The Devil Wears Okirika Episode 38 – 40 by Kingsley Olanrewaju Efughi

The Devil Wears Okirika by Kingsley Olanrewaju Efughi

Episode 38

The first borehole in Amaife had been dug and mounted in the market square after the elders had instructed and organised the villagers to contribute money for the duration of four months. The villagers had been ecstatic. They didn’t have to depend on the stream all the time anymore. This was a better and fascinating source of water.
Every morning the queue would long as every body would go with his/her bucket to fetch from the tank. It was a good feeling watching the water rush out and fill up the buckets. The problem was electricity. There was hardly power in Amaife and most times the borehole would function just once a week, sometimes even once in two weeks. Gradually the villagers began to lose interest in the borehole. The stream was still better. It was natural and there was never a queue plus it was big enough for everybody.
However some still longed for the development, it wasn’t strange to see a small group of people hanging around the tank with their buckets waiting for the water. They never gave up and would spend hours, turning the knob and hoping and praying the water would rush out.
However, Joy would finally be the reason everyone would lose interest in the borehole.
She was eleven years old then and was one of the people fascinated by the borehole. She always stopped by and checked it first whenever she needed to fetch water and more often than not she was lucky and filled her bucket before the water finished.
On that fateful day, she had taken a bucket much bigger than her normal size after searching fruitlessly for her own bucket. The bucket Amara usually carried was the one she had to settle for finally.
She stopped by on her way to the stream as usual and tried the tap. She was in luck and she filled the bucket to the brim but there was nobody to help her lift and balance the bucket on her head.
She struggled, huffed and puffed and had almost managed to lift the bucket totally when she lost her grip. The bucket fell off and broke the pipe.
The water gushed out with much force. Joy was terrified and she burst into tears. The water kept on rushing and gushing till the tank was emptied and she kept on crying.
Six years later today, the image suddenly flashed in her memory, but this time she wasn’t going to cry, she couldn’t cry. The blood kept on gushing the same way the water had gushed out of the dislodged pipe and indeed Batholomew’s pipe had been dislodged. In fact he was pipeless. His eyes were filled with horror and he screamed in pain.
The blood continued gushing and splattering all over Joy’s body and Bartholomew screamed and screamed. “I’m going to kill you BITCH.”

Oluchi panted as she ran as fast as her legs could carry her. She had just one thing on her mind, get help.
The minute Joy had climbed in through the window, she had spent about 30 seconds panicking and shuffling her feet frantically before she turned and ran with no clear destination in her mind but she knew she had to get help.
At first she thought it was an illusion. She had to be dreaming. She could see the very people she hoped to find running towards her.
“Please. Come quick. Joy, Bartholomew.” She panted.
But the young men ran past her with equal speed. Not even bothering to slow down.
“Oluchi, where are you coming from? Where’s my sister?” Amara was also running but couldn’t keep up with Benedict and the rest. She had only stopped when she saw her friend.
“I was coming to get help, ” Oluchi replied purposely avoiding the second question.
But Amara was persistent, “Where is Joy?” Oluchi hesitated.
“Oluchi, where’s my sister?” Amara was beginning to panic.
“She, she’s in the house with-with Barth…”
“With Bartholomew? You left her alone with that monster?”

The monster in question was howling and shouting, screaming in pain. He looked down in horror at the empty space his blessed member was supposed to be and screamed more.
The bed sheet was quickly changing from white to a crimson and he suddenly had the burning crazy rage to spill Joy’s blood.
Joy had scurried to the other end of the bed. She was extremely disturbed by the sight and all the blood plus Bartholomew’s wailing had disconcerted her. But still she knew her survival depended on her next action. She needed to act sharp. She had to escape.
She held the knife tightly in her hands and pointed the weapon at the pipeless monster. “Don’t come close. I’ll stab, I’ll kill you.”
Bartholomew stopped for a brief second but the pain and rage must have blinded his ability to think clearly.
He charged at Joy as she scrambled off the edge of the bed.

Stevenson wondered who was shouting and screaming in Pa Kenneth’s house. The voice sounded like whoever was behind it was very much in pain and it was very disturbing.
He held his notepad in his hand and his fountain pen.
Throughout his stay in Amaife, both Dé John and Dé Nwachukwu had spoken to him and given him priceless information and material for his book. Especially the former. Pa Kenneth however never seemed to have time for him. He was either too busy or not feeling too well.
Well that was going to change. Stevenson had woken up feeling strangely energized and refreshed. Talking to Amara about his murder charge had really done a lot to lift the burden off his shoulder. He felt lighter and he felt prepared to return home.
He was going to clear his name. But first he needed to make sure his book was complete. And he needed a lot of information from the number one leader himself.
He spent few minutes knocking the door without reply and he was ready to leave, had even turned, when he heard the first crazed shout.
Someone was in pain.
His first thought was to panic. Pa Kenneth was having a heart attack, the man was very old. But when the screaming continued, he discovered it belonged to a much younger person.
But who?
The door was locked and he curiously strolled round the house, peering into each window.

Reverend Okorie led the way, but the minute they were out of the hospital he turned to Dé John. “Sir, I think you should be in front I have no idea what direction we’re going.”
“You don’t need to cage me, you idiots. I’m not a criminal.” Pa Kenneth snapped.
“Okay, you’re right elder, don’t be offended please lead the way,” Dé John told his friend in the same calm and respectful voice he had used earlier.
“You, you especially. I’ll make sure you regret this rubbish. This is same as a coup.”
“With all due respect, sir, your delay tactics isn’t going to work, we are still going to get to your house no matter what. The best way to clear your name is to ensure we get there on time and then,” Gregory didn’t get to finish his statement before the old man leaped on him with much force, surprising the slim young man and knocking him to the ground.
“Pa Kenneth, Elder. What has come over you?” Dé John was shocked.
Pa Kenneth struggled with Greg who was unaccustomed to violence, but youth would always come out on top.
Before he was totally overpowered and when Reverend Okorie struggled to lift him off Greg, Pa Kenneth clamped his teeth round the young man’s left ear, Gregory had rather large, satellite dish shaped ears, and he bit hard, drawing blood immediately.

Maybe it was the sight of blood, maybe it was the fact that she had just sliced his manhood off, maybe it was the crazy shouts but suddenly Joy froze as Bartholomew charged at her shouting like a warrior.
He slapped the knife out of her hand and grabbed her neck, pushing her roughly to the ground.
A short scream escaped from her as she landed on the floor.

The scream was what finally triggered Stevenson and swung him into action. He had been observing the broken window, stroking his jaw with a confused expression.
When he heard the scream however, he knew he had to act. Someone was under attack. He squeezed his broad frame through the window and was shocked to see Dé Nwachukwu knocked out cold on the floor. He saw another young man a few feet away with a pestle beside his still body.
He took in all these in under few seconds then he heard the words, an enraged scream “I’m going to kill you whore. You biitch.”
The last time Stevenson had heard that statement, his wife had been raped and killed and he had been framed for the murder.
Suddenly he was back in Ukraine. In his Town house, with his briefcase in his hand filled with study and teaching materials.
He came home early for a quick lunch and was still planning to catch another class. Instead he had found the killer strangling his wife. He had been shot in the stomach and lay bleeding on the floor, helpless to do anything while his wife was murdered in cold blood before his very eyes.
But he wasn’t going to cower this time. He wasn’t going to cry and plead for his wife to be saved, no. He was going to fight.
He charged to the room. His second enraged personality, the Dr. Hyde in him, the part he tried so hard to hide. The side of him that had almost strangled the pastor a week ago. The part that had emerged when his wife had been killed and he lost it all. It came all out.
He thought in that moment he was going to save his wife.
He charged towards the room, shouting, “You can’t kill her.
She’s not a whôre. You WON’T kill her.”
Joy feared she was going to be strangled to death.
He covered her throat and squeezed and squeezed, shouting incoherent words filled with anger until she felt her eyes would pop out.
Suddenly Bartholomew released her, his crushing weight was lifted from her body and it took some seconds as her eyes began to adjust and she coughed and coughed.
Stevenson lifted Bartholomew. Lifted him high, above his head like a wrestler and with ease flung the devil across the room on the opposite wall.
Bartholomew howled as he struck the wall.
He blinked as surprise seemed to take over the rage but it was only for a second.
The knife had struck the wall when he slapped it earlier and it lay few inches away from his head. He picked it up and lunged at white man.
Stevenson also didn’t look like he was himself and swung widely at Bartholomew and missed. Bartholomew sunk the blade, aiming for Stevenson’s chest but missing and striking the man’s shoulder instead.
Joy scurried away, her survival tactics kicking in. She needed to get out of harm’s way. Fast. She had a feeling she wasn’t safe in any of the men’s presence. They both looked crazy and wild. She hurried out of the room, grabbing her blouse that had been discarded, she threw it over her head in less than a second and rushed to kneel by her father’s side and trying to nudge him awake as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Papa, please wake up.”

Stevenson glanced down at the knife which was buried to the hilt in his shoulder. He looked up at Bartholomew with a crazy smile on his lips. He grabbed the man by his neck and pulled him towards him with force, at the same time gave him a headbutt.
A cracking sound which was Bartholomew’s nose breaking rung out in the surprisingly still room. Bartholomew stumbled backwards Stevenson didn’t let him fall, he pulled him back towards him and slammed his large white head into Bartholomew’s face. Again and again, shouting as he did so, “My wife, my wife is not a whore. You can’t kill her, you can’t, you can’t have her.”

Joy felt her father heave and gave a sigh of relief.
“Papa, papa, get up we need to leave here,” she shook her father frantically.
He gruntedand touched his throat tenderly.
Joy refused to contemplate the burning pain she was also going through. Each word felt like she was forcing a basketball down her throat but she had to speak.
“Dé, please get…”
The door suddenly crashed open, interrupting her as the lock was broken from the angry and determined force of the youths of Amaife.
Benedict rushed into the house followed by the youths who were in turn accompanied by their war chants.
“Jaja kere, kere, o Kere o, ja ja kere.”
Benedict swung his rage filled eyes across the sitting room and his eyes rested on Dé Nwachukwu.
“Dé, what, where?” He stammered.
“He’s in there,” Joy replied, pointing towards the room Bartholomew and Stevenson were locked in battle.
Benedict rushed into the room followed by a handful of youths.

When the butcher stormed into the room, Stevenson had already caused enough damage to Bartholomew. The man’s face was unrecognizable and the European continued striking with his head.
“Its okay, its okay,” Benedict ordered.
Stevenson didn’t reply.
“Hey, I said its enough. We’re taking him to the market square.”
Two young men held Stevenson and restrained him, causing Bartholomew to fall lifelessly to the floor.
Stevenson at first tried to fight the men.
“Where’s my wife,” He demanded.
“What? Who is your wife?” Benedict asked wondering why the man looked so crazed.
Slowly Stevenson seemed to regain himself and he blinked and shook his head. But Benedict’s attention had been shifted to Bartholomew.
“Youths of Amaife. The man who has terrorized and killed our women, here he is. We are going to drag him round the village and to the market square.He would be executed like the dog he is.”
“Yeeeeee.”
One of them ripped the curtain and it was tied to Bartholomew’s legs. The man was naked with only a ripped and blood stained singlet on his body and if any of the men noticed his manhood was missing, they didn’t say a word. The youths continued their chanting as they left the house, dragging the semi conscious Bartholomew behind.

Paul was just stirring awake when Amara and Oluchi got to the house.
Oluchi hurried to her brother’s side worriedly, “Big brother, brother. Paul, oh my God are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine. Please check on Sofiri. He saved me.”
Oluchi hurried to Bartholomew’s younger brother and felt for his pulse.
She got none. “I think. I think he’s dead.”
“What?” Amara was shocked. She looked up from where she sat hugging her Joy and shook her head sadly. She desperately wished it wasn’t true.
How sad it would be, if in a fit of rage, Bartholomew murdered his own brother.

The Devil Wears Okirika The Devil Wears Okirika The Devil Wears Okirika The Devil Wears Okirika The Devil Wears Okirika The Devil Wears Okirika The Devil Wears Okirika The Devil Wears Okirika The Devil Wears Okirika
The Devil Wears Okirika The Devil Wears Okirika The Devil Wears Okirika The Devil Wears Okirika The Devil Wears Okirika The Devil Wears Okirika The Devil Wears Okirika The Devil Wears Okirika The Devil Wears Okirika The Devil Wears Okirika

Episode 39

The devil was quarter to his grave already. He had lost excess blood, dragged roughly from Pa Kenneth’s house to the market square.
Benedict looked around for any of the three leaders to take charge of the proceedings at this point but none of the elders were in sight. Finally he held his hands up signalling silence and the incessant chatter from the crowd died down immediately.
“People of Amaife, here is the devil. The man who raped and killed our daughters, he started with Ozioma, Chinenye, Chisom, Ezinne, Mama Ozioma, Chinaza.” His voice broke as he called the last name. Indeed he had really loved Chinanza. Her murder had been his stressor, driven him to obsession avenge her death.
After some seconds he continued his speech. “This man we all looked up to as an upstanding member of our community, we turned to him for spiritual guidance, went to his church every week and yet he insulted us. Insulted us by praying for us and praying for the souls of the deceased, the very same people he killed.” His voice grew hard as he spoke and his eyes narrowed.
“People of Amaife it’s up to you. He is guilty as charged, is he not?”
The crowd chorused, “Yes. Yes. He is guilty.”
The butcher nodded, “What is his sentence?” “Death.” They chorused in a uniform voice.
“Good.” Benedict nodded. “Death by hanging?”
“No.” The majority chorused, only very few agreed with the method.
“Okay.” Benedict began to pace. It was evident he was going to be one of the elders of the community when he grows older. He was an orator, a leader and full of charisma and he was well respected. “Death by stoning?”
“No.” This time a larger portion of the crowd agreed to this method. The villagers relished this method, to unleash their anger by hurling large stones and rocks at this killer.
But still the majority didn’t agree.
Benedict was quiet for some seconds probably thinking of another way Bartholomew should be killed. “Death by burning?”
“Yes.” They chorused. They all agreed with the burning suggestion and only a hand few didn’t agree.
“Death by burning?” He asked again.
“Yes. Yes. Death by burning.” They all chorused again. There was no objection this time around.
“It is settled.” Bartholomew said.

The men were almost at Pa Kenneth’s house when they saw a woman running frantically.
She was obviously in a hurry and passed them without even acknowledging their presence and greeting them.
It was Ezinne’s mother.
“Mama Ezinne where are you running to?” Dé John asked her.
She didn’t stop but reduced her pace. “Didn’t you hear? The devil has been caught, Bartholomew is in the market square he is going to be executed.” She hurried off.
Pa Kenneth’s eyes were immediately hard. He froze, causing Gregory to walk into him and bump against his back.
“Move, move, you old man,” Gregory shouted at him from behind. He was still very much angry and he was in pain. He held a handkerchief to his ear which was almost completely stained with his blood
Dé John spoke up from the rear.
“Let’s move then, let’s go to the market square and see what’s going on, we need to hurry.”
The small group took a different turn and headed to the market square.

Back in Pa Kenneth’s compound, Paul is awake. He held the back of his head and winced. He looked round the corridor slowly,
taking in all the faces. “What happened? Who are you?” Oluchi left Sofiri’s side and hurried to her brother.
“Paul, Paul, thank God.”
But Paul looked at her blankly, “Who is Paul? Where am I?
Who are you?”
“Paul, it’s me Oluchi, your sister. Paul, you’re scaring me.” Paul just looked at her blankly.
Joy helped Dé Nwachukwu to his feet. Thankfully his memory was still intact.
“My daughter, thank goodness you’re alright.” He looked at Paul then at Sofiri.
“Is he alright?” He asked nodding towards Sofiri.
“No, Dé. He’s gone, ” Oluchi replied, tearing her eyes from her brother for a second.
“Where’s Bartholomew?” He asked offering Amara his hand and helping her to her feet.
“The youths took him to the market square,” Amara replied as she got to her feet.
“Then we need to go there immediately,” he looked at Paul. “Young man I appreciate your effort today, let’s go, I assure you you’ll be rewarded.”
“What are you saying? Who are you? Where is this place for God’s sake?”
Oluchi began sobbing quietly but Dé Nwachukwu stopped her. “Come let’s go, don’t cry, it would he okay, at least he’s alive. Look at Sofiri.” He fell silent as he studied Bartholomew’s brother for some seconds.
He finally looked away, “Help him to his feet let’s go.”
Amara and Oluchi helped Paul to his feet ignoring the questions he asked continuously.
“Who am I? Who are you? Where are you taking me?”

Reverend Okorie was surprised to see the crowd gathered at the market square. He followed Pà Kenneth slowly, firmly on the elder’s shoulder, looking at the faces as the people moved back creating a path for them.
Pa Kenneth lost the little grip he had on sanity when he saw his son lying on the floor like a piece of rag. A young man was arranging tires, fixing it round his body like an engagement ring pushed into a finger.
“No, no. No…” He gasped clutching his chest in pain. It looked like he was going to have a heart attack but he made a promise to himself.

Episode 40

As the elders arrived at the market square, Dé John proceeded to take charge of events, but the ball was already in motion. The tire was set and the crowd was impatient.
The only reason Bartholomew wasn’t yet a burnt offering was because the fuel was yet to arrive. At this point kerosene would do the trick and an elderly woman who sold kerosene offered to run to her shop and get a full jug.
Dé John didn’t really have a problem with the burning, although it seemed quite elaborate to him. He had other things weighing on his mind. He wondered where Dr Nwachukwu was and more importantly he wondered what to do about Pa Kenneth. He wished Dé Nwachukwu were here. He could feel the energy and murmurs about Pa Kenneth’s presence coming from the crowd. They had heard the rumour no doubt and while it was a bitter pill to swallow, they needed clarification. He walked slowly to Pa Kenneth’s side, marvelling at the man’s arrogant and regal posture. But there was no mistaking the murderous rage in his eyes.
“You murderous crowd,” Pa Kenneth shouted as the kerosene arrived, “How dare you? How dare you humiliate me this way? I’m your…”
“People of Amaife. Did we come here to listen to tales by moonlight or we came to mete out justice?” Benedict interrupted him rudely.
There was a slight murmur from the crowd, it was like they all held their breath waiting. Benedict had just interrupted their leader. For a second a pin could be heard dropping but then they all
shouted in agreement, “Burn the devil, burn the killer.” They made it a chant.
At this point, Pa Kenneth fell quiet. There was a resigned aura about him now, as if he had accepted the fate of his son.
Bartholomew’s eyes were partially open and he stirred. He was no longer bleeding, it was as though all his blood had been drained and he looked dry. It was obvious he had few minutes or luckily an hour left but he was going to feel the pain of being burnt to death. Benedict was going to make sure of that and as he carried the five litre keg filled with kerosene, lifting it like a trophy, the crowd went wild.
Some of the youths began their regular war chants.
Benedict poured a generous amount of the kerosene on Bartholomew’s face, “This is for Ozioma and her mother.” He shouted with fury.
“….kere o, kere o..ja ja kere.”
“This is for Chisom.” More kerosene on his chest and neck.
“Ja kere..kere o.”
“Die and go to hell.”
“This is for Chinaza. Rot in hell pig.” Benedict poured the last of the kerosene and at this point Bartholomew was completely soaked.
He murmured something only Benedict heard and the youth leader laughed. A very mean laugh.
“People of Amaife, the devil begs. Did he listen to our daughters when they begged for their lives?”
“No. Death to the bastard.”
Benedict stood a short distance and lit a cigarette, “People of Amaife, we would also have another trial today. Our own leader, the father of all was the very same man who offered him shelter,” he inhaled the smoke deeply and blew it from his nostrils. “He has a lot of questions to answer.” He looked directly at Pa Kenneth, “You hear me, elder,” he said the elder mockingly, “You have a lot to answer. But first, death to the killer.” He dragged from the cigarette once more, blew smoke rings and flicked it on Bartholomew’s body.
The body burst into flames immediately.
There was a loud cheer from the crowd as the villagers gave a shout of victory and some clapped their hands.
At first there was nothing, but then Bartholomew gave weak shouts. Maybe if he had a little strength he would have flayed his hands about and tried to put out the fire but as it stood he could only watch himself burn.

The Devil Wears Okirika
#OpraDre

To Be Continued…

Drop your comment