Death Becomes Him

I can not believe that this impetuous, over-pampered and carnally-minded simpleton actually picked up that phone call… 

I swear by the throne of Jehovah, I will kill him first chance I get. 


Ring… Ring… Ring… Ring… 

“Hello…?” 

“… I kept hoping that you’d pick up one day…” 

“Uhmmmm… Yeah… I was conflicted.” 

“Because of what I am?” 

“What are you exactly?” 

“I could show you…” 

Laughs…“For real?” 

More nervous laughter… “Where are you exactly?” 

“Here.” She answered from behind him. 

I kept watch over him. He could not see me, but she could. 

From that day they were inseparable. That day in which he had unwittingly summoned her by accepting her ‘hello’  from’ the other side’. They talked a lot. Very often. He was a very curious soul. 

He was exactly thirty three years, three months, three days, three hours, three minutes and three seconds old when he (unfortunately) stumbled upon the ability to ‘summon’. 

I confronted her one night when he was asleep. I was after all his protector. In righteous indignation I insisted on being told her plans. 

She knew that I had the power to translate her spirit back into the abyss. I am holy and righteous. Maybe that is why she demurely replied me in almost suspicious humility. 

She told me that she loved him. 

“But you are a succubus, a demon!” I recall blurting out. 

She then reminded me about the time the sons of God took for themselves wives of the sons of men. And how they cohabited in love and harmony ever after. It was their offspring that became unruly, not the abominable anomaly. 

I can not believe that I am admitting this, but she was right. 

I immediately summoned Headquarters for wisdom; and reinforcements were expeditiously despatched. The Company clearly considered this client untouchable. He was the apple of someone’s eye. He was clearly special and the beloved of someone important. 

We watched as ABIKU taught him great mysteries. She revealed ancient Truths and Verities that he clearly hungered for. She showed him the treasures of darkness and the hidden riches of secret places. He inevitably became very rich and prosperous speedily. He practically rode the high places of at least two worlds. 

She was plump, shapely and comely. The human vessel she chose was as he found pleasing. She inexplicably favored him for his warmth and meekness. Under our surveillance, she metamorphosed into human (female) tendencies of jealousy, tears and domestication. 

They were under no illusions about who and what she was, and yet they proceeded to know each other carnally. Because of her default (basic) existence and office, they copulated often, and with reckless abandon. Succubi are carnal like that. She was extremely pleased with him. They were in love. 

It has been a decade now. Their unholy liaison is now confirmed by the presence of a ruddy, cheeky and naughty lad. ABIKU is a mother. 

My name is Chrioni. I am the messenger of Yahweh; (The Alpha and The Omega, The First and The Last, Holy of Holies, Jehovah.) 

I am the head guardian angel primarily assigned to this mortal, and then to his family. 

The situation has all of us messengers befuddled. And from the murderous looks of the demons snarling and hissing constantly at ABIKU, her kind are incensed beyond belief. 

We are all watching and waiting. 

Spawn of Satan

I imagine that you are reading this from somewhere not in Africa. 

As you read, you will probably sneer and then dismissively chuck me off as backward, gullible and ostensibly religious-bordering on the insane. 

But I know what I am talking about. 

Welcome to a warm and dark continent. The traditions and customs here are still archaic. The first gods are still worshipped here. Worshipped, not merely served. There is a difference. 

I do not believe in coincidences. 

Once, yeah… Okay. 

Twice, I start to reach for my sidearm. 

Thrice, I come out of my den snarling behind a hail of bullets. Machete in the other hand. 

The following took place about ten years ago. (Between the eighth to the tenth years… to further misdirect you… I am smiling broadly right now.) 

One. 

I was in a long term relationship with a lovely young woman. By this time I already knew that I could not marry her. She was a snooping, manipulative, arrogant bitch! (Hmmm… Now where did that emanate from? Forgive me, I am clearly still upset with her). One midnight, she surprised me while I had my pants down. Erect phallus in hand. Indulging in self-help and self-love. She lost it! She broke down in self-righteous tears,  and when that did not work she told me that it would never be well with me until I learned to treat her right. In retrospect I regret not replying her ominous words. You see, I am a creature of habit. I am a maverick, but I have method to my eccentricity. So I know and notice when my jewellery and items of my clothing suddenly disappear. I know about her father, and I know that her mum still worships the first gods. Despite being a deaconess in a local community church. So I knew that her threat was not idle. 

Two. 

By now things had deteriorated quite badly. I was in a bind in every respect. While I did not owe money at the time, I used to be a millionaire. Yes I was still involved with ‘Evil-ynn’, that conniving, stinking maggot. And sibling of Satan! (Hmmm… Now where did that emanate from? Forgive me, I am clearly still upset with her). It was a hot and dry Friday afternoon. I was in between (seemingly futile) business meetings. I drove to a quiet park. They were typically leased to vendors who maintained them via recreational facilities and restaurants and / or a beer parlour. All sorts of mobile vendors would stop by tables offering wares ranging from roasted peanuts to lingerie to cheap electrical accessories. This particular vendor was a Yoruba traditional medicine man. He was selling bottled plant roots and potions purportedly able to cure piles, diabetes and all sorts of ailments. I was bored and I am likable, so he told me that I was on the verge of greatness but that I needed to pray more fervently. He said that my prosperity had been tied up in a tree somewhere. He advised that I prayed that night with a white handkerchief last thing before I slept. That he would stay up and pray in agreement with me at my preferred time. He was a Muslim. I am a Christian. 

Three. 

I was out of town officially. I was mentally chastising myself on why I had bothered to arrive by air. The assignment was clearly not going to be as lucrative as I had hoped. Then that sneaky, succubus that hated Jesus called. She typically called at my lowest times, just in time to make matters worse. Witch! (Hmmm… Now where did that emanate from? Forgive me, I am clearly still upset with her). Luckily a former colleague called me right after her call. He knew I was in his town and wanted to swing by. He arrived with a young man he introduced as ‘his prophet’. They were on their way to dedicate a parcel of land or something. Just before he left, he told me that I had made a mistake dating ‘Evil-ynn’. He told me that I needed deliverance. He said that ‘they’ had ‘tied my progress’ to a particular shrub somewhere in Ankpa. A town in Kogi state, Nigeria. 

Sigh! 

I had no choice but to speak with my pastor. He had us both pray at a set time with a set of specific prayer requests. 

It has been a while since that prayer session. Believe it or not, I am wealthy and rich. More so than ever, and this is me modestly understating things. Everything is going well. Perfectly actually. 

Evilynn’s mother ran mad. She had a mental breakdown in a NEXT –  CASH AND CARRY supermarket. She was said to have rambled on and on about her being a witch. She reportedly asked for my forgiveness. 

Evilynn’s sister ran mad. She had a mental breakdown in a popular Abuja market. Same story, she mentioned my name too. 

Evilynn. Chikadibia – went slightly bipolar. She broke into my convenience while I was there seated waiting on gravity to call on nature. She sank to her knees right there in the ‘shitter’ and apologized. She told me that her mum did it to protect her daughter from harm. I absolved her of wrongdoing in my books. Hey, I loved her once. 

A popular shaman in Ankpa apparently lost his damn mind and stepped in front of a truck suddenly. Before he died, I hear he confessed to a lot of vile things. Yes. Yes, my name came up… Again! 

At this juncture, I wisely relocated. Left town for good. Good thing I did. 

Inside of a week all the aforementioned, plus one or two unmentioned were dead. 

They all died in their sleep. They were insane until they died. 

Mama Mia

My mum is just a mum. 

No slaying… 

Not a diva… 

No swag… 

Does not own a smartphone. 

The quintessential mother; loving, selfless, godly, religious, safe… You know, mummy-ish. Every phone call from her ended with a prayer. She is a Christian and a ‘prayer warrior.’

I come from the Northern part of the country. A job in the federal capital territory was a dream come true. I jumped at it enthusiastically. 

The first few months were tough. My learning curve was steep. But I balanced out. As things got better, I moved into a better part of town. I got a car and started to make new friends. 

I met a group of attractive women et al. They were called the ‘witches of Harlem’ behind their backs. They had a Goth/Emo combination going on. They were easily the life of any party or occasion. 

I have always done well with women. Women love me. I think it is because I am nice… Yes, really I am. 

The ‘head witch’ was Ada. 

She was hot. 

Hawt. 

Haute. 

She had a tattoo of a tiger over her left boob. It started between her breasts all the way… Uhmmmm… Left. She was tastefully pierced and studded here and there. I first met her at a soiree hosted by the American embassy. 

She walked up to me and told me that she liked me. She then asked if we could date. I was single at the time so I said yes. I love tigers…

My rep’and market value skyrocketed afterward! I suddenly began to get invited everywhere. My affiliation with the witches of Harlem was well received. I began to be called, ‘the wizard of Oz’. 

Teehee… Me, church-boy, a wizard?! Teehee…  

Anyway, Ada was okay. I truly have dated better. Looking back now, I think I had started to find her boring. All bark and no bite. I have been with ‘church girls’ that behaved like your favourite pornstar. So, I found Ada a tad lacklustre. 

I have always insisted on condoms. Despite the fact that Ada hated condoms. 

I insisted despite the clean bill of health her blood work from National Hospital showed…She raved and ranted about her hatred of condoms… Shed a crocodile tear or two… Threatened to sexually starve me…  (and she did). I insisted on the condoms regardless. 

Remember that she sexually starved me? Right…it lasted about a week. She staged the fight on a Friday. 

By the next Friday then, I was on a casual date with Adriana, the daughter of a Brazilian diplomat. We were at MarionStones® eating grilled steak and vegetables when Ada suddenly showed up and was disrespectful to me and my date. She caused such a scene that we were all asked to leave the establishment. 

Adriana already knew about Ada, so she was cool and wanted another date if I “survived the night.”

I got back to my studio apartment to meet a livid Ada, who proceeded to verbally abuse me. She said that she would make my life miserable and that I “had better fall back into formation!” 

I calmly broke up with her and walked her out of my house. 

The nightmares started that very night. I woke up screaming every night for the next few days. I would wake up and see scratches and cuts all over my body. Injuries that were not there the night before, injuries that no human could have inflicted. 

I became skittish and paranoid. I was tormented by ghouls and nightmares every single time I shut my eyes. 

I uncharacteristically called my mum and requested that she come spend a few days. She uncharacteristically accepted and said she would be at my place by dusk the next day. 

That same day,  Ada called and asked if I had “come back to my senses” yet. I told her to “go and die!”

That night, she showed up in my dreams with a few garishly dressed women and told me that I was going to die the next day. 

I woke up troubled. I was starting to understand that these women were not just called ‘witches’ for fun. I was suffering the wrath of a witch scorned. I am not ashamed to admit that I knew I was going to die the next day. I was a broken spirit. My only regret was that I could not reach my mum to spare her the trauma of being the first person to see my corpse. 

I actually put my affairs in order before noon the next day. My mum arrived towards evening. After fussing and praying over me for half an hour, she left me in my room. I was now more optimistic. I had faith and hope. 

I must have drifted off to sleep because when I opened my eyes, Ada and three of her friends were in my room holding gourds and cowhide whips. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. My heart began to beat violently, my tongue felt swollen and my eyes bulged as they took turns assaulting and battering my strangely supine (and somewhat restrained) body. 

Ada then pulled out a long porcupine quill sharpened at the tip, dipped it into her gourd and approached me, her intention obvious… Just then the door of my room flew open and my mum stepped in. 

I tried to call out for my mum to save herself until I saw that she was smiling.

 Yes, smiling! 

You do not want to see my mum smiling when nothing is funny. 

She locked eyes with Ada who was now looking back and forth between my mother and I in confusion. 

“Rachel, I… I don’t understand… What are you doing here?”

“He is my son!!” Was all my mum said through gritted teeth. 

At her words I felt a great weight lift off me, unseen shackles seemed to fall off my body and I regained  my faculties instantly. 

I looked up to see Ada and her goons curtsy humbly at my mum and then, I swear (down), vanish into thin air. 

 

I tried to bring up the topic the next day, but then my mum started to smile… 

A Tale of Two Sisters 


“Fury! 

Baal-khenaz, I beseech thee

May her happiest day be her saddest 

I pledge my life as surety 

Give her sorrow, shame and stigma… 

Fury!!”



This tale of two sisters… Where do I start? 

One was called Goldie. The other Tiwa. They were neighbors. They were family friends. 

They were physically alike. Both beautiful and intelligent. Both were the same age. And as the story goes, they hailed from the same state of origin. 

They were used as reference points by their parents to motivate the other academically, spiritually and morally. 

They attended the same schools. Fiercely competed for first position in class. Both were eloquent speakers. Both were destined,  to all of us that had the pleasure of their friendship, destined for greatness. 

That was where their similarities stopped. 

Goldie was a gifted dancer. Tiwa, a blessed singer. 

Goldie tended towards the sciences, Tiwa preferred arts. 

Goldie was fair-complexioned. Tiwa dark of skin. 

And so they grew. And got older and wiser. In retrospect, their parents meant no harm. The proof lay in the almost unholy alliance Goldie and Tiwa shared. 

Aye, they stuck together throughout college. They went to the same schools. 

They were roommates even in the university. They were disturbingly intertwined in almost every way, a dorm mate stated emphatically that Goldie and Tiwa were lovers at some point. “There was something strange about those two.”  

It is not quite clear how and why they started poaching each others lovers… Which by the way were few. But they seemed to need to prove to each other that one was better, hotter and sexier than the other. Not against Joanne or Catherine or any other female, just betwixt them both. 

As they grew older still, their lovers (though few) thinned and then became specific, special beloved. Love, romance and marriage found anchor and became possibilities. 

Goldie at this point was an architect of great reckoning. She was a public figure and a real estate authority. She had become very wealthy and engaged to a fine young man called Felix. It was common knowledge that she was utterly besotted with the man. 

Tiwa on the other hand fell in love with a man yoked by marriage. When it mattered, his wife cloaked herself in abject humility and submission. And alas, he chose to remain with his wife. Tiwa, a popular talkshow host on television surprisingly took the heartbreak in stride and went on to seduce the entire country via her daily television talkshow hits. She was like Oprah. 

The devil incidentally came by (yes him… Satan, Lucifer, whatever you know him as), consequently Felix, (Goldie’s beloved) had reason to be featured on one of Tiwa’s prime time shows. 

And as only the devil is capable of orchestrating, Tiwa and her best friend’s lover fell in love thereafter and commenced a very public and a very torrid affair. 

To the utter amazement of the country, they elected to get married a few weeks later. And to the utter bewilderment of the country, Goldie elected to utter nothing. 

Understandably the wedding was high society. The wedding colors were gold and white. The upper crust of society were in attendance, duly arraigned in dazzling shades of gold and white apparel and accessories. 

Felix held his own, the vice president of the country was the sponsor of the wedding and presided over the ‘cutting of the cake’ segment of the wedding. 

At his bidding, Felix performed his first official role (of many more) by feeding his wife a piece of cake and then some champagne. It was beautiful. Guests, celebrities and those in attendance cheered and attested to his composure and gentle nature. 

At his bidding, Tiwa performed her first official role (of many more) by feeding her husband a piece of cake and then some champagne. It was beautiful… Until suddenly Felix clutched his throat and staggered backwards a step. His eyes bulged in obvious pain as he sank slowly to his knees. Reaching out to his wife for help it seemed…, a drink perhaps? Tiwa reached out and barely had her fingertips touch her husband’s before he keeled over sideways in a dead faint. 

All these took place within ten seconds. No one had the presence of mind to react. Though she could not confirm Felix’s death at the time, as she looked around in shock and confusion, her arm now pressed to her bosom, she saw Goldie stand up with a grim smile and sashay out of the cathedral.

Goldie was dressed in a black dress. A black veil of see-through chiffon over her head. A black diamond-encrusted  brooch bearing the likeness of a spider was pinned to the dress, on the left side of her bosom. 

The Omuha Fraternity

image

Mrs Obaniko detested her husband.
Senator Afiang Obaniko held her husband of over thirty years in very low esteem.

He had given up on life. Gone were the days of vibrance. He had lost his edge. He seemed content to sleep and then awaken. Eat, drink and work out. In between, read a book or two and then some news.

He, in her opinion, was a shadow of his potential.
He seemed to have embraced a stunning depth of lack of ambition. He seemed to be content with bare minimum.

Unfortunately, Dr. Ochiwar Obaniko did not care about her opinions. Or anyone else’s for that matter.

Consequently the relationship was precariously perched at the edge of a sheer cliff. It was a matter of time.

So when Java did not come home the night before, another decrepit pillar of their relationship was on the verge of collapse.

He was late… As usual.

He could perceive her signature fragrance from inside the elevator of the police force headquarters. She was the only woman he knew with a penchant for male perfumes.

Her aides, assistants and security respectfully stood and bowed as he sauntered into the office of the Inspector General of Police.

Her voice was elevated.
She was stressed and afraid. It was understandable, Java, their daughter was an only child. She was not just the apple of their eyes, she was Ochiwar’s life.  She had been missing for a little over twenty four hours.

The perpetrators had called the house. The Butler said they wanted a ransom of one million dollars. In small unmarked bills of course.

His wife was livid and incensed. The money was not the issue, somehow though it was his fault.
Java was twenty years old. In the country on holiday. She was busy in the Senate ironing out national policies, where was he when this happened?

Her sour disposition did not help the situation. The I. G of police was already beleaguered by a myriad of official problems. He did not need a senator of the federal republic complicating his already complicated life. And so when Dr. Ochiwar walked in, he naturally preferred the man’s mild – mannered disposition.

His wife’s brothers and sisters were unfortunately present too. The cacophonous racket they were raising was as useful as Jack Daniels to a newborn baby.

Everyone was stymied. The situation was hopeless. A notorious gang of kidnappers had been terrorising the town for about a year now. The victims were usually killed anyway. Ransom paid or not. Java was as good as dead. The time line for the cash drop expired in three hours.

Senator Afiang increasingly grew incensed as she observed her husband marooned on his phone. Seemingly less than a hundred percent present.

“who the hell are you talking to at this time? What could be more important than your missing child? Your only daughter?! Can’t your whores wait?” Her flawless diction and accent-less phonetics empowered her words not only to hurt, but also to emasculate.

As if to further provoke her, his rather immature ringtone shattered the dead silence her cruel words had created.

Dr. Obaniko calmly picked up the phone,

“Do you know who I am?” He almost whispered into his mobile phone.

“I am reborn” He continued with his eyes closed.

“I will pay the ultimate price. My rights will not be usurped.”

The room was silent as he nodded intermittently listening to the voice on the other end. As he listened, tears escaped his closed eyes and trickled down his roguishly handsome face.
Everyone present knew that the call had to do with Java. No one interrupted. They hung on every word propagated by his strained, cultured voice.

He ended the call and slowly extracted an excessively white handkerchief which he proceeded to use to wipe his tears and noiselessly blow his nose.

He arose slowly and approached the I.G’s desk, he leaned over and rhetorically said,

“Do you know who I am? I am War!”

Then he proceeded to tell a suddenly very suspiciously docile  I. G of police the precise location where his daughter was being held.
He disclosed the number of people within a twenty meter radius of his daughter and the sort of weapons they were carrying.

As soon as he was done talking, the I. G barked some orders into an intercom.
He jumped up and left his own office running, screaming instructions as sirens instantly
began wailing outside in the car park.

Dr. Obaniko left the office and his wife behind without a backward glance. She called out after him gently. He paid no heed to her or anyone else. His personal assistant rushed towards him offered her shoulders as support. He was suddenly limping, sniveling and profusely weeping.

Senator Afiang and her entourage got to their fifteen bedroom mansion an hour later. Her sirens afforded her preferential treatment on the roads.

Java ran out of the door into the arms of her mother and extended family.

Inexplicably, she was set free. Her kidnappers suddenly began to disagree. Fatally so. Ultimately her captors fell upon each other with knives, furniture and theirs truly in paranoia and rage. The last one alive had hoarsely told her to go home. She had driven back in her own hitherto carjacked Nissan 370z.

Dr. Obaniko arrived an hour later. Father and daughter clung to each other and wept.

Less than a month later, Java returned back to Cyprus to continue her second degree.

Dr. Obaniko was suddenly appointed as the minister of petroleum by the president.

The governor of his state reached out in fellowship and within twenty-four hours, their newly incorporated company was awarded an oil block, complete with licenses and perpetual tenuity.

Chevron and Shell simultaneously conferred on him the title of “Goodwill Ambassador”. Each multinational paid him an annual honorarium of half a million dollars each.

He accepted every offer with humility, grace and charisma.

Before he could assume office as the honourable minister of petroleum, he was forced to accept the position of senator representing his federal constituency.

It was only fair because the senator representing that constituency died suddenly. She was fatally stabbed and shot whilst on her way to a meeting within her constituency.
As her husband, the Senate, her constituency, her governor and the powers that be unanimously deemed it fair that he should complete her remaining seven years in office.

What Is Dead

I had to kill you
So you would not die
Now in your hereafter
I hope you found paradise.

Are you at peace?
Though what is dead cannot die
Your dying haunts my living
But that which lives ultimately dies.

Your cries for help sadden me
Not because you call from a grave;
Where you are is bleak and desolate
You should have called sooner.

I had to kill him
So you would not die
Now in our forever after
I know you have found paradise.

The Writers Wife

Trust me I understand his absences.

Was it not I, his official muse, that set him upon this path?

He is all over the world now; awards, book signings, book readings, CNN, even Bollywood want deals.

He is in Abu Dhabi this weekend… Al Jazeera interview slash a book signing.
And I’m stuck in Abuja presently… Tormented by our two boisterous kids, kids I’m struggling not to kill.

What manner of person travels on Valentine’s day?
Without recourse to the marginal propensity of forfeiture of life? Only my husband!

In fairness to him, he accepted the dates months ago. He told me, and I accepted. But I didn’t know it would be this fourteenth of February!
It sounded like just another day nine months ago.

So I picked up my Sony video camera, the youngest of our two kids and then headed to the man-made Jabi Lake to make and record some memories of my Prince for posterity.

Our daughter looks like her dad.
Our son looks like me.
Our son is me.
He is without doubt the cutest two year old I know. Trust me, its not just because he is my son. He is beautiful.

I had him on the screen of my video camera wearing a life jacket, rain boots and gleefully waving at me. His vocabulary isn’t quite there yet, so his replies to my questions are dazzling smiles and waves.

We are at the water front. The spot is ours. It’s about five thirty pm. There are a few people scattered along the water front to my right. But about half a kilometre away.

My phone rings.

I look away from the video camera propped on a tripod stand to my phone. It’s his dad. Smiling I pick up and look back into my video screen.
Duration of the action, five seconds or less.

My son is still playing about two metres from the water front. Still speaking on the phone I straighten up to ease my eyes and stretch my arched back.
As I lift up my eyes to see my son in real time, I see my son standing face to face with another child. A baby girl. About his age.

I remember looking back into the screen and back at my son, over and over and over again…
All I could see was my son with another child whose image wasn’t coming up on my screen!
On tape, on my screen he was alone. But from where I was ten meters away he was clearly with another female child.

I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I don’t do drugs.
I believe that evil exists and I believe that Jesus Christ is the way, the truth, and the life. I crossed the distance in seconds screaming my son’s name.

I knelt down in the sand and protectively cradled his startled body. He tried to squirm free, simultaneously pointing to his new companion.
Heart thunderously beating I followed his finger. Sure enough, she was still there.

She was a beautiful girl. Almost too beautiful in fact. Upon closer inspection she seemed to be about four years old. But her eyes…her eyes were older, like the eyes of a twenty year old. She had on a wet, simple cotton dress. Her natural – looking hair was braided all the way back, down to her waist. Very intrinsic braids.
The pattern and style of her hair I had not seen before.

Her gaze and smiles were for my son only. She ignored me completely. Like I was not there. My son was as though hypnotised, he was smiling back arm stretched out toward her.

He kept squirming and trying to pull free of my grip, fully intent on holding the equally outstretched hand of the girl. Puzzled I held on tighter, their eyes were locked on each other. Arms stretched out, straining to clasp. I innately knew that my sons hand could not be allowed to touch the girls hand.

He suddenly threw his head backward, I reflexively turned my face to avoid the reverse head butt hitting my nose. He caught my bottom lip, I felt it split open like a ripe mango hitting the ground. The pain was searing and debilitating, the only two reactions I could manage was to hold him tighter and to cry out “Jesus!”

Instantly he relaxed and whirled round to embrace me. Face in my neck.
The spell was broken.
I could feel blood from my split lip running down and onto the back of his t-shirt.

For the first time, the little girl locked eyes with me. Her arm was still outstretched, but she was no longer smiling.

The malice and hatred she bestowed with her looks upon me could tenderize elephant meat.

I saw malevolence in her eyes. I saw lust. I saw covetousness.
And I saw love. Yes love… For my boy.
She wanted him.

Mothers worldwide can back me up on this; that instinct, that mummy thing just welled up from within me and burst. My eyes blurred in blind rage, I rose to my feet speaking in a tongue previously unknown to me… She recoiled in terror backing up into the water.

I held her gaze, my son and those strange words…she glared at me and then screamed, her tiny mouth wide open. I could see all the way down her throat… But no sound came out.

She pointed ominously at me and then dove into the murky waters… and until I gathered my stuff and beat a hasty retreat to my car I did not see her again.