Chapter eighteen
“Ifeoma, you are the most evil and ungrateful person I have ever seen in my life! Your children and you shall be stricken with calamity and a maiming disease because of the evil things you always think about me!”
Those were the words of Funke that eventful Friday seven years after Ifeoma had packed in. Obinna himself was getting highly irritated with the ceaseless fights between his two wives every day. He was fed up with the whole painful embarrassment.
As Funke was about standing up, Ifeoma replied: “I’ll show you pepper today, you crazy old witch! You think you can hurt me and my children with your witchcraft, er? Thunder will strike you dead today, you harlot, wicked, good-for-nothing woman! You think you’re the apple of our husband’s eye? Let me tell you, I always hear what you say behind me, and I am ready for you today! I’m ready to kill you and your stupid children with this cutlass in my hand!” she spurted angrily.
When Ifeoma brandished the shining cutlass, Obinna knew that blood would flow in a matter of seconds. He sighed, turned and moved towards her.
“You can’t do that Ifeoma,” he begged, “Put down your cutlass…give it to me. You’re all fond of fighting each other. One day, I will run away and leave you all to do your worst. Please, give me the cutlass, I don’t want bloodshed.”
Just then one of the children of the first wife appeared, brandishing a knife. “Leave her alone, Daddy,” the little man by name Victor warned his father. “If she wants to join her maker today, let her insult my Mummy again. I’ll stab her in the neck!”
The uproar and confusion was really getting out of hand. The children of the two wives were around and soon joined in the altercation. All available objects were freely used-bottles, planks, iron objects and even buckets. The neighbours were terrified. They were petrified as the whole children and women engaged themselves in a dangerous free-for-all fight.
Obinna’s ageing mother was so aghast at the sight of blood that she collapsed and went into coma. Some concerned neighbours rushed to the police station to make a report about the apocalyptic situation. At the mention of Obinna, the police officer on duty shrugged his shoulder and said:
“If it’s that house, we can do nothing about it. It’s a family affair. That’s how they always fight each other on daily basis. The Nigerian police don’t dabble into family problems, thank you.”
After the fight that day, Obinna was always pensive and moody, thinking what life would be like when he finally joins his ancestors. He wondered why his wives and children always fight one another over some flimsy reasons. He was in his late 30s when this unhappy development began in his family. His children were becoming unruly. His wives too were getting more rude and disrespectful. At a stage, he broke down and cried, wondering what would become of his children and wives when he dies. He had about four houses in Lagos. He wondered if his wives and children would not kill one another after his exit over his properties. The cantankerous nature of his wives and children was gradually damaging his physique and taking a toll on his health. He that was once full of life, vibrant, jovial and lively now looked wrinkled and worn.
In those good old days, he used to be tall, handsome, fresh and chubby. Now, he looked like someone who bore the troubles and problems of the whole world. The rancour and bitterness in his household got so much that he became sad and withdrawn and at times, he would start gesticulating and soliloquizing when he was alone. The soliloquy was getting too much but his wives felt unconcerned and never worried about his state of health. It didn’t bother them that he was gradually losing his mind.
He regretted marrying two wives. Before very long, his blood pressure began rising at an alarming rate. He was now always indoors for the most part of the day. But his condition didn’t stop his wives from fighting at the slightest provocation and over flimsy reasons. He always adjusted and changed his will every month. He was indeed a confused and unhappy man. His happy and romantic life before the arrival of Ifeoma was now as sour and bitter as a month-old grape. Worse still, his health was getting worse every passing day.
Before recently, he was never lonely because of his seemingly nice and generous attitude. He could give out his eyes, if possible, just to make people happy if he had anything to gain. So, a lot of women often swarmed around him like ants on sugar, just to get one favour or another. But whenever, he was with a machine gun, no man could beat him, because he would be as distant as the horizon.
Ifeoma was a pretty woman, who was highly possessive as well as jealous. She was already blessed with three children in her new marriage, two boys and a girl. Indeed, a ravishing beauty, spotless and enchanting. Despite her five children from two marriages, she looked like a teenage beauty, elegant and delectable. Her rudeness, craftiness and mischief were legendary.
Shakespeare, in one of his books once said: “You can’t read a man’s mind by his looks or physical expressions” and he also mentioned that, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
These two glaring witty ideas aptly described Ifeoma and the helplessness of her husband. Gradually, she started getting tired and irritated by her husband’s relationship with people, particularly the womenfolk. She thought he was having extra marital affairs with women of easy virtue. Her suspicion continued to grow every day and she bared her fangs in a most wicked and atrocious way.
She thought that if her husband should have another wife, she and her children wouldn’t have the opportunity of claiming a good share of his properties after his demise. So, to avoid this “ugly incident”, she started planning how to have him totally so that she could influence the will.
“I want my husband to be my slave and do whatever I want. That’s my heart’s desire. Men should be slaves to their wives. I’m sure he is dating another woman; I can’t share my husband with anyone. He must do my wish and dance to my tune any day and any time. I’ll go to Okija Shrine this weekend for a charm that will make my husband become my slave so that I can toss him and use him anyhow I like”.
For ten minutes Ifeoma was talking to herself absent-mindedly. Her five children had gone to London for summer holidays, and they would arrive tomorrow with their father. Talking about money, you could never underrate her. She was a very rich woman, yet she tired of her husband’s constant doling out of money to the first wife. She had everything, any woman could ever dream of. Their beautifully-furnished mansion in highbrow Victoria Island, Lagos was simply breath-taking and out of this world. It was a paradise on earth. There were cooks that took care of the family meals; drivers and housemaids that made sure they did not labour at all. They had ten exotic cars at their garage; and her husband still showed unlimited love and passion to her. She was always travelling to the United States and Europe for shopping. She always wore the most expensive clothes and jewelries befitting a queen. Her skin was smooth and velvet, like the softest flower. The fact was that they were living in super abundance. Thanks to the evil genius.
Ifeoma called her husband’s personal driver aside for a secret meeting.
“Anayo, see me after the day’s work,” she whispered, “there’s something I want to discuss with you. Is that right?”
“Okay madam, I don hear you,” the soft-spoken driver replied, wondering what she wanted to discuss with him.
In the evening, when he had closed for the day’s work, he hurried to meet his madam to hear what she had to say.
“My dear, I have a big business for you. Nobody must know and hear about it. This business will fetch you twenty thousand naira. All you need to do is to take me to Anambra State tomorrow. I have made all the necessary arrangements for the journey. We shall leave by 4am. I hope you understand all I’ve just said?”
“Oga Madam, ha, ha, ha, that’s no problem!” he replied radiating joy in his face. Then he continued: “I go drive you go that place again and again. So far…I’ll get my money!”
“I assure you, the money is yours”! She reassured him and patted him gently on the shoulder.
“Thank you Oga Madam, thank you Oga Madam,” he said while walking away, smiling surreptitiously and happily. But sincerely and honestly, deep down in his heart he was not happy. He was convinced that she was a wicked woman, but the lure and attraction of easy lucre was high on his mind. And he had a premonition that the wicked woman may be trying to unveil one of her devilish intentions. He wouldn’t want to be part of any deal that would hurt his boss, because he had been kind and loving to him.
That evening, Ifeoma was at the shrine of Mmuo Ifagbegbe who was so skilled in the occult art of divination. Her mission was to get a potent love potion that would make her loving husband become her slave totally. In the whole of Nigeria, no one could compete with the bald-headed old man in the occult art of divination. He had secret disciples in different parts of the world. He is a living grand master of the order Aquarian cosmos and had set in motion all the esoteric techniques that would operate in the twelve Temple Degrees of psychic and occult initiations within this society. He had also set in motion one hundred and twenty metaphysical techniques designed to awaken the “Psychic Powers” of members of the society by which they could perform occult miracles in their secret rooms.
He was feared by all and sundry simply because of his spiritual and metaphysical powers. “Now, Mmuo Ifagbegbe,” the fearless woman demanded, “I need the most powerful love potion that would turn my husband into my slave. To act like my houseboy and do whatever I order him. Just name the price, I’ll pay it. I have to be at home before the end of today because he would be arriving home from London with my kids tomorrow morning.” She adjusted her headgear and knelt in front of the diviner.
Sat Gopinatha, the spirits of evil and good have heard all you want,” he said, “but this kind of love potion will cost you four hundred thousand naira. The gods will take care of your heart’s desire. If you pay me the money, I’ll bring the love potion from my magical bag of power now and hand it to you”. He spat thrice inside a ram horn containing black soap.
“Money is not the problem as you know, I’m always loaded,” she said and delicately opened her handbag and brought out the crisp bales of N1, 000 notes, N400, 000. She handed the four bales to the old herbalist. The diviner gave a toothy smile and giggled. He reached for a bag hanging on the bloodstained wall of his shrine. He opened it instantly and dipped his hand inside.
“Now, take this black powder,” he said, nodding his head confidently. “You will put it inside his food. Once he eats it, he must turn into your slave and do your wishes. He will take orders from you forever. This is the most potent love potion that the gods handed to my forefathers from generation to generation. Humans mustn’t play with the gods. There are powers beyond the reasoning and sense of mere mortals! You can take your leave!”
Before Obinna got home the following day from his trip to London, she had already reached home and prepared a special dish for her husband and sprinkled the love potion on the meal. She knew his favourite food and reasoned that if she prepared it, he would fall for the bait because it would be irresistible. Some few minutes after the food was ready. He called Ifeoma that he had arrived Murtala Mohammed International Airport Lagos and was on his way home.
About an hour later, Obinna’s exotic Mercedez Benz Jeep was at the gate of his mansion. His chauffeur horned once and the electronic gate opened instantly and he drove in. When he stepped down from the jeep, Ifeoma was already at the door to receive him and the children.
“Hello Darling,” Ifeoma exclaimed. “How was your trip? Hope you had a nice time,” she giggled and smiled bewitchingly.
“I’m okay sweetie,” he replied, taking off his suit. “How are you Mummy?” the kids asked delightedly.
“I’m fine. Hope you enjoyed yourselves,” she said, hugging her children. The children scurried happily into their room the next moment.
“I bought lots of beautiful and precious things for you from the trip darling, things that would make you happier than before,” he said excitedly.
“Your food is on the dining table dear,” she replied. It’s your favourite food. Pounded yam and egusi soup with all the condiments that would sweeten your palate.”
“Thank you my dear,” he said happily. “You’re an angel, the one that always fills my heart with joy.”
Before long, he settled down to eat. And he did it with relish. He was almost through with the pounded yam when he noticed the development of some strange stomachache. About six hours later the stomachache became unbearable.
“Ooooophs, I’m not feeling well,” he said in pains while holding his belly. “God what’s happening to me?” he screamed. Funke, the elder wife wasn’t around; she had gone out for a date with her boyfriend. Ifeoma who had gone into her bedroom, came running towards him when she heard his screams. He was rolling on the floor, while clutching his stomach.
“What’s the matter darling?” She asked really terrified. She was actually shedding crocodile tears but he couldn’t utter a word. He was sweating profusely and shaking. The following minute, he started vomiting blood and gasping for breath.
“Yee, help me! God, help me!” she continued to scream. This attracted the chauffeur, the security man and a couple of housemaids in the sprawling mansion. Anayo was also there deeply in thought pondering how very wicked and ungrateful human beings could be; he drove his boss to Hale well Hospital Lagos. Ifeoma excused herself from accompanying them immediately, thinking that it was useless. She was convinced that he was already stone dead. Shortly, her conscience became heavy as she ran into her bedroom.
“Ha…God! Ha! Ha!! Ha!!!” she repeated in tears, I’ve killed my husband. I never knew it was food poison that Mmuo Ifagbegbe gave me to put inside his food.”
She rushed to the hospital thinking that he husband had died. On getting to Hale Well Hospital Lagos Island, she was shocked to discover that her husband was still alive and breathing. Drips were on his body and the doctors scurried here and there, battling to save his life.
Obinna spent one week at the hospital recuperating gradually. On the eighth day when he was supposed to be discharged, fate dealt a cruel blow on him through the hands of his wicked wife. Ifeoma, being overwhelmed by a strange fear connived with three among the nurses treating him to inject him with a potent deadly poison. She paid the nurses a whopping three million naira for the deadly deal. Alas, at last, he had been cornered. He will soon succumb to the cold hand of death, she thought. However, the nurses had pity on him and decided not to inject him with the deadly chemicals. She was dismissed from the hospital to make other necessary arrangement with the promise that he will die in two days time.
The satanic wife became the happiest woman on earth. Within the next six hours, she had already influenced the will, so she knew that she would now possess more of her husband’s many properties. Now, he wouldn’t marry another woman to divide her lot.
Surprisingly, Funke and her children were not worried about her husband’s supposed death. Immediately he was thought dead, the women rushed inside his room and started ransacking for close to an hour. The first wife discovered the sum of three million naira under the rug and the second wife found a million naira in the briefcase. A fight ensued over the discovered money. The violence was just indescribable. It was a matter of life and death, nay more of death.
“Haaa! We will all die today if anybody tries to take this money from me!” roared Funke.
“That’s a lie, you can’t take that money away,” objected Ifeoma. “I won’t depend on this will alone. My own children must benefit more from it or we must go to court.”
The shouts, the screams, uproar and hullabaloo that heralded the supposed Obinna’s death could only be imagined. It was like Armageddon. A bespectacled, rotund old man of God living very close to the house and who had been following the events in the family wondered if the young man would ever have a peaceful rest in his grave with all the tragedies.
“I can see his spirit moving restlessly, unsettled and angry at what is happening. He was a man who struggled day and night to free himself from the shackles of poverty and lack only to end up in the hands of evil and strange women,” the old man sighed heavily.