Fearless five by four bo.., p.13
Fearless Five by Four Boxed Set, page 13
“Yes?” inquired the man sitting closest to the door.
“Please, sir,” said Ifechi, her heart laced with fear. “Please, we are looking for Onukwube Ugwuoke.”
Deep sighs went up from at least three people. Someone began to sob.
“Please, what is happening?” Afoma asked, also fearful.
“What kind of joke is that?” another man asked, harshly. “Do you think we are here to play?”
Afoma and Ifechi looked at each other. “We don't understand you.”
“Who are you?” the pregnant woman asked.
“We are his sisters,” Afoma responded.
Ozioma blinked. “What are your names?” she asked.
“I am Ifechi,” Ifechi replied.
“And I am …”
“Afoma!” Ozioma completed.
Ifechi and Afoma felt encouraged.
“My husband spoke of you,” she sighed. “He really wanted to find you.”
“But that's why we are here,” Afoma said. “We have also been trying to find him for years, now.”
Ozioma shook her head. “Oh, uwa m! Your brother is gone!”
Afoma's legs gave way beneath her. “Ifechi, I don't understand what she's saying,” she complained.
Meanwhile, Ifechi felt like she had turned to stone. She wasn't sure her lips moved, but she heard herself ask, “What did you just say?”
“My husband is dead,” Ozioma wailed.
“Husband,” repeated Ifechi. The gateman's comments were starting to make more sense than she cared to understand. This woman was the lady of the house, and the gateman had been talking about his oga.
“My brother is dead?” Ifechi asked.
Afoma had already begun to sob.
Ozioma gave a piercing wail, as her waters broke and the first pangs of premature labour pains hit her.
###
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GLOSSARY
Abanibuegwu – Night is fearful
Abeg, how you take find this place – Please, how did you find your way here?
Abeg, no vex. Who una be – Please, don't be offended. Who are you two?
Agbero – Tout
Ah, we don dey wait you since e happen – Ah, we have been waiting for you since the incident
Alu, alu, tufia – Abomination, taboo, God forbid.
Amaro m ihe m ji nata gi ego, but ubosi ozo mmara na gii ego – I don’t know why I collected money from you but I won't do so next time
But I never see you here, before – But I haven't seen you here, before
Chi – personal god (guardian angel)
Dem no tell you anything for shop? – Didn't they tell you anything in the shop?
Dibia – Native doctor
E no go better for those armed robbers wey kill my oga – It will not be well with those armed robbers who killed my boss
E don do – That is enough
Igba nkwu – traditional marriage rites
Igbagu oka – a local delicacy prepared like black bean pudding, but made with maize
Isiagu cloth – Cloth designed with lion head
Madam – female employer
Madam, make una enter – Madam, you can both come in
No be from my mouth una go hear am – It's not from my lips, that you will hear it
Mary Amaka – a shapeless dress
Ndi agbero – Touts
Ndi bee anyi – our people
Ndi bee anyi siri na awo anaghi agba oso ehihe na nkiti – Our people say that the toad does not run in the daytime for no reason
Ndo/ndoo – sorry
Nna anyi – our father
Nne i maka- Mother, you are beautiful
Ofe-akwu – palm stew
Ofe-onugbu – bitter leaf soup
Okwu – story
O maka – She is really beautiful
Oga – male employer
Onye bu onye ahu – who is that person?
Ona ekwu okwu ka onye egwu na-atu – He is talking like someone who is afraid
Onochie – A male heir
Onye nso anaghi adanye na ihe ojo – Holy ones don’t fall into sin
Onuowu – head of Igwe's council and second-in-command if Igwe is not present
Olu – outcast (slaves)
Osu – outcast owned by the gods
Ukpo – Local mat
We don dey wait you since – We've been waiting for you for a long time
Uwa m – my world
Chinedu Enechi writes Coming of Age Fiction for people who want to know more about upholding family & cultural values, the protection of women and children, and the abolishment of traditions that cause or contribute to economic hardship and inequality.
A Political and Social Philosophy graduate of the University of Nigeria in Nsukka, Chinedu has also trained in Production Broadcasting at the National Broadcast Academy in Ikeja, Lagos.
He speaks fluent Igbo, loves to cook and lives in Lagos. Please, click HERE to be the first to know about his other books.
MURDER
AT MIDNIGHT
MURDER
AT MIDNIGHT
JOHN UKAH
THE FEARLESS STORYTELLER HOUSE EMPORIUM LTD
MURDER AT MIDNIGHT
by John Ukah
Copyright © 2016 John Ukah
Cover design by Godson Okeiyi
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any format, including electronic or mechanical, without prior permission from the author.
All rights reserved worldwide.
Published by THE FEARLESS STORYTELLER HOUSE EMPORIUM LTD
Email: info@fearlessstoryteller.org
ISBN: 978-978-54707-1-0
CHAPTER ONE
BACK TO OBUDU
It was in late November after I suffered a severe case of typhoid fever, that I decided to visit Kinging Guest Lodge. I needed to rest. I had overworked myself prior to the illness that had kept me down for about two weeks. For me, visiting Kinging Guest Lodge in the Obudu Ranch Resort of Cross River State is always like coming home.
I had visited the Lodge earlier in the year; if my memory served me well, it had been in January. The area is reputed to have the most clement weather in the country. With the beautiful beaches, gardens, water parks and leisure spots, the Obudu Ranch Resort is a haven for tourists. The springing up of guest-houses that boast decent facilities and affordable rates, has also turned the place into a holiday-maker's delight.
Some people come here on doctors' orders, to recuperate from one ailment or the other.
Yet, not all my visits have been refreshing. In fact, one could argue that given some of my experiences, I ought to stay away.
During my previous visit, two of the guests died at the Lodge. One, a very old man, of natural causes; the other who had died on the same night, committed suicide.
I had been a member of the Nigerian Police Force at the time. I resigned in May and went into private practice.
I was unsure what kind of persons I would meet at the Lodge this time. I also wasn't sure what I would actually spend my time, doing. But I was determined to enjoy my stay.
The Lodge itself was an imposing, white, one storey building with wide windows on both floors. It was secluded by a high-walled fence. The style of service was quite old-fashioned. Guests were treated as if they were members of the same large family, with meals served to everyone at the same time.
Ayuba Baba, who ran the place with the help of his wife, Amina – who is probably the best cook I know – came running over to help me with my bags, as I paid the taxi-driver who had brought me. He was a fat, middle-aged man of average height and was dressed in a traditional flowing, white robe and headdress. He had a chubby face, a cheerful disposition and very kind eyes.
“How good to see you!” exclaimed Ayuba. “You are welcome!”
“Thank you very much,” I responded warmly, as he picked up one of my bags and we made our way inside.
“How is the Lodge?” I asked.
“Ah, business is slow. That is the problem now,” he replied. “I have only seven guests, which is the problem now.” I had long discovered that Ayuba was in love with the word now.
“I’m sure it will pick up,” I encouraged him, spotting four guests who were sitting around a white table in the lounge and watching Michael Jackson moonwalk on the television.
“Father Lord!” exclaimed one of the men, getting up quickly and almost upsetting the table.
I recognised him immediately. His name was William, but he was called Willie by his friends. He had also been a guest at the Lodge during my last visit. He was a huge man with a round head, which was flat at the back. He had a high forehead, with naturally arched eyebrows that made him look like he was permanently questioning. There was a deep cleft in his chin. He had said back then that he fasted every Saturday, had never been seriously ill in his life, and never needed to take medication. I could not help envying him now, as I had lost count of the number of tablets I had swallowed in the short period that I was ill. I had become accustomed to seeing him with the enormous Bible he carried in his right hand and the crucifix hanging around his neck. He had also told me back then, that he was an Assistant Pastor in one church named Advanced Believers Love Chapel. It appeared that life had been treating him kindly since our last meeting, as he was much fatter than I recalled. He reminded me of a pig I had seen in a children's cartoon.
“Pastor Willie!” I exclaimed and I went over to shake hands with him.
“What a coincidence that we should meet here again!” said Willie. “How is the Force?”
I explained to him that I was now into private business.
“I see,” he said, clutching his Bible. “I’m sure it is the Lord’s doing. All things work together for good, for those who trust in God.” He then introduced me to the three other men, who were seated at the table. I didn't realise then, but I would come to know them intimately.
First, I shook hands with Tonye Briggs; he was a short man with a large square head, a thick neck, bushy eyebrows, small inquisitive eyes and a big flat nose. He also had a square chin and his fair skin was unusually smooth. He looked biracial. I would discover much later that his conversation never veered away from his complexion, and that he spent a considerable amount of time admiring himself and strutting around like a peacock.
He was actually a dull kind of fellow. He never got the gist of anything you told him, unless he had asked some rather silly and pointless questions, prompting you to repeat yourself over and over again. I think it took him about a week to understand what took normal folk a minute to understand.
Tonye also had a rude manner of staring at people; his brows would be drawn together and his mouth slack open, and it would be obvious that he did not care whether or not anyone was aware that he was staring. He did this while shaking hands with me. I took an immediate dislike to him.
Next, I shook hands with John Brad. He was of average height and build, and always wore a disapproving frown on his face. He seemed withdrawn from everything happening around him. I would later remember that I never ever heard him whistling or singing, and I never witnessed him getting excited over anything. His arms always hung limply by his sides as if they were mere appendages whose use he had failed to discover. He moved in a dull, stiff and sickly manner, as if he was a ghost, or was suffering from some internal ailment.
I never really took a liking to him, but he turned out to be the kind of person who wasn't bothered about something as mundane as whether or not others liked him! Yet, I made a point of talking to him because I like cultivating friendships and investing in people. Besides, you never know when they would turn out to be be useful.
I would also come to learn that John took the adage cleanliness is next to godliness to heart. He was a paragon of neatness; he took great pains to keep his belongings and person, spotless. He even bathed thrice, daily! His cleanliness and apparent love of water reminded me of a swan.
The third man was Philip Newman. Although he looked older, Philip was in his late twenties. He walked with a swagger and spoke in slangs. He was as huge as Willie. His build reminded me of a professional wrestler or weight-lifter. He also seemed to me to be a person who cared nothing for conventions, and liked to do things in his own way and at his own time.
Introductions over, I returned to Ayuba, who was now sitting behind the bar, which also served as a reception desk.
“You can still have your old room,” he said. “It is unoccupied.”
I told him that that was fine by me. He handed me the keys, even before he opened his register and filled in my particulars. While I waited, I looked down at my feet. I had three bags with me and all were quite heavy. Just then, a young man came into the lounge from outside. He was casually dressed in a white shirt and shorts. I felt he must be one of the youths in the neighbourhood, who did odd jobs now and then for Ayuba and the guests. Without any hesitation I called out to him.
“Come and help me with these bags,” I said, pointing at the bags on the floor. He stopped in his stride and looked me over, as if he could not believe his ears. A look came into his eyes, which I can only describe as a mixture of anger and bitterness.
“And who do you take me for?” he asked. The air was tense. I could sense that he was barely controlling his anger. "The errand boy around?" he continued. I was taken aback by his tone.
“I’m sorry, I em…” I stumbled for the right words. I noticed now that he was not as young as I had first assumed. He had a boyish face and physique, but there was no doubt that he was a man; not just any man, but a man apparently of some education and standing. Ayuba, bless his soul, swiftly intervened.
“This is one of my guests, Mr. Simpson,’ he explained to me. “His name is Nagoth Ali and he is actually in the room opposite yours.”
“I am sorry; do not be offended,” I apologised to him. Mother Nature had apparently short-changed him in both the height and size departments. “I’m sorry. I’m sure Ayuba can help me with the bags.”
“With all pleasure, Mr. Simpson,” replied Ayuba, as he picked up two of the bags and I followed him with the remaining one. The young man, still stiff with annoyance, preceded us as we climbed up the broad staircase that curved to the left towards the landing. As we came up the landing, we encountered a long, wide corridor leading to different numbered rooms with one door directly opposite another. All the rooms in the Lodge had en-suite bathrooms.
During my last visit, I had stayed in the last room by the right.
The young man walked to the last room by the left with the number tag ‘11’. He took out his key from his pocket and opened the door. Then he went in, closing it behind him.
Ayuba deposited my bag before my door with the number tag ‘12’.
“Is there anything you need?”
“No,” I replied, as I opened my door. “I’ll just take a bath and have some rest.”
“Dinner is served at 6:00pm,” he said as he started to take his leave.
“I’ll be down by then,” I said.
“Fine, now,” he replied.
I met the other two guests later in the evening at the dining table; an older woman and her daughter. It was an unwritten rule in the Lodge that single women had their accommodation downstairs.
The dining room was quite large and with additional tables and chairs, could conveniently sit about 20 people. But Ayuba had only eight guests. I found myself flanked on either side by the two women; whether this was a purposeful arrangement or a coincidence, I could not say. The mother, who introduced herself as Mrs. Marshall, was on my right. Her daughter, Maria Marshall, sat to my left. Directly opposite were Nagoth, Tonye and Philip. At either end of the table, sat Willie and John.
Mrs. Marshall was quite a woman. She walked around with the aid of crutches, which now lay beside her chair. Two features immediately struck you, when you met her. First, her eyes. They were intense and round, reminding me of an owl. Secondly, there were her large protruding ears with which she, I had no doubt, could hear far more than others around her!
Maria had fine features. Her face was oval and she had dark, beautiful eyes. Her dark hair was very long and her nose, dignified. Her smooth, dimpled cheeks seemed to beg to be touched. This was a young lady who was aware of her own beauty. I also noticed that she flirted easily with the men. Her bright, loquacious and exuberant outlook to life reminded me of a parrot I once had.
As Nagoth Ali was sitting on the opposite side of the dining table, I had a good opportunity to observe him without looking like I was staring. He was quite short with a boyish physique. He had a round face, fat cheeks and rather feminine hands. His fingers were long and shapely, two of which were wrapped in a white, silk handkerchief. He was rather quiet. I already deduced from our first encounter that he was touchy. He reminded me of a porcupine. I had spooked him and his quills were out. He was the first to finish eating, and left the table immediately.
