A Daughter’s Revenge Episode 21
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🙎 A Daughter’s Revenge EPISODE TWENTY ONE:
PREVIOUSLY ON A DAUGHTER’S REVENGE:
…as such, I have to pray and fast about the whole thing. It’s not a joke. I seriously prayed and fasted for three good days for God to let our minds align together.
It was even Aunty Ifeoma that encouraged me to go speak with my boss and his wife about it when she noticed how afraid I was to do so. I had to plead with her to go with me. And she agreed to do so.
She also placed the call across to my boss to have an appointment with him.
‘..Oga Emma o, there’s something I want us to talk about,’ my Aunty was telling him on the phone.
‘What is the problem? I hope all is well? ‘, he curiously asked.
‘All is very much well,’ Aunty Ifeoma added.
‘Please, is it not what we can talk on the phone?’, he asked with curiosity.
‘No. I want us to see face to face and talk about it’, my Aunty insisted.
The discussion continued.
At the end, the appointment was scheduled to be on a Sunday in his house.
Meanwhile our relationship with Oga Mba and his family was beyond that of a business relationship. We have become family friends. Our relationships were some of the strongest, most important relationships we have in our lives. In fact, we ran to each other for support, love, and acceptance in one way or the other.
On that appointed Sunday, we left home on time to Oga Mba’s house to meet up with time.
THE CONTINUATION:
We first paid a condolence visit to Aunty Lorita in Iyana-Ipaja.
Lorita was Aunty Ifeoma’s school mate back then. She was also a sister to her because they came from the same village.
Lorita lost her husband to the cold hand of dèàth a month ago.
Surprisingly, we came and met the house in a disarray. Even from the gate, we overheard angry voices in the air echoing from the compound.
As such, we needed no seer to tell us that all was not well. Because a house being hit with dèàth should be in a mourning state not in a fîèrćè.
‘I hope our heads come out with us today because I smell wàr,’ my aunt said amid confusion. ‘Or are we not in the right place?’.
‘Aunty I should be the one asking this question, not the other way round’.
She examined round to be sure we were at the right place and she came to conclusion: ‘Yes na, we are in the right place. I was here not too long ago.’
We met an eyesore when we finally went inside.
It was her husband’s brothers that came all the way from the village to fight her over her husband’s properties. Reason being that she had no son. Not just that, they also leveled an allegation against her that she was the one that kîłłéd her husband.
They first went and locked his shop before coming to take possession of his house.
The deceased was into iron business at that same iyana-Ipaja.
I was wondering, this same woman that had five beautiful girl children for her late husband, their brother. Then, if they succeed in taking everything from this widow, what then would she train the children with? What stûpîd culture supports such àćtrôćîty? I asked myself.
Before I knew what was happening, my aunt had called one of her friends. A high ranking policeman. She informed him of the situation and he promised her of a rapid response.
What kind of stûpîd brothers would abandon their brother’s corpse in the mortuary and be fighting over his properties..? I was asking myself amid anger and surprise.
Moments later, policemen landed with their van. You need to see the drama that happened that very moment. Immediately they noticed the presence of police, they tried to escape but they were all caught and were arrested.
They were four in number — very hungry-looking dîrty things. I was very much overwhelmed when they were whisked away by the angry policemen. At least let them go and face the wrath of the law.
After all said and done, we left the house for Oga Mba’s place.
We boarded the Ikeja bus from Iyana-Ipaja.
Though, by then, we were already late. But the time we wasted was worthwhile. Who knows what would have been the fate of that poor widow and her children if we didn’t show up because they locked the gate and seized her phone from her. We managed to gain access into the compound through the back-gate.
We boarded the popular bus in Lagos. The danfo bus. If you’ve heard of the city Lagos, you should know one or two things about the yellow buses. Danfo commercial vehicle symbolizes the hustle and bustle of Lagos.
Do you know one thing, the ruggedness and roughness of the Danfo bus made me dislike entering the bus. I so much perceived the bus as risky, but the bus was what made Lagos, Lagos.
Aunty Ifeoma sat at the front seat while I sat at the back. While I was entering the bus, about three guys entered too. We were sitting at the back and I was sitting close to the window.
Halfway, a call came in and I brought out my phone to answer. But as a frequent user of danfo buses, warnings of keeping one’s devices secure while in a moving bus, especially during traffic, always rang in my ear. “Keep your phone inside your bag o, don’t use it so close to the window,” was the most popular warning. So I slided the phone back into the side pocket of my Jean trouser.
The journey to Ikeja that Sunday evening was not that smooth because of traffic. This was as a result of an àććîdèñt that just happened. A BRT bus ran over a motorcycle, kîłłîñg about two people — the bike rider and his passenger.
TO Be Continued
