An Ill Fated Party

Come, dear daughter, let me tell you a story.

One day a party was thrown, and the nations of the world were invited. The world came, ate, drank and generally had a good time. But when it was all over, she came back ill. It's said that she'd contracted a deadly virus, one that went by the nickname Covid -19.

To combat this, the world shut down. Schools, businesses, religious centres, corporate bodies, and borders; closed. All forms of social gatherings were prohibited. In their place, social distancing and maintaining good hygiene were initiated as preventive measures against the spread of this illness: a shut down like never before seen by anyone who lived at that time.

People worked from home, shopped from home, worshipped at home and generally conducted their businesses from home. The market places, roads and busy squares turned ghost towns. The streets, overrun by wild animals, death its sole pedestrian. Economies took a hit and world power changed hands.

The world as we knew it had changed. Everywhere one looked, something was different.

The virus brought with it its fair share of grief and took its toll on everyone and everything. Governments and healthcare systems were overwhelmed in the struggle to keep up with the ailing. Citizens were overwhelmed with fear and anxieties, struggling to make sense of their collective reality.

Fear, not because it was the first time the world had faced a pandemic but because of the many unknowns that accompanied the virus. Anxiety because no one knew what or who the next victim would be.

And so, we sat, behind closed doors, hoping for a miracle, not knowing when it would all be over. Hope for a solution was scarce.

It did not take us by surprise, now that I think about it. Many of us just didn't consider it serious enough to take preventive measures early, until we found ourselves in a siege, dealing with a scourge some say had long been foretold.

One day a party was thrown and the nations of the world were invited. The world ate, drank, partied and forgot to wash its hands. And we paid a dear price for it.

But soon afterwards, even in those trying times, Mother Earth took deep laboured breaths, as she struggled to renew herself.

Photo Credit: Vectorstock.com

To Kill Father's Ghost ꘡꘡꘡: The Letter

To my beloved Raniya.

I hope your day is fine my love. I was just thinking of your smile. How beautiful and radiant it is. Truth is I always think about your smile. It amazes me and rewards me in great measures.  Like somebody actually listened to something I said or saw something I did and they smiled. Isn't that amazing? It makes me afraid too. See I haven’t been around many smiles before. I have this funny knack for turning them upside down. I can’t count how many frowns I  have made, but for heaven’s sake I truly and sincerely hope that God forgives me.

I am afraid that one day you will truly see me. Your eyes will open to my shortcomings, your ears will hear of my inequities and your nose will smell the stench of my numerous failures and your beautiful smile will fade away.

My dear, I have become very dependent on your smile. It is the only time I feel whole again. A stream  of fresh water coursing through a perched riverbed. I am a broken soul, my Raniya. Oh my God, I am so broken, I don’t even realize when I’m breaking up those close to me. It’s my nature and I fear for us. Like the hulk, I’ll turn into a green monster and your smile will fade away together with your love. I am I afraid  it will be too late. Like everyone else, you will leave.

That is what I am most afraid of. I have to confess to you my love, it terrifies me everyday. I could never recover from that. I don’t have anymore energy left. I desperately want to believe that this is it. That we have finally made it, and I can at last let go and just be happy to be alive. Indeed once or twice I have let go, and it was beautiful. The most beautiful thing ever, I saw God here on earth. I felt life all around me, I became one with the universe. It was that evening we were strolling by the river, the soles of our feet licked by its playful edge. That was when I felt it. My entire body and soul; one with the universe. A leaf gracefully fell from a pine and as I watched it meander midair, across your smile down onto the meadow, I knew that a part of me had shifted from the cool breeze high up on to the firm stability of the ground. It was beautiful. A moment that lasted forever and I knew that was the kind of freedom and happiness I yearned for.

Raniya, I have a question for you though. How can I take all this goodness? Cursed be the day I thought it was even possible for my wretched soul to be happy. What would I do with happiness? I would spend all my days and nights worrying about losing it.  Oh my wretched soul, it will never know peace. I’d probably lose all of it, and I wouldn’t know how. I can’t bear that, I can’t bear that my Raniya. So, it’s better if I didn’t have my desire now, so that I don’t have to worry about losing it. When that evil day comes it will pass me in my misery just like my deathday and I won’t notice. I will have finally dealt fate a blow. I will win.

For what it is worth, I hope you keep it in your heart that you will always be my moon, my light in the dark. You will always be my star, my forever beauty. Even as we part ways.

Yours faithfully,

Prince Oyalla.

See dad, I am not afraid of my ugly. I own up to it even if it scalds my ego. Some day I’ll grow into a real man, I’ll probably be able to hold down a relationship but for now I am just a man trying to get over his pain.

***Editor's note***

Thank you Brian for this beautifully written piece. Domestic violence and abuse, sadly has become the norm. Families torn apart with the children mostly being the worst hit by such development. Violence isn't the answer (I'd have ended the sentence with "get help", but getting help isn't always easy now is it?)

To worsen matters, the problem almost always becomes cyclical as children emulate what they see the parents do and imbibe it as the norm. Wife/Husband battery therefore becomes the norm for these ones. May the good Lord help us all. Amen.

Peace.

To Kill Father's Ghost ꘡꘡: The Knowing

I knew all of it dear father. About all the other women, the anserine investments, the alcohol problem. I knew why you fled from the city, where real men stride the streets. Toiling everyday for dreams bigger than them, constantly changing themselves just to grow into the men who can slay lofty ambitions. Where men take risks and eat from the sweat of their brow. From he that pushes a cart ignoring the sun’s raging fury, to she who ignores the uncertainty of the future and sets up a multimillion Pesa company. But you my father, couldn’t ignore anything. It was too tough for you. You noticed everything,  and it all scared you.

You couldn’t stand the heat of the city, you couldn’t compete against men faster, wiser, stronger than you and so you ran back to grandma. You ran back to the village, to your mother’s feet. She gladly welcomed you back and that is when I finally figured it all out. I figured it out when you left your wife to fight it out alone. You didn’t care about the oath you swore to God, nor your children’s futures, nor your honour. You just wanted away from all the stress, you needed to catch a break, to just go away and figure yourself out. The very things you sneered at in me. That is how I knew.

You were a spoilt man - kid. Mothered out of your senses and entitled to your detriment. Everything was easy for you, until it wasn’t anymore. You lashed out. You battered your wife in my presence. I saw you many times, but you only saw me once. Then you started with me too. I blamed you, but now that I am almost your age, I see why.

You were trying to hide it. Trying to hide the fact that you were never man enough, projecting your fears on me, trying to make me a man. But you went about it all wrong dad, you only made me hate you, drift away, stop caring. You did not have to be so mean, so violent, so abusive. You only made me just as mean, violent and abusive instead. But I won’t waste words up here blaming you for it, I am trying to 

find myself, to be a good man God knows, I try every single day. I try so hard sometimes I feel like I can’t take the pain anymore, but then I get up and I try again. I have to prove you wrong even in your death. I will be a real man some day, even if it is on my last day.

For now, I am just like you. A chip off the old block. I am afraid that I am indeed not a real man. I am not settled yet. Afraid of staying in one place for too long lest people figure out the real me. The broken me. I’d rather they stick with the charming, confident always joking me. Only I can know that it is a façade.

I’m afraid of relationships and commitments. Those bloody things, cursed be the man who thought it would be a nice idea. Unlike you, I’m still not married yet at this age, you beat me on that one. I see your sick smirk old man. Even in the spirit world, you still have it in for me. You see, I thought I would finally do it this year but I fell too deep in love. That is why I have to handle something papa. It’s funny how I still seek your approval to this day but I hope this is manly enough. I am going to confess to her, I’m going to say everything. Look at what I wrote her. It’s the most honest I’ve ever been in my life, and even though I feel sad, there is a silver lining of joy knowing that I am better than you, at least on this aspect. I can be honest to myself. 

(To Be Contd.)

To Kill Father's Ghost ꘡

Dear diary,

On the day he died, my father was angry at me. He had been mad at me for as long as I could remember, but that morning, it was different. A different kind of anger. Like lava stirring at the lip of a volcano, deceptive, slow, but burning wildly.

He did not curse or make a derogatory comment nor grant in disapproval. He hadn’t beaten me up in a while, he couldn’t. He just sat, like always, in his foyer chair completely still, silent as a corpse. I carried him there from the bed. As I placed him down, I noticed his lower lip quivering, dangling like a bell, chipped.

Four weeks earlier he had stubbornly refused to stay in hospital any longer. He could still get his way then. Now as I stood back and considered him, I thought that his disease had finally worn him down to a point of silence. To this day I regret the morbid satisfaction I got out of that thought. I truly and honestly do regret it. It is the one and only thing I regret about his death. A son should not get any thrills seeing his own father give up on anything. Not covertly and most definitely not overtly, it is more sinful.

I was wrong though, he had not given up. In fact he did not care about the illness that had slowly chipped away at his body like a river over a rock. His mind was on something else, someone else. Me. He was mad at me. So deeply, so passionately that he just eyeballed me in angry silence. Big yellow disease-laden eyeballs just gawking at me, the last of their lives draining out by the minute but still seeing no good in me. In retrospect, I think he looked scary. Raised cheeks, the battle scars of a virus that doesn’t know when to quit. Eyeballs at the end of their tethers, sockets wide. His skin was patchy, scratched to oblivion. Cracked lips that sagged so much his lower incisors were always visible. It was a sad sight, something had taken my father’s countenance and replaced it with a stranger’s.

Sad it was, but I was not sorry. He knew I wasn’t and that’s what made him mad. The nerve father! How dare you demand that I be sorry? Why didn’t you take it like the real man you always wanted me to be? Is that why you hated me? Is that why? Won’t your spirit tell me? I know why father, I know why you despised me so much. It is because you knew it. You knew that you were not a real man either, and you detested the fact that I had figured it out.

(To Be Contd.)

MMC: The Patient

"Case file 402, session 29. Subject; Piper Ali."Dr Pepper murmurs into the tape recorder and looks up at his patient.

He'd known she'd be a difficult one, this one. From the set of her chin the first day she'd walked in, he'd known. What he didn't know then was just how difficult.

"You said you had something urgent to tell me?" Dr. Pepper asks. 

"Yes doctor." she replies in a flat tone.

"Is anything the matter?" he asks, careful to mask the note of worry that had creeped into his voice with one of fatherly concern.

"There's a hole where my tooth used to be. There's a hole where my heart used to be."

There's silence, "and..?" He prompts, carefully keeping his face neutral even though what she'd just said had left him puzzled.

"And nothing." she replies in that disturbing monotone.

Dr. Pepper releases an inaudible sigh, this is not how I want to start the week Lord. After 28 sessions, he'd made no headway with this one. What will it take to get you to crack young one?

***

To be continued. Or not... 

MMC: Mental Armour

The alarm rings yet again and for the hundredth time, Ztembe slams it shut. Oh God, why did you have to create Monday, why? She grumbles as she flings the sheet off her and gingerly sets one foot before the other to begin her daily ritual.

Rushing out, she goes through her mental checklist, mental armour she calls them:

*pepper spray, defense against nosy colleagues, check.

*raincoat, to shake off nay sayers, check.

*face mask, to not smell the boss' bullshit, check.

*plastic smile, for Sembe and Sempei, check.

*sunshade, to wade off the evil eyes, check.

With everything checked and a self satisfied smile playing on her lips, she waltzes out, confident in the fact that she was covered. Bring it on Monday. 

                                  ¤¤¤

Hi lovers, 

I've actually missed Ztembe and her wahala, lol and I've missed writing this series. I'm sorry, I needed to take a look at the whole series again to remember why I started this in the first place, Monday and its beefers. Well I've got good news, Ztembe's back, ready to take y'all (and Monday) on and she's bringing the heat with her. Watch out!

Btw, I'm no longer a Monday moaner. Guess that's why I took a pause😁. Have a great week ahead and a lovely Monday. Oh and a happy end of month *doffshat*.

Peace out. 

Sunday Special: Journal of a Missionary Wife V

Hi there journal,

it's moi Ana, sure you know that. Well, here I am checking in. Today's sermon was really something and no, I'm not being biased.  Geoff looked so dashing seated at that altar today. I know I'm yet to mention how he got there (the wheelchair i.e) and I'm not so certain I'd be telling anytime soon. It still hurts that's why and I'm not so sure I'd like to revisit those memories, no.

Looking at him today, you wouldn't believe what he's had to go through. My Geoff's always been much stronger than I. Always has. God's been good to us I must confess. So, kids or no kids, I am dedicated to serving Him all the days of my life.

So journal, here's saying bye to all of my griping about starting a family. I sometimes ask myself what sort of life they'd have considering all of our non-stop movement. Well, over to You master of mine, Thou knowest best.

Bye journal.

Oh, I've got exciting news, I'm embarking on a new project. Geoff's feeling much better now and is beginning to get irritated by my constant hovering. He no longer needs me obviously and I no longer need him too (two can play that game lol). So! Get readyyy project of mine...

Take charge Lord.

Photo Credit: Source

Sunday Special: Journal of a Missionary Wife 𐌠V

*Earlier in the day*

"When peace like a river

Attendeth my way

When sorrows like sea billows..."

Ana belts out the beautifully worded song while carefully digging out the weeds that threatened to choke her plants. She stops to wipe her face and picks up with her singing.

"...Whatever my lot

Thou hast taught me to say

It is well, it is well with my soul."

This is followed by a heavy sigh. The years have not been kind to her one could see. Her once lovely face carried lines of care that told their own stories. It has been two years since we last saw her and like the proverbial water that's passed under a bridge, a lot had happened.

"For me be it Christ

Be it Christ hence to live..."

The last line's broken by a sob, she seems visibly weighed down by whatever it is troubling her. She's jerked out of her thoughts when a voice calls out.

"Ana, Ana." The voice calls.

She quickly rises and makes a move to wipe her face while hurrying to answer the call. The whole environment has an abandoned feel to it. Like something that once was but was no more.

Quickly wearing a smile, as she enters a small wooden shed, she comments, "I see someone's up." she makes to kiss Geoff.

"I didn't want to disturb you but I needed to make use of the toilet." A pause, then "what's wrong?"

Putting on another face, a quizzical one this time "How do you mean?" Ana responds.

A warning bell goes off in Geoff's head. His wife was not given to answering questions with questions. Ana only ever answered a question with another question when she was trying to evade the question or giving the real answer or...another bell goes off.

"You don't look like yourself," he manages to say giving her a tight smile.

"I'm alright darling. Really." She adds seeing as he's set to fire another question. "So, let's get you moving."

With an ease that shows they've been through this routine plenty of times, she scoops him out from the bed and into the wheelchair placed conspicuously beside the bed.

9pm

Geoff's finally managed to sleep. I worry for him. A lot happened after the last meeting Geoff had with the elders and It brought with it a lot of change both good and bad.

It's been two years Lord; two years since our life was turned upside down. Two years of pain and hardship. Two years of tears and fears. Lord, two years.

When you asked me to trust you I had no idea what you had in mind but I do know that you're good always. I do know that you're going through this with us. I feel consoled when I imagine you going hungry too, it brings a smile to my face like now. Yes, you do certainly know how it feels to be homeless and hungry almost always.

I wonder if things would've turned out differently had I taken Numi's dream seriously? What if I had told Geoff and not kept it to myself? What if I had probed Numi deeper? What if-

*sigh* enough with the 'ifs' Ana dear, it's happened. A lot has indeed happened and my dream of starting a family seems more farther away than ever. Why won't Geoff talk about it? I mean, I can't be the only one aching to hold my child in my arms am I?

Oh, how I wish-

Wishes won't help now, I shouldn't feel this way about Geoff considering all he's had to go through. Father forgive me, I feel so petty and selfish sometimes.

It's a good thing no one knows of this journal. I bet they'd pass out should they ever come to know how weak I really am, how poorly equipped I am to be their teacher.

*sigh*

Your strength's made perfect in my weakness Lord, take charge.

Photo Credit: Source

Lil. Ms. Poochie

 

It was a gloomy day with dark clouds, a blistering wind and an even darker mood. I had refused every offer of warmth and obstinately set out in quest of my dog, little Ms. Poochie. Lil Ms. had never stayed out this long and I was beginning to worry. In spite of the cold and cough that wracked my tiny frame, I was determined to find her. You see, my lil Ms. had once saved me and now it was my turn to save her.

I was a lonely child, sad and bitter and angry with the world. I was the one to always get into trouble and always the one to bring home bad news. My tanta says I'm the harbinger of evil. Even at birth, I killed my own mother. How evil could I get?

Thus branded, I was careful to not do anything to draw attention to myself; I kept to myself and endeavoured to always be on my best behaviour but trouble always seemed to follow me around confirming tanta's opinion of me. I was desolate and devised several means to write off my life but I was too cowardly to follow through. And then one day, lil Ms. hobbled into my life. I took to her instantly. 

Like me, she had been battered and looked half starved. Her ear was torn and bleeding, I presumed she had been involved in a dog fight. You see, dogs like humans share a lot in common even though I sometimes think they're smarter, the big dogs pick on the smaller and weaker dogs. Now I know why they call it a dog-eat-dog world, that statement had always puzzled me.

Lil Ms. was my saviour in many ways, I learnt to know what it meant to be loved and to love, I learnt to laugh and to play (lil Ms. says I ought to play all day, that it's my right). Above all, I learnt to forgive.

One day, my tanta had beaten me for no good reason and banished me from her presence. I was forbidden to cry before her and so poured it all on poor lil Ms. I kicked at her and bawled out my eyes, I could tell that she was hurt with the way she looked at me just as she hobbled off.

I was sorry to see her go but was too mad to care. After I had calmed down, I went looking for her in all her favourite places; at the pond where she liked to bark at the ducks, at the flower bed where she pretended to be a pretty flower and at the churchyard where she liked to lie and gaze up at the sky, but she wasn't there.

Now I was worried, it would rain soon and I had yet to find lil Ms. My lil Ms. never liked rainstorms, they drove her crazy. I remember her restless pacing, how she used to whimper and howl, I must find her before the storm broke. I'm sorry lil Ms. Please come back.

Now I'm crying, the tears mingling with the rain. I was sorry I'd shouted at her and kicked her. I was sorry I had thrown stones at her. I was sorry I had treated her as my tanta had treated me. I was sorry for it all. I was even more sorry cos she didn't deserve it, she who had loved me with dog-like devotion, I'm sorry lil Ms.

*In loving memory of Cornell.

Photo Credits: Pentaxuser, Flickr.

Sunday Special: Journal of a Missionary Wife 𐌠𐌠𐌠

Breathe in, breathe out, yes, that's it Ana. It's been one hectic day, haven't had a breather since my 4 am abrupt jerk out of sleep.

Geoff had been the first to hear it, the screams. He'd been going over his sermon when he thought he'd heard screaming, it was muffled at first but then intensified and that was when I woke up.

You won't believe this, but I felt anger first cos I was having a lovely dream. I dreamt that I was at a Park playing with a lil' girl. Could this be a sign Lord? Sometimes though, like this morning, I feel I'm too selfish, Lord only knows why he called me to be a Missionary's wife. I feel so unworthy, I find myself falling short too many times. He qualifies the called I know...but it's so hard.

So, it turns out the screaming was a laughing hyena, can You believe it? After the anguish it made me pass through? No wonder the locals weren't to be bothered when the screaming first broke out. I'd never have associated that scream with laughter, all the more reason to get out of here soonest.

They say every once in a while, they (hyenas) scream that way to attract persons to kill. It had happened before and some unsuspecting person would rush out, thinking someone was in distress only to fall victim to these rabid vile creatures.

One can't be too careful these days. I wonder if I should tell Geoff of my conversation with Numi? No, he has enough on his plate right now. My sweet looks more and more drawn these days, Lord help him. Who'd have thought there was more to been a missionary than teaching the Word? Laughs.

I'm so tired diary, so tired but in a good way.

Take charge Lord.

Photo Credit: Source

MMC: A Case for Monday

Hi friends, as a wee bit of reminder;

"Monday Moaners' Club (MMC) is a series of short - really short - stories loosely based on the grief all some of us seem to feel whenever Monday rolls round armed with tons of work."

Enjoy its new episode. 

                                  *** 

"Court," the orderly tries to bring order back into the rowdy room, “Court," he shouts again. The judge bangs his gavel and this time the room quiets down. “Call in the next case," he says to the registrar. 

This particular case from the onset had been a very interesting one, the People vs: Monday, he couldn't wait to hear the defendant's testimony.

"I call upon Mr. Grouch," the orderly declares.

A big grumpy man makes his way noisily to the witness stand. He answers some questions and having undertaken the oath to speak the truth, the proceedings continue. The next witness, Monday is called upon and takes the stand.

"Mr. Monday, you stand accused of sleep thiefery, doldrumming, traffic jams, forceful sobriety, cold showers and hurried breakfasts among several other counts. How plead you?"

"Not guilty my lord."

The judge looks at him askance and he goes on to elaborate.

"My lord you see, human beigns are creatures of habit, circumspect beings and if they aren't pushed, they won't attain their peak. I'm the first day of the working week hence it falls upon me to make sure they hit the ground running as that'll set the pace for the rest of my colleagues, I make it easy for them. Should I fail, the rest of the days would be a flop until flouncy Friday comes along to take them for a fun ride. The mess thereafter is left for me to clean up and I cannot fail my superiors now can I?"

Though he wasn't found guilty, he wasn't acquitted either. So I leave it to you readers, is Monday as bad as he is made out to be?

Have a stress free week ya'll...

Peace.

Photo Credit: Google.

Sunday Special: Journal of a Missionary Wife 𐌠𐌠

Day 2

The village's awash with rumors of war, I don't even know what's happening but everyone is tense, even Geoff. I've been asked to stay within the walls of the village for the time being but I'm so sad. That would mean missing my daily walk. It begun out of need for solace but had become daily ritual. I don't know if I can take that, but I'll wait and watch.

Geoff had arrived with a stiffness to his shoulders which I had immediately recognised. It would seem things had not gone the way he had anticipated. 

Sometimes I wondered why he bothered. He cared too much and that was his weakness. Although, he always laughed it off whenever I pointed it out, he considered it as strength. I don't understand and I doubt I ever will.

Lord, help him, help us, help the village. Let there be no war. It would be terrible. 

Just the other day, Numi, the eldest woman in the village had recounted her dream. I shudder to remember it, it had seemed so vivid and now these?

Geoff is barely around, he's always in one meeting or the other with the village elders. I wish he wouldn't get so involved but then, I wish a lot of things.  Like starting a family.

Take charge Lord.

Photo Credit: Source

Sunday Special: Journal of a Missionary Wife 𐌠

Day 1

I rolled out of bed this morning with thoughts of Geoff on my mind. I hadn't slept well the night before and I couldn't even if I had tried. No, not because of the mosquitoes. 

The oil lamp had gutted out sometime during the night I think. My thoughts turn again to Geoff, Lord where is he?

It had been five years, five blissful years that I had promised to go where he went. I had sworn that his God will be my God and his people, mine also. I wonder if I hadn't spoken in haste.

It's 2 am. I say a prayer for Geoff and determine to put my mind to good use. I had clothes to mend and the garden needed tending and I had that corn to mill, oh so much to do.

When Geoff had first told me about the call, I had laughed. Now, I wonder who's laughing. Lord take charge.

8:00 am

It's fully day and still no sign of him. I feel my stomach knot. I wonder what my dad would say seeing me neck deep in cow dung. He had firmly resisted our marriage citing social differences but I hadn't budged and now, here I am in the middle of nowhere. Living with people who love you as much as they hate you.

Everyday of wakefulness is a testimony which is why I'm so worried for Geoff.

2 pm

I keep looking up from the Millery hoping to see Geoff walking down hill, my ears sharpened to catch the first strains of his easy laughter. He was always laughing, my Geoff. That was what had first caught my heart.

Lord, should anything happen to him...

7pm

Oh praise God, the village chief brought back word from Geoff...All's well. Now, I can concentrate on my sewing and then rest.

Photo Credit: Source

Death's Last Call

Idly wondering what the hullabaloo was all about, Keinde angrily flipped through the pages of her book. The minutes were precious, she couldn't afford to miss her deadline.

The noise drew closer still and she could vaguely make out what the crowd was chanting

"Crucify him."

"Burn him."

"Kill him."

"We want Belialas."

Not again she groans. This was a blood thirsty lot, ever ready to kill innocent souls egged on by the brotherhood's apostolates. Who on Earth would prefer Belialas the terrible over whoever was been led to the slaughter? This fella they were burning or stoning or crucifying at this early hour must be one hardened soul.

Since moving to this neighborhood, it had been one lynching or the other. Her family had strongly resisted her relocating to such a neighbourhood they termed as scum. Even the name pointed  out to the hopelessness of it, Dead End Zone. She wondered whether the developers were high on something the day they came up with such name.

Many said the early settlers had had one misfortune or the other befall them and they had hurriedly fled considerably lesser than they had arrived, hence the name.

Whatever the story, Keinde couldn't be bothered. She was here on a mission and was going to see it through. The life of a Journalist was a perilous one, not to talk of that of an investigative journalist.

Word had reached her Organisation of the nefarious activities carried out by the Sect called The Brotherhood and she had been dispatched to go digging.

It was said that they were responsible for most of the disappearances and killings reported on the media and the neighbourhood lived under their shadow.

The crowd's chant intrudes into her thoughts. With a sigh of exasperation, she gets up to close the window but her hand freezes as looking out, she recognises the cause of the crowd's ire. What? It was the young Rabbi, a really charismatic fellow. She had sat in on a few of his teachings and had even interviewed him. He was one of the few who openly rebuked the activities of the brotherhood.

Surely there'd been a mistake? Such a nice man, what could he have done? And the crowd chose him over Belialas? No, something smelt fishy and that's when her journalistic instincts kicked in. She could feel strongly that this man's death was tied to her investigations.

She rushed back to her desk, grabbed her note pad, a pen and tape recorder and rushed out the door. This would make for a good story she thought.

Photo Credit: Google

MMC: An Unusual Worker

When news made the rounds that Ztembe had been sacked, there was a collective gasp of shock. No it couldn't be Ztembe. Ztembe the golden girl, the one who always pulled through with deadlines, the one who always brought in the big bucks. Everyone was in awe of her skills, even the most difficult of clients.

That Ztembe, getting the boot? No, it couldn't be, can't be. Everyone was certain there was a mix up somewhere. Everyone but Ochuko.

Theories were put forward and then discarded; maybe she'd had a fall in with management as Ztembe was one to talk when she ought to be silent.

Maybe Ochuko did finally pull some strings another conspiracy theorist postulated but that was quickly shot down. Ochuko would not do such a thing. Yes, there was bad blood between them but the most he could do was get her transferred to another branch, not outright sacking.

While speculations ran rife, no one bothered to ask the subject matter herself and she was quite enjoying the tall tales her little birds brought back to her.

Ztembe was quite unconcerned about the whole affair, all she thought of was that the day should end already. She had gotten into similar situations like this before, so this for her was a piece of cake and she would make mincemeat out of whoever came for her she had decided. Surprisingly, no one had approached her yet. As if they knew her state of mind.

Meanwhile, the conspiracy theorists were running out of fodder for their isms and nihisms and found themselves in a quandary; to approach or not to approach Ztembe, that was the question.

In another part of the office, Bimpe and Sempei are engaged in intense conversation.

"No, that's not what I heard," Sempei objects. Topic of discussion was Ztembe's sack.

"According to Zubi, you know Zubi now that works in HR?" She continues after Sempei nods in affirmation. "She said that management had re assigned Ztembe to PO and Ztembe turned it down being that, she was overqualified for such a position".

"So is that why they sacked her?" Sempei cuts in.

"Wait na, e never finish. Ztembe told them that instead of her taking up that position, she'd rather be sacked."

"Chei, that girl, that girl. That her mouth too sharp. So wetin kan happen?"

"Na the matter they still dey drag."

"But come o, I hear say she don go hire lawyer, say this tin wey management do dey against labour law. Na true?"

"I don't know o, but You know say Ztembe go school so e fit possible."

"Hmm," Sempei sighs, she looks thoughtful.
"Wetin you dey think?" Her friend asks.

She sighs again, "You know, I just they think am o, many tins wen dey dey do here no good at all. Take for instance, that three years I worked straight, no leave. E good?"

Bimbe has no answer for that. She was the kind of employee that asked no questions, as long as her salary was paid on time. She couldn't understand  Ztembe and her many fights with the management.

What she and most of her colleagues however failed to see was that in the long run, it would pay off not only for Ztembe, but for everyone else.

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