13042019 - KILLING FIELDS OF NORTH WEST:They killed my husband, our three children in my presence – Zamfara survivor

Strip bars are sprouting everywhere.
It’s a cancerous phenomenon.
A friend saw the house next door go up
for sale. Then the buyer, the new owner,
began a curious renovation. When he was
done, he hung a cryptic sign. The
neighborhood resisted the invasion by a
putative beer parlor. The beer parlor
resisted the onslaught of anxious
neighbours. The law enforcement agents
showed naked lethargy. The patrons of the
new investment overwhelmed the moral
disgust of the finicky neighbours. The beer
park-our stood.
A few months after, the beer parlor which
had tried its hands at being a restaurant
began to wane. Its patrons must have
become too familiar with its offerings. Or
perhaps, they simply had flocked to newer
arrivals. Then something happened.
Young girls started to flock to the old beer
parlor. Bouncers took over the security of
the parlor and its environs. The buzz had
returned with vengeance. The
neighbourhood dismissed the rumours that
had spread as a joke. The parlor became
an ultimate nuisance. Its patrons stayed
awake and noisy most of the night. They
always loitered. Some of the girls spilled
onto the street and turned the dark places
red. The fears of the neighbourhood were
confirmed.
The beer parlor had metamorphosed. It
was now a strip bar, in the closet. A
neighbor said it was his teenage children
he was worried about. A wife said she
feared for her husband. They said they
warned the previous owner not to sell to
any church. Churches always came with
too much noise and too much nuisance ,
they said. They said the devil must have
decided to punish them. They wished it
was a church they had to contend with.
They besieged the local council authority.
The local officials had dragged their feet.
They knew the strip bar had corroded,
undermined the understanding of the local
officials. The strip bar made too much
money, enough money to make council
official forget their duties.
They have run to court. But they are
worried. Justice is vulnerable in Nigeria.
One evening, EseOghene came home
tired. She had her bath and decided
to take a nap. She always slept naked.
When Mudipapa came back from work,
he found her in a very inviting position.
“Dinner” was served and without saying
“prayer before meal” (foreplay) he started
“eating.” EseOghene was startled from
sleep, but Mudipapa was already busy. “It
is not safe o, this one you are doing,”
EseOghene protested feebly. But as they
say, “when a man gets an erection, his brain
goes on leave.” Mudipapa’s brain had gone
on leave the moment he came into the
room and saw EseOghene. It would start
working again when he was done. To his
credit after about 18 years of marriage,
EseOghene still held him spellbound.
When he was done, EseOghene rushed
into the bathroom. From the bathroom, he
could hear her saying, “these daughters
you are looking for, and want them by all
means; I pray this impromptu action of
yours does not lead to another pregnancy.
You know what I went through with Edirin’s
pregnancy. I’m too old now for pregnancy
o!” EseOghene knew her cycle so well that
she knew any pregnancy from the
encounter would produce a baby girl.
The implication of what Mudipapa had
done hit him. While he wanted more
daughters, he had no intention of
endangering the life of EseOghene. The
anxious wait started. Seventeen days later,
EseOghene did not see her period. Anxiety
increased. Two weeks thereafter, Mudipapa
came back from work and when he asked
of EseOghene, he was told she came in
much earlier and was sleeping. That was
strange. EseOghene never came home that
early. She was a workaholic. He was too
scared to climb up. He stayed downstairs
staring at the television until 10:30pm
when he summoned the courage and went
up. “What is it, baby?” He asked her. In his
sub-consciousness, he heard the words he
had been dreading: “I’m pregnant.”
Everything, including his heart beat, stood
still, except the room which was swirling
round him.
That night, when he lay down, he knew
he was not going to sleep. At
such times, he would go to the study to
work, but it was of no use, his mind was in
turmoil. He stared at the ceiling for
Strip bars s are spreading promiscuously
They know they have an uphill task.
Because they know what happened in
First avenue, Festac town Lagos.
Something more alarming had
happened in First avenue , Festac. A
new red light district sprouted overnight
within that once iconic residential estate.
It was heralded by a similar
metamorphosis.
A prime development came up along
the canal on first avenue. That was were
the rich once lived. The development had
office blocks above and a modern English
bar beneath. The bar suffered loss of
patronage after an initial sparkle. The
But indiscriminate building
and running of strip bars will
harm our society
original outdoor eating habits of Festac
transformed when traders who had
relocated to the Trade fair complex on
Badagry expressway came with their
appetite for local delicacies. The traders
preferred nkwobi and ‘point-and-kill’ fish
pepper soup. The English bar
metamorphosed to meet business
exigencies.
Before the eyes of serving judges and
bishops who lived in the vicinity, the
property that housed the English bar
underwent a curious renovation. All
offices were wiped out. When the
renovation was done, the building had
over 50 air conditioners hanging and
dangling everywhere. Girls of easy
virtue started loitering around it.
The neighbourhood prayed, fasted
and wept. The new owners had
converted the edifice into a huge
brothel. It had almost a hundred
cubicles which were rented daily by
sex workers at small fees. The road
where the building was located
became a prostitution lane. A
secondary school which had stood in
the quiet neighbourhood found itself
in the centre of a new red light district.
The Residents’ Association kicked.
But their noise came to nothing.
Neither town planning officials nor the
police could stop the growth of the red
light district in the middle of where
sane families lived and children
schooled.
That red light district flourishes in
front of that school till this day.
Strip bars have come. And they are
mushrooming. And they are
insinuating themselves into lives of
children.
In Lagos, they are now everywhere.
They are sprouting within residential
enclaves. The society is worried about
conversion of structures and the
tragedy of their physical collapse. The
society should be worried about much
Mudipapa:Birth of Omoghene Orien
nonexistent solutions. He was usually a
man with great self-control; he cursed
that moment of indiscretion. He wanted
more daughters, but not at this time.
Edirin, his youngest child, was already
nine and they had closed the chapter of
child bearing. This child coming when
he was almost 48 years was equally
going to disrupt his retirement plans.
This one you
are making
noise, do you
know you were
born by mistake
He had worked and was still working
very hard, and he wanted a retirement
unencumbered by school fees and child
rearing. He wanted to travel all over the
world with EseOghene, but how was he
going to do that with a child who would
still be in secondary school when he
retires?
His mind shifted to EseOghene;
how was she going to cope with what
was clearly going to be a difficult
pregnancy? The earlier ones,
especially Edirin’s, were traumatic.
How was this one going to be? What
would people say? He remembered
how Aunty Joyce and Uncle Emma
advised them against having more
children when they saw the pains
EseOghene was going through during
Edirin’s pregnancy. His heart sank.
By 4am, sleep was still far away. Then
it occurred to him that his thoughts
were aimless. He needed to focus.
“What exactly is the issue? Is it a crime
to sleep with my own wife?” “No,” he
answered himself. “Did I impregnate
a domestic staff?” “Hell, no,” he
continued. “So what’s the issue;
tongues, which would wag because
my wife got pregnant at almost 41?
We do not owe anybody any
explanations. There is only one issue
really, EseOghene’s health and
wellbeing,” he concluded.
By now, EseOghene had woken up.
He apologized to her upfront for the
pains she might likely go through. He
told her that he would not stand in
her way, if she decided to relocate
abroad to avoid prying an inquisitive
eyes and also get the best possible
medical attention, but EseOghene
brushed the idea aside. She would
stay here and have the baby the way
she had the others.
The pregnancy was difficult, but hell
was not let loose as they had feared.
SATURDAY Vanguard, APRIL 13, 2019—37
Once you have seen the way we regulate
and run commercial motorcycles and
Danfo buses here then you have seen the
way the strip bars are being regulated and
run
more.
Someone ought to be worried about the lack
of rules within these rogue strip bars. There
are no rules. The girls often dance stark naked.
The patrons are allowed to purchase anything,
their basest fantasies, with money. And the
youths already struggling with pornography
are getting sucked in. The girls in these bars
are daily drained of humanity.
The strip bars are now everywhere. Lagos is
not alone. The hospitality industry in many
towns are digging low and deep to remain
afloat.
But indiscriminate building and running of
strip bars will harm our society.
In other climes these facilities are situated
in set out areas and are strictly regulated.
The girls have access to the law and the patrons
understand that there are boundaries that must
not be crossed. But what we have is the
running of strip bars in the shadows.
Once you have seen the way we regulate
and run commercial motorcycles and Danfo
buses here, then you have seen the way the
strip bars are being regulated and run. There
are no licenses and registrations. The police
shake them down and let them be. There are
no protective helmets, no eye tests, no alcohol
tests, no vehicle inspections. No one checks
the bars, no one checks the health of the girls,
no one bothers with their impact on the
neighbourhood.
The patrons come in, pay and consume. The
only thing that rules is the desperation of the
owners of the bar , the growing addiction to
voyeurism in the society and the criminal
complicity of local officials and security
agencies.
The strip bars are mushrooming. Let someone
do some housekeeping.
The baby even did overtime in the womb, but
EseOghene refused induced labour. One
Sunday evening, Jacinta OmogheneOrien
was safely delivered. She weighed 4.2kg, the
most weighty of all of their children at birth.
Once Omo was born, all the initial anxieties
disappeared. All her siblings were falling
over one another to care for her; Mudipapa
dubbed her “my retirement baby.” She was a
sweet little girl, loved by all initially when
she was very little. But as she grew older, she
started getting on her siblings’ nerves. She
was very possessive. She treated Mudipapa
as if she was his only child. She was the only
one who called Mudipapa ‘my daddy.’ The
other children simply called him ‘Daddy.’ In
the house and in church, she would come and
sit between whoever sat closest to Mudipapa
and say: “I want to sit with my daddy.” Her
tongue was also very acidic. Mudipapa
protected her and told Mado and Edirin to
use her to learn how they would live with and
tolerate their spouses in future. Privately,
Mudipapa cautioned her to be respectful.
One of those days, Mado decided to give it
back to her: “This one you are making noise,
do you know you were born by mistake. That
is why Edirin is older than you by 10 years.
Mummy and Daddy said they thought they
were through with childbearing, but you this
little stubborn thing forced your way through.
This family is better off without a trouble
maker like you. How am I even sure, you are
not another person’s baby who was
exchanged for mummy’s real baby in the
clinic? You look different from Tejiri (their
older sister). Tejiri is dark like mummy, daddy
and the rest of us, but you are lightcomplexioned.
Where did you take your
complexion from...?” Mado continued
running his mouth.
Omo was wailing when Mudipapa and
EseOghene got back from a wedding
reception that Saturday. She was
inconsolable; Mudipapa had never seen
Omo,or any of his children, so traumatized.
Mudipapa asked what happened, but Mado
and Edirin would not talk. Then he changed
gear and when they saw the raw anger in his
eyes, Edirin chickened out… .
Excerpts from LIFE LESSONS FROM
MUDIPAPA. Mudipapadebuts next month.
Enquiries at mudipapa65@gmail.com,
#mudipapa.