Vain City (finale)
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Dropping the letter at the designated place was no easy task for Yusuf. He had to muster a great deal of guts, and he felt relieved that he had done it without walking into any trap like he had suspected. An hour later, a vehicle sped by, dropping an envelope in front of the station. The two station guards were expecting it. One of them picked it up and went inside the station. This time also, Mustafa was watching from his office window.
Bashir was pleased to see Yusuf come into his office with an envelope. He knew what that meant. He opened it, brought out the piece of paper inside, and read the content. EAST-END VALLEY RD. That was the address of the truck.
"Look where the truck had been all this time," he said, showing the piece of paper to Yusuf.
Yusuf took the paper to have a look, "No wonder we were unable to find it despite our efforts. The son of a bitch had been hiding it outside the city all along."
"Well, too bad for him now that Bodey shall be getting back what's rightfully his," Bashir said.
"I guess we can inform Mr Bodey to send his men to retrieve it now, sir?"
"No, Yusuf. Going with our men will raise suspicion from the commissioner. That's why you'll only take John with you. I'll inform Bodey to have his men waiting at the Northern Intersection to take it from there."
"Ok. That's much better, sir."
***
At East-end Valley Road, the box truck was there, isolated just like Zacky's letter said. Yusuf and John inspected the truck, the heroin merchandise was intact. After the inspection, John drove the truck while Yusuf continued in the police vehicle. Ten minutes later, they arrived at the Northern Intersection, the three-way intersection leading into Vain City. Bodey's men, led by Lomba, were there, waiting to receive the truck. The two policemen pulled up by the side of the road. Yusuf came down and walked over to Lomba with the key of the truck.
"Stop right there!" a voice roared from the surrounding bush as a number of soldiers jumped out from all sides.
"Now drop your weapons and get on your knees!" the voice roared again. "And don't even try anything stupid. We have you surrounded."
Yusuf unstrapped his gun holster and dropped it on the floor "Gentlemen, what's happening? As you can see we're policemen," he said, pointing to the police vehicle.
"Yes, I clearly see that," the army sergeant retorted.
***
Bashir knocked on the commissioner's door.
"Come in," Mustafa ordered from within.
"Sir, you're looking for me?"
"Yes, Bashir. Tell me, where are officers John and Yusuf?"
"Oh, they are following up a possible lead on Zacky at the moment," Bashir said, noticing the gun on the commissioner's table.
"Really?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you're sure it has nothing to do with any truck recovery at East-end?" Mustafa looked at him with a sardonic smile.
Bashir was shocked, but he did his best not to show it. "I don't understand what you mean, sir," he said, feigning ignorance.
"C'mon, drop the act, superintendent. I know about the parcel that arrived. I also know you're on Bodey's payroll. You're a disgrace to your uniform, Supol,"
Bashir knew he had nothing to hide anymore. "You really are worthy of your reputation, commissioner," he stopped and smiled, looking his boss in the eye. "But what are you going to do? Every cop in this city is loyal to me and they won't hesitate to shoot you if I order -"
"Yes, Bashir," Mustafa interrupted him. "Add that to the list of shocking things I figured out about you. It is why I spent the last two days requesting for federal troops. As we speak, every cop in Vain City is being rounded up. And so is your paymaster, Bodey Deen."
Bashir felt like a cornered prey. He hated that feeling, but there was only so much he could do about it. He imagined the fate that awaited him. The thought of it made him cringe. All of a sudden, he reached for the gun on the table. Seizing it, he pointed it at the commissioner and squeezed the trigger. It made a clicking sound to tell that it was unloaded.
"I was hoping you'd do that," Mustafa said, as he brought out another gun from under his table. A blast went off right through Bashir's chest throwing him to the floor.
"Bastards like you don't deserve to live," said Mustafa to the lifeless body of the superintendent.
The end
Vain City (Pt. 9)
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If you're just happening upon this series, you can find previous episodes hyperlinked here. https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-8-85f228ac
Having signed his letter of reply, he sealed it with his official stamp just as Zacky's letter had requested. After enveloping it, he handed the letter to his orderly to be dropped at the designated place.
"I still have a bad feeling about this, sir," a worried Yusuf said, not taking the letter.
Bashir squeezed his face, "Bad feeling?"
"I think we might be walking into some kind of trap,"
"Oh, Yusuf," the superintendent chuckled, "this is not the first time Zacky will be handing over a catch to the police, is it?"
"Well, no, sir. But why do this now? Just last week he and his men were trailing and shooting at me."
The superintendent sat back in his chair, dropping the letter on his table, "But You were outgunned that night. They could have killed you if they wanted to. You and I both know that Zacky isn't a cop killer. If anything, his delusion is that he helps us."
"I know, sir. I just think it's a little too weird that he's asking for a letter from us too."
"Oh, so you're worried about the letter then? So, what do you think we should do?"
"I think we should let the commissioner know about the drug and the letter. Maybe he can even find out Zacky's hideout and catch him through that. And with Zacky caught, the commissioner would think it's mission accomplished and leave the city sooner than we expect," Yusuf explained.
Bashir shook his head in disagreement, "Listen to yourself, Yusuf. You're suggesting that we tell Bodey to forfeit fifteen pounds of heroin. That much money? Do you even know how much our cut would be if we recovered the truck for him?" he paused, apparently waiting for Yusuf to do the calculations in his head. Then he continued, "Besides, it will be a huge blowback on us if the commissioner finds out that the truck belongs to Bodey. If Bodey goes down, we all go down, too."
Bashir was right. Zacky's plan was an almost infallible one. The plan was to determine the culpability of the Vain City police department in Bodey's drug dealing business. If the department was not guilty, then the commissioner would be informed about the parcel. But that was not all. If it was guilty, telling the commissioner about the parcel would result in a betrayal of Bodey Deen whose truck would be found filled with heroin. The best thing to do then would be to hide the whole thing from the commissioner. Ironically, that also would be a wrong move since the commissioner already knew about the parcel. Mustafa had referred to the plan as the ultimate checkmate.
Bashir rose up from his chair, picking up the letter from the table, "Now, take the letter to the designated spot before it's too late. If you're scared, let officers John and Bassey accompany you, alright?"
"Yes, sir," taking the letter, Yusuf saluted and made to walk out of the office.
"Wait, Yusuf," Bashir called him back. "On your way back, inform Mr Bodey of everything."
The corporal saluted before leaving the office.
To be continued.
Vain City (Pt. 8)
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Hello, guys! If you missed the previous parts of this series, you can find them here: Vain City Parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-1-3f9d9a29 https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-2-5e664ac6 https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-3-319d891e https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt4-18db2259 https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-5-a95cfd4a https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-6-72b57b7c https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-7-cfb86bc7
In his office, three days after his meeting with the vigilantes, Mustafa's face beamed with a smile as he pondered Zacky's plan. Throughout his career as a crime buster, he had enjoyed baiting his prey just so he could catch them unawares. And that was Zacky's plan, it was a really good one. If the plan worked out, not only would they catch Bodey Deen red-handed, but would also be able to prove the superintendent's involvement. He had spent the last two days making some arrangements before setting the plan in motion.
He looked at his wristwatch. Today was the day, and it was about time. He stood up from his chair and looked through the window blind. Outside, a vehicle had pulled up and someone came out of it to drop a parcel in front of the police station before zooming off again. One of the two station guards picked up the parcel while the other attempted to chase after the vehicle hopelessly.
In the office, Mustafa smirked as he took his seat again. He knew what was in the parcel. That was the bait in Zacky's plan. If Bashir walked into his office to report the parcel to him, that would mean that he had been wrong about the superintendent all along. He waited till the end of the day but there was no Bashir. Neither was there any report of the parcel dropped in front of the police station. Then there was a knock on the door.
"Come in," he announced, a part of him hoping that it wasn't the superintendent. If the person knocking turned out to be the superintendent, he would be disappointed. The only reason Bashir would come into his office without inviting him would be to report the parcel. He had never been wrong in an investigation. He really didn't want this one to be his first time, especially because of the arrangements he had made.
His orderly, Ibrahim, walked in, saluting.
"Oh, it's you, Ibrahim," he said, pleased that it wasn't Bashir. "Have a seat."
Ibrahim did as told. "I checked the records, no mention of a parcel, sir," he said, in a low voice.
"That means we are right. Every cop in the entire department is dirty," Mustafa said. "Tonight, you'll inform Zacky to go ahead as planned."
"Alright, sir."
***
Bashir felt glad as he uncovered the parcel of heroin. There was a letter along with it. The letter read that the location of the truck conveying the rest of the illicit drug would be made known to the police if they gave their word to arrest the owner of the truck. Bashir chuckled as he read the letter. Foolish Zacky. How long would he continue to stress himself all for nothing?
Several times in the past, Zacky and his vigilantes had caught some of Bodey's men dealing drugs in the streets and handed them over to the police only to be set free. It was the least the corrupt police department could do for their benevolent donor, Bodey Deen. Now again, Zacky was about to hand over the hijacked truck on a platter of gold to him. Mr Bodey would be very pleased and compensate him handsomely for recovering his merchandise. All he needed to do was to send a letter to the vigilantes, agreeing to arrest Bodey. That was very easy.
To be continued.
Vain City (Pt. 7)
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Hello, guys! If you missed the previous parts of this series, you can find them here: Vain City Parts: one, two, three, four, five, six https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-1-3f9d9a29 https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-2-5e664ac6 https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-3-319d891e https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt4-18db2259 https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-5-a95cfd4a https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-6-72b57b7c
That morning also, Yusuf had reported to the superintendent's house to drive him to the office. As they got into the car, Bashir asked him for a debriefing of the previous night's meeting at Bodey's warehouse.
"You didn't show up at my place last night after meeting Bodey. How did it go?" Bashir asked, making himself comfortable in the backseat.
"There wasn't a meeting, sir. Something came up," Yusuf answered as he started the engine.
"What came up?"
"I was being followed."
Bashir sat up, apparently alarmed, "By who?"
"I couldn't figure that out. In-"
"So, you're saying you didn't even get to identify the person following you?" he interrupted his orderly.
"I tried to do so, sir, but I nearly got shot at by the rest of the gang" Yusuf explained.
"Wait! Rest of the gang?"
"Yes sir, it's got to be Zacky and his men" answered Yusuf.
"Oh," Bashir felt a bit relieved. "He's becoming too much of a pain in the ass. But he'll soon be crushed," Bashir said, folding his fist to demonstrate.
***
Having heard all that Ibrahim told him, Mustafa began to think of the best way to handle the situation. Believing his orderly's story was not a problem. In fact, it now made more sense to him why Bashir had specifically fingered Zacky as the criminal. He had his suspicions confirmed. However, he needed more incriminating proof that the so-called businessman, Bodey, was a crime lord indeed and that he had most of the police officers on his payroll. But first, he had to meet with this Zacky who was becoming a recurring name in his investigation.
At the police station, he informed Bashir and the rest of the officers that he would be paying the Mayor a courtesy visit. But that wasn't the case. The dirty cops couldn't know that he had made contact with Zacky and that Ibrahim was actually driving him to his camp. After minutes of driving, they arrived at the camp located in the middle of a forest outside the city.
"Welcome, commissioner! I'm Zacky," a manly figure greeted the Mustafa.
"Oh, you're the Zacky I've been hearing a lot about lately. First, I want to thank you for saving my orderly's life" Mustafa said, extending his hand to Zacky.
"Just doing the right thing, sir."
"So, tell me, how did all this begin?" Mustafa was referring to Zacky's organisation.
Zacky's response to the commissioner's question was a long one. It was a story of vengeance. Zacky and his brother, John, had been orphaned when Bodey murdered their parents. Zacky's father was a former police superintendent who refused to take bribe from Bodey. The two boys grew up vowing to get the justice they deserved by themselves.
"Now, I see. This is personal for you," Mustafa said, after hearing Zacky's story.
"Not anymore, sir," Zacky said. "I'm doing this because it's the right thing. Before your arrival, the criminals in this city carried out their crimes without being questioned. My men and I intercepted some of these criminals but the police did nothing to them. Instead, they set them free to continue to terrorise the city. Now, this is about crushing crime completely in Vain City."
"Ok, fair enough," the commissioner said. "You have Bodey's drugs but it's not enough evidence for an arrest cause he'll definitely deny it. It also doesn't prove Bodey's ties with the superintendent and other officers on his payroll. Do you have a plan in mind?"
"Actually, I do have a plan, sir," said Zacky.
To be continued.
Vain City (Pt. 6)
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Hello, guys! If you missed the previous parts of this series, you can find them here: Vain City Parts: one, two, three, four, five https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-1-3f9d9a29 https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-2-5e664ac6 https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-3-319d891e https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt4-18db2259 https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-5-a95cfd4a
Yusuf knew the terrain quite well, he had no problem manoeuvring comfortably. However, it was a different tale for Ibrahim. Speeding to avoid being identified by the dirty cop didn't exactly turn out well for him. He only managed to crash his own vehicle into a tree, hitting his head on the steering wheel. The impact threw him into a fit of concussion. The dark night coupled with the mild trauma he suffered made it difficult to see.
Yusuf, sighting the misfortune of the mysterious spy, stopped his own car and got down. With his right thumb sitting on the hammer of his Colt Python revolver, Yusuf approached the crashed car. An incapacitated Ibrahim glanced at the side mirror, his predator was drawing nearer but he was a prey, sapped of the strength to reach for his gun in the glove compartment.
Suddenly a deafening sound rocked the evening air. It was the sound a shotgun would make. An alarmed Yusuf halted, he looked around but saw no one else. A second shot went off again, this time from a different direction. It was enough warning for Yusuf. He scurried for cover before jumping into his car. At the sound of a third shot, he had sped off.
***
When Ibrahim came to, it was not in a crashed vehicle. Neither was it on a secluded road in the dark of the night. Instead, he woke up in a tent and to the sight of two middle-aged men sitting at an end of the tent, staring at him.
"Who are you? Where am I?" he asked, his eyes moving from the two men to explore his new environment.
"I think a 'thank you for saving my life' would have been more appropriate, cop," one of the men said. He was muscularly built with a sort of fierceness dancing in his eyes.
"Sorry, I was just taken aback," Ibrahim apologised, as he got himself up to a sitting position like the two men. "I'm a police officer and -"
"Yes, cop!" the second man interrupted him. "That is very obvious, and so is your poor driving skill."
The first man who spoke found that a bit hilarious and chuckled. Then the first man began to talk.
"We know you're the aide-de-camp of the new commissioner. We've been watching you for awhile."
A slight shiver ran down Ibrahim's spine. But that was it. He was confident that the men were not going to harm him. They could have let Yusuf do that if that was their aim in the first place. They wouldn't go through the trouble of saving him only to kill him again. That made no sense at all. Only psychopaths would do that. Or were they psychopaths?
"How... I mean, why have you been watching me?" he asked, a little confused of the right question word to use.
There was no response. Motioning for Ibrahim to do the same, the men stood up and walked outside the tent. Outside, the numerous tall trees and other several tents with armed young men lurking around made Ibrahim realise that he was in some sort of camp.
"See, cop, we're a group of young men sworn to rid this city of crime and men who perpetrate them," the first man said.
"So, you're vigilantes?" Ibrahim asked.
The two men nodded.
"You guys know it's wrong to take law into your own hands, ri--"
"Don't lecture us, cop!" the second man interrupted him again. "What choice do we have when the very police meant to protect this city aid and abet criminal masterminds?"
The first man gestured at his fellow to keep his calm. Leading the way, he led Ibrahim to a box truck covered with leaves at the end of the camp.
"We hijacked this from Bodey's men last week," the man said, pointing at the truck.
"Why, what's inside?" Ibrahim asked.
The second man opened the cargo area, revealing a large package of heroin. Ibrahim's eyes widened as the first man began to talk.
"So tell me, cop, what are we supposed to do when even the head of the police is allied with a notorious man like Bodey Deen, uh?"
Ibrahim was speechless.
"You see the entire police department of Vain City is rotten. I'm sure you suspect that yourself. Else you wouldn't be spying on a fellow cop," the second man added.
The first man began to speak again, "Like I said, cop, we've been watching you. And we know that your boss is committed towards wiping this city clean of crime just like us. This is why we want you to go and report all you've seen to him. If he wants to achieve his mission, he needs us."
"But how? I don't even know your name," Ibrahim said.
"I'm Zacky, and this is Noah, my younger brother," the first man said.
To be continued.
Vain City (Pt. 5)
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Hello, guys! If you missed the previous parts of this series, you can find them here: Vain City Parts: one, two, three, four https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-1-3f9d9a29 https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-2-5e664ac6 https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-3-319d891e https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt4-18db2259
Bashir wondered why the commissioner wanted to see him in his office. Ever since their first encounter which turned out to be a show of shame for him, he had always done his best to avoid the presence of the annoyingly dutiful commissioner. Well, this time around, he was not going to be embarrassed that easily again. If push came to shove, he would give his captious boss a piece of his mind. Facing the door of the commissioner's office, he checked to see if the collar of his uniform was properly worn, then he let out a breath of anxiety before handling the knob.
"Sir, you requested to see me," he said, saluting as he entered into the office.
"Yes, Supol. Have a seat, please," the commissioner said. "Uh, Supol, I know you and I didn't exactly get off on the right foot, but I've come to realise that if I'm to accomplish my mission here, there's need for us to work together. And you know, the faster I get to complete this mission, the faster I'm out of your hair"
Bashir nodded in agreement, relieved that he had not been called for a reprimand this time. He didn't say anything, the commissioner obviously had more to say.
"So, judging by your experience in this city so far, I'm thinking you must already have one or two leads as to who are criminal masterminds here, especially in the area of drug trafficking," the commissioner said, pausing for the superintendent to say something.
Bashir felt glad to hear that the commissioner was asking that. It was an opportunity for him.
"Actually, sir, there's a lead we've been trying to track down before your arrival," Bashir began. "We believe he's the head of organized crime and in charge of heroin trafficking."
"Who might that be?" Asked the commissioner, in a tone of curiosity.
"He goes by the name Zacky. Not much is known about him at presently but most of the street drug dealers we've arrested and interrogated say he's their supplier."
"Oh, I see. And who is the detective leading the investigation?"
"Sergeant John who's head of Narcotics and my personal assistant, Corporal Yusuf."
"Good. I shall get more debriefing from them. That'll be all for now, thank you, Supol."
"Don't mention, sir. Just doing my job," said Bashir as he got up to leave.
"Um, Supol," Mustafa called back his attention. "Bodey Deen, is there anything I should know about him?"
"Oh, Mr Bodey runs the largest businesses in town, restaurants, the water factory, and others. He is an big supporter of the department too," Bashir responded.
"Alright. Thanks for that."
"If that'll be all, sir -"
"Yes, superintendent," said Mustafa, granting him the permission to exit himself.
Mustafa knew he had an intriguing case before him. But one step at a time, he was getting to the bottom of it. The spying mission which he sent Ibrahim on had confirmed that Bashir along with his orderly, Yusuf, was indeed involved in some clandestine dealings. Also, his little conversation with Bashir earlier suggested that Sergeant John might be dirty too. Gradually, he was making headway in his investigation, but he still needed enough proof. So he placed Ibrahim on another spying mission but this time around, he was to keep an eye on Yusuf. He needed know where the duffel bag was coming from.
That evening, at a reasonable distance, Ibrahim trailed the police vehicle conveying Yusuf to a secluded part of the city. He had to make sure he was undetected. That was the whole point of the mission, after all.
It was a dirt road that led to Bodey's warehouse so there were no streetlights. As Yusuf drove, he glanced at the driving mirror at certain intervals like he always did, making sure he was not being followed. All seemed to be the usual until he noticed a beam of light in the dark night far behind him. That must have been a vehicle's headlight. He hit the brakes, stopping the car as he got down to make certain.
"Shit!" Ibrahim cussed, realising he had been spotted. He put the car in reverse gear and began to back up.
Yusuf, having verified it was indeed a vehicle following him, jumped into his own car, putting it in reverse gear as well. Whoever that was, he couldn't let him go.
To be continued.
Vain City (Pt.4)
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Hello, guys! If you missed the first three parts of this series, you can find them here: Vain City Parts: one, two, three https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-1-3f9d9a29 https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-2-5e664ac6 https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-3-319d891e
"Your new boss is going to be a pain in the ass, we've got to take him out," Bodey said to Bashir as they walked to his car.
"No, we can't do that," Bashir retorted.
"Why?"
"The federal government shall be forced to deploy the army should a third commissioner be implicated in a scandal or eliminated. Think about it," Bashir explained.
"Hmm," Bodey grunted. "So, how do we curb this menace of a commissioner?"
"For now, we just have to lay low while thinking of a plan -"
"What?" Bodey cut him short. "Did Yusuf not tell you about the Zacky? I have to hit him back without the police interfering"
"Yes, Bodey. You'll get your chance. Just give me time to figure it out."
"You'd better do, Bashir," said Bodey before getting into the backseat of his car.
*******
Mustafa summoned his orderly into his office, asking him to take a view through the blind. The orderly did as told. He saw the superintendent having a talk with Bodey. He had no idea why he had been asked to do so. He was going to ask when the Commissioner directed him to have a seat and began to speak.
"That man, Bodey, said he was here to make a donation to the department."
His orderly noticed the way he sarcastically said the word, DONATION.
"I think that's his gentle way of saying bribe, sir,"
"Good! You're following," he commended the young officer and continued, making himself more comfortable in his desk chair. "Now, with that kind of guts, something tells me such a man's into some shady business and already has some cops in this city on his payroll."
"That's an affirmative, sir," the orderly said.
"So, Ibrahim, I asked to you to look out my window earlier, what did you see?"
"The superintendent having a discussion with Bodey, sir," Ibrahim answered.
"And what does that tell you?"
"Well, I'm not so sure, sir. But it's fair to say that the superintendent might be our first suspect as far as dirty cops go."
Mustafa nodded his head in agreement, impressed that his orderly was seeing things from his perspective.
He adjusted in his chair, putting both his hands on his desk, "See, now I have a little assignment for you. You're going to keep tabs on the superintendent. I want to know where he goes after work, what he does and who he visits."
"Okay, sir!"
"And remember, be discreet."
"Absolutely, sir!"
*******
After a week of spying on Bashir, Ibrahim decided to give up. The superintendent seemed to live a normal life. He always went home straight from work, and his lights would go off by 10pm. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Maybe the commissioner was wrong about him. In the dark of the evening, he looked at his wristwatch, the time was 9:55pm. In five minutes, the superintendent's lights would go off. The sergeant was about leaving his hiding spot from which he spied at the superintendent's house when he noticed a police vehicle pulled up outside the house. Corporal Yusuf stepped out of the vehicle, went to the trunk and brought out a duffel bag before entering into the house.
Now, that was out of the ordinary. Ibrahim thought. He slipped back into his hiding spot, and after about five minutes had gone by, the corporal was outside again. He was no longer clutching the duffel bag. He looked around before jumping into the vehicle and speeding off into the dark.
To be continued.
*A big thanks to all who have been following the story and supporting with constructive feedback as well as tips. You guys have been a great motivation!*
Vain City (Pt. 3)
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Hello, guys! This is a series I started a couple of days ago. If you'd like to see the first two parts, go through here: Vain City 1 and Vain City 2 https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-1-3f9d9a29 https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-2-5e664ac6
Mustafa sat in his office going through the official records of Vain City police department. He was trying to make sense of the fact that the two previous commissioners had spent less than six months in the city. The first one did four before getting himself involved in a sex scandal with a junior police officer. He had been demoted and promptly transferred out of the city. But it was the case of the second commissioner that Mustafa found rather intriguing. Only two months into his tenure, the immediate past commissioner had written to the federal government requesting to be transferred from the city. He must have been threatened to do that, no two ways about it. For a city as corrupt as Vain City, Mustafa knew there was a rot, and it existed right there within the department. His only challenge was figuring out how deep the rot had gone. The question was not whether there were dirty cops, but how many they were. A knock on his door interrupted his thought.
"Come in," he said.
It was his orderly, Ibrahim.
"There's someone here to see you, sir," said Ibrahim, saluting the commissioner.
"And who could that be?"
"Must be an important personality in the city, judging by how the other officers received him, sir."
"Ok, let him in."
"Yes, sir," the orderly saluted again before exiting.
Seconds later, a hatted man in a knee-length double-breasted brown coat walked in.
"Good day, Mr Commissioner," the man greeted, extending his hand to the senior officer.
"Yes, good day, and you must be?" asked the commissioner, receiving the man's hand.
"Bodey. Bodey Deen," the visitor said, a brief smile danced across his face.
Gesturing at the man to sit, the commissioner responded, "Oh, good. To what do I owe this visit, Mr Deen?"
"No, sir, call me Bodey," the brief smile returned again. "Just a courtesy visit to welcome the new commissioner, you know. It's what good citizens do."
"Haha. Thank you for that, Mr Bodey," Mustafa replied curtly.
A brief moment of silence prevailed. Then Bodey spoke.
"You know, I also came with a proposition."
"Yeah? What might that be?" asked Mustafa.
"You see, I own a number of businesses in the city, and as expected, it's always in my interest to see the police do their job well," he paused, as though waiting for the commissioner to look impressed. "So, I'm thinking of making a sizable cash donation to support the cause of the law enforcement."
"Well, that's very generous of you, Mr Bodey. But we're fine. We have the attention of the federal government as you know. So, no but thank you for thinking about us," Mustafa said, keeping a straight face.
What! How could a man be so uptight?
Bodey, now feeling annoyed, his little smile had vanished but he did his best to keep his voice calm, "Alright. Erm, how about coming over to my place for dinner one of these days, we could make very good friends, you know?
"Ah, Mr Bodey, I'm actually a very busy man," Mustafa got up from his seat and extended a handshake to the visitor. "Thank you, and have a nice day."
The crime boss, realising that it was his cue to leave, stood up, still struggling to believe that the new police boss was such a hard-ass.
He held the commissioner's hand in a firm grip, "You really should think about it... Sir!"
Then he stormed out of the office.
Mustafa smiled. He was glad that he had turned down yet another bribe. And also for the fact that he had just discovered his first suspect in Vain City. Now, all he needed was to gather enough evidence to catch him. He looked through the window blind of his office to get another look at his catch but he caught sight of Superintendent Bashir discussing with Bodey just before he got into his car.
"Hmm. Another possible suspect?" he asked himself, smirking.
To be continued.
The best teacher
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Hello, guys!
Over here, it is a beautiful and promising Sunday morning. I lost my grip on sleep so early this morning and instead I was up reflecting over this topic I'm sharing with you. Kindly let me know what you think about it.
It is commonly said that experience is the best teacher. Well, that is very true but have you ever taken the time to ask why it so?
That is because the lesson experience teaches most of the time tend to come with a mixture of pain and regret, and as we all know, pain reinforces remembrance. As a result, we tend to commit to memory the lessons learnt through experience.
For example, a child, after watching an adult get burnt by fire, might not really take the cue that it burns. He would most likely play with the same fire if he gets the chance to do so. It is well after he has received his own share of the burns that he would learn not to play with fire a next time. Alas, he would have learnt his lesson, but only too late and in an unnecessarily hard way that could have been totally avoided in the first place.
But we don't really have to learn the hard way. We don't necessarily have to make mistakes before getting things done. Sometimes, these mistakes might be too costly and even if they are amendable, we tend to lose valuable time and energy that could be spent in other productive ventures trying to redeem ourselves from them.
For instance, my little brother and I were having a conversation some days back, and he told me about a classmate of his whose relative had been in prison for the past 30 years. This relative got released sometimes last month or thereabout, and according to my brother's classmate, the ex convict was very surprised when he got home and saw everyday common gadgets like Laptops, Smartphones, and plasma TV because he had been locked away from the outside world for a very long time. Thirty years is just an awfully long time for one to spend in incarceration, and I felt very sad hearing his story. But that was the price he had to pay for whatever crime he committed three decades ago. It was an experience he needed to undergo so as to learn that whatever he did thirty years ago was wrong. Now, I'm very certain he would think twice before committing such crime or even any kind of crime again. Thus, the said ex convict now knows better that it is not good to commit a felony but only after he has learnt it in a rather painful and time-consuming way.
We have a myriad of print and non-print sources to learn from. By print sources, I'm talking about books, movies and other media we can learn valuable life lessons from. And by non-print, I'm referring to the testimonies and experiences of other people that we can learn from. However, it is a pity that so many people in the world today downplay the importance of the lessons embedded in stories, movies and so on. The more disturbing thing is that a lot still carry out illegal activities believing that they won't get caught but when they are finally caught, they will start pleading for second chances.
We don't really need second chances if we really take cues from events. It is like the famous adage that says, "those who fail to learn from history are bound to repeat it."
When you transverse that same statement, it tells that those who learn from history will not repeat it, and that is just the fact. We must learn to take cues from the world around us because they are pointers to either the wrong direction or the right. A careful attention to these will save us from unnecessary pains and regrets. We really don't have to learn the hard way!
Vain City (Pt. 2)
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If you missed the first part of this series, you can check it out by clicking here >Vain City (Pt.1) https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-1-5714984fhttps://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/vain-city-pt-1-5714984f
On the evening of the Commissioner's arrival, two tough-looking men in pinstripe suits stood guard outside a secluded warehouse inside of which a groaning noise rang out at intervals, interrupting the evening silence. Inside the warehouse, Bodey Deen, one of the infamous crime lords of Vain City, was busy having yet another session of his dreaded interrogations.
Bodey halted his henchman who was about to inflict on an already blood-soaked man what seemed like the 50th punch. He drew closer to the man and took a deep draw before separating his lips from the Churchill cigar he stuck between them, then he blew the smoke on him.
"Now, are you ready to talk or do still you want Lomba to carry on? Trust me, he can do that all night."
"I.. I.. am.. telling the truth," the man managed to cough the words out of his bleeding mouth.
"So you're telling me Zacky sent you to hijack my truck but didn't tell you where to take it to?" Bodey asked for the umpteenth time, still finding it hard to believe.
He took off his toquilla straw hat and faced his henchman, Lomba, "how much of the stuff was in that truck again?"
"Fifteen. Fifteen pounds."
"Fifteen! Fuck!" He put on the toquilla again, "If it's a war Zacky wants, he shall get one."
The two crime lords, Bodey and Zacky, had no love lost between them. Until now, their rivalry had led to several violent confrontations leaving one or two gang members injured but the attack carried out against Bodey's gang the night before had left one of his men dead. He was a good and trusted soldier, Bodey had said of him. That was not all he lost in the attack, his truck conveying fifteen pounds of heroin which his men were smuggling out of the city was also hijacked. His men had caught a member of the rival gang who attacked them but after several minutes of torture, he still maintained that he knew nothing about the location of the truck.
A police car pulled up outside the warehouse. The two guards maintained their unflinching pose. They recognised the vehicle. It was the superintendent's official car. The driver donning a police uniform jumped out of the car and walked towards the men.
"Gentlemen," he nodded at them, "Mr Bodey, please."
"Inside," one of the men said.
It was just formality. Corporal Yusuf knew quite well that the crime boss would be inside the warehouse torturing someone as usual. That was what Bodey used the warehouse for, after all.
"Good evening, Mr Bodey!" Yusuf greeted as he entered into the warehouse.
Bodey didn't turn back to look at the officer, "This particular evening is far from good, officer. What do you have for me?"
Yusuf didn't say anything. Bodey turned back to look at him and immediately understood the reason for the policeman's sudden silence.
"Oh, don't worry, Yusuf. This one isn't leaving here alive," he assured him, referring to the bleeding man.
"Supol Bashir sent me to tell you about the arrival of the new commissioner," Yusuf said.
"Yes, what about him?"
"He's indeed a tough man just as the rumours said. Supol thinks he will be hard to buy off."
"Well, every man's got a price. He must have one too. Tell Bashir that I'll have a word with him myself."
"Ok then."
The policeman lingered. Again, Bodey understood him. He was waiting to get the his and the superintendent's commission from the heroin delivery.
"No kola today, Yusuf." Kola was the euphemistic word for bribe in Vain City.
"The truck didn't make it. This one right here," Bodey said, pointing at the bleeding man, "and some other Zacky's men ambushed my men and hijacked the truck."
"That's terrible. I shall inform the superintendent. Good night, Mr Bodey," the officer said and began to walk out, knowing fully well that he wouldn't get anymore response from the crime lord.
To be continued.
Vain City (Pt. 1)
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Vain City had the reputation of being the country's capital of all things bad. Corruption, bribery, indiscipline, drug trafficking, gang violence, you name it. Vain City was a haven for criminals, and Mustafa had just been posted to the city as its new police commissioner. He himself had a reputation for being a scrupulous police officer who had no tolerance for anything that shared a name with crime. Apart from busting many criminal masterminds, he had disgraced and locked up many corrupted high ranking government officials across the country. As expected, the passionate crime-fighter did not have a lot of admirers in the force because he had also exposed a few dirty officers who were in bed with criminal masterminds.
As the orderly navigated the land rover through the slow traffic of Vain City. Disgust lay on the face of the Commissioner as he watched how the people of the city conducted their daily activities in the most unruly manner he had ever seen. Drivers moved out of their lanes to beat the traffic. The commissioner could even swear that he was seeing one or two seeming drug peddlers ambling amid the gridlock, trading their wares to passengers in vehicles.
"Ibrahim, can you imagine these people, no respect for the traffic signs at all. Look, they even push drugs in broad daylight!" he said to his orderly.
The young sergeant, always cautioning himself from talking too much while with his superior, nodded in disapproval, "oga, I'm shocked myself."
"Ah, no. No, no, no! This is gross indiscipline and it must be curbed," the Commissioner said, also nodding his head in disapproval. He picked up his peaked cap sitting beside him and wore it on his head, "these people will know that a new commissioner is in town."
About eight minutes later, they arrived at the city's police headquarters. The commissioner could not believe his eyes. What seemed like the entire host of police officer in the city was standing right there, outside the police station which was flooded with balloons, welcome signs and all sorts of decoration drapes. A round of applause and cheer rose from the crowd of officers as the commissioner stepped out of his vehicle.
Bashir, the most senior police officer in Vain City walked briskly towards the commissioner and saluted, "honourable commissioner, you're welcome to Vain City, sir!"
Mustafa scrutinized him in an unbelievable manner. He had an awkward smile on his face but that was not what bothered the commissioner. Instead, it was that his uniform was somewhat shabby and his breath reeked of alcohol.
"What's all this, Superintendent Bashir?" the commissioner asked, having looked at the name tag of the shabbily dressed officer and the rank portrayed on his uniform.
"It's a little welcome party for you, sir. We are so glad to -"
"Well, superintendent, this is totally unprofessional and highly unnecessary," the commissioner said, interrupting his new subordinate.
"You're a police officer. You have been tasked with a responsibility which is securing the city, not playing usher or organising welcome parties,"
Mustafa continued, "You're here making merry while your city is in disarray. Not good enough!"
The smile Bashir had on his face before had now disappeared, not as a result of contrition but subtle annoyance. He felt embarrassed and insulted. Who the hell was this pompous new guy playing Mr Perfect Cop, anyway?
"I'm very sorry, sir," he said, with the last shred of humility left in him.
The commissioner moved away from him and began to address the rest of the officers, "Vain City finest, I know you've all gathered here in good faith to welcome me and I thank you for that but it would have been a better welcome had I met you all at your specific points of duty," he paused for a moment, looking around, as if to mark the faces of all the officers and then continued, "We're cops, and putting this crime-infested city in order is our foremost priority. I've been assigned here by the president to see to that, and I hope you will all cooperate with me as I do so. Thank you."
The officers gave another round of applause as the commissioner walked over to his car.
"Sir, won't you see your new office?" Bashir said, running after his new boss.
"Not now, Bashir. First, I have to pay a visit to the mayor at the city hall," Mustafa said, getting into the backseat of his Land Rover while Ibrahim held the door for him. "In the meantime, put things in order for a press conference tomorrow."
"Alright, sir. I shall do so," Bashir said.
"And please, adjust your collar."
"Yes sir," Bashir saluted as the commissioner's car drove out of the premises. He gestured at his own orderly and whispered to him, "This new commissioner is a killjoy. Inform Mr Bodey that he'll be a tough nut to crack."
To be continued
Faithfulness in a relationship
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Everyone on campus knows Gabrielle and I are an item. Even though we do not belong to the same department, we always walk to lectures every time it coincidentally happens that our lectures are scheduled around close venues and time. Sometimes, I would join her in attending one of her general courses just so I could walk her back to her hostel thereafter. I am that fond of her.
It is my third year in the University and the first time to be in love. It doesn't matter if my grades are beginning to fall or that I no longer find it easy to study ever since I met Gabrielle. All that matters is that she loves me just like I love her, and what do grades matter when I am still top of my class. I have cut ties with my only friends in school. They have tried to drive a wedge between Gabrielle and me by warning that I love her just too much. Pfft! Jealous people!
Today, Mike, the only classmate whom I still have a near friendship with comes to my hostel to tell me that he had seen my Gabrielle at a restaurant with another guy. I do not take him seriously at first but now that he is swearing about what he saw for the umpteenth time, I ask him again, "are you sure of what you're telling me?"
"Yes, I witnessed it all with my own eyes. In fact, they are still there together as we speak," Mike says.
Reluctantly, I pick up my phone and dial Gabrielle's number.
"Hey babe, how are you doing?" I ask as soon as she picks up.
"I'm fine, dear. Didn't you just call me about 10mins ago. What's up?" she asks.
I reply, "nothing really. I just want to know if you're still at Becky's place."
"Becky?" she asks, obviously puzzled.
"Yeah, the French student you said will be meeting to help you translate your assignment on Mariama Ba's novel."
"Oh, yes. Erhm, yeah. I'm still with her. You know what, dear, we are trying to concentrate here. Call me later, ok?" she says and then ends the call before I could respond.
I drop my phone, looking at Mike with disgust, and then query him, "what exactly do you stand to gain from ruining my love life, eh?"
The flash fiction above paints a scenario of one of such realities that are prevalent among young adults in our world of today. Relationships among contemporary younger folks seem to be marked by insincerity, deceit and short lifespan. One known reason for this is the too much materialistic emphasis we place on relationships nowadays. Gone are the days when people enter a relationship out of love. Rather, people, these days, do that to meet their sexual needs as is mostly the case with men, and financial needs as is mostly the case with the women.
It has become a norm that a guy is supposed to assume the role of a provider for his girlfriend even when they are not yet married or living under the same roof. An inability of the guy to do so might lead to the woman playing the role of Gabrielle as exemplified in the story. I've come across situations whereby a young lady cheated on her struggling boyfriend with another guy who promised to buy her an IPhone. The boyfriend after learning the truth became devastated to the extent that he set the young lady ablaze. Before help could arrived, the lady had died as a result of complications from the burns.
While I'm not in anyway trying to justify violence against women or anyone for that matter, I think we should enter a relationship only for the right reasons. And while we do so, we must ensure that it is with faithfulness to our partner.
My favourite TV series: The Originals
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I'm an avid watcher of movies and series, and over the years, I really have seen some fantastic movies and series that have taught me so much about life. As a student of Literature, I've been groomed to see more than just the movies. I've been taught to see beyond the actors, the actions and the intrigues of movies and series. I've learned to always correlate movies to the real world to know more about the humours, fortunes and follies of mankind.
This is why the TV series, ***The Originals***, is my favourite series up till date. Even though I've seen other equally great series such as ***Breaking Bad, Better Call Saul How To Get Away With Murder, Into The Badlands, The 100*** and a whole bunch of others, The Originals has remained my best because of the lesson it teaches about life.
*The Originals* is a supernatural thriller written by American TV producer, writer and director, Julie Plec. Spatially, the series is set in the city of New Orleans, but cuts across varying temporal settings as it focuses on the lives of the very first vampires in the world, the immortal Mikaelson family which has been living for a thousand years. This family consists of Mikael, the father, Esther, a powerful witch who used her sorcery to fortify her children with vampire powers as a means of protection. The children include Elijah, Rebecca, Kol, Finn, Freya and the ruthless and most powerful of them all, Niklaus Mikaelson who is a hybrid. A hybrid, according to the series, is a person who has the powers of a vampire and a werewolf. Niklaus happens to be the illegitimate child of the extramarital affair between Esther and a werewolf named Ansel. Thus, when Esther uses her magic to create her children into the first vampires in the world, Niklaus automatically becomes an hybrid since he already has the blood of a werewolf.
The series tells of the struggles of the Mikaelson family as they are being embattled by fellow vampires and other age-long enemies which include witches, werewolves and humans that they have had disagreements with over the centuries. In essence, the Mikaelson family has been doomed to an eternity of conflicts with their foes as they come seeking revenge against the ruthless Vampire family, especially Niklaus who is known for his atrocities and viciousness and Elijah, the kind-hearted of all the Mikaelson who vows to always protect his family and his errant brother.
However, Niklaus begins to slowly change his ways when he finds love in a human named Camille. Finally, he changes for the better so as to protect his daughter, Hope Mikaelson, a tribrid (vampire+werewolf+witch) whom is favoured to restore the legacy of the Mikaelson family.
In the end, Niklaus sacrifices his immortality so as to save his daughter, Hope who has been cursed by a very powerful magic known as The Hollow. Elijah also decides to die with his brother seeing that the love of his life, Hayley, had been killed as a result of his own negligence while being hypnotised by magic.
One great lesson taught by the series is the importance of family and sacrifice. And that was chiefly exemplified in the character of Elijah Mikaelson.
Another lesson is the power of love and its ability to change the cruelest of hearts. This was exemplified by the character of Niklaus who begins to change for the better after he met Camille and his daughter, Hope.
The series really taught me a lot that if I decide to put into writing, I just might actually end up boring you. Anyway, immediately after watching the final episode of the series, I was inspired to write a short poem that subsumes the most important lesson I learnt from the series. I've posted the poem below:
*Life isn't life without death*
*The very crown to all our accomplishments is a glorious end;*
*For a soldier to win a battle, it has to end*
*And life is the goriest of all battles;*
*I do want to live forever*
*But I don't think I want to fight forever.*
What do you think the poem talks about? Kindly drop your thoughts in the comment box.
How my day went
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We never quite plan for a day of stress but when it does come our way, there's only little we can do about it. After enjoying an unexpected holiday at work last week since my boss had to travel for a 3-day conference at Abuja and that meant I didn't have to go to work, never did I think I'd be paying for it terribly. While still sprawled on my bed this morning, I got a call on my phone. Alas, it was my boss. Lord, how I wish I had no battery and that he was unable to reach me. Lol
On the contrary, my phone was fully charged and I had no excuse for not answering the phone so I did answer. After a congratulatory message on the new month, he asked that we should meet at the office earlier than ever before because he had misplaced his own key to the office and would need me to come with mine. I felt it wasn't so strange. After all, I had spent three full days without having to go to the office the previous week, so what was so big a deal in having to show up a little earlier than usual on a Monday morning. But little did I know that I was in for an awfully stressful day at work. 😭
As soon as the call ended, I jumped out of bed, dashed into the kitchen and tore two sachets of noodles into a pot of water, setting the fire of the gas cooker to burn in a mild degree so that my noodles wouldn't get overcooked or worst still, burnt, while I had my bath. I got into the bathroom and set a new record of the quickest shower in the last six months. Trust me, you don't even want to know the exact amount of time I spent in there. Yikes, if only I had known that I was making haste for a day of stress. 😓
As I finished from the shower, I went straight to check on my steaming pot of noodles. It was getting done quite nicely. Good. I left for my room to dress up. Under two minutes or less, I was fully dressed. Yes, just two minutes - now that I think about it, why do our dear females spend so much time dressing up?
Well, I really couldn't tell if my flash bath and dressing up was as a result of my sincere attempt to make it early to the office so as to get it opened before my boss arrived or because of the excitement of my noodles. I guess we'll never know now, though.
Anyway, I went back to the kitchen and gourmandised my noodles right from the pot. Hehehe. When I was done, I set out for the office. I had barely walked ten metres from my house when I found a commercial bike. It was too good to be true because I stayed in a street that seemed to be a dreaded zone for commercial bike riders. You'd have to be very lucky before you can convince a bike rider to convey you to my street on a normal day but here I was, conveniently finding one who was ready to take me to my destination. After I had negotiated the drop price with the bike rider, I got on it and we zoomed off for the office.
I got to the office just in time to meet my boss waiting in a colleague's office. He seemed very pleased to see me because he had only just arrived a minute or two before I did. He had initially thought I'd not be making it down to the office that fast. It felt good that my morning started out with a compliment from my '*oga*'. (*Oga* is a Nigerian pidgin word for 'boss.')
As I opened the office and we settled down, it felt like a movie trick when about four of my boss', colleagues entered with five paper envelopes. They were all filled with examination scripts of 300L students of English and each envelope contained fifty scripts. I was still trying to make sense of the conversation when my boss told me that we had work to do, that the college board had announced the next day as the deadline for submission of results vetting and accreditation and that we had to get all those examination scripts marked, graded, sorted serially, and computed into the college's digital record.
To cut the long story short, I spent the hours between 8am to 6pm, sorting, grading and computing scores today. Normally, I would have written a short story to share on my blog here like I do everyday but I couldn't find the time for that as it was a helluva busy day for me today. So instead, I've decided to write about how I spent my day.
Thank you for reading about my day. Now, tell me, how did your own day go?
Throwing in the towel
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There would always be a time in life when throwing in the towel seemed the wisest thing to do, especially when one was caught in an excruciating situation like he was. He *who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day.*
If there was one thing that remained in his hazy memory about life in high school, it was that saying. Etched on the portion of the wall right above the chalkboard of his classroom, he would always lose focus of the teacher's explanations, and rather ponder over the mystery behind who made that inscription on the wall and how long they must have made it. Perhaps, those pensive moments were to blame for his woeful performances in high school.
Nevertheless, that saying had become his lifelong mantra. Thanks to it, he had mastered the art of backing out of things whenever faced with seemingly overwhelming odds. First, he had had to take a longer route to school every morning because some guys always lurked at the corner of the shorter route to bully him. In another instance, he had been coerced to give up on his local government chairmanship ambition after receiving anonymous letters of death threats. Then also, when he went through a divorce with his wife, he had easily let go of his right to custody of their two children because he thought he stood no chance of winning the case. Now, here he was, pitched against the worst bully ever, depression.
This time around, his adversary was not asking him to surrender the right to take a shorter route like everyone else or a political ambition or even a case in court. Rather, he was being asked to surrender his will to live. Over the years, his fortune in life had tragically dwindled. As if it was a spell, his multimillion naira furniture business, which he had spent the most of his years building had crumbled all of a sudden, so did his marriage. And today, the last thing that served as a memento of his once successful life had been taken away from him.
"Sir, you have until 4pm to vacate this premises as it is now an asset of the bank," one of the bank staff who had come to seize his house, which was the collateral for the loan he took to salvage his business, had said to him in the morning.
That was the final straw for him. He could not take the humiliation anymore. Living was now a battle he could no longer fight. He had fought enough, and now he would just run away and come back to fight another day. He believed in reincarnation, after all.
So he was on his way to end his life. Depression had won. Pulling up his car by the edge of a deserted dirt road, he got out, opened the car's trunk and brought out a rope and a round stool with which the deed was to be done. Then he plodded into the bush by the side of the dirt road, in search of the perfect tree branch. After about five minutes of rambling in the bush he found a branch that would do, and then began to knot an end of the rope into a noose. When he was done, he climbed on the stool, tied the other end of the rope to the tree branch and wore the noose around his neck. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily. A minute passed. Then two. three. Four. And when the count was ten, for the first time in his life, he realized just how big of a coward he had been. Climbing down, he decided against not throwing in the towel. He would fight to the end this time.
Bottom line
No matter sadness you're going through in life, taking your life doesn't make it easier. Never give in to defeat, never give in to depression. Say no to suicide!
A sinister reunion (finale)
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Hi, this is a short story I began writing three days ago and this is the final part. If you missed the first two parts, check them out below:
**Part 1** https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/a-sinister-reunion-1df1032c
**Part 2** https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/a-sinister-reunion-contd-ac1e419d
Her father, now woke, was standing in the doorway as she got home. "Mary, you were gone for too long," he said, raising his voice as soon as he saw her nearing the house.
Mary gave no response.
He continued, "I was starting to think you had run away again," then he chuckled, "but I thought to myself, no, she wouldn't abandon her darling kids here, alright."
Still, she said nothing. She got right in front of him and gave him a kind of stare that said, "move!"
As soon as she entered into the house, the old man shut the door, bolting it behind them again, "why aren't you saying anything, child?"
Child? Was he really being serious right now or was he the only one who hadn't noticed that she was a grown woman now? She turned to face him and then asked calmly, "why do you always keep the door bolted?"
"I thought I explained to you already, there are mischievous kids -"
"Oh, stop bullshitting me. You and I both know that's not true," she interrupted him.
He moved towards her, "see, Mary, I don't expect you to warm up to me easily after all I made you go through in the past. But I'm doing my best to make things right between us now and for that reason, I can't be lying to you. That'll be undermining everything."
"But that's exactly what you're doing now. You know, I ran into Mrs Jackson earlier and she told me there weren't any kids pulling pranks here," said Mary, now on the verge of tears as she noticed the guilt written all over her father's face.
"Dad, it's either you tell me the truth or my kids and I will be leaving Huntsville sooner than you think."
Her father knew there was no need to lie anymore, "Ok, you want the truth, don't you?"
He moved back to the door and secured the bolt with the padlock. Then he faced her, "Mary, I can't let you leave me again. I'm your father and you're my little girl. I'm supposed to take care of you."
Still not understanding him, Mary retorted, "well, you didn't exactly do a proper job at that, did you?"
"Yes, I know. And that's why I'll not mess up this second chance. Now that you're back, I'll be a proper father and you'll never have to leave Huntsville again," he said, making that ominous smile again.
Mary, finally understanding the situation, trembled, lost of words. She finally understood why he had been referring to her with the phrase, "little child." It now made sense why he was being overly apprehensive of leaving the door unbolted. Her father was crazy and he had lured her back to town to make her his daughter again. Except this time as a hostage.
"But I'm all grown up now. I have my own kids and it's my responsibility to take care of them. Don't you think?"
"Oh, Mary. They don't matter. Nobody does. Except you and me. That's how it's always meant to be. It's what your mother would have wanted, think about it," her father answered.
Terrified, she moved backwards in fear, thinking about her children, "Maddy and Kelvin, where are they? Are they even safe?"
He neared her as she recoiled, "Relax, child. I'd never hurt you, my baby."
In an instant, he swooped to get hold of her but she acted faster by kicking him in the groin and pushing him so hard that he fell to the ground, groaning in pain. Then she seized the moment to run upstairs for her kids.
"Maddy, Kelvin, c'mon, wake up. We're leaving now," she jerked them awake in a deeply troubled tone.
"Mom, do we have to leave so fast? But grandpa is -"
"Yes, Maddy! Now! We're not safe here," she interrupted her daughter, raising her voice this time around. She carried little Kelvin on her shoulder as they dashed out of the room into the hallway.
"Maddy, hurry, get my keys," she ordered, pointing towards her old room. The little girl ran in and back with the keys. In a flash, they were downstairs. Her father was still on the floor, writhing in pain.
"Please, don't leave me again, Mary," he groaned, weakly.
She reached for the keys to the door, "I'm sorry, daddy, but you've still not changed" she said as she opened the door and ushered her kids outside, abandoning the old man to his fate once again.
The end.
Thanks for reading. Your feedback and criticism are highly welcome!
A sinister reunion (cont'd)
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*Hi, there, this is a short story I started writing two days back. The first part can be found* *****here***** *if you missed it. Thanks!* https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/a-sinister-reunion-1df1032c
"Town kids have been up to a lot of mischief lately. They bring all kinda nasty pranks into your home if you don't keep your doors properly shut," her father, sensing her apprehension, explained away.
To that, Mary exclaimed an "Oh!" of understanding. And like that, he would also explain away his reasons for insisting that Mary stayed in her former room while her kids shared the guest room. It wasn't entirely weird, anyway. But she had thought that her former room seemed a little teenage and would be more befitting for the kids.
***
The next morning, a Saturday, Mary got up for an early morning jog. She would also use that to see around town. Hopefully, she would find something worth reminiscing about the town she ran away from years before. She made it downstairs only to find the door still bolted and this time with a big padlock fastened to it. Her father must have added the extra layer of security after she had gone to bed last night.
"The kids here must have some really mean pranks up their sleeves," she thought, trying to make sense of her father's security consciousness as she went upstairs to get the key from her father's room. She spied into the guest room, her kids were still sound asleep. She smiled, finding her old man snoring like a typical sixty-year-old. She spied the bunch of keys lying on his nightstand right next to an old twin bell alarm clock. That she remembered. She had gifted it to her parents on their 10th wedding anniversary during the good old days. The jingle of the keys startled her father awake as he grabbed hold of her wrist with an unbelievable reflex for someone his age.
"Hey, it's me. Dad. Just going to take a run around the neighbourhood," she explained, finding herself feeling a little awkward after referring to him as 'dad'. Somehow, she had not fully reconciled with him. As far as she was concerned, he was still the man who made battering her a habit after the demise of his wife. As though she was responsible for her death.
Realising that his daughter wasn't running away like she did some years before, he heaved, "Oh, my Mary. Yeah, go ahead," his tone still immersed in sleepiness.
***
As Mary jogged through the dirt road that led outside the orchard of her father's house, she reflected on the conversation she had with him the previous night.
"So you obviously lied about your health?" She had brought up the question about the mail again after her kids had gone up to bed, interrupting the old man as he went on about how good-looking and well nourished his grandchildren were.
"I'm sorry, child. But I had to. I knew you wouldn't be easily convinced to come back home," he had paused for awhile and then continued, "You know a few years after you left, I got sober and realised how terribly I've treated you. I let my grief get the best of me and blamed you for it. I'm sorry, but lying that I was dying was the only way I could convince you. I knew it was the only way I could get to see my little Mary again."
It made sense to her why he had to lie. But she still wasn't happy with it, especially because she had to cancel her plans for that weekend. Spotting an old lady sitting in a rocking chair outside her house, she recovered from her thinking. It was Mrs Jackson. The Jacksons' home was the closest to Mary's parent's home. She remembered visiting them every Sunday evening with her family while growing up. She neared the house to greet her.
"Hi, Mrs Jackson! How do you do?" realising that the old lady was finding it hard to recognise her, she added, "It is I, Mary. Mary Addison."
"My goodness, it really is you, sweet child! All nicely grown into a fine young woman," the old lady exclaimed, getting on her feet to hug her after which a session of other pleasantries followed.
"So, how's Mr Jackson?"
"It's been two years since he passed," Mrs Jackson answered, "Now, he's with the good Lord."
"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that, Mrs Jackson," said Mary as she paused a little before adding, "It really must be hard being all by yourself now, especially having to cope with the pranks lately."
"Of course, it's no longer the same without my darling Jackson but what's it you mean by pranks?" the old lady asked, a little confused.
"Well, my father's been very paranoid and he tells me it's because the kids around here have been up to no good,"
Mrs Jackson shook her head in disagreement, "Huh-uh, that's not true. As you used to know it's always very quiet around here. There's been no pranks at all."
Then it dawned on Mary. Her father had lied again. If there were no pranking kids, then her father's uptightness with security must be for a different reason. She must find out what he was hiding or being cautious about, she thought as she headed back home after the conversation with Mrs Jackson.
To be continued.
Revolutions around the world
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Over the years, leaders, especially in the political and religious sectors, have always been met with fierce or subtle oppositions from their followers to check, reform or put a complete end to their excesses. This art is known as a revolution. Revolutions have occurred in almost every continent of the world and are still happening as the vices of abuse of power, corruption, instability and injustice continue to plague nations around the world.
Below are some of the shocking revolutions the modern world has ever seen:
**THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 1775 - 1783**
The American Revolution was an eight-year heated war between the 13 original States of America and the Royal forces of Great Britain. With thousands of casualties, it eventually resulted in the Independence and founding of the United States and the end of the First British Empire.
**THE FRENCH REVOLUTION 1789 - 1799**
Largely inspired by the American Revolution, the French citizenry, out of frustration from excessive taxation and abuse of power by the Monarchy, in 1789, took up arms against the French Nobility. This led to the overthrow of absolute monarchy on France, the capture and destruction of the Bastille and the execution of the French king, Louis XVI by guillotine.
**THE CHINESE COMMUNIST REVOLUTION 1945 - 1950**
This was a revolutionary war fought by the Communist Party of China, headed by Mail Zedong, against the Nationalist Chinese government headed by Chiang Kai-shek. After 4 years of almost 2 million casualties, the triumphant Communists established the People's Republic of China in mainland China while forcing the defeated Republic or China to evacuate to Taiwan.
**THE CUBAN REVOLUTION 1953 - 1959**
The Cuban Revolution was another bloody scuffle between the Batista-led Cuban government and the 26th of July Movement led by Fidel Castro, resulting in the defeat and ousting of the dictator, Fulgencio Batista and the establishment of a revolutionary government by Fidel Castro.
**THE IRANIAN REVOLUTION 1979**
The Iranian Revolution was a rather less violent revolution which expressed wide discontent with the Pahlavi dynasty in Iran thereby leading to the overthrow of Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi and replaced with an Islamic Republic led by the Grand Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini.
**THE 2020 NIGERIAN #ENDSARS PROTEST**
This was a full-blown Nationwide protest against police brutality and bad governance in Nigeria. Starting out as a peaceful demonstration, the protest eventually took a violent turn after military forces opened fire at protesters in Lagos.
Also, there are a number of uprising currently ongoing in some nations around the world. Two of them are featured below:
**THE 2020-2021 BELARUSIAN PROTESTS**
For well over a year and two months now, the people of Belarus have been calling for the resignation of President Alexander Lukashenko whose government is believed to have been married by abuse of power, police brutality, massive electoral fraud and unconstitutional arrest of opposition figures. The protests have been characterised by series of online demonstrations, road blockades, riots, civil boycotts and downtooling.
**THE 2021 MYANMAR PROTESTS**
After the military of Myanmar seized the government in a coup that saw the president, his ministers and members of parliament detained in February earlier this year, the people of the southeast Asian nation have so far refused to accept the legitimacy of the military government as they call for the release of their jailed leaders and a return to civil rule.
As of the moment, over two thousand deaths have been recorded with arrests nearing 5000.
At times, to bring about a desirable political change, sacrifices are made in form of revolutions and mass protests. And that is proof that humans can only be oppressed for only so long. In the end, we eventually stand up to combat oppression and highhandedness.
Why people don't leave an abusive relationship
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Abuse in a relationship can either be physical and emotional. Physical abuse is characterized by bodily damages suffered by an individual as inflicted by their partner. On the other hand, emotional abuse has to do with the use of foul languages on one's partner, taking undue advantage of their feelings and attempting to dominate them as a result. A spouse can also be abused sexually if they are forced into intimacy against their will. In fact, there is now a concept known as Marital rape.
Every year, an average of ten million men and women are victims of abuse in a relationship. Nevertheless, the number increases each passing year. While women are typically victims of physical abuse, men tend to suffer emotional abuse mostly.
Walking out of an abusive relationship might not be as easy as it sounds but it is always the best decision to make when one is stuck with an abusive partner. However there are several reasons impeding a spouse from walking out of a relationship when it becomes abusive.
Below are seven of the reasons why people stay put in an abusive relationships.
**MONEY**
For some, it's better to be with a rich and abusive partner than with a loving but broke one even though they know quite well that they will be made a punching bag for their spouse.
Who says money can't buy happiness, eh?
**RELIGION**
"Till death do us part" is one of the many religious mantras that have literally sent many victims of an abusive relationship to their early graves. Most religious beliefs frown at divorce and adherents of such religious practices feel that they owe it to their faith to stay put in a marriage at all cost.
**STOCKHOLM SYNDROME**
Strange but true, the more they get abused, the more some victims nurse feelings of sympathy and affection towards their abusers, hoping to change them with time. This is a psychological condition in which a hostage is emotionally drawn to their captor and it is officially known as the Stockholm syndrome. So sometimes, don't suspect a diabolical power at work when you find a domestically abused spouse still choosing to cling to their partner. It just might be a clear symptom of Stockholm Syndrome.
**CHILDREN**
Most victims, especially women, sacrifice their own safety and happiness for their children's. Research over the years have proven that children who grew up in broken homes tend to have issues that most of the time make them constitute a nuisance to the society. Knowing this, some selfless individuals stay put in an abusive marriage for the sake of their children.
Also, being a single father or mother isn't a piece of cake.
**CULTURE**
Some cultures, especially in African societies, see women who are not married or who have separated from their husbands as being unchaste and lacking in good virtues.
As a result, in such a cultural society where divorcees are seen to be morally bankrupt, it becomes very hard to walk out of a relationship even when it is severly abusive.
**LOW SELF-ESTEEM**
Most victims of abusive relationships tend to think very little of themselves, falsely believing that abuse is all they truly deserve. This may also be pointers to some psychological condition such as depression, Bipolar disorder and a host of others.
**FEAR**
Sometimes, the fear of being unable to find love again might just be the sole reason a person puts up with an abusive partner.
Regardless of all these, always learn to put your safety and happiness first. Never hesitate to walk out of an abusive relationship at the first chance you get. And remember to shut the door behind you.
A sinister reunion
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Though much had changed in Huntsville since Mary left thirteen years before, the small town in the heart of Tennessee still retained its verdancy and the usual quiet despite the fact that the population of the town had grown quite significantly in the last decade. But Mary never liked the quiet. It was ominous and reminded her of the loneliness she felt after her mother's death. A bored stiff teenage Mary would sit by the window of her room watching the sun as it slowly set in the sky, daydreaming of flying away from the town that seemed to be cursed with a never-ending boredom. And her wish did come true when she eloped with the love of her life whom she met in college thirteen years ago. Since her relationship with her father was far from being a smooth one, she never for once gave it a thought to visit. Not until she received a mail from Reverend Thomas, the priest of the town's local church last week. The mail had read that her now repentant father was dying and would love to see her and his grandchildren before passing. So here she was, a single mother driving herself and her kids back to the hometown she hated, trying to fulfill the dying wish of a man, her estranged father.
"Jesus! Can't you both go an hour without quarrelling?" She sighed in frustration as she reprimanded her two kids who were arguing in the backseat as she drove past the WELCOME TO HUNTSVILLE signpost at the entrance of the town.
"You should ask Kelvin, mom. He's the one who won't stop bothering me," protested Maddy, her twelve-year-old daughter, apparently annoyed.
"Liar, you almost broke Superman!" the little boy retorted as he picked up from the car's floor his Superman action figure which had mistakenly fallen from the car seat when Maddy tried to stretch her legs and arms out of fatigue of hours of travelling from Nashville.
"That's not Superman, you dummy," the still annoyed sister fired back at him.
"Hey, watch it, girl," Mary took her eyes off the road for a second as she turned back to scold her daughter. "Call your brother such name again and I'll have you grounded."
"Coming to this stupid town is worse than getting grounded anyway." Maddy muttered, a part of her wishing her mom didn't hear her.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing, ma'am." That ended the conversation until Mary pulled up at a house built in the heart of an orchard. It was her childhood home. A gust of nostalgia overshadowed her as she looked around the garden recalling herself and her late playing hide and seek. She used to be happy here until her mother's death changed everything. Her father was never the same again as he took to drinking and blaming Mary.
"Oh, Mary, you made it!" cried out her father who had stepped out of the house to find out who was pulling up in his compound. "Welcome home, my little girl," he greeted as he threw his arms around her trying to hug her. Mary smiled lightly, unsure whether to be confused about seeing her supposedly dying father looking so agile and healthy or that he called her his little girl.
"But in the mail, it says you were dying?" A puzzled Mary queried her father who had now gone to the other side of the parked vehicle to embrace his grandchildren.
"Oh, come on now, this isn't the time for questions. Let's all go inside and have a meal first. Shall we?" responded the excited old man, leading little Kelvin by the hand as he made towards the door.
As they entered into the house, Mary felt a tinge of fright as her father bolted the door behind them and gave an ominous smile.
**To be continued.**
A change of heart
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Don Arturo, the head of the Cinco Dedos cartel, a notorious drug dealing syndicate operating in Mexico, had a rather gruesome way of punishing renegades. Whenever a member reneged, he would send his enforcers to not only eliminate the traitor and his family but also bring back their heads for him to be sure they are dead.
When Jorge joined the cartel and rose through the ranks to become its most dreaded enforcer, he never thought a day would come when he would have to be on the run from the same organisation which he had spent most of his years killing for. Orphaned at eleven, he had been taken off the streets by Don Arturo, and raised like a son - that was if teaching an eleven year old to handle a gun and shoot a man whenever ordered counted as raising a child anyway - and Jorge, now a forty-year old, had always been a good 'son' until the day before he was sent along with two other henchmen on a mission to track down and eliminate their next target, Carlos, an individual who had somehow found himself in the bad books of the cartel. He must have either stolen from the cartel or attempted to provide information about them to law enforcement agents. Jorge didn't need to know his exact crime. All he had to do was to bring back Carlos' head and those of his family.
Jorge and his team had tracked down Carlos in Tamaulipas, the Mexican state bordering Texas. He instructed that they wait till nightfall before breaking into the house the target was staying in. Attaching a sound suppressor to his Beretta 92FS, he instructed each of the men to stand guard outside while he stealthily entered into the house, following the sound of water dripping in the bathroom. He slid open the door to the bathroom and quickly injected two bullets into the bare chest of the unsuspecting Carlos who was having a shower.
"See you in hell, *hombre loco!*" He spat on the lifeless body and then walked out of the bathroom in search of the rest of Carlos' family. He made his way to the kitchen and caught sight of a young woman doing the dishes.
"*Por favor, no dispares*. Please, don't shoot me," the woman begged.
But Jorge was not one to plead with. In fact, he enjoyed watching his victims plead before taking their lives.
"Shhhh," he placed an index finger on his lip, gesturing at her to be quiet. "It's ok. Who else is here?"
"My husband... he's having his bath," the trembling woman answered, amid tears.
Jorge grinned wickedly, "No, he's dead. And now you'll join him."
Just as he was about to squeeze the trigger, the sudden cry of a baby upstairs interrupted him.
"Please, don't kill me. I have a baby," the woman's plea seemed like a kind of defibrillator sending shock into his stone cold heart to awaken it. "I beg you, don't make my child grow up without a parent," she continued.
Jorge's mind flooded with his past memories. He remembered how he had watched his ailing mother die before his very eyes. How he wept bitterly, holding her hands as he begged her not to leave him all alone in the world as an orphan. He never knew his father, he had been killed in a factory fire months after Jorge's mom became pregnant.
Now here he was, watching a woman begging not to be taken away from her son. He wondered how different his own life might have turned out to be if he had grown up with a mother. Maybe he would have been an entirely different person.
He tried to shut his eyes and squeeze the trigger but was unable to do so. He couldn't bring himself to shoot her. Opening his eyes, he whispered to the woman to go upstairs and shut the door behind her. In that moment, he knew he what he had to do. The two men waiting outside would never let him spare the mother and her child. Besides, he could not return to Don Arturo without the targets' heads. It was a war in his mind and he had to pick a side. It was either the cartel or the mother and her child.
He made a choice. It was the latter and he knew the consequence of that choice. Clutching his Beretta tightly, he walked outside, the two men were waiting with pistols in their hands. As one was about to ask if the job was done, he opened fire, shooting at them. The two men, taken aback, scampered for safety, while returning fire. After a while he got one in the head but the other managed to escape. He ran after him but couldn't get hold of him.
"Shit!" He knew it was only a matter of time before the escaped guy called for backup from the cartel. Neither he nor the woman and child were safe in Mexico. He ran back into the house and minutes later, he was in the car with the two new passengers he had just picked over the cartel, driving at maximum speed for the US border.
Thanks for reading. Do remember to share your feedback in the comment box.
She's had enough
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Blaring from the radio was the 4pm news. Lydia knew what it meant - the close of the day's work - and she dreaded it. She wished she never had to leave work for home but there were no two ways about it. It was ironical that the other workers always seemed eager to close for the day and go home to their families. But it was different for Lydia, and having to deal with an abusive husband at home made it so for her.
Two years ago when she said 'Yes' to his proposal, Lydia never thought being Jake's wife would become hell on earth for her. Jake, someone she had courted for a whole year turned out to be an inveterate drunk immediately after marriage. Everyday, he would conclude the day's work by paying a visit to different bars in town with his guys, lavish money on hookers and come back home very late at night. Whenever his wife queried him on his whereabouts, he would make sure he gave her a good beating to emphasise why "the man of the house shouldn't be questioned in his own home.'
Lydia could hardly remember a night that she would not have to go to bed with a swollen face or a brutally punched body part. She had complained bitterly to their church pastor but the clergyman always made it a duty to remind her of her marriage vows - "for better, for worse", "till death do us part."
Today, as she left work for home, it was with a frightful heart as usual. But this time around, it was not the fear of getting beaten by Jake. It was the fear of what she had resolved to do to him. She got lost in her thoughts and did not notice that the traffic light had turned green until an impatient driver behind her honked furiously to startle her out of her thoughts. She squeezed the steering wheel as she drove off.
Ten minutes past twelve in the morning, a violent rapping at the gate woke her up. She knew it was Jake, drunk to stupor as usual. She reached for something under the bed and sighed in relief knowing that it was still there. Then she proceeded to open the gate for her husband. A gesture Jake responded to by driving into the compound recklessly and almost hitting her.
"What took you so long to come open the gate for me, ehn, you stupid woman? Jake cussed her.
She gave him no response and walked back inside after closing the gate. That irked Jake all the more as he ran after her into the bedroom, yelling.
"Am I not talking to you, Lydia? Are you mad?"
Jake queried her. Before she could turn to speak, he threw a punch at her. As if predicted it, she dashed sideways, dodging his blow. Then she reached for the item she had earlier placed under the bed.
"If you dare raise a finger at me this night, Jake, I will stab the life out of you." She warned, brandishing the knife at him.
"What? You threaten me with a knife under my own roof?" Jake could hardly believe that Lydia was standing up to him. He sprang at her to get hold of the knife but missed a step and fell right into the end of the blade as it sunk into his neck.
Above is a story that explores the theme of domestic violence. Yearly, statistics show that over 10 million men and women are abused domestically. Seeing that it is a notorious issue in the society, what are the ways you think domestic violence can be dealt with?
I would love to know what your thoughts are in the comments!
Thanks for reading.
Leveraging social media for financial freedom Pt.2
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If you missed the first part of this article, you can check it out here: Leveraging social media for financial freedom Pt.1 https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers/leveraging-social-media-for-financial-freedom-pt1-856c2727
**WAYS TO EARN ON SOCIAL MEDIA**
It must be kept in mind that making money anywhere at all has always never been an easy endeavour, in a legal way, that is. This is why people have always tended to monetise whatever they can. The fact that people have always tried to eke out a living from every form of communication that has ever been developed gives credence to this assertion. In the same vein, it has been no different with the social media.
The following are ways by which social media can be utilised for income generation:
**ACQUIRING INFORMATION**
Information, they say, is power and it is no longer a news that information abounds on social media, genuine or fake. Your ability to sieve the kind of information you get on social media and use it to your own advantage can really go a long way in boosting your finances.
As a job seeker, there are a host of social media platforms such as LinkedIn where you can always get in touch with job opportunities based on the qualifications you have provided on your profile.
Also, for business owners, there are numerous helpful tips and business strategies posted in platforms like Medium, Nairaland YouTube, etc.
**RUNNING ADS**
Advertising on social media is the secret to moving a business forward and it is a secret that big companies and brands have been capitalising on for a long time. It is like the popular saying: 'Spend money to make money". Your products deserve all the attention it can get, not just products, your services and skills too. Are you a trader, a musician, a comedian or an artist? The biggest marketplace for you is the social media. Strut your stuff!
**BLOGGING WHAT YOU DO**
Whenever the word, Blogging, comes up, a lot of people get scared, thinking they have to be seasoned writers before they can run a blog. But that isn't true!
Blogs do not necessarily have to be lengthy write-ups requiring specialised knowledge in particular fields. There are incentivised social media platforms such as Publish0x, Hive, Minds, Voise, and others where users get paid for blogging about things that they are passionate about. Whether you are a writer or an artist, a musician or a comedian, a photographer or an artisan, you can simply earn passive income by blogging about what you do on these social media platforms.
Although the social media is mainly for interpersonal communication, it is a means of livelihood for a few people who know its value and are able to leverage it. As a matter of fact, BBC reported that Kylie Jenner, Ariana Grande and Christiano Ronaldo made about a million dollars for each of their posts on Instagram in 2019.
That said, it should be noted that you do not necessarily need a large number of following before you can earn on social media. And as stated earlier, earning on social media is for all and sundry. This implies that you can leverage social media to your own benefit whether as a business owner, a student, a writer, an entertainer or an artist.
*Thanks for reading. If you know of other ways by which social media can be monetised, kindly share in the comments. Thanks!*
Leveraging social media for financial freedom (Pt.1)
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The human race is the most civilised in the world and this civilization is as a result of the continuously evolving communication system developed by humans over the years. In the early years, pigeons were used to convey messages from one end to another. Later, with the advent of the printing press, men upgraded to letter writing; a slightly advanced means of communication. In 1876, Alexander Graham Bell invented the first telephone device, making communication easier and faster than ever. But prior to the late 1980s, no one knew these eras would be nothing compared to the era of the internet. The late 1990s and early 21st century witnessed a drastic advancement in communication, thanks to the invention of smartphones which birthed a sophisticated means of communication; the social media.
Being an essential of human existence, every era of development in communication comes with its own job opportunities. In other words, many people have been deriving their means of livelihood from every means of communication the world has known from the ancient times till date. In the era of the pigeon post, the pigeon keepers were the ones cashing in. During the peak of letter writing, those who were literate, post office workers, mailmen and transport workers were the ones making financial gains. The invention of the telephone, fax machine and telegraph created more earning opportunities for people. The bottom line here is that with every modification to the human communication system comes one source of income or another for certain people; those who take the opportunity to capitalise on it.
Social media are digital platforms used mainly for the creation, distribution and reception of information through the internet. These media play a huge role as far as human communication goes in our world today. As a matter of fact, due to the leveraging on social media by certain people, the number of world billionaires have spiked greatly in recent times than ever. Wikipedia records the average number of billionaires in the world at the beginning of the 21st century to be 470 but in the year 2020, this has quadrupled and the average number of billionaires in the world today stands at 2095. No doubt, this surge in wealth is largely influenced by the advent of social media. What makes it more interesting is that, unlike other communication systems that tend to favour a selected few like the inventors, operators, pigeon keepers, literate people and so on, leveraging on social media is an opportunity for all and sundry!
Therefore, this article attempts to look at the ways social media can be leveraged for financial breakthrough. However, before that, an in-depth discussion on what constitutes social media, the different kinds that exist, their distinctive features and the content types each offers shall be provided.
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**WHAT CONSTITUTES A SOCIAL MEDIA?**
As earlier established, any digital platform used mainly for the creation, distribution and reception of information through the internet is a form of social media. As a technology powered by the internet, social media platforms are accessed through mobile phones, tablets and personal computers. This implies that almost anyone with either of these devices can engage social media as it suits their purposes. Thus, this brings about the question of the various social media platforms and their distinguishing features.
There are various types of social media platforms with unique features that distinguish them from one another. They are listed below.
**1. THE SOCIAL NETWORKING TYPE:** Perhaps the commonest type of social media, this includes the likes of Facebook, Twitter, WhatsApp, Telegram, Discord and a host of others. These social media are mainly for person-to-person interaction with textual content and instant messaging feature.
**2. THE IMAGE SHARING TYPE:** As the name readily suggests, social media platforms that fall under this category are majorly for the purpose of sharing images and other appealing visual content such as memes and GIFs to amuse their users. Prominent platforms of such are Instagram, Snapchat and Imgur.
**3. VIDEO SHARING TYPE:** Social media platforms in this category offer visual and auditory content to their users for engagement. Falling under this category are platforms such as YouTube, Vimeo, TikTok, Likee. Other video-based platforms are social networking apps like Skype and Zoom.
**4. THE COMMUNITY BLOGGING TYPE:** Social media blogging platforms are the kinds that offer multimedia content for users to express themselves freely and connect with their audience. Platforms such as Medium and Tumblr are very popular community blogs.
There are also a number of cryptocurrency-based community blogs such as Read.cash, Hive, Noise.cash, Publish0x, Minds, etc where users get paid for creating content and engagement other users' content.
**5. DISCUSSION-ORIENTED TYPE:** Closely related to the social networking types are platforms like Quora, Reddit, Nairaland, etc.
But unlike the social networking media, the discussion-oriented media are built for the sole purpose of discussing the various views of users regarding certain issues and questions raised. The difference between these platforms and the likes of Facebook and Twitter is the absence of direct messaging.
Now that the different social media kinds have been discussed, ways by which one can leverage these social media platforms for financial gains shall be explained in the next part of this post which shall be posted in a few hours.
Kindly stay tuned!
Storytelling and parenting
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*“Stories are memory aids, instruction manuals and moral compasses.”* - Aleks Krotoski . http://thestorytelleragency.com/goodreads/50-best-quotes-for-storytelling
When we deeply reflect on the above quote, we just might begin to understand why the reading culture is gradually fading away in our world of today and being replaced by mass nonchalance toward the acquisition of profitable knowledge which will be useful in the formation of desirable behaviours and attitudes. Aleks is very right by likening stories to moral compasses. In the past, the art of storytelling was a very useful parenting skill. A veritable form of storytelling that was prevalent in those times was the folktale.
According to the Oxford Dictionary, a folktale is "*a story passed on by word of mouth rather than by writing, and thus partly modified by successive re-tellings before being written down or recorded."* https://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803095826550
In other words, folktales are a series of traditional stories belonging to a particular cultural society often told in the evening for the moralistic tutelage and entertainment of children and young individuals in such a society from one generation to the next. In Africa, long before the advent of Western and Islamic educations, every culture in the continent had its own way of instilling in its younger generation discipline and moral instructions needed for the development of the individual and society. In fact, modern African scholars have nowadays used the evidence of folktales in Africa to debunk the beliefs by Europeans that the continent had no educational system prior to their arrival.
In the pre-literate society, folktales were very essential in inculcating the spirit of nationalism, devotion to family and godliness in children. In the same vein, an article about folktales on this website states that: *"When children learn about diverse cultural traditions, they not only broaden their view of the world, they may also develop a greater appreciation of their own family’s heritage."* https://www.augusthouse.com/why-are-folktales-important
Didacticism and entertainment are the two major purposes of folktales. In line with this, themes prevalent in folktales include jealousy, dishonesty, disloyalty, anger, covetousness etc.
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Folktales may vary from society to society but these stories always revolve around certain stock characters and themes dealing with daily human relationships and situations, even though, most folktales have animals as characters who coexist with human characters.
For example, in many Nigerian societies, the tortoise is the traditional folktale character who is always a trickster using his cunning to defraud people. At times, he gets away with it and at others, he is caught and dealt with appropriately. Among the Yoruba people, the tortoise is known as Ijapa and is the chief character of the 'Ijapa Tiroko' folktales. Among, the Igbo people, the tortoise is also the chief character and is known as Mbe. In Ghana, Ananse, the spider, is the chief character of the "Anansesem", which translates to "Spider stories", folktale tradition. Other animals commonly featured in folktales include the hare, fox, elephant, snake and bird.
In sum, it is evident enough that folktales were very useful in teaching children the right values as well as helping them grow into responsible adults and citizens in the preliterate society. In light of this, it is only wise if parents revive the ancient practice of storytelling as a means of instructing their children. Asides the fact these stories will provide entertainment and useful life lessons for children to learn from, it will also help them to develop the love for reading as well as broaden their imagination to be creative.
Thanks for reading my article. I look forward to hearing from you in the comments
*If you find this interesting, kindly take a look at my profile for more interesting articles. 👉***HillaryPowers***👈* https://read.cash/@HillaryPowers
Better parenting: the key to a better world
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Day by day, the world keeps wallowing in moral decadence. While violence is increasingly becoming a universal language, humans are concerned with acquiring wealth and the luxuries that come with it. The saddest part of it all is that only a little number of people actually value other people's lives today. And we wonder how we got to this level of debasement. We wonder if there is ever a hope of redemption for mankind.
Since time immemorial, marriage has been a custom that is universally practised by every culture on the face of the Earth. This beautiful, age-long institution brings about childbirth; and as such, it helps to perpetuate the existence of mankind. As beneficial as marriage and childbirth is to mankind, one cannot easily write off the disadvantages therein when things go south. These disadvantages include divorce, domestic violence, stress in child upbringing and even death.
In ancient times, childbirth was exclusively a feature of marriage but nowadays, it has lost that exclusiveness. But childbirth outside marriage is not our point of discussion for today.
Instead, let us talk about child upbringing.
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**How effective is child upbringing these days?**
A popular biblical dictum says to *"train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old, he won't depart from it."*
Of a truth, most parents I personally know do their best in bringing up their children in the right way, especially in "the way of the Lord." I know parents who ensure that the importance of morning and night devotion is not taken for granted in their homes. I know parents who are stricter than even army generals. These parents know too well how to discipline erring children.
But if we are being honest, we all know that in our world of today only very few children are growing with the right moral behaviours. The lots of them actually pretend to be morally upright until they come of age to rebel against their parents. Why is that? Could it be that parents are not doing enough? Well, I think it is simple.
Studies over the years have repeatedly shown that children who were brought up in abusive homes grow up to have a tendency for violence. This is because children learn best by imitation. And the foremost characters they imitate are their parents. Hence, it does not totally help when parents give instructions to their children and not reinforce them with their own actions.
For example, as a father who drinks irresponsibly and keeps late nights it will most likely be difficult to teach your son to be responsible and keep to time when he becomes a father too. Of course, it is possible that you may coerce the boy into obedience as a little child but when he is all grown up and independent, that might probably not work anymore because as they say, apples don't fall far from the tree. Also, you do not want to raise your children to obey you out of fear but out of the love and respect that they have for you.
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Therefore, dear parents, it is not enough for you to be disciplinarians. You must also practise what you preach to your children. It is not enough to have the loudest and longest devotion period in the neighbourhood. If you are not living in sincere obedience to God's words and practicing the kind of lifestyle that shows respect and love for other people, your children will not be any better, except they do not grow under you. We must not forget that well-bred children will bring about a better, saner and safer future whilst ill-bred children will bring about just the opposite. So rather than just giving out only abstract instructions to your kids, why not start accompanying them with practical demonstrations so that your little ones can follow in your footsteps?
@HillaryPowers
