Daughter of Thunder

By Olatubosun Matthew Macaulay

Sunbo, a shrewd, scheming woman of extreme beauty, thought she could throw away her cake and still never miss it. She had placed her day-old baby girl in a basket, dumped the basket beside a gutter in the cold harmattan, and fled the scene. Ten years later, married now to a wealthy and aspiring Governor, all that she needed was a child to end her years of barrenness and save her marriage. When fate brought the mother and daughter (Mary) together again, each ignorant of their blood ties, Sunbo came up with a diabolical plan to salvage her marriage. However, her past romance with notorious men of the underworld caught up with her. This Past threatened blackmail and her Future seemed hopeless. Fixing the Present, seemed to Sunbo the best solution, therefore Mary and the blackmailer may have to be eliminated. No one had reckoned with Mary, not her adoptive parents, not her biological father, not the Voodoo priests and definitely, not even Sunbo. The present exploded into gun fights, treachery, Voodoo, love and vengeance as nemesis caught up with one and then with another. Who was Mary? How was she able to survive the diabolical plans of Sunbo and the Voodoo priests?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mermex ventures
• Release date: May 20, 2018

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THUNDER

Copyright © 1999 Olatubosun Matthew Macaulay

All rights reserved. This work is registered with the Nigerian Copyright Commission.  No part of this publication may be copied or reprinted for commercial gain or profit.

ISBN: 978-35945-0-8

Publisher:

Mermex Ventures

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DEDICATION

I dedicate this story to the pupils of Greensprings School, Lagos and St Saviour’s School, Ebute Metta.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

THE STAGE IS SET

THE MAKING OF A CHIEF

THE FERGUSON HOME

KILLER JOE

NGOZI MAKES HER MOVE

DEMONIC MANOEUVRES

THE CHIEF GOT A HUNCH

THE BIRTHDAY PARTY

RECONCILIATION

A  STRANGER CAME CALLING

THE VOODOO PRIESTS

THE ATTACK: DAY 4

DAY 5

DAY 6

DAY 14

THE FINAL HOUR

PROLOGUE

The year is the 29th of December 1983. The preacher is walking along a derelict street, somewhere in one of the slums, dotted along the railway line at Ebute Metta. The time is 05:30 hours, too early for anyone living in Lagos to move out, especially in that shanty area, but the preacher, apparently oblivious of the danger of the hour and the place, picks her way through the fog of the harmattan. The preacher is a young lady in her early-twenties and must be very pretty but the fog, which seems to be working hand in hand with the white shawl covering the head and eyes of the preacher, effectively prevents any curious observer from picking discernible features of the face. The time and the shawl were deliberately chosen to serve this very purpose. The preacher’s left hand, hidden inside a flowing white garment reaching down to her bare feet, clutches a small basket. Inside that basket and completely covered by the white garment is a baby girl; a day old baby girl, peacefully asleep. Firmly gripped in her other hand is a bell, which she rings after taking every three or four steps. Repent and come to the Lord Jesus. He is the Way, the Truth and the Light. Her voice, a singer’s voice, travels far. Jesus is the answer to all your problems. There’s no problem, in your life, he cannot roll away. Therefore, call on him now. As she walks along that dirty street, her eyes dart furtively around, from one side of the street to the other. She is apprehensive and waits for the right opportunity as her bare feet carry her to the edge of the large open gutter which runs behind the sprawling Nigerian Railway Workers Quarters at Ebute Metta. She stands by the edge of this open gutter and cries out Jesus says come all ye that are heavily in labour and he will give you the best. She was not sure whether it was the best the Bible says or the rest, and reading the Bible, which she passionately detests anyway, is never one of her chores. But, she is not about to arouse any suspicion, so she smoothly continues Just cast your burdens at the feet of Jesus.

She cuts short her sermon. She has finally reached her destination and she does not want to draw attention to herself anymore, least of all a crowd of salvation-hungry faces. She bends her knees slowly, lowering the baby-basket on the littered ground and slowly, very slowly, straightens herself again. I’m surely going to cast away my own burden today she mutters to herself as she casts quick, furtive glances around her. She knows the situation is now dicey because, the moment she lifts the white garment off the basket, the cold and dry harmattan, will wake the baby up into a bawling attraction. Finally, she decides, there should be no finesse about it as she yanks the flowing garment off the basket and scurries out of the place. She has spent barely five minutes by the large gutter.

PART I

THE STAGE IS SET

It was a sunny morning in the land of Awka. The year was 1978, the 10th of December and the very air of the land carried a festive mood because of the Christmas, fast approaching. Many sons and daughters of the land, working all over the Federation, from Sokoto to Lagos had arrived home. Ngozi Ndubuisi was talking to her son Emeka who was about thirty years old but was already an Assistant Superintendent of the Police Force in Nigeria.

Emeka, it’s time to grow up and leave childhood infatuations alone. Obiagelli is not the right type of girl for you. She is not in your class. Ngozi was trying her best to persuade her son to forget everything about Obiagelli, a sweetheart from childhood, and marry Nkechi, the daughter of Chief Okafor. Ngozi was a big, buxom and domineering woman of about fifty-three and her only child and son Emeka, sitting demurely on one of the chairs in the spacious living room posed no problem for her You know that when your father died, Ngozi continued I was the only one, Emeka... the only one who took up the responsibility of your education and upkeep. The Family abandoned me...they even abandoned you...Ngozi deliberately choked on her words and her voice trailed to a hoarse whimper. She knew Emeka cannot stand her tears and that was the trump card she was trying to use now. Sitting down there quietly and staring at the floor with his head slightly tilted at an angle, Emeka looked exactly like his father Alozie.

Alozie Ndubuisi was a soldier who had fought gallantly for Biafra during the civil war and had later risen to the rank of a brigadier, after the war. Alozie was a rebel right from the word go. He had run away from home at the age of sixteen and enlisted in the Army, to the shame and embarrassment of the Family, which considered the Army, in those days, fit only for dropouts. But, when the Family saw his steady rise in the Army, they forgave him. Then he dealt the Family a second blow by marrying Ngozi. The Family did everything it could to stop the marriage, but Alozie was as stubborn as a he-goat and he went ahead anyway and married Ngozi. The Family had nothing against Ngozi, but there was quite a lot that could be said about her mother Ijeoma, who was believed to be a witch and had used her witchcraft to kill her husband. No one rubs the nose of the Family in the dust and so it abandoned Alozie. But Alozie, seemingly undeterred and unrepentant went ahead and made friends with fellow officers in the army from tribes the Family regarded as low, which was considered by many as another slight on the Family. However, his closest friend from childhood was still Chima Okafor, the same man who later became the Governor of Anambra State. When Alozie became a brigadier, he put up a magnificent mansion in Awka, although he never intended to pay his kinsmen visits or even planned to live in Awka. This act was regarded by many in the land, as the final embarrassment to the Family and an unforgivable mistake because no man, no matter how highly placed, should let the outside world know that, he could do without the Family. The Family was supposed to be everything. That was the unwritten law. One day, Alozie, the man of timber and calibre, as he was affectionately called by his friends, slumped in his office at Bonny Camp in Lagos and died. Just like that! Emeka was only two years old when his father died and when the news got to Awka, the proverb that made the rounds among the elders was: You do not bury your placenta in Awka and hope to dig it out in Lagos.

Emeka was a spitting image of his father but that was where the resemblance ended. His father loved the bottle and was garrulous but Emeka was a teetotaller and taciturn. After his graduation from the University of Nigeria, he joined the Nigeria Police Force and rose rapidly through the ranks. He could sit down for hours, just listening patiently to stories and statements made by suspects, picking out the flaws here and there and filing them away in his receptive memory, to be used much later, to the surprise and regret of the suspects, who realised, often too late that they had talked too much.

He had been listening quietly to his mother until she started her whimpers then he slowly lifted up his head and stared at her. Ngozi cut short her long tirade; she knew her son was now ready to talk. The cooing of the pigeons outside mixed with the fragrance of frangipani drifted into the room.

Mum, began Emeka slowly I know you’ve done so much for me and I know the tremendous boost my career will receive in the Force with a powerful person like Governor Chima Okafor as my father-in-law.

Now, you’re thinking right my son. interrupted Ngozi.

But I also know of many more things you’re not even aware of, Mum.

You know of many things like what! snapped Ngozi, as she jumped out of her seat. She bent her waist and placed her palms on her knees to stare at Emeka eyeball to eyeball. Yes, tell me. You know of many things like what? she challenged her son again and continued, without waiting for a response I know without being told that Mazi Okagu, a good-for-nothing man, will cry out loud for all the land to hear, when you reject his daughter...and what, will that amount to? Is he not an opportunist? Imagine him! Dreaming to offload his ugly daughter on my son...

Obiageli is not an ugly girl cut in Emeka.

But she is a good-for-nothing girl, just like her father came the quick and sharp response. Ngozi straightened herself and walked slowly away from her son towards the open window. Her mood suddenly became calm and sober Emeka, I know what you’re afraid of. The women of this land, gossips they all are, will say this and that, and all, very nasty things about me. Right?

Emeka kept silent

Ngozi turned round to face her son again But who cares? Who cares what they say?

Mum, that’s not my fear. You still don’t know what I know.

Ngozi stared at her son. She was now confused. She had thought she could read her son inside out. OK, tell me Emeka, the things that I, am yet to know.

But Emeka just kept silent, staring at the floor. Slowly, he lifted up his head and looked at his mother and he began to speak in a quiet and soft voice, quite unlike the vituperative outburst of his mother. I know that you should not have sent a delegation to Governor Okafor to ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage for me without first seeking my opinion and consent,

"Chineke! Ngozi exclaimed as she lifted up her two arms to the roof don’t I have the right to desire the good things of life for my son? What is wrong in seeking the best for one’s own child? Chineke! What has your world come to? My son, my only son said I cannot be a mother to him anymore. The tiny chick thinks he is strong enough to rip the bowels of the earth just because he has been able to run his puny claws through the soft furrows behind his mother. O Chineke!