I didn't kill her ... Part 1

“They thought I killed her, or perhaps caused her death; all the more reason her brothers wanted my head at all cost. Where did I go wrong?”

I was sorely depressed with a serious headache when I woke up this morning.   My entire body was wracked with pain.  My mouth had the distinct taste of blood.  As I slowly descended from the bed, I asked myself, “What is wrong with me?”  I managed my way into the bathroom and as I leaned over the sink to wash the vile taste from my mouth, I was shocked when I looked into the mirror and saw my own face, swollen and bruised.

Starring at myself in the mirror, I struggled to recall the events of the past night but all solutions eluded me.  The shrill ring of the phone brought me out of my daze.   I lifted up the receiver in the bathroom, and questions followed my response, “What was wrong between you and those guys last night?” Queried Sandra, my date of the previous night.  Hearing her voice, I suddenly remembered the run-in with Luqman and his gang.  Luqman was the brother of Sally, my former girlfriend.

Memories quickly flooded my mind.  I remembered leaving Lobster Restaurant through an open pathway.  As we were walking along, laughing and talking, I heard somebody shouted from behind us, “You think you can kill my sister and enjoy living in this world?”  Not realising that the person was referring to me, I continued walking down to where I parked my car, with Sandra and a friend, Abdul, walking by my side.

I opened the car doors for my date and returned to the driver’s side to occupy my own seat.  As I did so, someone grabbed me from behind and another person hit me on the head with a bottle. The shattering of the broken bottle brought Sandra to the scene, she yelled for help that came in a twinkle of an eye. 

Water was poured on my head.  I regained my consciousness, but the whole world seemed to be rotating.  Luqman screamed, “He is a devil, he killed my only sister,” Luqman accused.  Hitting me repeatedly, he may have succeeded in killing me if not for the intervening bystanders.

“What are you talking about?”  Sandra cut in, “Why did you say that?”  She asked him angrily.  Abdul starred at me, wailing in dismay.  He had accompanied Sandra and I to dinner.  A young boy of twelve whom I had helped by paying his hospital bill and later adopted as a son, he could not understand what was happening.

An old man from the crowd looked at Luqman and said, “Fear God; don’t accuse a fellow human being wrongly.  ‘Allah giveth and taketh’.”  Luqman looked at the man sheepishly as one of his friends told Sandra, “Think you are in love?  This guy will use you for money-rituals before you realise what has happened to you.”

As soon as he said that, the onlookers passed their commentaries, “You can’t trust these young guys…. He may have used the person for a ritual … that served him well … they are cultist – that’s how they deal with themselves… … …these drug-boys…”   I lost every word; calling “Luqman” repeatedly.  

At last Luqman and his gang left with a strong promise to kill me if he ever ran into me again.  I became terrified!  My only thought was to escape from the scene.  Luqman could do anything if he changed his mind.

Sandra’s gown was stained with the blood gushing from a cut on my head. I cried like a baby; not for the pain of the beating, but for the false allegation. 

A young man of about forty came back with an ice-block, cleansed the wound and consoled me, “Surrender everything unto God, He knows better; if they have cheated you, God knows how to pay them back.  And if you have done what they accused you of; ask God to forgive you – He is ever merciful!”

I looked up at the sky and said; “God would judge every hidden thing.”

I almost collapsed.  I had lost much blood and was without any confidence. I couldn’t imagine myself crying like a baby.  I wished I’d fought with Luqman and his cohorts or perhaps got them locked up in police cells for the embarrassments, but I thought of Sally – the first lady that believed in me.  I asked Sandra if she could drive.  Beyond that, I couldn’t remember the rest of what had happened last night.

Deep in thoughts of Sally, I heard Sandra asked, “Can I come over?” Her question seemed to bring me back to life.  But at that moment, I could only think of my relationship with Sally and how we separated before she was cut short in her prime by the wicked fists of death.  ‘Don’t bother, I’ll be fine” I answered Sandra.

“I think you need me…” she kept hammering and urging.  But instead of responding, I gently put down the receiver.

I went into my room and picked up a picture of Sally.  I looked at her lovely face and ever smiling mouth.  I viewed her attractive eyeballs that knew no hate.

I dropped on my knees and cried like a baby for losing such a valuable jewel…

Sally and I finished our secondary school education in Central Government College in 1987, a time I hardly knew anywhere apart from my father’s farmhouse and my mother’s garments’ shop.

After the valedictory service on the afternoon of June 18, 1987, I went straight to the village to look after my father’s 425 acres farmland as a manager. I lost contact with all my friends.  Visits to the city were rare, except when shopping for farm needs.  I stayed on and worked in the farmhouse for two years before it dawned on me that I had to go to school and better my career.

I returned to the city and enrolled in a summer class to prepare me for the university entrance exams. I had already obtained all my WAEC O’level papers during my final exams in June 1987.

One afternoon in February 1990, after a busy day work in “Greater Tomorrow” coaching centre, I went to a nearby restaurant for lunch when I heard a lady’s voice echoed, “Scooby Doo”, the nickname I answered to when I was in secondary school.

I looked around and found no one I knew except a beautiful angel smiling at me.  The lady was dressed in a red blouse with an inscription, ‘A day with me; 4ever a change and black corduroy trousers.  On her feet was a pair of black Moccasin loafers’ shoes.  She moved toward me wholeheartedly, calling my full name, “Dennis Demola Thompson”.  I offered my hand to say hello when it dawned on me that I was looking at the once tiny Sally Momoh.

“S … S … Sa…lly!” I stammered in awe. 

Taking in my six feet, two inches height, she said, “You are now a giant!”

“What of you, a thief accusing the owner of the stolen property?” I joked.

“Am I as changed as you?” she queried, “Francis told me you are now a farm manager.  It means you must have eaten a lot of growers’ marsh.” She added jokingly as she reached to move one of the long braids from her face.  

“I saw Luqman about two years ago; he told me you had traveled to the U.S. for further studies.  Are you on hols?” I asked, packing my books together and settling my bills.

“I’m a medical student at the National Premier University, The Gambia not The U.S.A.”  I envied her for the statement but I wasn’t surprised.  Sally was one of ‘the efficos’ (the brilliant students) in our school in those days.  I also remembered she was the best female student in the country in 1987.

“And you, Mr. Farmer, do you want to call it quits with education?” she asked.

I reluctantly responded as I took a seat opposite hers, “No, I am taking the coming exams in April.”

“That means you must have studied very well, the examination is two months away.”  She kept gesticulating as she talked.

“Yeah, I’ve tried”

“You better,” She pointed at me warningly.   “I wouldn’t take any excuse for failure from an old Major” She said, mockingly comparing me with the George Orwell’s Animal Farm’s character.

“I am prepared and I will pass by God’s grace.” I surrendered to the challenge.

“Amen.  You just have to be in school by the next academic session,” she paused and looked straight into my eyes as she stated; “All your friends are now in 200 levels.”

“Thanks!” I said surprisingly. Sally used to be a weakling. She hardly talked in those days but how time and exposure can change people.

“Can I drop you on the road?” She asked and I willingly accepted.

She conveyed me to the nearest bus-stop in the 500sel Mercedes Benz coupe she was riding and for the first time I felt… … … … as the track of Milli Vanilli’s ‘When I die’ blasted from the sound box.

We lost contact after that afternoon.  She went back to school and I focused on how to pass my exams, which I slimly and luckily passed.  My score was pegged as the cut-off mark for Business Administration in my university of choice that year, making me the luckiest guy of the year.

 Culled from the Novel - I didn't kill her

Parental Negligence That Might Destroy a Child's Future

Please, carefully look into the list below to see where you may want to make amends on yourself or the young ones you are caring for.
Children, if not properly groomed may never get to the top in life, even if the parents are at the top of their career.
Manners take you to where your education can't irrespective of your status, money or the "who you know" factor.
1) Going to your child's school dressed indecently? Think again.
2) Speaking rashly to your child's teacher.
3) Cursing, using foul words or swearing in front of your children.
4) Using makeup on children.
5) Dressing indecently for children (they loose the sense of their princesshood).
6) Putting earrings on your son's ears.
7) Your child hold the cup or glassware by the brim and you don't correct.
8) Your children don't greet and you just feel they will come around one day because they have a mood swing. ( You will be blamed for it)
9) Your children eat with their mouth opened and you feel they will grow up some day.
10) Your children bring home something you did not buy for them and you say nothing. ( that is the beginning of stealing)
11) They talk back at you and you conclude it's okay since you are a 21st century mummy. ( You will hate yourself if they do that outside and they are disciplined )
12) They interrupt when you are speaking with another adult and you think they are bold and clever. (Its really bad manners)
13) They exercise authority over their nanny and domestic staff and you let them be. ( that is bad parenting)
14) They say things like "my driver is on his way..."
I am not an advocate that children should call your domestic staff aunty or brother, calling them by name when they are not young people is not poise either. The use of Miss, Mr or Mrs will look good on them.
15) Your children don't say- 'Thank you' when they have been helped or served something and you are cool with that. (Bad parenting)
16) When your children cannot stand children who are less privileged.
18) When they pick their nose with their hands.
19) When they don't wash their hands after visiting the washroom.
20) When your children take something from the fridge without taking permission. (Bad parenting)
21) When your children don't knock on closed doors.
22) When your children don't collect from your hands the stuff you brought in as you walk in through the door.
23) When your children request for a bribe to carry out their home chores or extra task. (That is disgraceful )
24) When your children act like their grand parents irritate them.
25) When your children have not learnt to get up from the chair for the elderly or visitors to sit.
26) When your child tells a lot of lies. (You will both cry in the future)
27) When your child asks "who is that?" at a knock on your door instead of "please, who is there."
28) When your child is always seated by your visitors when being served drinks etc.
29) When your children still point their fingers at other people.
30) When your children play and jump around when prayers are going on.(age 4 above). Dont be a 21st Century parent who cannot correct a child. Train your child in the way of the Lord so that when he grows up he will not depart frm it. IT IS BETTER TO LET YOUR CHILDREN CRY AT AN EARLY AGE WHEN YOU CORRECT THEM, IF NOT YOU WILL BOTH CRY AT NIGHT WHEN THEY BRING DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY WITH BAD AND TERRIBLE BEHAVIOURS

The Poor Boy and His Treasure

There was once a little boy who used to play in the woods just a short distance away from the dilapidated hut that he lived in. His parents were too poor to buy him any toys, so he had to make do with whatever he could find. One day, he chanced upon a stone that was unlike any that he had ever seen. The polished surface of the stone glistened in his hands and winked at him each time he turned it around in the sunlight. It was his very own treasure and he loved it. The boy did not dare bring it back to

his home as there was nowhere in the hut he could hide it. He decided to dig a deep hole under some bushes and hide his precious possession there.

The next day, the boy couldn’t wait to retrieve his stone and ran to its hiding place as soon as the sun arose. But when his fingers finally found the stone in its muddy hideaway, it was all grubby and stained, without any of the luster that he loved so much. The boy took the stone to the stream and carefully dipped it in, allowing the dirt to be washed away. Finally, it was clean again and the boy’s heart swelled with pride at his coveted find. But all too soon, the time came for the boy to head home and he had to

return the stone to its hiding place.

Every day, the boy would rush to the spot where he had hidden the stone. And every day, he would find its shiny surface smeared with mud and he would trek to the river some distance away to wash it. This happened for a while before he decided to solve the problem. That day, when it was almost time for him to head home, the little boy took his stone to a small waterfall and wedged it carefully between two rocks, right in the middle of the steady flow of the waterfall. That night, the stone experienced a continual washing. And that little boy never had to wash the stone again. Every time he retrieved it, it gleamed in his hands, completely cleansed.

Lesson

What the little boy did with the stone initially can be likened to what happens under the old covenant. Each time you sinned, you had to be cleansed. But before you knew it, you would sin again, and you would have to bring your sin offering of either a bullock or lamb to the priests to be cleansed again.

Some believers still think that this is our covenant today, but let me declare to you that Jesus’ blood is far greater than the blood of bulls and goats. The blood of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, bought us eternal forgiveness. The blood of bulls and goats in the old covenant could only offer temporal forgiveness, and that’s why the children of Israel had to keep bringing animal sacrifices to the priests over and over again, every time they failed.

Jesus, however, died on the cross once and for all. When you were born again, you became a living stone and God placed you right under the waterfall of His Son’s blood. Hence, every thought you have that is amiss, every feeling that is not right, every action that is not correct, is washed away! You are always kept clean and forgiven because of the continuous cleansing of Jesus’ blood!

Obasa Vs. Ikuforiji: Titans of Different Era

A sneak into the Lagos State House of Assembly (LAHA) will give one a glimpse of what is happening in the legislative house of the State.

Many of the staff, jobbers, hustlers and key players in the House have seriously faulted Obasa’s system of leadership and in comparing him with Ikuforiji of yester-years; the followings were the outcome:

Ikuforiji

Obasa

1. Money flew freely in the house during ikuforiji’s time but Obasa’s era is cash drought.
2. Ikuforiji listened to all and sundry in the assembly whilst Obasa cut some short and hardly allows some to talk in the assembly.
3. Ikuforiji flows eloquently while Obasa sometimes struggles for words.
4. Ikuforiji was warm, he plays with everybody whilst Obasa can be somehow cold, and he looks down on the people.
5. Ikuforiji’s era was commonwealth whilst Obasa’s time is ‘he-alone.'
6. It was also noted that Ikuforiji used to send staff abroad for training but Obasa is yet to tow the same path.
7. During Ikuforiji’s era, satellite TVs in offices functioned adequately but nowadays, they falter a lot.
8. Ikuforiji is said to be generous whilst Obasa is generally referred to as Ebenezer Scrooge, the miser.
9. Ikuforiji English is fluent whilst Obasa’s is sluggish
10. Ikuforiji is polished and some say, Obasa used to sell wrist-watch at Oshodi market .....

American Police and Nigerian Police compared

If you meet a policeman on the streets of America and asked him, “Why did you join the Police?”

With all audacity, he will reply, “When I was a kid, there was a breaking-in in my neighbourhood ... someone stole my bicycle ... the gangsters were harassing the people of my community .... blah, blah, blah ... and I have to stop it!”

In essence, he knows what he wants.

On the other hand, if you query an average Nigerian Policeman on the street, “Why did you join the Police?”

He will reluctantly reply, “After I graduated from the university and there was no job ... I had to opt for this job ... or it is the only job where you can easily make money with government backing.”

American Police are always proud of their jobs – and it reflects in their dressings, dispositions, gait and interactions.

Nigerian Policemen aren’t proud of the profession – instead, they are generally arrogant, abusive, and authoritative and are bullies, harassing citizens for no just cause.

American policemen are generally referred to as cops and are always willing to answer you but Nigerian policeman resent being called constables but cherishes being called O.C. (Officer in charge) or Oga.

An average American Police will prioritize American citizens above himself and even treat the criminal with respects, calling them sir or ma – referring to captives as suspects but a Nigerian Policeman sees everybody as his servants lording it over them and even call suspects criminals.

All American Police are qualified to join the force, a high degree of Nigerian Policemen join the force with fake results or the certificates they cannot defend.

You can never see an American Policeman obtaining bribes on the streets but a Nigerian Policeman extorts money on the streets with all elegance without any iota of shame.

An American Policeman has duty posts for effective discharge of his duties but a Nigerian Policeman chooses his own duty posts and does as he pleases.

When you dial 911, police patrol joins you in a jiffy but if you call 112, Nigerian Police will give you all the reason why they cannot join you immediately and when they show up, they arrest innocent people.

American Policemen know that bail is free and never encroached on Americans’ rights but Nigerian Policemen, despite their understanding that bail is free, will never let suspects go free.

When Nigerian Policemen receive money from your debtor on your behalf, they charge 10 percent as commission.

More to come ...