POSTED 09/26/2018 13:27
My reasons were perceptible to me alone. Why I pulled a 9 millimeter pistol on a 52 year old man. I never possibly imagined that in just six months, my life would crash into a downward spiral, a tragic onerous pattern of precarious pillage.
It had been exactly two weeks after the demise of my father; leukemia took him away from me, from us. His death however was a flesh wound compared to what came next. My dubious and devilish uncle; draconian in every sense, siphoned my dead father's properties, to the negligence and detriment of his wife and daughter. He took everything away. The cars, lands, the company, and our hopes. All my academic aspirations were crushed and so was my mother's health. The doctor called it “High Blood Pressure" something about "pheochromocytoma"; disorder of her adrenal gland. Poor mother. The terminal demon had always been there, lurking, eating her up in dribs, only to surface now. The doctor was too professional.
“If the prerequisite payments are not made and measures are not taken, we may lose her."
How could all these happen now? Just few months after I gained admission into a prestigious university to study law. I've always aspired to be a lawyer, one who worked in the law. I couldn't possibly imagine I'd be breaking one soon enough.
I took a deep breath, breath so deep that it made my face leak in concomitance. I couldn't control my emotions, I couldn't control the situation.
How could an eighteen year old girl get as much as five hundred thousand naira? That was just for a start, I felt sickened and slow.
In this moment I couldn't feel God. I scampered to every family friend I knew, the economy was too mean. I went to the church where God existed, I was prayed for. My mother’s situation was not going to slow down the church building project in anyway. I was asked to go to my uncle, that God was in control. The church had always desired an edifice for more lost souls. They did all they could. Pray.
I summoned the courage to see my uncle. I met him biting voraciously into a piece of chicken. My tummy rumbled, I needed food. My ambition had superseded my need. I wanted to save my dying mum. I stuttered as I spoke, trying my best to gild my words into somewhat heart reaching persuasion. My efforts were however futile.
He narrated with characteristic ease how cruel and stingy my late father was to him, he called my mother "Nwa Ekwensu" - child of Satan. I was duly enlightened about how evil my parents were, so much that a pseudo sense of guilt burned in my heart. At this point my tears meant nothing to him anymore. He spoke vehemently for hours, a time my mother did not have. He was always too old for even my dad, he was the eldest. He narrated and ate loudly, I looked with disgust at his soiled lips. My father was gone now, he had triumphed. His reward was a piece of spiced chicken, a mansion, and everything we once had.
The words "hmmm, just because I like you, I will help" made my heart jump - maybe I'll get mercy after all, a mercy I didn't deserve. Then he added "but you have to play ball."
What did he mean? I wondered.
"How?" I enquired.
He called me a big girl and asked if I had a boyfriend. One of those fantastic wishes I had for my second year in the university. Meeting a tall and handsome boy and falling crazily in love.
I could only discern what he meant fragmentarily. He wanted sex. Sex with his niece. He wanted everything. I felt even sicker. I could feel the nausea coursing through, yet I hoped it wouldn't pan out. I loved my mum no more than I loved my dad. I couldn't save my father, I wasn't about to give up my only chance of saving her.
I summoned courage, I had no choice. I was now his slave and he was my god, my body a sacrifice. I felt so young and naive, yet crested with a duty. Saving my mum's life.
He had always looked at me funny when he came around to cadger for money from dad. When he left, his ugly scowl would transmogrify into a grin. He would usually admire and tease. He said I was growing too fast, he declared his hanker to have a daughter like me.
His eyes shone as he perused my body with his fingers and roughened lips, his hairy nose twitched at his vibrant exhalation. My body quivered at the aberrance. I was scared and ashamed. He slid in carelessly, I let out a soft cry, my heart vanished. He built momentum, nine thrusts and he was done. I was done. I had just journeyed the nine rings of hell. I sobbed as he signed a cheque. Seven hundred thousand naira. He called me a "sweet and brave girl". I hated him more, the most. I jetted out to the bank to cash in on the cheque. I had saved my mum, I thought.
I stood bewildered, the cheque bounced! He used a false signature. I died inside, my joy was obliterated without trace, my legs were rubbery and my mind in totally evisceration. The tears on my face drenched my shirt.
I returned to him, but I was locked out by his gateman Ade. I had less than twenty four hours. I stared aimlessly at the big black gate. The gateman scream at me to leave at once, using the word "vamoose". He called me a whore. I was now a whore. I sat down looking at the sky, wishing I had more strength. My mother died before I got back to the hospital, earlier than the doctor's postulation.
So I found myself standing, unprecedentedly, over my uncle's dead body. Yes I shot him, I pulled the trigger, it was too easy, I felt so powerful. I watched him beg, he called me daughter, child, Adaku. It didn't matter to me, I was a whore now. Death had taken his family, he was left. The urge to castrate him had slipped. The tears on my face couldn't possibly depict the pain I felt. I had to get rid of him, I had to be at peace. Peace is good. No one would understand, I would probably never be excused for my crime, but I don't care. I was ready to dance to this music.
The policemen arrived late. Ade was faithful to the end. I was given a life sentence. A life without hope. I didn't pray for another chance. I didn't need one.
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