39 - Your Fate is in Your Hands

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by / 06 Aug 2016

Time: 4am
Location: Ilesha, Osun State. Nigeria.

My journey started on the last Friday of May, 2012. Here I was, a young man called upon to serve his father's land - in an early morning transport to Onitsha from Ilesha. My mind drifted off to my parents, their rather aloofness while bidding them farewell earlier in morning, and the long hours of traveling to Obudu, Cross Rivers State, my destination from Onitsha. Too bad, I couldn't get a direct transport. A smile crept onto my face. I remember my first to third year days at the university. Every weekend, my parents would show up with foods stuff, until I had to ask them to stop. "I'm a big boy now I said" Oh! Good times.

I’ve got only few hours left, I’ve lived a good life.

Now, I must skip some parts of my adventure like travel, passing through Ore, Benin, Asaba, Onitsha, Owerri - Oh, not forgetting the wonder apian pathway called Niger bridge. I must have missed out some places, but you must excuse me - the issue at hand is more serious. You don't chase rats, when your house is on fire.

Time: 8:30pm
Location: Ugep, Cross Rivers State, Nigeria.

I’ve heard some vague stories about the rather bizarre appetite for human flesh of some communities in this town. As you can imagine, in all the tales, only strangers’ flesh appeal to their palate. The driver didn't find anywhere else to rush into a pothole, but on the outskirt of Ugep. Immediately, the front left tyre bursted with a loud pop. All I could shout repeatedly was "Driver don't match the break" - while grabbing the seatbelt with my left-hand, and door arm rest with my right-hand. Luckily he was able to maneuver the vehicle to a stop. After all the usual, "praise and worship" - thank you Jesus, Ose Baba, Alhamhdulah - involving all the passengers including the driver, typical of occurrences similar to this. Me -"Drive you get spare? “Another passenger behind me - "Oga make we change this tyre quick, commot for here abeg. Or you no know where we dey?" Then, that answers which I was sure of - but yet was still hopeful as not being the case, came. Driver - "Mschew no spare o - kai, I forget the spare for my forga shop" I couldn't help myself but be outraged. "Seriously? How will you embark on a journey this far without a spare tyre?" All the driver could say was "Eni binu ni o, i'm sorry"

The survivalist in me kicked in. I needed to get off the road, at least get somewhere safe to lay my head for the night. Me - "Oga, you dey pass this road before? Any hotel or guest house dey around here?" Driver - "I don dey pass this road e don tey; hin go don reach 15years, one hotel no far from here." I was about to say something, then a 14 seater bus which was passing by, parked. Before I could turn away from the driver, four of my co-travelers had already rushed into the bus. Unfortunately, it had limited space. The driver of the bus said we could all manage, since we were all going to Obubra, which was about an hour away. I was about to jump into the bus, but the "Adam in me" was convinced by my new lady friend, Lynda - who I meet while boarding the transport from Onitsha south mass transit to Obubra; "Corper, You can enter camp tomorrow na - if you enter the camp late this night, the soldiers there might trouble you much" she said. Her voice was so convincing, as well as soothing. I couldn't make myself say yes to the bus driver. No, I said. Off, the other passengers went with the bus. Leaving me with my new beautiful friend. With the help of an okada man, we were able to locate a hotel.

I was feeling on top of the world, right through the bike ride to the hotel lobby- different images popping into my head. Would you blame me? Here beside me was a figure-eight, fair complexioned beauty. Smiling, and looking at me seductively. All this while clinging to me to, get some warmth. It was a cold evening. Wetin man go do? All my worries about the soldiers in camp, and how to survive in camp vanished.

Enough of this - this isn't meant to be a tale of romance. I have no regrets. Even if I do, what can I do about it anyway? Read, maybe your fate might be better than mine.

Hotel Casanova.

At the reception of the hotel. We met a man dozing off on a couch, with the TV on NTA. It must have been past 9pm, as the news anchor, Cyril Stober was on air. The receptionist was a tall lanky man of about 30 years of age, spotting a balding hair. He had on, a white singlet, with a Chelsea football club short - both of which have seen better days, telling from the singlet's browning, and the frayed short. After waking him up, I could hardly make out what he was saying. He spoke through his nose, punctuated by his constant sniffling - he must have been under the weather.

Enough with the details..

I asked for the key to room 101 - after the man reeled out the rooms available, with the amount for each. Throughout, my brain was preoccupied with different thoughts of how the night was going to be. The cuddling, kissing, etc. I paid for the room, gave the key to Lynda, while I collected tissue, towel, and a small toilet soap. He wanted to bring it later, but I told him, I wouldn't mind taking it up myself to the room. "Don't disturb", I said in my mind, while I smiled, grabbing the toiletries.

On getting to the door of room 101, the key didn't fit into the key hole. It was odd – Lynda and I exchanged a puzzled look. "I guess there's a mix-up" - I said. As if on impulse, she turned around, pointed at the number of the opposite room 101c. Let's try this- she said. To our surprise, the key fitted in the key hole, and the door opened. With the benefit of hind-sight. We shouldn't have entered the room. How much of our time could it have taken to go back downstairs, and lay a complaint? I'm sure the receptionist never mentioned a room 101c when I was conversing with him downstairs. None of the rooms even had alphabets - they were all numeric, and sequential. But it's too late to cry now.

Room 101C.

Tiled floor. A ceiling fan, dressing table, mirror, TV, and AC. Compared with the cost, it was a steal. The air in the room felt humid, it had a faint old-store smell- but wasn't pungent enough to disturb me. Lynda immediately went to the bathroom to freshen up, while I switched on the TV. Some few minutes later, she sashayed out of the bathroom, daintily clad.

Bathroom

As if on cue, I went into the bathroom to freshen upon also. I switched on the shower - the water felt soothing. Oddly enough the shower was working- I had concluded in my subconscious, I would be bathing with water from a bucket – considering the price of the room. Suddenly I felt a breath on the back of my neck. I turned around immediately, but saw so one. On trying to continue my bath, looking pass the mirror on the wall - I saw a brief image of a lady, with a smirk on her face; black long hair hanging loosely down her shoulder , wild eyes with brown eye balls against a very white sclera. It was a brief image. I looked intensely again at the mirror, but I saw nothing. I could literally feel a chill running down my spine – the hair on my arms standing upright. I wasn’t alone in the bathroom. Fortunately, I had little lather on my body. I washed it off as quickly as I could, put on my boxers, and then bolted to the room.

Back In The Room.

Rushing back to the room, I couldn't find my companion. Her luggage was gone also. Tried calling her, but it didn't go through. I checked inside the wardrobe, under the bed, and the hall way to the room, even the back of the TV- which was now off, though I left it on. I couldn't find her. I rushed clad only in boxers to the reception. Quite ironic, I could hear the man clearly now that I’m spooked. Receptionist - "I've not seen her. I've been here since you went in. Moreover the entrance door of the hotel is locked. She couldn't have gone outside." Me - "Do you have any other guests here." - To which he replied yes. Probing him more, he confessed to have gone out to get some food after we left. I went back to my room, with different thoughts running through my mind. I exhaled saying to myself "I guess I’m not her type." Thinking to myself “or she saw a friend also lodged in the room, or a relation” - But no sort of explanation I was making to myself, made any sense.

The Mystery Room.

Back in the room, I checked once again for her. I couldn't find her. Finally I gave up - it was 10:30pm, I bolted the door properly, and went to bed. I couldn't have slept for over 2 hours when I heard someone sobbing. I stayed rigid on the bed for some seconds, with my eyes closed. I could still hear it. Opening my eyes - there seated at the edge of the bed, near my legs, was a mass of body; unkempt dark hair, heaving and sobbing. Wha tha f*!? I revulsion-ed into a corner of the room. As far away and fast as i could. It turned to face me, lo and behold, it was Lynda. Her face now with no expression - piercing eyeballs, which seems to see through me. Her clothes filthy, stained with blood – a peculiar stench wafted through the air of the room. My heart was pounding heavily. My mind all fired up. I thought to myself - How I wish I’ve gone through the "cooking rituals" in my village. I summoned courage - "Lynda, Lynda." I called. But all she replied with, was a smirk showing her browning teeth, with some blackened. She looked possessed. She stood up slowly, strutting towards me, with a bigger smirk than earlier, showing her browning and blackened teeth - as if salivating from the taste of food she's about to devour. I felt sorry for myself: Oh! What a shame - an African man with no knowledge of incantations, or fortification, against demons, ghost, or, whatever this aberration is. My grandfather, Agba Awo, must be turning in his grave. Without any warning - She launched towards me, as if to subdue me on the wall. I dodged her hands to the left - landing a lightning right hand's elbow against the back of her neck. Gbam! She striked her head against the wall behind me. I sprinted towards the door: unbolting the door, but it wouldn't budge for me to complete my escape. She was already half way to me, on turning back to face her. Blood, gushing out of her fore head: obviously as a result of hitting her head earlier. Akin omo Akin – I thought to myself - you have to settle this with a lethal fight. There's no escape.

Remembering I kept a scissors by the side compartment of my box. I jolted to get it. Now, face to face with the demon. Her back to the door - seeing the scissors in my hand, she broke into a laugh like screech - an evil taunting laugh. The whole building started shaking, the floor giving-way, the light from the bulb fluctuating. I could feel the building groaning, as if it were coming to life. Strutting towards me agian, the ceilings started breaking up, and falling. But for my adroit response, the one above me almost fell on my head. This demon, aberration - or whatever it was - was closing in on me – the ceiling fan fell inches from her, without a single blink from her. She must have been creating all the devastation with her mind. My heart was pounding, about to jump off my rib cage. My head suddenly felt heavier. The look on her face was obvious and taunting;

Ajanaku kii se ẹru ọmọde.
Akin ọmọ Akin your time is up.

Steadying my stance, I summoned Ogun.

"Ogun Lakaiye - The God of Iron Ogun Lakaiye - The God of War.
Initiates don't betray one another.
Make me triumphant over this demon."

Trying to calm myself couldn't be more Sisyphean at this stage. But I wouldn't go down without a fight....""

Trembling, all over. I couldn't finish the letter. It was written by one Akin Ogedegbe. A memory rushed into my mind. A story about a mythical room - Room 101c - one of my buddies once told me over a bottle of beer. Didn't he say it appears in different hotels? Of course, I laughed it off. For some seconds I sat, staring at the rumpled dusty letter – trying to fully digest what I’ve just read, the key issue, and, the fact that I’m in room 101c. Just then, the door I left not properly closed jammed itself. Gbam! "This letter seems real" I said to myself. I dashed to the door with my luggage in one hand, and the letter in the other, but the door won't open. "Jesu! -Mogbe! What do I do now?" I screamed. Placing my hands on my head. My leather bag fell on the ground. I looked at the letter again, with a bold title "Your Fate Is in Your Hands Now." He must have survived, or was he dying when he wrote the letter - I thought to myself.

From nowhere, as if suffering from some sort of cognitive distortion, the room and its surrounding changed to a pure black and white monochrome -

"Yeepa! Oh! my God....