The Day She Died…

We had been quarreling for a while now.

Every little thing seemed to set us off. We were fighting ninety percent of the time these days.

Deola was starting to look like a good replacement..

Deola… Ah… ‘Dee’ as I loved to call her. Buxom. Nubian beauty. Bold and forthright. She had been hitting on me with a vengeance for months. She was promising me ‘heaven on earth’. She told me that she was game ‘whatever, wherever, whenever’, that all I had to do was ask.

Chaaaiiii!

Chika was nagging again. Her gratey voice snapped me out of my reverie.

Chikadibia… Sigh… So beautiful that it was not fair. As smart as starched military khakis too. Her mind is astronomical! It also helped that she was the only woman I knew via recent experiences that could handle me sexually.

That day we were arguing about a wedding she wanted to attend. I had told her that she could not go. She was livid. She was trying to make my life a living hell.

Throughout her tirade I was ‘sexting’ with Deola. Mild stuff.

But,

Deola was starting to look like a good replacement.

Long story short, Chika defied my instructions and went for the wedding. (I am that sort of boyfriend, get over yourself. Thankfully, I am not dating you).

I was seated in my opulent den when she returned. She sashayed toward me, smiling like nothing was wrong. She bent over and leaned in and kissed my cheek and then sat down beside me.

Something inside my head snapped. Audibly I am sure.

I let loose a vile litany of invectives. I was well into giving her a piece of my mind when the corner of her mouth started twitching.

Little tics at first. Then sight tremors and finally that side of her mouth began to twitch.

But I was on a roll.

I had just begun cursing her out, (yes it is that sort of relationship, get over yourself. Thankfully, I am not dating you) when I perceived that all was not well.

My sick, twisted, wicked and premeditated words dried up instantly.

The second I saw the corner of her mouth droop just a fraction of an inch. I bolted out of the room.

By the time I returned with my car keys, she was slumped on the floor face down.

I had her in the hospital about thirteen minutes later. The nurses had her on oxygen and hooked up to a few machines. They were starting to check her blood pressure. They were also trying to get blood from her arm to run some tests.

Chika suddenly stiffened, and then started to stretch unnaturally. Then she seemed to crumple… Then stiffen… Then crumple. It was clearly a bizarre death dance.

Pandemonium broke out. It was grotesque sight. Her previously beautiful face was scrunched up in a series of revolting rictuses.

I was standing by the door. I am a big and tall man, the nurses needed all the space they could get. I had just closed my eyes to pray for her when I heard her start to convulse.

The seizures were so violent that the hospital bed was bouncing off the white tiles of the floor.

I forced the deepest calm I could muster and from within began to pray for her. Inaudibly I think. I did not want her to die. Not because I would have to explain what happened, but because I loved Chika.

I am not sure how long I prayed, but it can’t have been for more than a few seconds… When someone, something prompted me to open my eyes.

I saw a vertical plume of light slowly rise from Chika and slowly start to ascend. I darted forward and held the light.

Yes, you read that right. Until I did it I did not know it to be possible. But it felt like the only move I had. And it worked because I was now somehow holding Chika by the wrist.

On the bed, she had flatlined and the nurses were still struggling to resuscitate her.

Here, about a meter away I was holding on to her spirit.

“Baby-m… (term of endearment, ‘my baby’) please don’t go… Please baby don’t leave me” I begged her celestial version.

“It is time Igwe. My time has come.” She objectively reported.

“Chika, I am sorry!” I remember crying out audibly.

The nurses were practicing CPR on her earth suit at this point. One of the nurses had her hands on her head and was weeping quite loudly.

“Igwe I forgive you… Don’t worry… I am tired… Bye – bye…” She told me in a sad voice. Her guileless eyes held proof of forgiveness. Her entire visage was devoid of malice or ill will.

Chaaaiiii!

Never! Not on my watch!! So I employed the only strategy that I could. I uttered words that I knew would touch Chika’s spirit. A suggestion that was sincere. It would be tendered from my spirit to hers.

“Chikadibia, I want you to be my wife. I want you to give birth to children for us… I will go and see your parents tomorrow.”

Time froze for an instant.

She looked into my eyes for a while. Then she turned around and returned into her earth suit.

Then all of her as I knew it slowly sat up on the bed.

The nurses fled in terror when she sat up slowly. Hospital sheet sliding off to reveal her impossibly beautiful face. They ran because she had just been pronounced, ‘dead’.

We have been married for thirteen years now.

We have three children.

Two girls and a boy.

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About Last Night

#may16

Dear Tommy,

Sup?!

I’m sure Ayisha called you. Hmmm I can only imagine what she told you. Saw your calls, I could not pick up. I am not myself.

As you know, yesterday was my birthday and I also launched ‘MAY 16’ my new novel. Ayisha rallied around and did her bit. It was satisfactory. I expected more from my girlfriend and mother of my one child, but that is not my issue now.

Nneka called me. Yes the same Nneka. You of all people know that I am in good terms with ALL of my ex’s. But because of Ayisha I have pushed Nneka far away. I do not want to go through that type of public fiasco again.

Anyways she called me to wish me a happy birthday and then she told me that she still loved me and always would. She also said that she would leave any man for me. She said that she could do anything for me. I told her that I loved her too and wished her well in her upcoming marriage.

Are you with me so far!?

At about six pm yesterday, she called and invited me to her lounge. Now we are in the same social groups and in the same social networks. We always use her lounge for ‘surprise’ birthdays. It is an open secret. It is not rocket science to our circle of friends anymore.

I assumed that it was my turn.

Are you following me so far?

When I got there, sure enough the place was filled with the same usual suspects. I still thought they would do something and wish me a happy birthday.

Nneka owns the lounge so she ordered a bottle of Hennessy for both of us. We were all up in the VIP.

I lost track of anything after two shots. You and I know that it would take a full bottle of Hennessy to get me inebriated. I believe that she slipped in a roofie or something.

I was in and out of consciousness for a while. I came to at one point and she was having sex with me. I was sitting and she was on top. We were still in the lounge because I could hear music. We had unprotected sex.

At another point when I surfaced from the haze she was in my lap crying. At another point, we were having sex again. And again she was on top.

Her wedding is in a week. Even when we dated, we always used condoms. And I know her, she is the purest of souls. As you know, the only reason we parted ways was because Ayisha got pregnant. Nneka could not handle that curve ball. But shortly after, even you know that she tried to come back. You know that if I asked Nneka to marry me right now, she would.

So why would she do this? I know why…

Anyways, I don’t know how I got home. I woke up before dawn to Ayisha physically assaulting me. She beat me out of sleep yelling out that I cheated on her. The insecure woman had stripped me naked as I slept. Not to make me comfortable, but to sniff my private parts. She found what she was looking for.

I did not retaliate. I got dressed and left the house. The entire neighbors were out and had even called the police. I left before they arrived.

In other news, the writers residency to Canada came in two days ago. I have been offered a three month residency to finish my next book. I have accepted as at eight am this morning.

So why did Nneka do it? Simple… Her wedding is in a few days, and she would rather be with me. Since she cannot yet, she has taken my seed. She and her husband are going to raise me and her baby without his knowing. Or consent.

They are relocating to Canada.

Are you still following me?!

I hope to see Nneka in a few hours. I will try to get her to cancel her wedding and marry me. She is not picking up my calls though. I do not think she intends to ever pick up again.

If I fail to see her (I do not think she intends to ever see me again), I will have at least three months to locate her in Canada.

Why?

She went to an extreme I appreciate. Our separation was not because of lack of love. Nneka would die for me. That is the kind of woman I want.

I am not leaving Ayisha because she assaulted me. It is just that right now I know that it is Nneka I want.

I have dumped my cell phone number. The police are looking for me I hear. Ayisha is at work again, maligning my good name. You know she has clout. Lol, I am in so much trouble!

I will call you in a week. I will use the ‘Hotspot maneuver’… Wink…

Tell mummy. She will understand. Get her to tell daddy.

It will all work out… You know who I am and what I can do. Have I ever failed in anything I really wanted? So do not worry. Just pacify Ayisha and buy me four months. Or better still just check up on Myra for me often and stay out of me and Ayisha’s drama.

Aiight… This is your favorite black sheep brother bleating on up outta here!

Peace!

P. S: Go to my ‘safe house’, key is by the fountain, under ‘that’ stone… ENJOY! wink… Wink…

Farin Ruwa Falls & The Shrine of Mbing

“Farin Ruwa Falls is a waterfall found in the central region of Nigeria. It is among the highest waterfalls in Nigeria. It is significant among Africa’s falls when the total height covered by the waterfall is considered.

The source of Farin Ruwa falls is found on the Nasarawa State, from whence it gushes down over the edge of the Nasarawa. During its descent from the Jos Plateau, the water drops a total height of about 150 metres (492 ft).[1]This drop is higher compared to the more popular Victoria Falls, which drops a height of around 108 metres (354 ft) during its descent.[2

Farin Ruwa falls is found in the Farin Ruwa Development Area, under Wamba Local Government Area of Nasarawa State. The falls is found along the boundary of Plateau State and Nasarawa State, under the Bokkosand Wamba Local Government Areas of the two states. The falls has its source on the Jos plateau, in the Bokkos Local Government Area of Plateau State.

The falls was discovered by the then Britishcolonial rulers of Nigeria in the 1950s. A catering Rest House was established in Gur Hill at Marhai village close to the falls in order to exploit it commercially. To protect its rich heritage, the colonial administration gazetted it and named it Marhai Forest Reserve. However, despite this early development, Farin Ruwa was consigned to the background until the creation of Nasarawa State in 1996.[3] The waterfall is about 120 kilometres from Lafia, the Nasarawa state capital, and 30 kilometres from Wamba town.

Farin Ruwa is a Hausa language word meaning ‘white water’. Farin Ruwa is a description of the nature of the falls by the local inhabitants of the Farin Ruwa area.[4]The height covered during the descent of the falls is very great, so that the descending water crashes during its way down the Jos plateau escarpment. The falls gradually turns white in colour as a result of the height covered by the falls during its descent.

The falls, as a result of its white colour, appears in the distance to the inhabitants of the Farin Ruwa area like white smoke on the mountains. This white nature of the falls earned it the name Farin Ruwa from the inhabitants.

Wikipedia.

“She is so blissfully naive!” I remember thinking as I spoke to Cherie.

Cherie was also an astounding romantic. She was a nice person.

In a few hours from when I first spoke to her, I would confirm that she too possessed the ‘X-Factor‘… One of us rare individuals who have the mystic cross(es) etched in their palms naturally.

Cherie has absolutely nothing to do with the story I am about to tell. I want her though. I want a new protégé. I need a muse esoteric.

The distance from the village closest to the Farin Ruwa Falls is about five kilometers from the falls. In the event that you overzealously decide to measure the distance, and my estimate falls short… Fuck you very much. Hehehehehe…

About a kilometer from the falls, you meet the two gentlemen who function as officials. They give you the normal talk and then lead you through an undulating depreciated man-made pathway through a corridor of trees so sparsely spaced it looks slightly unnatural.

But it is all beautiful.

The waterfall is nice…

Water is cool…

Blah… Blah… Blah…

I was being a gentleman and carrying Cherie’s backpack. At some point, she told me that I was a nice man. I remember replying that, “I am not a nice person; but I can be nice.”

Cherie has absolutely nothing to do with the story I am telling. I want her though. I want a new protégé. I need a muse esoteric.

Later that evening, after we had all returned to our Wamba campsite, we started to barbecue turkey, goat and fish.

I made sure to be positioned just by the shadows. I made sure that I was well noticed for about three hours. And then at a moment most auspicious, I faded off into the night.

I hiked back to the waterfalls. I covered the distance in about ninety minutes.

I gingerly approached the edge of the pathway where the officials would always start their talk, just before the first few cement steps bordered on one side by a very shaky metal hand rail.

Opposite that stretch of steps was a dilapidated hut. Earlier that day, the waterfall official had confirmed my suspicion that the place was a shrine. Long before white missionaries affected their traditions, chief priests would hike up to this point and consult the gods on issues ranging from permission to go to war and which crops would prosper during the farming season ahead.

I understood that there was usually one chief priest. The priest’s tenure was usually by spiritual appointment. The custom was dead though. Overrun by civilization and Christianity.

But earlier, my nostrils had caught a whiff of a distinct sweat type. Don’t bother asking me how, only my nose truly knows. I have learned to trust my instincts. In my line of work, instincts are paramount.

It was a waning full moon and so visibility was above average for that time of the night. The air had a zephyr that came and went every forty seconds or so.

I sat in the darkness on the forest floor Dandasana style and slowly dropped my heart beat and pulses to a significantly slower speed.

I am not sure how long it took me to ‘confirm’ (hear/feel minute movement and then perceive a scent/smell), but it typically takes a little over ten minutes.

I remained statue still and patiently waited.

From within the ruins of the dilapidated hut, a figure gingerly extracted itself from a hole in the ground. It glanced around furtively and cautiously stepped out of the ruins into the open.

This was who I was here for. ‘My client’ was quite specific. They just forgot to mention that it was a woman. Not that it would have mattered anyway.

Her bromhidrosis was quite bad. In the open, that body odor was really strong. She was wearing a simple dress that was so old it had become threadbare. She should not have bothered with the dress, there was little left to the imagination. Even under moonlight.

She barely had the time to react before I was upon her. I am a freakishly strong person, but she had strength like I had never seen in a woman. She trashed, bucked and writhed about like a catfish in a barrel evading capture. I had her wrists and ankles tied up firmly within a minute nonetheless. A few seconds to gag her too.

I activated my transmitter after deciding that a flare would be too overt. From that second, I had seven minutes to get to the muster point half a kilometer NW.

I picked her up in a fireman’s carry and began a slow run. She was not heavy and I had adrenaline in full circulation. I made it to the spot under five minutes. I therefore had about ninety seconds to understand who I was kidnapping.

I found my kit and secured the perimeter. I quickly donned night vision goggles, Honey Badger low visibility carbine, complete with a suppressor went under my left armpit, two stun grenades went into each pocket of my combat pants. I set off four smoke screens in a distinct pattern… I now had about sixty seconds to evacuation.

She was an albino. Her eyes had cataracts so bad I was sure she was blind. Her breasts were quite large and had almost no droop… She was not older than twenty two. She was whimpering and shivering uncontrollably.

I heard the sound of the apache and saw them toss out more smokescreen. I confirmed perimeter security via ‘comms’ and retreated for the pick up.

She was extracted in thirty two seconds.

I was jogging back to the campsite in Wamba by the thirty fifth second.

I got back without incident and showered briskly. It was about three am. I requested for an Uber online.

The cab arrived as requested by 7:30 am. I left the Wamba campsite citing ‘family emergencies’.

I do not know what ‘my client’ wants with an albino chief priestess from Wamba. Or how they knew that she existed in the first place. I try not to get involved. I am a professional.

Serti Takum

Veni veni, Emmanuel captivum solve Israel, qui gemit in exsilio, privatus Dei Filio.

Gaude! Gaude! Emmanuel, nascetur pro te Israel!”

I do not think that there are many of us left. I am afraid I may be the last one.

Lore, strange truths were whispered in my ears from birth. From lips I never saw. They told me of ancient mysteries, they spoke to me repeatedly long before I had understanding. I have grown with these ‘gifts’. I Am.

Joan was there.

Becky was there.

I. K. was there.

Nura too, I think. The remaining Backpackers were in the second Hilux pickup truck.

It began that morning when we set out to camp at Mayo Kam. We stopped after the petrol station. It’s name (the petrol stations’) escapes me now. Where those traders line up to sell their wares to travellers. As always, we stopped to ‘eat local’. We got some moi-moi (bean pudding) cooked in plastic bags. We also got the yams we intended to roast by the camp fire from there too.

I was seated in front with ‘It Is Raining‘, our eerily quiet driver. I cannot lie, his name really is, It Is Raining. The rest of the team were fussing about trying to buy a bunch of stuff we did not need. I. K. came to me smoking a cigarette and being as rambunctious as only he can manage.

She was standing slightly behind the rest of the traders. She was tall for a local. The table upon which her kuli -kuli (deep-fried, hard and crunchy groundnut paste) was placed was understandably higher than anyone else’s. She had a boy of about ten years old beside her. She was close to this child I perceived. Not a sibling, he was too plain. Or maybe I should say that she was too beautiful. As of right now, despite all that transpired, I still do not know the ties that bound them together.

She was wearing a black cotton embroidered gown. She was slim and lithe. She was exotically beautiful. Dark Nubian. She truly did not belong there.

She and the boy… And so I stared a tad too long.

Naturally, she bristled under my direct gaze and as is the manner of men and women and love and sex and marriage; she made me know that she was interested in me too.

Taraba state of Nigeria still embraces a laid back and traditional culture. Decorum, modesty and decency still obtain. So I discretely commissioned It Is Raining to arrange for a discreet rendezvous scheduled for the next day. Seven pm to be exact. It Is Raining returned to me bearing news that gladdened my heart and my pleasure showed. She watched my face and coyly began stealing admiring glances at me. While Backpackers are not in fairness indecent, they can be quite direct. They teased me relentlessly about the obvious chemistry Serti (yes, that was her name) and I just shared.

As I have revealed in a previous tale, Mayo Kam was a kind of ‘Garden of Eden’. Permit me not to relive that past at the expense of this future. Suffice it to say that we got back to the transit camp the next day, at about noon.

I. K. and I immediately set about imbibing copious amounts of beer. We were joined by one Backpacker after the other until the makeshift ‘bar’ became pleasantly rowdy. At some point, we all decided to barbecue some meat later that night.

That evening, in preparation for my date, I had a long shower and massaged a lot of coconut oil onto my entire skin. It was lightly perfumed with frankincense. I donned a flowing white robe and made sure to wear my ceremonial beads. I finished my ritual by burning a specific special Oudh from Asia.

My ‘hotel room’ (if you could call it that) was basic. A small bed, a one-seat sofa and a plastic chair. I had arranged both seats side by side at the foot of the bed. Behind the seats was a large window it’s panes were made of glass louvres. I shut them and pulled the curtains shut. I required privacy.

I then proceeded to sit in the dark. I meditated on Serti until a soft knock on my door announced her arrival.

I turned on the lights and opened the door. Unsurprisingly she was still as beautiful as the day before. Unsurprisingly, she came with the boy. I sat them on the seats and then sat down opposite them both.

I gazed into her eyes for a bit, and then his. I returned to her lovely face and smiled at her. She smiled shyly in response. I held out both my hands; one to Serti, the other to the boy. They took my hand in theirs and then at my request, held hands too.

“It is time Serti…” I gently informed her.

Her face clouded over as the pain, bitterness, memories all popped out of her soul, through her eyes and into my consciousness. The preceding twenty two words is the part of my calling I hate. I blinked back tears of empathy and gently whispered,

“It is time Serti.”

This time she nodded curtly. The boy answered ‘yes’ even though I was not talking to him.

And so I lifted up my voice…

“…O come, thou Rod of Jesse’s stem
From every foe deliver them
That trust thy mighty power to save,
And give them victory o’er the grave.

O come, thou Branch of Jesse’s Tree
Free them from Satan’s tyranny
That trust thy mighty power to save,
And give them Victory o’er the grave...Amen! “

And they both vanished into the bosom of the Lord.

Then I cried.

Mourning them.

Those two Spirits Lost.

I do not think that there are many of us left. I am afraid I may be the last one.

Lore…, strange truths were whispered in my ears from birth. From lips I never saw. They told me of ancient mysteries, they spoke to me repeatedly long before I had understanding. I have grown with these ‘gifts’.

I Am A Watcher.

I am mandated to maintain spiritual harmony and balance.

To evict and to summon.

To bind and to cast out.

I have been blessed with (The) requisite power and authority.

Mayo Kam 

I am not originally a Backpacker®.

I only signed up for this trip because I was tired. I was tired of life.

I was tired of being alive. I actually went on that trip hoping to die. Misadventure, murder, animal attack… Anything. Even via the auspices of the pack of prescription sleeping tablets I had stashed away just in case my mind got made up.

Mayo Kam.

River Kam.

Yes, I believe ‘Mayo’ means ‘river’. The waters were deep, clean and cold. We were soberly lectured by the park rangers that a tourist fell in and drowned about a year ago. I so wished it had been me!

Listen, Mayo Kam is an excellent place to camp. Especially during the dry season when the waters have shrunk and left more sand and land in its wake. There is no mobile service in the Gashaka Gumti Game Reserve. If you are Nature’s kid, you have a home there. It is truly amazing. It is beautiful, pure and largely unsullied.

We were eleven Backpackers in all. Two heavily armed park rangers and four local fishermen that met up with us by the camp site.

Leinad, Raj, Rebecca, Henry, Bashiru, Noorah, Joanne, James, ‘Long John’, Sarai…and me. Enez.

Lovely, lovely people. Diverse experiences, countries and character. Never a dull moment with the Backpackers. Yet I was dead inside.

I was not sure of the time, but I was positive that the day was Saturday. For two reasons:- Firstly, there was going to be a Super moon tonight, and a lunar eclipse of some sort. Secondly, today was supposed to be my wedding day.

Cards printed. Venue paid for. Ivory white sleeveless wedding gown bought. Everyone that knew me in any capacity was aware. And why not? I was twenty five years old, I was in love with the only man I gave my spirit, soul and body to. He knew that even Jesus took a back seat when he arrived. Yet… Yet… He PUBLICLY called off the wedding after mandatory blood tests revealed that we were both HIV positive. As in, why?! Who does that?!! HE knew that he had infected me, I was his submissive emotionally and physically!

My mum consequently suffered a stroke. My dad tried to kill me twice. I tried to ‘kill me’ twice… I was the brunt of every joke. An object of pity and ridicule. The subject of many conversations. All of these inside a week.

And so I fled with the Backpackers, to this remote and dangerous adventure, hoping I would die. By my own hand or otherwise.

Leinad was making it hard though. To kill myself I mean. Or to even suffer injury for that matter. He was clearly interested in me. Men! They are so predictable, they would fuck anything given half the chance.

The fishermen arrived at dusk and immediately set about fishing roughly five hundred meters away upstream. They brought their own gear and so ours was redundant. While the rest of the female Backpackers fussed over roasting yam tubers and frying tomatoes, onions and peppers to make a sauce for the imminent fish, I somehow anchored three hooks together and found a spot on a boulder and began to fish.

Faithful and loyal Leinad tarried beside me in abject misery until my dark mood forced him to seek lighter spirits. He joined the group by the large fire and soon forgot about me.

A short time later, I got a bite and expertly reeled it in. It was a foot long indigenous catfish specie. It paled in comparison to the humongous sizes the fishermen were catching and so I killed it just as my dad taught me years ago and decided to use it as bait. I had just tossed my line into the water when I got called to supper. I wedged the flexible but strong fishing rod in a two foot deep crevice, and left.

I woke up reluctantly sometime during the night. I badly needed to pee, but my sleeping bag was very cosy. Besides everyone, including the park rangers, was asleep. I guessed that it was about midnight. It was pitch black outside the influence of the camp fire light.

One look at the sky decided me. I got up and walked towards the river and did my business in a hole I dug in the sand. I was just rounding up when I heard something thrashing about weakly in the water. I intuitively knew that my line had caught something big. I was up the boulder in a flash and back down with my fishing rod.

I think that all three hooks played a part in my catch. I think that the crevice helped wear down the fish. I think that the super moon and it’s unusual brightness lured that fish from the deep.

It was the largest fish I had ever seen in my life! It was not a shark or anything predatory. I think the locals call it ‘water elephant’ or ‘Giwan Ruwa’ in Hausa.

It was beautiful. I was not afraid. Death by this fish if it could would be welcome anyways. And so I darted knee deep into the treacherously cold and fast flowing water and dug my left hand into its gills and began pulling it ashore.

I came to pee in the bikini bottom of a two-piece swim suit, with just a hoodie over me and the bikini bottom. The rocks under the water were slippery and sharp. The humongous fish clearly did not want to leave the water… I was almost drowning within seven minutes.

Whatever I lack as a woman; big boobs, bubble butt et al… came to my aid that night. I used all of the six feet of lithe physiognomy I possessed to lever my catch out of the water.

The fish was only a little shorter than me. My left hand was still locked under it’s gills. That hand was now numb. I locked my right hand into the gills on the opposite side of its head, sidestepped the last foot or so onto the sand and lunged, pulled and lifted in one explosive move.

I landed on my right side painfully with the fish’s head between my thighs. Both my hands still gripping it tightly. I was exhausted! My breath was raggedy and labored. I was wet and cold, I was shivering and shuddering – (from hypothermia, shock and adrenaline).

As I slowly caught my breath, the fish too started to calm. As I slowly warmed up from the heat my body was producing, so did the fish.

But I knew that something was wrong… and so I slowly eased off my painfully cramped fingers and looked down at the fish.

It now had long hair and was a naked girl. I could feel her cheeks on the insides of my thighs. I could feel her cleavage on both sides of my right thigh.

I was by now hyperventilating in shock. But I was spent, lactic acid had built up to the detriment of my muscles. I simply could not move.

And then she started convulsing; flopping about in a most unnatural way. I did not need to be told, she was dying.

I successfully struggled to sit up. I held both her shoulders and began to push her back into the water… But the sand and my tired body impeded my noble intentions.

I began to weep. Not just because of there and then, but because of before. I finally got to cry at the injustices, at the curse of being a woman in Africa, at being ‘the weaker sex’. I was simply so exhausted and tired on the inside and outside. All I could do was to keep stroking her hair and back babbling, ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…’ over and over again.

I learned something that night; we are spirits and we live in physical bodies. At some point she stopped shivering and translated. I felt her leave. She was not her body, she was gone. Her body went limp, numb and cold. I saw her stand beside me wearing a look of slight confusion and wonder.

“Please, I didn’t mean to… I am so sorry!” Were my exact words to her.

She looked down at me for a while and then her beautiful face softened. She knelt beside me and then blew softly on my face, and then lightly kissed my lips.

“Enez…baby girl… Wake up!”

“Did you frigging catch this behemoth?!” Leinad’s handsome face inquired in disbelief.

It was about dawn, not quite bright yet. I made him help push the fish back in the water. We watched it bob in one spot eerily before it sank suddenly.

I shivered suddenly and hugged myself. To my utter amazement, I was bustier! I groped my new and improved breasts in confusion. I looked up at Leinad and the look of pure lust on his face terrified and thrilled me.

I am no longer ill. Have not been ill since that day, not a cold, rash or headache. I am at peace. I am rich and I am wealthy. I am happy.

P. S: “Please, I didn’t mean to… I am so sorry!”

Chappal Wadi

About my Christmas…

It was supposed to be nice and easy. Time spent with family and friends. That is until she called me from the fire.

My muse I mean. Not the young, hot one though. It was old, old mother. I was stir-frying venison and vegetables on the 21st of December 2017 when the bright blue flames of the gas burner cackled and grew. She was within. Within hours I was mysteriously the wildcard selected to accompany the urban myths, adventurers extraordinaire and totally bonkers Backpackers Nigeria® to climb Chappal Wadi. The highest point in West Africa and Nigeria. And aka, The Mountain of Death.

We took off on the 23rd of December, 2017. I refuse to bore you with details of that journey. It was gruelling and fun though.

Fast-forward to the 26th of December, 2017. We were finally at Ngoruje, a transit camp run by the Nigerian Gashaka Gumti National Park. We arrived at about six pm after about seven hours traveling on bad roads. We set up our tents and soon had a fire going. We were surrounded by the reserved trees of the national park. It was chilly and windy. It was dark. The only light came from the campfire.

Yet I could sense that she was waiting for me. And so I walked towards the edge of the forest. It was dark and cold there, but quiet. I sat gingerly on the exposed roots of a tree and almost immediately I perceived her. She always smelled of cinnamon and wood smoke. Old old mother is very very old. She told me a lot of things about the Backpackers Nigeria® and bid me to put my life on the line for them. She is not one known to be garrulous or to linger. I left the edge of the forest with a heavy heart.

It is called the Mountain of Death for various reasons. The park rangers told me that it was because many tourists had died there.

The majority of the good people of Taraba state were largely unaware of the existence of the Mountain of Death. Did not know, did not care.

The motorcycle riders that risked their lives and ours for about four hours ferrying us on dangerously undulating rocky foot-wide trails up and down mountain sides from Ngoruje to Njawai told me that it was because many families had died there simultaneously – mysteriously many years ago. No evident reason.

The head of the hamlet at the base of the mountain, in Njawai told me a lot of things. He especially asked me to convince the Backpackers Nigeria® not to climb. When I asked why, he said that I had ‘the mark of pure light’, and that I knew why. The conversation was in Fulfulde (pronounced Fool-fool-day), the main tongue of the Fulanis. One of the motorcycle riders was ineffectively translating to and fro because I was speaking in the Hausa language.

At the end, the head of the hamlet reluctantly gave us his permission to go up the mountain… But not his blessings. We were ten Backpackers, two park rangers, two journalists and three local guides.

Just before I lost view of the hamlet, I raised my hand in salutation to the head of the hamlet, and he curiously waved ‘goodbye’ back at me.

The altitude sickness was gradual and severe. We were in poor shape within the hour. The climb was up a gradual slope. We sighted antelopes, birds and startled God-knows-what further into the bushes.

There were a couple of things that had been bothering me.

Firstly, we were definitely in Cameroon and not Nigeria-Mambilla as was advertised. Secondly, we had not secured migration passes from the Cameroon’s immigration authority, I was not sure, but I felt like we were being watched. Stalked even. Thirdly, and most importantly I was gradually getting covered in goosebumps… It’s my gift. An early warning signal of sorts.

I was one of the only three that was armed with a firearm. I was the only civilian armed. I had fallen behind because I had to relieve myself. I was on my way back when I heard muffled moans and hushed tones ahead. When I caught up, my team were all standing still like statues. All of them.

I could hear the sound of flapping. Like really large wings flapping. But I could see nothing. The pungent smell of sulphur confirmed the presence of what I could not see. The gusts of wind from the flapping was raising up dust, leaves and grass. Items of clothing worn by people standing stock-still billowing eerily.

I heard the flaps move slightly away to the first local tour guide. Before my eyes, and in a few seconds, the man gradually emaciated like he was being sucked dry. Like an adult dragging on caprisonne quickly. Kukah crumpled (obviously) lifeless to the ground. Bardeh, the second local tour guide suffered the same fate. Then I perceived it move towards Sarai.

“Stop!” I yelled.

I felt it stop, deliberate and veer towards me in a slow whoosh. I remember wishing that I had called out ‘stop in Jesus name’ instead of just ‘stop’.

However, about a meter away from me, I heard the sound of singeing and I smelled burning feathers… I think.

I swear I heard whimpering and another rush toward me and then singeing again, burning feathers… and then all went quiet.

It spoke in an ancient tongue. In guttural and curt syllables. I deduced that I was being asked questions. And so I introduced everyone by name and explained in English why we were here… And then all went quiet.

“Please. Leave. Now… ” it grated in its harsh guttural voice. And yes, in English.

Instantly the air cleared. The bodies on the floor vanished and the trance was broken. The Backpackers® emerged all seemingly clueless as to current direction, location, urgency and time.

“Let’s hurry back down!” I shouted.

“Hey Big D, what about Bardeh and the other one?! Raj enquired.

“They went back faster.” I quietly replied turning away so he could not see my face.

“It’s getting dark, I’m getting cold…” Rebecca petulantly whined.

“We need to pick up the pace! This place is dangerous, especially at night!!” I called out and began to lead the long way down.

All Backpackers® are alive and well. Clueless about what really happened on the Mountain of Death, but alive and well.

May Bardeh and Kukah rest in peace.

Happy New Year!