Stop Beating My Son!

Mr Bassey opened the front door of his house and he stepped inside with a big smile on his face. The smile immediately evaporated when he saw what was happening.

“Stop beating my son!” he shouted at his wife with his fists clenched.

“Don’t defend him again,” Mrs Bassey said brandishing a cane popularly called ‘koboko’.

“He’s the only son I’ve got thanks to you and you’re hell-bent on killing him,” Mr Bassey said. He has an exceptionally loud voice and he always shouts while he’s talking.

“Akpan, your son was accused of stealing two thousand Naira by Mama Joy from her shop and when I searched his room I found ten thousand Naira. How did he get such a large amount”

“Lies! Mama Joy is a liar,” Akpan shouted from where he was hiding behind his father. “The money you found in my room belongs to a friend.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re really Akpan’s mother,” Mr Bassey said with an angry look. “You always jump into conclusions without hearing his own side of the story whenever he’s accused of stealing”.

Mrs Bassey wanted to say something but she knew that it wouldn’t be enough to convince her husband. She left the living room and went to the kitchen. Mr Bassey consoled Akpan who started crying after his mother left the living room. Akpan immediately wiped the tears from his eyes and dashed out of the house after his father had given him a five hundred Naira note to buy whatever he likes with it.

Mr and Mrs Bassey had been married for about thirty years and the marriage was blessed with seven children. Akpan, who was the only son was the last child. Four of the girls where married while the other two were at the University while Akpan was still in Secondary School. Mr Bassey pampered Akpan right from the day he’d been born; nobody was allowed to punish Akpan for any wrongdoing.

A month later while Mr Bassey was watching a Nigerian Premier League Match between Rangers and Enyimba on his 21-inch Television his phone rang. It wasn’t a number he recognized but he picked the call.


“I’m I speaking with Mr Bassey?”

“Yes! Please who is this?”

“This is Inspector Linus. Your son was caught while he was shop-lifting at a supermarket earlier today and before the police could intervene he’d been mercilessly beaten by an angry mob.”

“What! Where is he now? I hope he is okay? Who dares lay a hand on my son? I’ll sue them all to court. I’ll kill…….”

“Enough with the threats. Have you forgotten that you’re speaking with an officer of the law? Your son is currently at intensive care at the Rufus Memorial Hospital”

“I’ll be there as soon as possible. Thank you”

The policeman hung up the call and Mr Bassey picked up his car keys and rushed out of the house. He almost ran into his wife who was about to enter the house. He told her what had happened and they drove to the hospital.

Akpan died a week later due to internal bleeding. Mr Bassey died of a heart attack a month later.



P.S — I know that this is  longer than my other stories but I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks



We Have To Uphold The Law!

“Please officer! He is just a boy,” Olamide’s mother pleaded with the policeman. She was crying and she held on firmly to her son.

We have to uphold the law!” the policeman shouted impatiently. He came up with a handcuff and clasped it round Olamide’s wrists. A small crowd had gathered at the scene and some women were whispering and gossiping in excited voices. The press were having a nice day and they were taking several snapshots.

The policeman and his three colleagues forcefully pried Olamide from his mother’s grip and bundled him into their van popularly known as ‘Black Maria’. Some women held firmly to Olamide’s mother because she was ready to throw herself at the van. The policemen drove off trailed by the loud wailing of Olamide’s mother. The policemen were talking about the forthcoming presidential election and who was likely to be the winner but Olamide wasn’t listening. His mind was far away; he was thinking about the reason why he’d been arrested and what the future holds for him.

He was an only child and as far back as he could remember his parents had always lived together peacefully. Everything changed when his father lost his job about two years prior to Olamide’s arrest. His father suddenly became irritable and he also became a chronic alcoholic. His father started to beat his mother at the slightest provocation. Olamide’s mother tried her best to hide the bruises from friends and family; she always found one excuse or the other.

Olamide had just finished taking his bath when he heard his mother’s loud and piercing screams. He hurriedly got dressed and rushed out of the bathroom to see what was wrong. He got to his parents room and he saw his father trying his best to strangle his mother with his bare hands. Olamide tried to help his mother but his father was far stronger than him.

A next door neighbour was the one who collected a knife which was dripping red with blood from Olamide’s grasp. Olamide hadn’t realized that he was stabbing his father repeatedly until the neighbor collected the knife from him.






Salt Cures Ebola

“Ignorance is the biggest and most contagious disease.”

It was around 4AM and I was reading a book about the Biafran war when a text came into my phone.I opened it and started reading.
“Ensure that you, your family and neighbours bath with hot water and salt before daybreak today because of Ebola Virus.You should also add salt to a warm water and drink it.”

I was smiling before I finished reading the text.About five more similar text messages came in before I decided to get some sleep around 5AM.

The percentage of Nigerians that believed and did what the messages said was surprising.

A lot of religion-inspired superstitions control the way of thinking of an average Nigerian.

Salt cures Ebola? This is contrary to scientific research that has confirmed that there is no known cure for Ebola Virus Disease (EVD) except the two experimental drugs in the United States.

I am not saying that prayers can’t cure diseases. The person who started this rumour just made Dangote a richer man.


Super Chickens

The Super Eagles of Nigeria underperformed in their first group stage match on Monday night. The Brazil 2014 World Cup has been quite an interesting tournament so far and a lot of the already played matches will go down in history. The game between Spain and Netherlands which ended five goals to one in favor of Netherlands was a particularly surprising and unexpected result.

Many expected the game between the Super Eagles of Nigeria and Team Melli of Iran to also be an interesting display of soccer action but it turned out to be the most boring match of the World Cup so far. It was also the first drawn match and it even ended goalless with few chances created by the two teams.

Although some people claimed that the draw was due to the defensive approach by Team Melli, I completely disagree. The Super Eagles played like a team without a gameplan. They were tactically and mentally weak. They gave away possession easily and their performance mirrored some of the performances of Manchester United in the previous season.

Coach Stephen Keshi looked like a confused man. A good coach should have been able to execute a more attacking strategy to overcome Iran. The introduction of Sola Ameobi and Osaze Odemwingie added a little spark to the attack but it wasn’t enough to produce a goal.

Team Melli achieved exactly what they wanted and I must commend them for a job well-done. They almost even got a goal by Reza. That would have been a match winner because there was no way Nigeria would have equalized that goal.

I think that it is pretty safe to say that the Nigeria Team should now be known as the Super Chickens. They didn’t soar like Eagles at all. They were more like over-fed Broilers.

I hope they don’t get disgraced by Bosnia-Herzegovina and Argentina in the other two group F matches.

You can follow me on twitter @scientist47


A Hot Afternoon

I walked out of the security door of the bank and I was immediately hit by the hot breath of air from the street. I felt like going back into the air-conditioned comfort of the bank.

I walked briskly down the road. There are a lot of people walking on the two sides of the street and there are lots of shops on both sides of the street. I went past a dry-cleaner’s shop. He was trying to put on his generator (I-Pass-My-Neighbor), but it was proving to be a difficult task.

It is around two o’clock in the afternoon and the sun is brightly shining. Most of the pedestrians are sweating profusely. I decided to cross to the other side of the street when I got to a Zebra crossing. I wait with the group of people I met at the crossing.

Cars speed by without coming to a halt behind the white lines across the road. The pedestrians, myself included, are too seasoned to trust the Nigerian motorists to obey the traffic rules. We waited patiently for a chance to cross the road.

A shabbily dressed teenage boy barged into me while I was crossing the road with the group of pedestrians. He immediately apologised. His breath smells like liquor. The smell of food from a nearby restaurant welcomed me to the other side of the street. My stomach growls in response and I remembered that I haven’t eaten lunch. I went into the restaurant and sat down at a table close to the window.

A lovely waitress brought my order and after a brief prayer I began eating. It was Amala and Abula soup with a large chicken thigh. I savored every morsel of the meal. I checked my wrist watch and saw that it was a few minutes to three. After I’d washed my hands and cleaned it with a napkin, I dipped my hands into the back pocket of my trouser so as to bring out my wallet but it wasn’t there. It wasn’t also in any of the other pockets of my clothing.


21 years after: Presidency, others mark June 12 in style

I read this article about June 12 on Vanguard Newspaper and I think you’ll enjoy it too.

SINCE 1994, pro-democracy activists and state governments in the country, especially in the South-West geo-political zone, have always mapped out events to commemorate the June 12, 1993 presidential polls adjudged the freest and fairest election ever held in Nigeria.

Considered a watershed in the annals of electioneering in the country, the annulled election was presumably won by late business tycoon, Chief M.K.O Abiola, who died in the battle to reclaim his mandate. His beautiful wife, Kudirat, was also assassinated by gunmen said to be government agents.

Military government’s clampdown
A host of politicians, activists and many innocent Nigerians, old and young, died in the protests that followed the annulment amid the then military government’s clampdown.

The unbending resolve of most Nigerians through pro-democracy activism paved the way for the return of civil rule on May 29, 1999 with Chief Olusegun Obasanjo, a kinsman of Abiola as president.

However, since the return to civil rule, the presidency has never celebrated June 12. While South-West governors, who then were of the opposition Alliance for Democracy (AD) chose June 12 as Democracy Day, the presidency under Obasanjo declared May 29 as Democracy Day.

All through his eight year reign, Obasanjo did not acknowledge ‘June 12’ and Abiola’s supreme price in his second coming as head of state. There was also no attempt to immortalise Abiola in spite of unceasing calls for such honour even when the National Assembly suggested that the National Stadium, Abuja be named after him.

Light at the end of the tunnel
However, things are totally different this year, 21 years after. Even, Obasanjo, on June 1, 2014 said that Abiola sacrificed a lot for Nigeria and should be immortalised.

Read the full article here