WAZOBIA: A Tale of Two worlds

Ten

There were a lot of couple murders of recent in Nigeria but I didn't think I would be a third party victim of such.

Imisi was dead.

- No, her husband stabbed her to death, in her kitchen. This was the height if everything, but that wasn't all; I almost ran mad when I heard the cause. He came to find out that she wasn't cooking what he wanted for dinner, they argued it, and so 'in a fit of rage', he picked up a kitchen knife and stabbed her.

It was more painful getting this information from a newspaper. The Daily Sun trued their best to literarily capture the tragic episode that was my friend's death.

Curse Imohimi. Wherever he was, he didn't deserve to live.

I looked back at the newspaper to see if his punishment was included - it wasn't. I sighed heavily, tired of choking hiccups in my mouth from my incessant crying. Imisi was virtually the only friend I had and now she was dead.

This incident kindled the fire for my mission; whatever I had for men before was nothing, what I had now was pure hatred. Maybe I'd ask God for forgiveness after I had done what I had to do but I knew what filled me at that point was entirely of the Devil.

I flung the paper to the edge of my hotel bed and picked up my phone. I had to book a trip this night; there was nothing pleasant to expect anymore, I  might as well get home and begin my mission with this new found spark of deadly determination.

*        *         *

I already felt at home once I stepped into the GUO terminal at Ikoyi, it was an Eastern establishment so almost every staff was Igbo - almost.

"Sister, banye! banye!" Persuaded a certain bus driver .

I hadn't gotten my ticket, I had to get to the reception first.

Vendors swarmed the place that early morning;  they would get a lot of patronage here. They sold a range of food and snacks from loaves of bread to groundnuts, which the Nigerian swarm bought readily.

I entered through the door into the reception with my head sideways, distracted watching a woman who was selling a packet of chewing gum to a young man when I bumped into someone.

"Oh, sorry" I apologised and quickly dodged the man and perched myself on the counter.

"Simbi Eze, bought a ticket online yesterday, Nnewi" I said.

With a nod, the receptionist woman, who's relaxed hair had very scanty edges, looked me up on the system.

"Here, seat 08" She handed me a ticket while still peering into the screen of the monitor.

I felt my stomach flip at the thought of meeting my  mom for the first time in roughly four years; in just a matter of about five hours. I suddenly couldn't wait again.

The reception saw me hop out the door when I heard 'Nnewi' through the loudspeaker, locating my bus at once. I had my one-piece luggage stuffed into the boot while I made myself comfortable beside the window on the fourth row.

*      *       *

I loved travelling. I did it a lot; when I could. I had no doubt that I had been to more than half the states in my country. I simply loved the atmosphere; especially when I travelled within Africa.

The numerous villages, festivals,  forests and wildlife I often came across while plying the motherland usually brought unsearchable nostalgia as to what life would've been like if we were still old Africa. Completely cultural, natural.

Now, it was just as if we grew up in a fake world, almost everything was artificial.

I drew the curtains on my window close when we passed a production factory, emitting smoke into the atmosphere. This was the problem with the world.

We were in Anambra state, not far from my state which was Imo,  crossing the Onitsha bridge. Somehow, the bridge took me back to the civil war; Ojukwu's figure always appeared in my thoughts once I was on that bridge, wearing his uniform and poising a perfect salute.

I frowned.

He was a good man, but I didn't like the fact that he wanted us yo secede - it just didn't seem right.

Numerous bread sellers assaulted our bus once we had crossed the bridge, loaves with different brands, all yellow and soft. Mama simply adored Onitsha bread, it would only be proper buying one or two to take to her.

"Ego le?"

"Five hundred naira" replied the vendor woman.

"Ngwa, nyem two" I handed her a one thousand naira note as she wrapped two loaves in deep blue nylons.

"Thank you"

Bananas would be a good compliment for the bread, with groundnuts; I thought, examining my pocket money. I only had two thousand naira left, I would have to go to an ATM nearby, maybe once we stopped for a rest.

*        *           *

HI GUYS!!! Its me again, yeah. I still terribly wanna know what you think. Pleaseeeeeee pleaseeeee pleaseeeee with cherries on top comment and vote. Let's be lively guys, tell me your views. I BEG (kneeling on the floor with palms clasped together). I'm gonna trust you guys to do that now (please don't fail me)
Byeeeeee!!!!!