Ayikperere, the African CCTV.
It had been about two days since the neighbours saw Mr. Uzodinma or any member of his household leave his house.
About four days ago, he had gone viral both online and within the environs for being under threat, and the police had promised to protect his life and family.
Mr. Uzodinma had not come out to wash his car, change the water or oil, nor had his wife washed any clothes nor sung her popular Igbo morning worship song.
A thick smell of uncertainty laced the area, while a coat of uneasiness leaned closer, especially within their compound. Questions began to fill the neighbours' mouths.
"Maybe him dey hide. Sake of say him no wan die," a concerned neighbour announced.
"E be like say them don japa as the wahala too much," another concluded.
All this noise within the yard did not cause the yellow bungalow to shake or its rusted roof to lose more colour. One of the neighbours decided to go to their house that morning to find out if all was well. It didn’t take much for him to discover the answer. He saw something red on the brown doormat.
"Anybody dey house?" He cried out frantically.
"House? Una dey? Oga Uzo? Ugochukwu? Neighbour?"
After several minutes of no response, he broke the door with a hammer he had connived from his house. His shouting had also alerted other neighbours, who stared from a good distance to see how things would play out.
"Chineke mo, umu nna biko bia nu mo," his loud shout trickling the gods of chaos as people began to run towards the house.
The blood drops on the balcony led to the lifeless child on the sofa and what looked like the remains of Mr. Uzodinma and his wife Nnenna's body parts. A blood-stained knife lay within the proximity of the couple's dead bodies on the centre table. The woman's hands were cut off, and her husband was completely dismembered.
The child appeared to have some blood on her clothes around her thighs. Sirens, news stations, and a coroner arrived in the vicinity within the next three hours.
THE UNTHINKABLE HAD HAPPENED.
[Based on real-life events.]
[Earlier]
This was not your regular Monday morning in the land of Choba. Students rushing for their morning lectures stopped in their tracks, taken aback by this odd presentation. Buses caused a traffic hold-up at Abuja park as drivers tried to read the sign on the poster.
The entire university was in an uproar; these posters were all over the school property. On the cheap-looking poster was a man and a woman hugging each other like lawfully wedded couples. The traditional attire they wore could give them off as Igbos, but these days, we can hardly tell our towns apart.
The man was light-skinned and seemed middle-aged, whilst the woman looked a little younger but also very beautiful. Below the picture read,
"OBITUARY; GONE TOO SOON. IN TWO DAYS' TIME, I WILL KILL YOU AND YOUR WIFE AND RAPE YOUR EIGHT-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER."
Students gathered close to their notice boards, WhatsApp statuses were being flooded. Bloggers among the students were already carrying the story and creating dark memes on their WhatsApp channels. Everyone wondered what sort of poster that was, and it led to people questioning,
"Who is this man? Who wants to kill him, his wife, and rape his daughter?"
Things were tough during COVID for those of us on the sunny side of Mother Earth. The large gap in technological advancement led to most persons just sitting at home while hunger gripped them.
Despite this, the government kept paying their staff to reduce the economic turmoil on them. Amidst all this crisis, the Academic Staff Union of Universities had a rethink on the IPPIS policy and decided to go on strike. They urged association members to cease work immediately.
The President was more than pissed off to hear the news of their strike. It was the last thing the nation needed because students had been at home for a couple of months.
There were no lectures, advancement, or achievements throughout their time at home. The president pondered long and hard about how to calm the storm. His fingers ached, and his forehead wrinkled.
After much deliberation, he decided to contact the Special Adviser on Education. The phone rang, and a firm voice resonated,
"Good morning, Mr. President."
The special adviser knew the reason for the phone call. The President was in quarantine to prevent him from contracting COVID-19.
"It's not a very good morning, my friend," Mr. President replied, his strong northern accent sweeping through the empty, well-decorated room.
"I believe you have been briefed, your Excellency!" The adviser spoke, quite convinced that his input would be demanded on this particular matter.
"I don't even have the willpower to attend to ASUU right now. It's the last thing the country needs. You know we are going through a major economic recession, as I announced in our last NEC meeting." He paused to sip his coffee.
"Yes, your Excellency," Mr. Obafela agreed. "What's your take on this matter?" "Thank you so much, Mr. President. Having tried to negotiate with this group several times, they have decided not to budge. I believe this group of people needs to be punished," he began speaking.
He relished every word trying to impress the president with his poorly done British Yoruba accent.
"Punished?" the President asked, even more puzzled. "What reprimand do you think will be a valuable lesson for the group of ungrateful tyrants? What haven't we tried to make those hoodlums prostrate in allegiance to this government, but they are bent on going on strike? Mr. President, I believe it will be good to withhold the salaries of all staff for now. The 'no work, no pay' policy should be implemented. Hunger can say things to them that you can only try to imagine," the Adviser explained.
An ungodly silence filled the air as demons began to whisper wickedness. The devil had begun working full-time in the minds of busy men.
"Will it work?" This question was not asked in uncertainty but only as a way of concluding the conversation.
"Mr. President, beyond reasonable doubt, I believe it will."
After another bout of unfaithful silence, the president knew what had to be done. He hung up, staring at the serenity of the environment from the window where he sat, far from chaos but deep inside wahala.
"She's not breathing!" A nurse said after placing her ear close to the child's mouth.
"One, two, three, four, five, six… fifteen," the doctor began chest compressions.
Occasionally, the nurse would manually breathe into the child's mouth.
"The machine is here!" Another nurse had dragged in an external defibrillator.
"Charge!" "Clear!" "Defibrillate!"
"Oh no, NEPA!" A nurse shouted as a power outage prevented them from going further.
"I think she's breathing!" The other said. Her pale body lay on the bed. The slender light-skinned child lay on the emergency resuscitation bed. She was brought in with cool and clammy skin. She was a constant in the emergency unit after being diagnosed with leukaemia two years ago.
This time, she had fainted while playing with a neighbour's kid. Outside the emergency resuscitation room, a woman was on her knees, pleading and praying to God.
"Baba, abeg," she spoke amidst tears, "Na she be the only pikin weh I get. No allow am die. Wetin people go talk? Please don't take my child away. Lord, if you spare my child, I will bless you all my days. You know the pain I went through for years of childlessness. Chukwuokike, come through for her."
She prayed loudly and dramatically. Moments later, the little girl regained consciousness. The woman jumped for joy. Chukwuokike had come true for her. Just then, her husband walked in. She ran to hug him, her emotions uncoordinated.
"Madam," the doctor on call said, "The battle is not yet over. She is stable at the moment, but she will need a bone marrow transplant within the next 48 hours. The cancer is causing a crowding of her bone marrow with immature and abnormal leukocytes, or else she may die."
"God forbid! My daughter will not die but live to fulfil the works of the Lord," the woman shouted.
"Madam, please put yourself together!" He shunned placing his hands on her shoulder.
"Doctor, talk to me. I'm not conversant with your vocabulary. I'm a senior lecturer of the Arts at the University. You know we have been managing my daughter at this facility for two years," Mr. Uzodinma explained.
"I'm new at this facility, but I've gone through her file, and I'm of the opinion that she may not last long without this surgery. Please proceed to the accounts department for the necessary payments."
Uzodinma and his wife, Nnenna, had been childless for the first twelve years of their marriage. Ugochukwu was the child who brought joy to their lives. Although she was born premature and had multiple health complications, Ugochukwu was incredibly beautiful.
One could describe her as a beautiful flower that was fading in glory daily, as she was always ill with one ailment or another. Shortly after her sixth birthday, she was diagnosed with leukaemia. Since then her life hung in the balance, and her father sat in his car, worried about how to pay for her emergency surgery.
Due to the ASUU strike, he had not received his salary for five months. His meagre savings had covered most of his daughter's previous treatments. He had little left to pay for the emergency surgery. His phone rang, and he checked the screen to determine whether to answer the call.
It was Dr. Olisa, a colleague from whom he had borrowed money months ago. He knew he shouldn't answer the call. He thought long and hard about all he had endured for his child's sake. He even considered letting her go, but his wife was adamant that he must save their daughter. His mother was also pressuring his wife, having publicly accused her of witchcraft during their last hospital visit, causing chaos.
"You winch! Why you no go stop to dey suck this pikin blood?" She shouted over the dying child, "My man of god said you chop your other of our children and you are sucking this one every night. You use your husband do juju and na so the man dey borrow borrow. He even put hole for him pocket. I dey take God beg you allow this pikin make the pikin dey, she don too suffer!" His mother thundered on and on.
His wife cried bitterly, but he never asked his mother to stop. He also had doubts about his wife due to everything that had happened since their wedding. With these thoughts on his mind, he reluctantly dialled the number on the loan app, potentially sealing his fate.
It had been twelve months since Mr. Uzodinma borrowed money from the app. Things were getting back to normal in his life, except that it became difficult for him to recieve calls. Pay Later App, a fast-rising lending platform, had issued loans worth millions, leveraging their no-collateral approach. Among their customers was Mr. Uzodinma, who had borrowed about twelve million naira. However, he had developed a habit of ignoring calls, blocking numbers, and neglecting messages. The longer it took him to pay up, the more his payable interest increased.
"Do you really believe I pay you to sit in front of computers and look nice?" During the board meeting, Nosa, a burly man, asked a question.
The employees shook in their chairs, a palpable silence filled the room.
"Manager, you were too busy giving market ladies my money and approving deals without checking every detail out. We are in danger of turning bankrupt right now. Should one carry my money while playing?"
His frustration was evident when he pounded the table.
"Sir," the manager said at last. "I really apologize for the unpaid bills. I promise that my colleagues and I are putting in a lot of effort to get the loans back."
"John, just stop talking! Before I hurl this glass cup at your fat head, please sit down! You interrupt me? How dare you? You only put effort into it. Who is able to get it? Results! Not cheap talk!! Don't give me that walking on it trap!" He yelled.
Nosa returned to his seat, adjusting his brown suede suit, his gishiri cuts making him appear more like a middle belter than a southern man. He looked around the office, too angry to act further. Finally, he spoke in a hushed tone,
"Which of you has a good idea of how to get the money from him? Before you people say I'm wicked."
The room fell eerily silent again.
"Sir, we could threaten him?" a coy voice murmured from behind the computers. It was the manager's personal assistant. He had just gotten a job about two months ago. He was bubbling with ideas.
"Shut up, boy!" the manager shunned. "No," Nosa said, eyeing the manager, "Let him speak. At least he's saying something. Go on, young man, tell us what you have in mind. And who are you, young man?"
"Thank you, sir. I am currently the P. A to the manager, Henry Adebayo," he stuttered while standing up. "I was thinking that maybe we should threaten to kill him and his wife and rape his daughter."
"I believe that's against the law, young man," the manager said, shunning him. "Well, it's better than all your ideas combined throughout your time at this company. In fact, John, you're fired. Henry, come up with a strategy to implement your idea. This meeting is adjourned until next month. HR, acquaint the new MD with their responsibilities. The rest of you, meet your targets and bring me the rest of the money."
John sat in shock, his mouth agape. What just happened? Did he just lose his job to a young man despite working for the company for several years? A tear rolled down his cheek as he fought back tears. He stood up from his managerial seat, joining the vast league of unemployed citizens.
“JUSTICE FOR THE UZODINMAS.”
“WE NO GO GREE.”
“THE KILLER MUST PAY.”
“AN INNOCENT MAN WAS MURDERED.”
“OUR LECTURER IS NOT A CHICKEN.”
Following the demonstration, these signs covered Barrister Boma's table, a young attorney. The brutal murder of their lecturer was what inspired the University of Port Harcourt students to stage an a peaceful protest. Boma had a reputation for her precision and accuracy in handling cases, and she had only recently joined the Rodgers and Associates Law Firm as a partner.
Named as one of the brightest, rapidly developing barristers in a magazine. She was planning on throwing a cocktail party to remember winning this case, one of the numerous cases under her belt.
It was months ago, when she learned of the case's peculiarities. A lending firm threatened a man, soon after he was murdered alongside his wife and had his daughter raped and strangled when the deadline elapsed. The loan app company had entered a “not guilty” plea in earlier court appearances, and its elegant attorney had cleverly defended them by drawing attention to everyone who might have been connected to the case.
Boma was caught in a web of legal complications. She went over the clues pasted on the wall. Because he borrowed from and blocked a number of his colleagues without paying back during his daughter's numerous hospital visits, Professor Uzodinma made a lot of enemies. However, nobody seemed to have a solid reason for murdering him. Without CCTV footage or debit notifications to trace movements, this was a difficult case to solve. All she had was the machete, which was taking ages to identify a possible lead, because the country's inhabitants had not registered their biometrics in the National Identification database. Anyone could be the culprit.
“What a bother” Boma sighed.
Drastic times called for drastic measures. She visited the police station and asked to see the machete once again.
“Sure madam, this way please.” A young constable guided her to the evidence room.
“Thank you.” Boma said softly.
The constable nodded and left the room, shutting the door. The attorney exhaled, glad that she finally had the room to herself. She navigated her way through the stacks of evidence and eventually found the machete. At this point the blood had dried on the weapon.
Boma brought out a pair of black gloves from her pocket and put it on. Then she opened the transparent bag the machete was stashed inside and took it out. Laying it on a vacant table, she took out three red candles, arranging it in the shape of a triangle with the machete in between. Then she sprinkled salt to act as a bridge connecting the candles. Lighting up the candles she exhaled once more.
"Ayikperere!" "Ayikperere!!" "Ayikperere!!!" She called out. Instantly a wall of air spread into the room, sealing it from the outside world.
"Ayikperere!" Boma called a fourth time.
The smoke wafting from the candles condensed together into a shimmering gray door adorned with mystical symbols. The door opened and the face of an ugly looking woman peeked through.
“Wise one, I beseech you. I want to summon the spirits of the deceased.” Boma said with reverence.
“Nwa osimmiri (child of osimmiri), speak and it shall be granted. What do you need."
Boma exhaled for a second and said in a grave tone, “Bring forth Uzodinma, slain by this very machete!”
The head in the smoke covered door did not respond for a second, then it abruptly vanished and in its place, the image of a very angry man shimmered in place.
“Mr Uzodinma, I know your spirit is restless. I seek to bring you solace by bringing your killers to justice.” The young lawyer addressed the spirit.
The spirit opened his mouth in a wail and repeated a name over and over; “John..John..John!”
“John? John who?” Boma asked respectfully.
Mr Uzodinma spirit only responded with the same words,
“John…John..Loan” At this, he vanished and the candles dimmed.
“Loan?” Boma was puzzled at first, but then, a spark went off in her brain and a realization slowly dawned on her.
“Thank you wise one.” Boma said silently as she cleared the makeshift altar and packed up the candles.
She carefully put the machete back into the transparent bag and kept it on a shelf before exiting the room. After notifying the police that she was done, she turned to the constable with a smile. “I have a lead for who killed the Uzodinmas,” Boma said with a smile.
In the next moments, the station was filled with activity, as reports were made and a warrant was drawn up for an arrest.
The courtroom was packed with young enthusiasts. Boma, representing the prosecution, sat confidently, her wig slightly larger than her small head. "
Court rise," the clerk demanded . "Before I begin my speech today, I want to acknowledge that Mr. President's actions led to the events that brought us here. During the period of starvation, he drove my client, Mr. Uzodinma, to desperation. He used a dysfunctional loan company because he hadn't been paid for eight months. His actions, though misguided, were intended to preserve his child's life," Barrister Boma began.
"Avoid philosophizing. Get to the point," the judge instructed.
"With your permission, my Lord, I'd like to call John Olawole to the stand."
"Bring him up!" The judge ordered.
John, the former manager, walked in, looking dishevelled. It had been a long year for him, and his slow steps and tattered appearance left the crowd curious about his connection to the case.
Nosa, who had maintained his innocence throughout the trial, looked back in surprise. What did this man have to do with Mr. Uzodinma? After taking the oath to testify truthfully, John began his testimony.
"Can you describe what happened on the day of the murder?"
"I was fired from my place of work due to Mr. Uzodinma's refusal to refund our company; hence, I was sacked by our boss. I sought to retrieve the money to get my life back on track. I went to the University to meet with the lecturer, but he refused to speak with me. Out of frustration, I planned to kill him for costing me my job and to bring down the company that had unjustly terminated my employment without benefits. On the night of the murder, my friend and I went to his house, raped his daughter and wife, but he still claimed he had no money. We killed his wife and strangled his frail daughter. In a fit of rage, we butchered Mr. Uzodinma, inadvertently framing Pay Later App for the gruesome crime," John testified, his voice cracking with emotion among the reaction from the crowd.
"Please, can you give the court the name of this friend?" Barrister Boma asked with pride, smiling in the middle of the courtroom.
"His name is Adeyemi, but he's popularly known as Ade Tiger."
"And why did you choose to confess?" the bewildered Judge asked.
"A few months after the murder, I was struck with a terrible illness, similar to Job's in the Bible. I visited numerous hospitals, but none could diagnose my disease or recommend appropriate medication. Then, I started having continuous nightmares, day and night, of the slain family seeking retribution and appealing for my confession. I couldn't bear the pain and horror any longer, so I contacted my parish priest, who led me to Barrister Boma."
The spine-chilling tale sounded like one from a Nollywood movie, but it was happening live before their shocked eyes. As Boma walked out of the courtroom that day, she thought about how she would promote herself further as a lawyer.
Amidst the crowd of journalists bathing her with questions, she wore a smile, her curved body swimming through the crowd. She got into her newly purchased Red SUV jeep.
Once in her car, she drove off to just outside the House of Justice.
"Ayikperere!" She looked into a mirror on the passenger seat and called out again, "Ayikperere!"
An ugly-looking woman appeared on the mirror's glistening surface.
"Another case bagged, wise one," she said, looking into the mirror.
"Nwa osimmiri (child of osimmiri), you have proven yourself worthy of being a dutiful daughter and servant of osimmiri (a deity of the primordial ocean). You are blessed by the gods of your ancestors and shall continue to prosper as long as you serve, sacrifice, and pledge allegiance to osimmiri."
"Mouthpiece of the supreme one, I shall continue to dedicate my life to osimmiri. I will sacrifice to you in due course for giving me wisdom to bring the knife with the blood of the slain family to identify the killer and make him confess, solving the case effortlessly," Boma responded with a wide grin. "Enwere’m ekele, Ayikperere" (I'm grateful, old one), Boma added, as her counterpart cackled hysterically and vanished from the mirror's reflection.
Boma remembered how long she had been Barrister-no-case and how meeting Ayikperere, the African CCTV, had completely changed her status. She had pledged allegiance to the deity and had experienced a winning streak ever since. She started the car with that satisfied look, and Brenda Fassie's "VuliNdlela" blasted through her car stereos as she drove with a satisfied smile.
