Misery

'Good things come in threes; so do bad things and even things that are neither good nor bad'

***

As each breaking dawn sadly gave way to the birth of the bright morn, I couldn't help but revel in one of life's most providential beauty. As each day dwindled to nightfall, I couldn't help but wonder what machinations were being engineered within the very shades of this cycle, which had become the sole coordinator of our human existence. As each second gave way to minutes, I couldn't help but wonder if it was probable that in disequilibrium, there existed some sort of equilibrium to be attained.

As my last days slowly crept towards me, I'd watch the rise of the early morn give way to the emergence of the high noon, to the withdrawing dusk, and back to the struggling dawn. With each passing experience, I couldn't help but wonder what intricately woven agendas may lie hidden, within this very cycle that governed our daily actions. With each passing mystery, I'd bite my lips down in sadness because all the seemingly little things I'd once taken for granted, now held the greatest fascination for me.

It is perhaps piteous that I had never lent any credence to the notion which suggests that there exist a conspiracy to unsettle life's delicate balance. It is perhaps also naive of me to have never acknowledged the validity or implications of the 'Afterlife', 'Fate', 'Destiny' and 'Karma'. I'd always been of the opinion that they were mere fancy words used to enslave the myopic of the world. I'd always been of the opinion that these 'Myopic' were lost souls who held on too tightly to a belief built on an unfounded foothold.

The errors of my reasoning have now been laid bare because, it is with strong authority I proclaim that a dark mystery had always hovered over my life. Most disturbing, I had never accorded it its deserved credence until my very recent experience which had been chalked as unfortunate by a host of people. But only I knew the devouring anguish I'd felt. Only I knew how much of myself, the anguish had felt and devoured. Because of this, I dedicated my last days to understanding this strange phenomena that had befallen my existence; for it was my only chance at finding peace.

It was also my only chance to make some sense of this iniquitous existence I had been forced into. I decided to believe in something now, for I was lost with nothing to hold on to. I decided to understand, so I delved into, and perused several volumes of scripts like a terrier on a scent. But no written account got me any closer to the answers I seek; except one that I had stumbled upon in a certain obscured and pagan tenet.

This religious tenet didn't completely satisfy the urgency of my needs, but it offered some insight as to why all these may have befallen me. This dogma which I stumbled upon in the holy books of the Wiccan, preached about 'The Rule of Three'. This rule which also bears a similarity with 'Karma' professed that, whatever energy a person puts out into the world, be it good or evil, will be returned to that person in threefold.

All these I read and digested before I asked myself if it completely explained all that had befallen me. Then I remembered my somewhat unsavory sojourn from childhood to this point, and a cold sweat of uncertainty broke all over me. The memories elicited a heavy, sharp and deep emotion which swelled, bloomed, and stoked like an inferno through my veins. This emotion is terror of the rawest form. This terror is shrouded by a hard, cold and perpetual feeling. This feeling is being given life by slimy tentacles of death in all its glory.

But alas! This tale I must tell.

***

When I was but a child, my Mother would sometimes pull at my flabby ears till I wailed if I was proving too obstinate for her to handle. While I lay on the floor teary eyed and nose snorting, she'd remind me of the rigorous labor she'd endured before she birthed me. Before she'd also remind me of all the extra works she had to do to put food on the table. Later, after her anger was spent, she'd draw me close to her bosom to rock and promise me of better days to come. While she rocked me, she'd tell me tales of her life before she had me; she'd tell me of her joy, dreams and aspirations.

She'd tell me of her pains and regrets. She would tell me tales about her struggles during her pregnancy. Then she'd tell me very funny tales of my antics as a baby to lighten up the mood. But what she could never bring herself to say was that I was the only survivor from the set of triplet she was supposed to have birthed. What she could also never bring herself to tell me was that for three days, she'd bled and struggled for her life during my delivery. Finally, what she'd never needed to tell me also, was that the rigors of birthing me had forever taken its toll on her.

She'd been a woman who despite dwelling in the shell of her former self, still remained the fighter who never bit the dust. She'd been a woman who'd proudly epitomized the very essence of African motherhood. She'd been a woman who'd stayed strong and held on even after death came for my Father in the guise of a mysterious illness; an illness which had quickly laid him flat and helpless. An illness which had muted him to the point we all feared him dumb. An illness which had finally sputtered him out like a candle left to the mercies of the harrowing wind.

My Father had been an abusive drunk, a compulsive gambler and a pathological liar. He'd been a man who'd plodded hard on the route of self destruction. He'd been a man who'd never cared for I and my mother. He'd been a man, who very little tears had been shed for, following his passing. But when a few years later, death stole in like a thief in the night for my Mother, our home and all our worldly possessions, I wept like a broken soul. Everything I'd ever loved had been forever lost to the slight tilt and flare of a candle against my Mother's bed sheet. In the end, all I had come home to was the burning debris, the choking smoke and the repulsive stench of burnt flesh.

That day, I hit the road, resolving never to return. I was intent on starting my life afresh, away from my dark past. But wherever I settled and made friends, death came knocking. So I decided to never stop, for the only way to elude death was to keep moving. Thus began my years of aimless sojourn in this cruel world. And with each passing day, experiences flooded my life in rivulet. Hardship also governed my every step in abundance, but only the will to survive kept me going; till the unexpected forever stilled my feet.

Then death reared its obscene head, reminding me that it was still waiting to corrupt anyone I dared open my heart to. So I gathered every ounce of my courage and undermined its authority. I roared like a enraged lion and ordered it to still its vile mouth. Then I forever banished its cowering figure from my presence, ordering it to be gone, never to return again. My confidence had been overwhelming; for intoxicating love had stripped common sense off me. Love had me overly courageous; for it had given me a false sense of security. It had me believing that nothing will ever go wrong. It had me believing that love conquered all.

And for a time, it did conquer all!

But several years later, my joyous world as I knew it crumbled in on fell sweep. Death whom had patiently waited till I was so drowned in felicity, had struck with impunity. I remember that horrible day like it was only yesterday. I remember waking up that morning filled with joy and hopes. I remember assuring myself with so much conviction that nothing could ever go wrong. I remember smiling and telling myself that the better days my Mother had predicted was finally upon me.

By Jove! Was I ever so wrong?

Before saying goodbye to my pregnant wife and three year old son that morning, I'd promised them a surprise when I returned from the hospital, and the joy that emanated from their face lifted my soul. But as fate would have it, while I was being diagnosed of suffering from terminal cancer, their charred remains were being recovered from our burnt down home. Death finally had the last laugh; it had made my pain complete for defying it.

It had taken my family and at the same time afflicted me with a slow death; just like it had done my Father and Mother. It had effortlessly rendered me desolate, but I knew fate hadn't dealt its entire card, for it was common knowledge that bad things happen in threes. The demise of my family was the first and my affliction with cancer was the second. The third which I was damn sure was the masterstroke, had to be right around the corner. I had no doubt about it. I knew deep down in my heart that it was only a matter of time. But the third never came. What came in its stead was the shocking announcement that I had won the lottery.

The 'ostensible' good news came as a shock. There I was begging for an end to my infelicitous life, but in its place came a cruel joke. Even in abject sorrow, I found space to invoke a bitter laugh, for what was the value of my new found wealth if I had no one to share it with? Was this the universe's way of taunting me further? Was there a justification in taking everything priceless from me, only to replace it with mere wealth?

All these thoughts assaulted my head but in the end, I prevailed and reached a decision. I was going to spend this newly found wealth on all the things I and my beloved had always dreamed of doing together. On warm nights, we sometimes laid under the stars to draw up a list of things we would love to do if we were ever rich. It was those dreams that had kept us going when our financial burdens became overbearing. It was those dreams that had solidified our unflinching love forever.

A part of me questioned my decision; it was of the opinion that my beloved would have wanted me to be charitable. But another part told me that it was the right thing to do, after all, I had suffered too much in life not to enjoy my last days. Eventually, I decided to spend everything before I died, and so began my fast paced and exciting adventure. I travelled to exotic lands and indulged in even more exotic deeds I had previously only envisioned in my wildest dreams.

I had lain with death when I upheld the honors of a Don Juan by having carnal knowledge in the most satisfying, unprotected and unabashed manner. I climbed with death by attempting the treacherous mountain Everest in the blistering cold. I spat on death by scuba diving deep into the frozen and shark infested pacific waters. I defied death by exploring the insidious tombs of ancient Egypt without blinking an eye. I dared death by trekking for weeks in the hot and scorpion infested Saharan desert with just a canister of water. I swam with death in the perilous crocodile infested swamp of Kenya, and I mocked death by singlehandedly facing the slithering menace of the South American jungles.

The list was endless; every experience, more unique and exhilarating than the other; each more challenging than the previous; each more exciting than the next. For the first time I felt alive. For the first time, death feared to follow. It never hovered; it never graced me with his presence, for it had left me completely to my device. It had left me alone on my last days. It had finally deemed it fit to honor me with the respect it had never accorded me in the past.

By the time I came back to die, some of the memories of my escapades were but like a distant blur. The exhilarating feeling I'd experienced while I danced with death had been replaced with terror. The satisfying feeling I'd felt when I'd indulged in the several sexual shenanigans had quickly dissipated into shame. The sweet feeling that had assaulted my taste buds had now left an acrid taste in my mouth. I was filled with so much misery; I was consumed by so much anguish. I had been left with only the tainted memories of a wife and son, who'd been unjustly wrenched away from my life.

When I returned, a whole battery of tests was run again, and that was when the masterstroke was finally revealed to me. I hadn't been dying of cancer; I never had cancer. The first diagnosis had been wrong; I had been misled. I had been the butt of life's practical joke. Suddenly, I was presented with a glimmer of hope. Suddenly, I thought maybe the universe had decided to give me a second chance. But when the doctor decided to run more tests, I was presented with an even greater shock.

I was numb and shocked beyond reasoning. At that moment, I realized that the lottery which had been disguised as a goodwill was the third and final in the fulfillment of the 'The rule of three'. At that moment, I realized that I had been toyed with all along. At that moment, I realized that I had been handed the gun with which I had shot myself with. At that moment, I thought that if I had given out my wealth to charity, I probably could have averted this. At that moment, I realized that the very essence of vanity was my own undoing.

After much thought, I came to the sad conclusion; that my imminent death may have been inevitable even if I had given out my wealth; nonetheless, the "What if" tore at my soul, and thus rendered me an emotional wreck. I wondered why I had been subjected to a life of misery. I wondered why all these had to befall me. I wondered if I alone suffered this heinous fate. I wondered if karma was perhaps repaying me for the sins of my Father. I wondered if this life of sorrow had always been my destiny. I even wondered about the afterlife, and if I may be paying for the sins committed in a past life.

I also wondered why I had been stripped of choices. I wondered why I had never been honored with the right to control but a tiny fraction of my life. I wondered why my life had been turned into a mere play thing to be fiddled with. I wondered if there was an entity up there feeding off my misery. I wondered if my existence served as a harsh lesson to unseen observers; I wondered if their lesson had been well learnt. I wondered what sort of entity would stoop low to play such cruel jokes. I wondered why I had been first misled by being wrongly diagnosed with cancer, only to be later rightly afflicted with the deadliest sexually transmitted virus known to man.

'Again, I sadly wondered if I could have probably prevented it'!

***

NB: I want to acknowledge the effort of @Buksage and also give part credit for this story since the idea to write it came up about a year ago when he discussed with me, another idea he had for a story he was planning on writing.

The Appeasement

The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living - Marcus Tullius Cicero

***

Outside in the heavy downpour, the village of Isiohor stood forlorn as they mourned the passing of one of their own. Their grievance was complete, and their lamentations which the heavy downpour failed to muffle, could be heard from a mile and beyond. Their countenance, which the gloom failed to becloud, insinuated that the world as they'd first perceived it had quite suddenly become alien to them all. They were all devastated, but only Ahigbe felt the icy stroke of guilt clawing at his heart. Only Ahigbe could taste the bitter sorrow the cycle of life and death had bestowed upon them. Only he had been coerced into confronting the stark futility of living a life of happiness. Only he had been made to dwell on the grave consequences his cavalier approach to life.

***

The chain of unpalatable circumstances which led to this untimely demise could be traced back to the previous morning when a father had descended on his son. The poor boy had incurred the legendry wrath of his father, because he'd failed to lock the entrance to the goat pen the night before. His father's fury had been complete, and the resolve to teach his lazy son a lesson, had been absolute. Eventually, it had taken the intervention of everyone in Ahigbe's homestead before he could be subdued and calmed. By then, his son who was almost naked save for a short was severely bruised and weeping.

Also, weeping profusely was his wife, who'd been appealing to him to observe equanimity because of his weak heart. But in response, he'd spewed a whole litany of vilifications her way, before he shifted his focus back on the boy, who he then threatened to cripple if he didn't bring back the goat that had run off. With that threat ringing at the back of his mind, Ahigbe's son got up and ran out of the compound as thought the minions from hell were giving chase. After his son had run off, the apoplectic Ahigbe stalked towards his hut, to be left alone with his thoughts.

Ahigbe the indestructible was a man of integrity; he was a man feared by all. He was also renowned for his fiery temper, as well as his kind and sharing heart. He was a man who didn't care much about the loss of a mere goat, for he was a wealthy and much respected man in the village. What had seriously irked him was that, this wasn't the first time his lazy son had allowed his goats to wander off. This wasn't the first time his son had failed and disappointed, when entrusted with the simplest of tasks. All Ahigbe wanted was for his son to have a sense of responsibility. All he wanted was for his boy to become a man.

For a time, he sat in his hut wondering how he could make his son a better person. The boy was his legacy and it was because of that, he was named for him. He was his only son, one who would carry on his family name for years to come, and he'll be damned if he didn't teach him some sense before he joined his ancestors. He was still lost in thought, when a loud ruckus outside his hut interrupted his musing. When he stepped out to angrily confront those who were the source of the disturbance, he was met with the gravest of news.

'His son had been involved in a ghastly accident'!

Immediately the bad tidings assaulted his ears, Ahigbe's sight blurred, and his leg turned wobbly. When he tried to take a step, he stumbled and it was only the quick intervention of people around that prevented him from kissing the dirt. All of a sudden, he longed for the sight of his lazy son. All of a sudden, he wished he'd been a little more patient with him.

All that could be told was that Ahigbe's son, who'd frantically, ran past a neighbour heading to the market, had been hit by a trailer as he attempted to cross the road. Even though the neighbour hadn't witnessed the accident, she'd been able to identify his unrecognizable and mangled remains a few minutes later when she got to the scene of the accident. Apparently, he'd been hit and dragged for some hundreds of meters before the driver, who'd probably had one too many realized his atrocity.

When his son's body or what was left of it, was finally brought back to his homestead, Ahigbe wept bitterly. He'd been overwhelmed with grief, guilt and an absolute terror, for in their custom, it was a taboo for a son to die by the hands of a father. Though, his son may not have directly died by his hands, he'd surely driven him to his untimely death, and Ahigbe knew his spirit would surely seek revenge. He knew his impending doom was unassailable, and only the rite of appeasement could rectify his mistake. So he sent words to the village priest, who in turn began to make the necessary arrangements for the rite.

Custom demanded that his son's body be buried after the rite of appeasement had been performed. And as part of the rite, Ahigbe had to be confined in his hut, lest his son's rampaging spirit sought vengeance before it could be pacified. Soon Ahigbe's homestead was a beehive of activities as preparations for the burial reached its climax. At one section of his homestead, a grave was being dug by the able bodied boys in the village. In another section, the fattest cows and goats from his stock were being slaughtered, while the freshest palm wines were being brought in and stocked under the cool shade of Kola nut tree. By nightfall, all criteria's for the preparations had been met, people started trooping in and gradually, the crowd grew in capacity.

 

An hour before midnight, the village priest finally made his appearance. But first, he marched straight to Ahigbe's hut, and told him to rid himself of all clothing. Once stripped, the priest applied a black and smelly ointment all over his body, while he recited some protective incantation. When he was done, he told Ahigbe that the ointment and incantation were to ward off the rampaging and vengeful spirit of his son. Finally, he warned that even though the room maybe warded from outside influences, under no condition should he step out till the first cock crow.

With that explicitly spoken admonition, the priest left to fulfil the requirements of the rite. First, a white he-goat that had never seeded a kid was offered as sacrifice, before the chanting and invoking commenced. Soon, everybody joined as voices could be heard praying and crying. For hours, the spirit of Ahigbe's son was appeased with offerings and prayers. For hours it continued, and soon, the tired and aggrieved Ahigbe stumbled into a troubled slumber.

***

After a time, Ahigbe suddenly woke up from his troubled slumber to be greeted by a menacing and deafening silence. He wondered where everyone was. He wondered why they'd stopped their chanting and prayers. After listening for what seemed like an eternity, he finally summed up courage, and went outside. Outside his hut, he was beheld by a sight beyond his comprehension. Under the bright moonlight, he saw that his homestead had been hurriedly deserted in a state of agitation. The air stank of terror and soon, Ahigbe's heart began to beat hard. His homestead was littered with upturned stools, hurriedly thrown cups, forgotten slippers and the motionless body of the village priest. But before he could check if he was alive, something out of the shadows sauntered towards him.

Ahigbe face became white as death, for he couldn't believe what beheld his eyes. He was gripped by an indefinable terror as he stood staring at the apparition, and it's strange companion. His head swelled till it almost imploded, cold sweat broke out from his head and his bowels failed him. Then a spasm, the likes never seen before, overcame him before he fell to the floor clutching his weak heart.

Standing terrified and bewildered before his dying father's body, was his 'supposedly' dead son and the goat that had wandered off earlier.

***