THE SCOURGE OF OUR TIME; PART 1

‘SCOURGE, PUNISHMENT, SUFFERINGS, WICKED ATTRIBUTES, BITES OF LACK, PERPETRATING EVIL, LOINS OF DECEIT etc. I can go on and on’.

‘THE WORLD HAS TURNED INTO A PLACE FOR THE BRAGGARTS, THE EVIL DOERS, THE VAGABONDS, THE SCOUNDRELS AND THE SCAVENGERS’!

MAYBE THESE ARE THE PEOPLE ESIABA REFERRED TO AS ‘THE WRETCHEDS OF THE EARTH’!

Why do we have to leave a scar on one another?

 Why do we have to be scoundrels who scourge on one another?

 Looting peoples’ emotional and psychological wealth?

What gain do we achieve from inflicting pain on our fellow humans?

 What is the gain from achieving a wrought?

… THE STORY OF AKU

I am Aku. I am 22years old. If I knew what this world has in stock for me, I would have begged God to leave me up there with him.

Do I need to tell you how my mum died from the stones of the ‘sinless’ crowd, who mobbed her because she was mad and stole ‘mangala’ fish?

Or do u wish to hear how my father, who was a fire maker at a bakery got burnt by the same fire he made for years?

The most amazing of all, is how my grandmother called me a witch, who used her parents for sacrifice and still remained in penury.

My story is bitter not because I lost my parents to death through painful means, but because my life was ripped apart by the same people who are of this world.

I moved from the village to the city, because I believed the city has more to offer; free education, easy money, good people and lots of goodies …

My aunt received me; and immediately recruited me into the Akara frying and selling business. Mrs. Kome is a renowned Akara seller on the busy street of Olewa. She’s a short, smart woman, who dreams and wakes up with the frying pan.

I liked the business, because it’s a moving train.  People patronize her very well. At the end of every morning and evening we make more than =N=3,000 from Akara, pap, plantain, potatoes and fried yam.

Things were moving as I proposed except that I never talked about going back to school, because my aunt said she couldn’t afford for a secondary school, so every afternoon, I visit a low profile commercial school near the house, stand by the window to capture words with my pencil and paper. After every school hour, I come back home to recite and cram what I have copied from the school board.

Hmmm! Life is tough and can never come on a bed of roses; my philosophy though.

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Life continued that way till one fateful evening, I couldn’t join my aunt at her ‘Akara Centre’ as people fondly called the spot, as there was no food at home and I had to prepare dinner. I was cooking when the husband came home.

Mr. Kome, a tall, thin man, who comes back home dead drunk almost every night; and today was no exception.

I pity my aunt because she has no child to comfort her, at times like this.

 Did I mention that Mr. Kome also bagged a degree in wife beating? Hmmm! Infact I will say a PhD.

I welcomed him, served him food, and went to the store, which my aunt converted to a room for me, since it is a one bedroom flat.

As I was lying down, reading and cramming the English that I copied from the school board, a hard knock came on the door. Before I could stand up to the door, the door gave way and Mr. Kome rushed in like a rat pursued by a lion.

He said in pidgin, ‘ wey your madam?’ I answered, ‘she dey akara centre sir’. He came nearer, as a foul smell mixed with alcoholic stench hit my nose. He muttered; your food make sense pass your madam. Hope say u go sweet like your food?’