A private blog for my w-rants, writes and arts.

Wednesday, September 06, 2017



Craaaaaaaaaaack! The ceiling gave way as Ebele fell from its bosom. Landing like a cat on his feet, he started running. For someone who had been running all his life, this wasn’t new. Running from vices, vices bore by poverty, poverty championed by desperation, the desperation that chased him back to the vices he ran away from.

Ebele was young when he embraced the creeks of Niger Delta and the world for the evil it harboured. He was only some months old when his father was swept off by militancy. His mother, who nurtured him and his sister of ten with fish mongering and prostitution, was swallowed by bullets on her way to harassing a boy that raped his sister. His sister never came back afterwards. He was forced to bury his mother alone in the stomach of fishes when no one offered to help him carry her to dry land. He has since then become a lord at petty thieving. As much as he dreaded being caught or making others sad, his always empty stomach had put him on the roof of someone’s house, in an attempt to carry a cup of garri, meant for a family of seven.

The chase could’ve gone for hours till Ebele would find clothes to steal and transform, or a shed to hide in but was cut short when a boulder hit his head, catapulting him to unconsciousness. Waking up, he met the gaze of a man the size of Nigeria’s problems, enormous. The man’s mouth, the shape of a chicken’s anus, opened and cackled authoritatively “dem talk say you sabi run weh weh. I get work for you… you go join others dey carry fuel from pipeline. Better chop dey for you.”

Ebele wanted to shrug, wanted to beg for freedom, but hunger and desperation were smiling at him from a corner. “Who no like better chop… Abeg when work dey start?”





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