Not My Fault

Dear brethren,
I must write to tell you how am doing. It has been long since I left to this my unknown journey. You must have missed me a lot, but I miss you all more. I still recall the lovely days we share together, laughing, eating, and playing together. Everything was just normal not until the sickness came calling. My very being changed, I could not help it as I always walk on the streets talking to myself or run when no one had the thought of chasing me.
What changed me was what I cannot tell as you dreaded me like a contagious disease. Nobody wants to help or make me come back to my normal senses rather you all conspired to have me chained because you claimed am becoming a great nuisance in the society. For days, you left me hungry and thirsty under the mercies of blood sucking mosquitoes. I urinated and do the backyard business on my clothes. Come rain, come shine I was there hoping that one day I will be free and much better than I use to be. None of you remembered the good old days that I throw naira notes around and you will joyfully drench me with praises.
The hope turned sour as you all conspired again, you went, and brought the psycharitic officials to do God knows what to me. However, I gave them the best beating of their lives as I fought like a wounded lion. I broke the chains with my bare hands while the tree that had been my companion was too sorry as I uprooted it. Talk about possession, I was more than possessed. Seven different spirits waiting to unleash their anger because they hate to be chained. I was a monster because I could no see any of you as a human. I chopped ears, nose, fingers just name it. Mazi okeke must still be in great pain, my teeth and fingers never pitied him. My destruction was huge as everywhere seemed like a war ground. Battered and looted. Loses were much. Cries at every corner. It was a run for safety, staying back means you don’t love yourself. Nothing could stop me not even the police that was invited, but took to their heels as they shot at me, without the bullets doing anything to me. It was as if I was being watered.
I wasn’t the one doing those things, it was the spirits. They are unhappy. They want the streets. To see the outside world and feel its breeze. I couldn’t resist due their total hold on me. Am told what to be done and where to go. Sometimes it just seems fun all the way, while other times I was too violent. Not my fault that is madness spirits.
Right now, I don’t even know where am going. They are the one leading the way. I pray and believe that one day they will lead me back into your arms. Until then, I remain your brother and friend Nonso.


An Open Letter To Cossy Orjiakor

Dear Cossy Orjiakor,

I must write you because, I cannot endure it any more. This letter is not ridicule you, serves a communication between a loving brother to a wayward sister since you’re an Igbo. I’m a feminist. I love women and I happened to be one of your biggest fans. I did hear of stories of you sleeping with a dog, making porn films or dancing naked in a club. I didn’t believe such stories, all those are hustles and the bad belle people should kiss snake.

Cossy, I know you’ve right to kind of life you so love to live, but sister this life of uploading unclad pictures of yours and public display of your huge ‘properties’ is alarming. We know you got them, but you not the only one around the world. Flaunting those ‘properties’ does not get you the desired attention, rather destroying your dignity as a woman. I don’t know your plans because you’re no more a girl rather a woman. Let’s say, you were able to get married tomorrow with kids. What will your daughters think of you if any of them sees any of your unclad pictures? Yes, you deleted them, but someone out there was quick to download and archive them somewhere. The internet shouldn’t be a place you tell how you were in the ‘mood’. You can do that by whispering to a man and he will help you out.

Cossy, an Igbo proverb has it, ‘A mad woman is not ashame when dancing naked at the market square, but her people’. I’m much ashamed. People talk badly about you and you call that popularity? You’re too old to erect even a he-goat. Cossy, posterity will always tell.

Yours loving brother,

Uchechukwu Obiakor.