make his possibly final days as a complete man memorable, his friend who was already a member, provided him all the luxury money could afford. On the way to the hotel in his friend’s car, he diplomatically confirmed she was a virgin, 300 level student and from a good family with strong moral background. What he couldn’t place was why she choose to heed her friends’ lifestyle. He almost felt sorry for her, but that would be his certain end. Thank God for Oge.

*               *              *

But the party was three months ago. Nneka is now faced with sure death. She had been in and out of coma six times since she was diagnosed with an unknown ailment that dries up her pubic parts, leaving it wrinkled and shriveled. It started two days after she met Sam. Ruing that cursed day, she vowed never to listen to music let alone go clubbing, for it was the lure of music and fun that has now ruined her. She had chosen the death side of the coin of existence and this was her payment.

Sadly, her friends felt otherwise. She was just unlucky. The groove continues.