Two:
The Monastery was located not far from the church, a two- storeyed, large house, housing at least 50 monks. It was the home Paul had grown up in.
As Paul James crossed the not busy Government-just-constructed Umuda road to the Monastery, he couldn't help but wonder how much the house had changed since he had left twenty years ago. The paintings had begun to peel off, the balcony's railing needed repair because half of it was already leaning backward, as if waiting for any strong wind to send it falling. The wooden windows had been badly consumed by termites and most of the monks complained of merciless mosquitoes having their blood for their night drink.
Every now and then, Paul had to spend money to fix the pipes in the house but it seemed all of the Umuda's plumbers had conspired to cheat him. Imagine one of them had stucked a corn husk into one of the broken pipes to stop its endless flowing.
This was the home Paul had never wanted to return to yet here he was, this cold evening, pushing the house's wooden door open and breathing in the stuffy air. As his eyes took in the once sitting room which had now been turned into the Scripture room, he remembered how he would run behind the cushion to hide from his father when he was young. This house never knew peace and it was all because of Paul, his Parents made sure he never forgot that.
"You cursed son!! How I wish the gods had not given you to me!!" His father would bellow.
Paul found the monk room keeper dusting huge bibles on a table. He made a sign of greeting to Paul and moved on with his work.
Yes, Paul never missed the silence of a Monastery, just like he never missed the one in Onada. That peace was always there. The peace he had never experienced until he met Christ. Paul let his eyes glance at the huge statue of Christ on the cross and made a silent prayer. Then he proceeded to the monk hostel.
The first room he passed was his former room. As tiny as it was, it made Paul alive. This was the room he would hide in from his Parents' absurd visitors, visitors who looked at him like he was the evil one of Umuda.
Paul wasn't ready to go back to his Christless past so he let his mind drift to the monastery in Onada. He remembered Father Augustus's friendly face when he had been brought to him.
"I know you have experienced a lot, my son and you've come to the right place. The Man on the Cross is ready to give you the peace you desire"
Paul knew him. The Man on the Cross was of no stranger to him. Madam Larry, his foster mother, had taught him about him. This Man had saved him as an infant and if Paul needed saving, there was no where else he could run to.
"If He is indeed the Saviour, why couldn't he save her?!!" Paul had yelled at Madam Larry when the latter had told him he needed to join the Monastery.
"There are so many things you don't understand, Paul" Madam Larry had said, calmly.
"He could have saved her. None of these was Chima's fault!!" He said and had broken down into tears.
Each time he remembered why he had left Umuda, he knew it was his fault. He remembered Chima, the trader's daughter and how he had ended her life because of his mistakes. He remembered that very night when he knew he had come face to face with the Devil. The walk down from his room, to the silent chanting voices in his father's secret room. He could remember how cold the night had felt, how his legs seemed to feel heavy as he moved to the door as if it knew what he was about to see. Someone had not locked the door and too late, Paul found out what the chanting was all about. He saw everything and knew this was wrong. Everything!!
The red dressed men and women who held burning candles, the deadly horror on their faces and then the thing lying on the floor, something Paul knew he would never forget till he died. Someone saw him and he remembered himself backing into the shadows, shaking his head. He had to escape, he had to leave or they would come for him next. Paul didn't even know when he left the house and its horrific memories.....
Paul snapped out of his reverie as he realised he was already in front of Francis' room. He was here to see his naughty nephew and save him from making mistakes he, Paul, had made at the initial stage of his life. He knocked softly at the door and got no response. Apparently the boy was still angry and didn't want any visitor.
Paul pushed the door open and found him sitting on his bed, his head bowed. Paul walked in silence and sat beside him on the bed. The boy didn't even bother to lift up his head. He must know it was him.
"It's almost night, Francis"
No response.
"I can feel your burning hatred but it certainly is not necessary. I am not the Devil, Francis and I don't want you to make the same mistakes that I had made"
"And smacking me across the face is the only way to stop me?" Francis said, lifting up his head in rage.
Under the fluorescent light, Paul could see he had been crying. The place he had smacked him had swollen up and suddenly, Paul felt guilty but he wasn't ready to show it.
"You are in an immoral relationship with a girl and for crying out loud, you're a monk!! If you do not care about your soul, care about my reputation!!, care about the other monks you're going to turn away from the faith!!"
Francis stood up and turned his back on Paul.
"But Janetta is more than just any girl. She is special and I really love her"
They both grew silent.
"How long have you been seeing her?"
"Two months"
"Great and I didn't notice. I should have" Paul, more like, said it to himself, "Your relationship is not worth it, Francis. This is sin.... "
"But..... "
"You shall let me speak, Francis!! You remember the story of Samson, don't you? He was a great man who could have achieved a lot but Delilah knew how to cut that short. You are a great instrument for God and do not allow youthful lust destroy you" Francis said nothing, now facing him.
"Read Proverbs 7 as your thought for the night, maybe then, you will see why you do not have to continue this"
Paul stood up to leave, giving Francis a scrutinizing look.
"I do not hate you, Francis. I want the best for you" He said and made for the door.
"Who is Chima?" Francis asked and his question caught Paul off guard.
Paul turned around in surprise to face him. He could feel his heart beating hard against chest. How did he know about Chima? What did he know?
Francis wasn't surprised at Paul's shocked expression. He and Joyce had known a long time ago but had chosen to keep quiet.
"What is it with her? What is it you're hiding from us? What happened to Chima? Why do you always talk about her in your sleep?"
Paul wanted to open his mouth and say something but he could not. Infact, he didn't even know when he ran out of the room, out of the Monastery and into the dark night of Umuda. Not again. The memories were building up. He didn't want to think about them, not ever again.
He should pray to God. That was the only thing that could save him now. He had left those memories in the past and there, they had to remain.
He entered into the dark church, groped around the darkness for the podium. When he had found it, he made for his office and tried finding the door. Soon he turned the door knob, entered his also dark office and closed the door behind him.
Before he began to pray, he thought he saw the bloody head of Chima staring back at him in the dark.....
"We go soon reach Umuda, If una get your money, make una bring am now o" The dirty looking conductor with stained teeth said as the bus neared a narrow bridge which must certainly be a border.
Wunmi Bello dipped her hand into her breast pocket, brought out some money and handed it to the impatient conductor, other passengers doing the same.
Wunmi just couldn't wait to get down from the bus. It was a cold evening yet she didn't feel comfortable. Maybe the bus was too packed with people or she couldn't just tolerate the never-ending cough of the old woman sitting next to her.
Three weeks ago, Who would have believed she would be posted to a small town like Umuda?. Located in the South-Eastern part of Nigeria, so many tales have been told of Umuda. It had once been a very big city in the early 50s but during the Civil War, Umuda had got the heat of the war a lot. So many people had fled for their lives and by the time they would return so many years later, it was no longer the Umuda they knew. Most of the houses had been turned to ruins and there was nothing the then Military Government could do about it.
Tonight, however, Wunmi Bello found herself in the heart of a town that had known war. Umuda was the last place she wanted to be in because the tales of it brought back unwanted haunting memories. There were so many things she could have accomplished if not for the deadly strokes of war.
Not wanting to, she remembered the burning flames, her mother's screams, her father shielding her from the terror around them.....
The sudden halt of the bus brought her back to the present. She realised in relief that they had got to their location. As she got down from the bus, shielding her load with care, she could hear the conductor give a reprisal remark to a young man. She hurried out of the bus before it turned into something else.
The air smelled badly of urine, rotten tomatoes and body odours. The bus had dropped them in Umuda's small market. Few people sold things, candles lighting up the night.
"Oh great!!" Wunmi muttered to herself, Umuda had to be a town with insufficient electricity supply.
Wunmi continued to walk on, every now and then, trying to kill blood-sucking mosquitoes. She passed by a woman selling akara balls and remembered she had had nothing in her stomach since noon.
Akara was her best snack. Her mother loved making them for her and they were always sweet. Oh, how she missed Mama Wunmi's akara....
"Snap out of it, Wunmi" She said to herself.
Not being able to resist the smell of the beans cake (akara), she stopped in front of the stall. The akara seller was more than happy to see her.
"How many you wan buy?" She asked in a delighted tone, already tearing a newspaper page where she would sell the akara for Wunmi.
"Ten"
"Na ten ten naira oo... You know say akara no popular for Umuda"
Wunmi nodded, not ready to have a chit chat with the woman.
"You be Yoruba?"
"Yes" Wunmi answered and collected the hot akara balls which the woman had already wrapped in a newspaper page and put into a nylon. "Yoruba for Umuda...You go shine your eyes wella...I be Yoruba too. Na to be smart here pay oo"
Wunmi thanked her for her advice and handed her 100 Naira. It was when she made to pick up her bags she had dropped on the ground that she knew something was wrong. Her small bag was missing!!!
"Ole!! Thief!! Thief!!" The akara seller began to yell.
Wunmi panicked for a brief second before her eyes fell on a small boy running away.
"Help me watch my remaining bags" Wunmi begged the akara seller, didn't wait for a response and ran after the boy.
That was her money bag. How could she be so careless? Well, not that she really cared about the money, what really bothered her were the guns in the bag. They must not fall into the wrong hands. She had come here to save Umuda, not destroy it.
She chased the boy, alongside some men into a small bush. The men lost sight of the boy almost quickly but Wunmi had been trained for something like this. She saw his footprints and followed them cautiously.
Soon she saw where they stopped. They stopped in front of a tree. Wunmi raised her eyes to the top of the tree and found a skinny boy trying to hide from her.
"Don't hide. Just come down with the bag"
The boy continued to climb higher.
"I'm not going to hurt.... "
Her sentences were caught short by a loud sound that seemed to explode over her head. She crouched low and at the same time realised the boy had missed his footing. It was with luck she managed to catch him before he hit the ground. She pulled him behind the tree and placed a finger on his lips.
Someone had shot at her. She could see the bullet hole on the tree where it had narrowly missed her. She strained her ears to hear for sounds.
Yes, someone was definitely coming.......
Iam 