The breeze was just as I always loved it and the road had improved a bit, compared to the last time I plied it. As I stole a glance at Nneka, I noticed a little sweat had formed on her forehead as she sat dosing beside me. Then, I suddenly realised how selfish I was to be enjoying the highway breeze, and depriving my children the chill of the car air conditioner. In that instance, I rolled up the windows and turned the air conditioning on. A peep at my rear mirror revealed Somtoo, Chukwuma and Ebere, my house help, ensconced in dreamland. I always wondered how children could sleep peacefully even in noisy environments. Waving that thought aside, I pushed in a Don Moen worship CD to flavour their rest and sang along... ''Heal me Oh Lord and I will be healed Save me and I will be saved....'' The song brought back memories of pain, loss and fear, though it also made me smile at how I had been healed. My thoughts were quickly interrupted by my cell phone, and I reached to adjust the phone on the car phone kit, checking the screen. The ever-smiling face of George flashed on. I would never stop being surprised and thrilled by technology. “Hello Honey,” I answered, my headset hanging on fine. ‘‘Hi Dear. Did I spoil anything?” George asked. “No.” “Where are you at the moment?” he went on. “Almost home, I'll be there in an hour or less.” “Have you gotten to the Abia Tower yet?” “No, I guess it’s still some couple of kilometres away.” “Are they sleeping?” He quipped, sounding concerned. “Sure. Why?” I asked deliberately. “I haven't heard anybody ask you who’s calling,” he replied with a burst of laughter, “and I can hear some kind of ‘jazz music’ in the background.” “They are all sleeping very peacefully,” I said again. “I'll be through by the 28th and will leave Abuja the next day. I figure I will be home by Sunday morning”, George explained. He always made a point of giving me a detailed description of his schedules. “That would be nice; the kids would love to start the New Year and new millennium with their Daddy around. You know you’ve already spoilt the Christmas,” I accused him playfully. “Honey, you were supposed to be my mouth,” he retorted, sounding hurt. “Calm down boy, I did explain. They do miss you though,” I related. “I'll make up for the Christmas,” he promised. “Better do,” I warned. “I'll call you later; I know you’re not concentrating on your driving as we’re talking. Rather, call me when you get home.” “Okay,” I replied. “My regards to my in-laws.” “Alright dear, bye,” I replied, a slight flush of pleasure forming on my cheeks. “See you. I love you,” George finished. “Love you too,” I replied, smiling. And I truly did. George is my husband, my pillar, my strength and my best friend. Nobody could equal what he is to me. Just listening to his voice is enough to make an ordinary day special. I’m always proud to have him as a husband. With thoughts of him on my mind, I stepped on the accelerator and sped to my destination. *** *** **** **** **** My arrival at the village was accomplished after an awful two hours, no thanks to the many illegal checkpoints mounted on the way by the Police. These so-called officials would stop at nothing to extort money from innocent motorists, asking questions ranging from motorists’ vehicle particulars to where they bought their wristwatches. Even having a complete set of particulars for one’s car does not guarantee that an individual will not part with some money, popularly referred to as Roja. Some of these law enforcement agents sometimes go as far as inventing imaginary car particulars just to find their ‘victim’ wanting, after which money would be demanded as penalty. I had my share of delay owing to such bottlenecks, but we finally got to the village in peace. The children were awake as we passed the Abia Tower, with the words “'WELCOME TO GOD'S OWN STATE” boldly inscribed on the monument. “Mummy, will you take us to the War Museum?” Nneka asked. At six years old, she is my youngest child and my only daughter and always anxious to squeeze out every detail of the stories her siblings told her. “I will, Darling,” I replied. “Let us go to the Ojukwu Bunker. I heard it’s more fun than the museum,” Somtoo said from the back. He is the eldest child and, at the young age of 10, he was already the almighty decision maker of the three. “No, I want to go to the museum,” Nneka cried. Tears were already welling up in her eyes as she gazed at me hopefully, knowing that I would certainly be on her side. “We went there last year! Let’s go to the Bunker.” This time it was Chukwuma, the second of the three and by far the most reasonable. “Mummy, I want the Museum. Somtoo and Chukwuma talk about it always because I’ve never been there. I want the museum.” By now she was crying and I knew it was time to help her out. “Don't cry sweetheart, I will take you to the museum. Maybe Uncle Okechukwu will take the boys to the Bunker.” That settled the matter and peace reigned again in the car, but not for long. “Yes, we will go to the Bunker, look at Ojukwu’s pictures and see his bedroom.” It was Somtoo again, trying to make the Bunker sound more appealing so Nneka could change her mind. “Daddy called today,” I announced, deliberately side tracking Somtoo's strategic plot. “When is Daddy coming to Grandma's village?” Nneka asked, now very excited. “He promised to be home on Sunday,” I replied, relieved that the topic had shifted from the museum and bunker to Daddy. “Why wouldn't Daddy be home on Christmas day, Mummy?” Chukwuma asked. A tricky question this was. If I handled it wrongly, I knew I would be facing a barrage of questions from every direction in a minute. “Daddy has a lot of work to do, so he tries as much as possible to finish all of them before he comes home,” I explained, wishing they would accept the explanation. “Christmas and Boxing days are public holidays. Daddy should not be working on public holidays,” Chukwuma said matter-of-factly. As he was the most reasonable and sensitive of the children, it was his job to let me know when I was arguing ineffectively. I knew his probing would continue if I did not give him a more solid reason for his father's absence. “Yes, you are correct my dear. But Daddy wants to finish all the work so he can have more time to stay with us next year. That is why he works on these public holidays,” I finished. “Will he take us to the park when he gets home?” It was Somtoo this time; he seemed to be thrilled with outings and events. On matters like this, he was less of a problem compared to his brother. “Yeah he will,” I replied, letting out a sigh of relief that the session on Daddy was over. “Doctor is back, Doctor is back!” someone shouted as I parked in front of the compound. The next few minutes saw people trooping in to welcome us. I felt proud to be home. They came in different ages, sex and sizes; the old, the young and the children. They all came to welcome us home. “Dokita, how you dey?” “How is our husband?” “Nwa mu, kedu ka imee?" “Look at how big Somtoo has grown to be. Doctor, what are you feeding these children?” The questions came pouring in; not that they needed answers. That was just their way of expressing happiness in welcoming one of their illustrious daughters. I tried as much as possible to greet all of them. I hugged some of the elderly women and bowed a bit to the older men as I held their hands. As the kids gathered, I instructed Ebere to share two loaves of bread among them. For them it was such a rewarding gift and they seemed very happy to receive it. Then I heard Nneka crying as one of the old women carried her up and made to kiss her. Poor girl, she was not used to the crowd and was ignorant of their affectionate gestures. Somtoo got busy, pointing out those to be given their chunk of the bread, while Ebere obeyed dutifully. Chukwuma just watched the proceedings, with his hands in his pockets; watching him, I could not just predict what he would be when he grew up. “Aunty Ngozi, welcome!” It was Oluchukwu, one of my cousins who helped my mother out in the village. “How are you Oly?” I called her by her pet name. She was about 15 and I noticed she now wore makeup. “I am fine, Aunty”, she replied. “Where is Mama?” I asked her. I knew my mother was not around the moment the first person called out my name and she did not make an appearance. She had this special way of welcoming me in style each time I came to the village; I would have had to watch her display some dance steps before hugging me. To be sincere, I missed that welcome at that particular moment. Only the two of us understood the history and significance of that welcome. “She went to the farm to harvest coco yams,” Oluchukwu said, breaking into my thoughts, “She should be on her way back by now.” I wanted to ask her why she didn’t accompany Mama to the farm but could see the answer on her face and the tight jeans she wore. Evidently, she was beginning to feel like a big Chick and big Chicks don't go to the farm. “Please come and help us take our luggage into the house,” I said to her before going inside the compound. Our compound was a big one. The main building stood at the centre and it housed everybody in my extended family. The hut was at a corner to the left. It still puzzles me why old folks still prefer such huts to the comfort of modern living houses. I had insisted on pulling it down when the construction was going on, but my mother vehemently refused. Her reason was that it was the meeting point of our ancestors. The yam barn and goat pen were at the back of the thatched hut while the rest of the land was converted to a vegetable garden, with tall palm trees adorning the background. A little to the right, not very far from the barn, situated the graves of my father, my eldest brother and my first child. I strolled casually to the backyard, which was my favourite part of the house, and felt the gentle tropical breeze caressing my face and lifting my skirt a bit. I could hear the birds singing along with the whistling of the palm trees. Carefully, I examined the tree of my dead child; there was this traditional practice in my village of planting a fruit tree with the soil dug from the grave of departed ones. I was told that it was a mark of continuous remembrance for the dead and it was believed that they protected us through the fruits of the tree. I planted a mango tree for my dead child. When I looked up at that moment, I saw three ripe mangoes up there. It was as if my folks left the fruits for me. I examined the other surrounding trees and caught a glimpse of a squirrel doing some acrobatics up a palm tree. I laughed. These animals are very sensitive, they know when there is peace and when there was war. As I stood transfixed at that sight, flood of memories played through my mind: the good old days, the ugly months of war and the hard days that followed the inglorious surrender. I muttered a Rosary. I knew my being alive was an act of grace from God and intercessions of the Blessed Mary. How can I tell the story of a young child, who saw her father die, witnessed the mob execution of her brother and sister-in-law, watched the malicious murders of hundreds of her ethnic people and was raped on end? I couldn’t imagine how I went through those experiences. So I’ve kept on dismissing those dark days of my life as nightmares. However, as much as I’ve tried to pretend, the scars still hurt and the tears still flow... It’s just that the anger is no longer there. I overcame that a long time ago. Staring at the graves brought back old memories. I could see the sunset in the evening; I could still hear the cockcrow at dawn and smell the smoke. I still remember the faces of those soldiers who defiled me, with the blue sky at the background. It was an experience I would not wish my worst enemy. I’ve never revealed this part of my life to anybody, not even to my husband or children. But now I know it is time I told the story of how I passed through that period of agonizing trial and came out victorious – the story of how an unfortunate refugee became an outstanding doctor. I believe my story would be a source of hope and strength to somebody, somewhere, sometime.

The breeze was just as I always loved it and the road had improved a bit, compared to the last time I plied it. As I stole a glance at Nneka, I noticed a little sweat had formed on her forehead as she sat dosing beside me. Then, I suddenly realised how selfish I was to be enjoying the highway breeze, and depriving my children the chill of the car air conditioner. In that instance, I rolled up the windows and turned the air conditioning on. A peep at my rear mirror revealed Somtoo, Chukwuma and Ebere, my house help, ensconced in dreamland. I always wondered how children could sleep peacefully even in noisy environments. Waving that thought aside, I pushed in a Don Moen worship CD to flavour their rest and sang along... ''Heal me Oh Lord and I will be healed Save me and I will be saved....'' The song brought back memories of pain, loss and fear, though it also made me smile at how I had been healed. My thoughts were quickly interrupted by my cell phone, and I reached to adjust the phone on the car phone kit, checking the screen. The ever-smiling face of George flashed on. I would never stop being surprised and thrilled by technology. “Hello Honey,” I answered, my headset hanging on fine. ‘‘Hi Dear. Did I spoil anything?” George asked. “No.” “Where are you at the moment?” he went on. “Almost home, I'll be there in an hour or less.” “Have you gotten to the Abia Tower yet?” “No, I guess it’s still some couple of kilometres away.” “Are they sleeping?” He quipped, sounding concerned. “Sure. Why?” I asked deliberately. “I haven't heard anybody ask you who’s calling,” he replied with a burst of laughter, “and I can hear some kind of ‘jazz music’ in the background.” “They are all sleeping very peacefully,” I said again. “I'll be through by the 28th and will leave Abuja the next day. I figure I will be home by Sunday morning”, George explained. He always made a point of giving me a detailed description of his schedules. “That would be nice; the kids would love to start the New Year and new millennium with their Daddy around. You know you’ve already spoilt the Christmas,” I accused him playfully. “Honey, you were supposed to be my mouth,” he retorted, sounding hurt. “Calm down boy, I did explain. They do miss you though,” I related. “I'll make up for the Christmas,” he promised. “Better do,” I warned. “I'll call you later; I know you’re not concentrating on your driving as we’re talking. Rather, call me when you get home.” “Okay,” I replied. “My regards to my in-laws.” “Alright dear, bye,” I replied, a slight flush of pleasure forming on my cheeks. “See you. I love you,” George finished. “Love you too,” I replied, smiling. And I truly did. George is my husband, my pillar, my strength and my best friend. Nobody could equal what he is to me. Just listening to his voice is enough to make an ordinary day special. I’m always proud to have him as a husband. With thoughts of him on my mind, I stepped on the accelerator and sped to my destination. *** *** **** **** **** My arrival at the village was accomplished after an awful two hours, no thanks to the many illegal checkpoints mounted on the way by the Police. These so-called officials would stop at nothing to extort money from innocent motorists, asking questions ranging from motorists’ vehicle particulars to where they bought their wristwatches. Even having a complete set of particulars for one’s car does not guarantee that an individual will not part with some money, popularly referred to as Roja. Some of these law enforcement agents sometimes go as far as inventing imaginary car particulars just to find their ‘victim’ wanting, after which money would be demanded as penalty. I had my share of delay owing to such bottlenecks, but we finally got to the village in peace. The children were awake as we passed the Abia Tower, with the words “'WELCOME TO GOD'S OWN STATE” boldly inscribed on the monument. “Mummy, will you take us to the War Museum?” Nneka asked. At six years old, she is my youngest child and my only daughter and always anxious to squeeze out every detail of the stories her siblings told her. “I will, Darling,” I replied. “Let us go to the Ojukwu Bunker. I heard it’s more fun than the museum,” Somtoo said from the back. He is the eldest child and, at the young age of 10, he was already the almighty decision maker of the three. “No, I want to go to the museum,” Nneka cried. Tears were already welling up in her eyes as she gazed at me hopefully, knowing that I would certainly be on her side. “We went there last year! Let’s go to the Bunker.” This time it was Chukwuma, the second of the three and by far the most reasonable. “Mummy, I want the Museum. Somtoo and Chukwuma talk about it always because I’ve never been there. I want the museum.” By now she was crying and I knew it was time to help her out. “Don't cry sweetheart, I will take you to the museum. Maybe Uncle Okechukwu will take the boys to the Bunker.” That settled the matter and peace reigned again in the car, but not for long. “Yes, we will go to the Bunker, look at Ojukwu’s pictures and see his bedroom.” It was Somtoo again, trying to make the Bunker sound more appealing so Nneka could change her mind. “Daddy called today,” I announced, deliberately side tracking Somtoo's strategic plot. “When is Daddy coming to Grandma's village?” Nneka asked, now very excited. “He promised to be home on Sunday,” I replied, relieved that the topic had shifted from the museum and bunker to Daddy. “Why wouldn't Daddy be home on Christmas day, Mummy?” Chukwuma asked. A tricky question this was. If I handled it wrongly, I knew I would be facing a barrage of questions from every direction in a minute. “Daddy has a lot of work to do, so he tries as much as possible to finish all of them before he comes home,” I explained, wishing they would accept the explanation. “Christmas and Boxing days are public holidays. Daddy should not be working on public holidays,” Chukwuma said matter-of-factly. As he was the most reasonable and sensitive of the children, it was his job to let me know when I was arguing ineffectively. I knew his probing would continue if I did not give him a more solid reason for his father's absence. “Yes, you are correct my dear. But Daddy wants to finish all the work so he can have more time to stay with us next year. That is why he works on these public holidays,” I finished. “Will he take us to the park when he gets home?” It was Somtoo this time; he seemed to be thrilled with outings and events. On matters like this, he was less of a problem compared to his brother. “Yeah he will,” I replied, letting out a sigh of relief that the session on Daddy was over. “Doctor is back, Doctor is back!” someone shouted as I parked in front of the compound. The next few minutes saw people trooping in to welcome us. I felt proud to be home. They came in different ages, sex and sizes; the old, the young and the children. They all came to welcome us home. “Dokita, how you dey?” “How is our husband?” “Nwa mu, kedu ka imee?” “Look at how big Somtoo has grown to be. Doctor, what are you feeding these children?” The questions came pouring in; not that they needed answers. That was just their way of expressing happiness in welcoming one of their illustrious daughters. I tried as much as possible to greet all of them. I hugged some of the elderly women and bowed a bit to the older men as I held their hands. As the kids gathered, I instructed Ebere to share two loaves of bread among them. For them it was such a rewarding gift and they seemed very happy to receive it. Then I heard Nneka crying as one of the old women carried her up and made to kiss her. Poor girl, she was not used to the crowd and was ignorant of their affectionate gestures. Somtoo got busy, pointing out those to be given their chunk of the bread, while Ebere obeyed dutifully. Chukwuma just watched the proceedings, with his hands in his pockets; watching him, I could not just predict what he would be when he grew up. “Aunty Ngozi, welcome!” It was Oluchukwu, one of my cousins who helped my mother out in the village. “How are you Oly?” I called her by her pet name. She was about 15 and I noticed she now wore makeup. “I am fine, Aunty”, she replied. “Where is Mama?” I asked her. I knew my mother was not around the moment the first person called out my name and she did not make an appearance. She had this special way of welcoming me in style each time I came to the village; I would have had to watch her display some dance steps before hugging me. To be sincere, I missed that welcome at that particular moment. Only the two of us understood the history and significance of that welcome. “She went to the farm to harvest coco yams,” Oluchukwu said, breaking into my thoughts, “She should be on her way back by now.” I wanted to ask her why she didn’t accompany Mama to the farm but could see the answer on her face and the tight jeans she wore. Evidently, she was beginning to feel like a big Chick and big Chicks don't go to the farm. “Please come and help us take our luggage into the house,” I said to her before going inside the compound. Our compound was a big one. The main building stood at the centre and it housed everybody in my extended family. The hut was at a corner to the left. It still puzzles me why old folks still prefer such huts to the comfort of modern living houses. I had insisted on pulling it down when the construction was going on, but my mother vehemently refused. Her reason was that it was the meeting point of our ancestors. The yam barn and goat pen were at the back of the thatched hut while the rest of the land was converted to a vegetable garden, with tall palm trees adorning the background. A little to the right, not very far from the barn, situated the graves of my father, my eldest brother and my first child. I strolled casually to the backyard, which was my favourite part of the house, and felt the gentle tropical breeze caressing my face and lifting my skirt a bit. I could hear the birds singing along with the whistling of the palm trees. Carefully, I examined the tree of my dead child; there was this traditional practice in my village of planting a fruit tree with the soil dug from the grave of departed ones. I was told that it was a mark of continuous remembrance for the dead and it was believed that they protected us through the fruits of the tree. I planted a mango tree for my dead child. When I looked up at that moment, I saw three ripe mangoes up there. It was as if my folks left the fruits for me. I examined the other surrounding trees and caught a glimpse of a squirrel doing some acrobatics up a palm tree. I laughed. These animals are very sensitive, they know when there is peace and when there was war. As I stood transfixed at that sight, flood of memories played through my mind: the good old days, the ugly months of war and the hard days that followed the inglorious surrender. I muttered a Rosary. I knew my being alive was an act of grace from God and intercessions of the Blessed Mary. How can I tell the story of a young child, who saw her father die, witnessed the mob execution of her brother and sister-in-law, watched the malicious murders of hundreds of her ethnic people and was raped on end? I couldn’t imagine how I went through those experiences. So I’ve kept on dismissing those dark days of my life as nightmares. However, as much as I’ve tried to pretend, the scars still hurt and the tears still flow... It’s just that the anger is no longer there. I overcame that a long time ago. Staring at the graves brought back old memories. I could see the sunset in the evening; I could still hear the cockcrow at dawn and smell the smoke. I still remember the faces of those soldiers who defiled me, with the blue sky at the background. It was an experience I would not wish my worst enemy. I’ve never revealed this part of my life to anybody, not even to my husband or children. But now I know it is time I told the story of how I passed through that period of agonizing trial and came out victorious – the story of how an unfortunate refugee became an outstanding doctor. I believe my story would be a source of hope and strength to somebody, somewhere, sometime.

The breeze was just as I always loved it and the road had improved a bit, compared to the last time I plied it. As I stole a glance at Nneka, I noticed a little sweat had formed on her forehead as she sat dosing beside me. Then, I suddenly realised how selfish I was to be enjoying the highway breeze, and depriving my children the chill of the car air conditioner. In that instance, I rolled up the windows and turned the air conditioning on. A peep at my rear mirror revealed Somtoo, Chukwuma and Ebere, my house help, ensconced in dreamland. I always wondered how children could sleep peacefully even in noisy environments. Waving that thought aside, I pushed in a Don Moen worship CD to flavour their rest and sang along... ''Heal me Oh Lord and I will be healed Save me and I will be saved....'' The song brought back memories of pain, loss and fear, though it also made me smile at how I had been healed. My thoughts were quickly interrupted by my cell phone, and I reached to adjust the phone on the car phone kit, checking the screen. The ever-smiling face of George flashed on. I would never stop being surprised and thrilled by technology. “Hello Honey,” I answered, my headset hanging on fine. ‘‘Hi Dear. Did I spoil anything?” George asked. “No.” “Where are you at the moment?” he went on. “Almost home, I'll be there in an hour or less.” “Have you gotten to the Abia Tower yet?” “No, I guess it’s still some couple of kilometres away.” “Are they sleeping?” He quipped, sounding concerned. “Sure. Why?” I asked deliberately. “I haven't heard anybody ask you who’s calling,” he replied with a burst of laughter, “and I can hear some kind of ‘jazz music’ in the background.” “They are all sleeping very peacefully,” I said again. “I'll be through by the 28th and will leave Abuja the next day. I figure I will be home by Sunday morning”, George explained. He always made a point of giving me a detailed description of his schedules. “That would be nice; the kids would love to start the New Year and new millennium with their Daddy around. You know you’ve already spoilt the Christmas,” I accused him playfully. “Honey, you were supposed to be my mouth,” he retorted, sounding hurt. “Calm down boy, I did explain. They do miss you though,” I related. “I'll make up for the Christmas,” he promised. “Better do,” I warned. “I'll call you later; I know you’re not concentrating on your driving as we’re talking. Rather, call me when you get home.” “Okay,” I replied. “My regards to my in-laws.” “Alright dear, bye,” I replied, a slight flush of pleasure forming on my cheeks. “See you. I love you,” George finished. “Love you too,” I replied, smiling. And I truly did. George is my husband, my pillar, my strength and my best friend. Nobody could equal what he is to me. Just listening to his voice is enough to make an ordinary day special. I’m always proud to have him as a husband. With thoughts of him on my mind, I stepped on the accelerator and sped to my destination. *** *** **** **** **** My arrival at the village was accomplished after an awful two hours, no thanks to the many illegal checkpoints mounted on the way by the Police. These so-called officials would stop at nothing to extort money from innocent motorists, asking questions ranging from motorists’ vehicle particulars to where they bought their wristwatches. Even having a complete set of particulars for one’s car does not guarantee that an individual will not part with some money, popularly referred to as Roja. Some of these law enforcement agents sometimes go as far as inventing imaginary car particulars just to find their ‘victim’ wanting, after which money would be demanded as penalty. I had my share of delay owing to such bottlenecks, but we finally got to the village in peace. The children were awake as we passed the Abia Tower, with the words “'WELCOME TO GOD'S OWN STATE” boldly inscribed on the monument. “Mummy, will you take us to the War Museum?” Nneka asked. At six years old, she is my youngest child and my only daughter and always anxious to squeeze out every detail of the stories her siblings told her. “I will, Darling,” I replied. “Let us go to the Ojukwu Bunker. I heard it’s more fun than the museum,” Somtoo said from the back. He is the eldest child and, at the young age of 10, he was already the almighty decision maker of the three. “No, I want to go to the museum,” Nneka cried. Tears were already welling up in her eyes as she gazed at me hopefully, knowing that I would certainly be on her side. “We went there last year! Let’s go to the Bunker.” This time it was Chukwuma, the second of the three and by far the most reasonable. “Mummy, I want the Museum. Somtoo and Chukwuma talk about it always because I’ve never been there. I want the museum.” By now she was crying and I knew it was time to help her out. “Don't cry sweetheart, I will take you to the museum. Maybe Uncle Okechukwu will take the boys to the Bunker.” That settled the matter and peace reigned again in the car, but not for long. “Yes, we will go to the Bunker, look at Ojukwu’s pictures and see his bedroom.” It was Somtoo again, trying to make the Bunker sound more appealing so Nneka could change her mind. “Daddy called today,” I announced, deliberately side tracking Somtoo's strategic plot. “When is Daddy coming to Grandma's village?” Nneka asked, now very excited. “He promised to be home on Sunday,” I replied, relieved that the topic had shifted from the museum and bunker to Daddy. “Why wouldn't Daddy be home on Christmas day, Mummy?” Chukwuma asked. A tricky question this was. If I handled it wrongly, I knew I would be facing a barrage of questions from every direction in a minute. “Daddy has a lot of work to do, so he tries as much as possible to finish all of them before he comes home,” I explained, wishing they would accept the explanation. “Christmas and Boxing days are public holidays. Daddy should not be working on public holidays,” Chukwuma said matter-of-factly. As he was the most reasonable and sensitive of the children, it was his job to let me know when I was arguing ineffectively. I knew his probing would continue if I did not give him a more solid reason for his father's absence. “Yes, you are correct my dear. But Daddy wants to finish all the work so he can have more time to stay with us next year. That is why he works on these public holidays,” I finished. “Will he take us to the park when he gets home?” It was Somtoo this time; he seemed to be thrilled with outings and events. On matters like this, he was less of a problem compared to his brother. “Yeah he will,” I replied, letting out a sigh of relief that the session on Daddy was over. “Doctor is back, Doctor is back!” someone shouted as I parked in front of the compound. The next few minutes saw people trooping in to welcome us. I felt proud to be home. They came in different ages, sex and sizes; the old, the young and the children. They all came to welcome us home. “Dokita, how you dey?” “How is our husband?” “Nwa mu, kedu ka imee?” “Look at how big Somtoo has grown to be. Doctor, what are you feeding these children?” The questions came pouring in; not that they needed answers. That was just their way of expressing happiness in welcoming one of their illustrious daughters. I tried as much as possible to greet all of them. I hugged some of the elderly women and bowed a bit to the older men as I held their hands. As the kids gathered, I instructed Ebere to share two loaves of bread among them. For them it was such a rewarding gift and they seemed very happy to receive it. Then I heard Nneka crying as one of the old women carried her up and made to kiss her. Poor girl, she was not used to the crowd and was ignorant of their affectionate gestures. Somtoo got busy, pointing out those to be given their chunk of the bread, while Ebere obeyed dutifully. Chukwuma just watched the proceedings, with his hands in his pockets; watching him, I could not just predict what he would be when he grew up. “Aunty Ngozi, welcome!” It was Oluchukwu, one of my cousins who helped my mother out in the village. “How are you Oly?” I called her by her pet name. She was about 15 and I noticed she now wore makeup. “I am fine, Aunty”, she replied. “Where is Mama?” I asked her. I knew my mother was not around the moment the first person called out my name and she did not make an appearance. She had this special way of welcoming me in style each time I came to the village; I would have had to watch her display some dance steps before hugging me. To be sincere, I missed that welcome at that particular moment. Only the two of us understood the history and significance of that welcome. “She went to the farm to harvest coco yams,” Oluchukwu said, breaking into my thoughts, “She should be on her way back by now.” I wanted to ask her why she didn’t accompany Mama to the farm but could see the answer on her face and the tight jeans she wore. Evidently, she was beginning to feel like a big Chick and big Chicks don't go to the farm. “Please come and help us take our luggage into the house,” I said to her before going inside the compound. Our compound was a big one. The main building stood at the centre and it housed everybody in my extended family. The hut was at a corner to the left. It still puzzles me why old folks still prefer such huts to the comfort of modern living houses. I had insisted on pulling it down when the construction was going on, but my mother vehemently refused. Her reason was that it was the meeting point of our ancestors. The yam barn and goat pen were at the back of the thatched hut while the rest of the land was converted to a vegetable garden, with tall palm trees adorning the background. A little to the right, not very far from the barn, situated the graves of my father, my eldest brother and my first child. I strolled casually to the backyard, which was my favourite part of the house, and felt the gentle tropical breeze caressing my face and lifting my skirt a bit. I could hear the birds singing along with the whistling of the palm trees. Carefully, I examined the tree of my dead child; there was this traditional practice in my village of planting a fruit tree with the soil dug from the grave of departed ones. I was told that it was a mark of continuous remembrance for the dead and it was believed that they protected us through the fruits of the tree. I planted a mango tree for my dead child. When I looked up at that moment, I saw three ripe mangoes up there. It was as if my folks left the fruits for me. I examined the other surrounding trees and caught a glimpse of a squirrel doing some acrobatics up a palm tree. I laughed. These animals are very sensitive, they know when there is peace and when there was war. As I stood transfixed at that sight, flood of memories played through my mind: the good old days, the ugly months of war and the hard days that followed the inglorious surrender. I muttered a Rosary. I knew my being alive was an act of grace from God and intercessions of the Blessed Mary. How can I tell the story of a young child, who saw her father die, witnessed the mob execution of her brother and sister-in-law, watched the malicious murders of hundreds of her ethnic people and was raped on end? I couldn’t imagine how I went through those experiences. So I’ve kept on dismissing those dark days of my life as nightmares. However, as much as I’ve tried to pretend, the scars still hurt and the tears still flow... It’s just that the anger is no longer there. I overcame that a long time ago. Staring at the graves brought back old memories. I could see the sunset in the evening; I could still hear the cockcrow at dawn and smell the smoke. I still remember the faces of those soldiers who defiled me, with the blue sky at the background. It was an experience I would not wish my worst enemy. I’ve never revealed this part of my life to anybody, not even to my husband or children. But now I know it is time I told the story of how I passed through that period of agonizing trial and came out victorious – the story of how an unfortunate refugee became an outstanding doctor. I believe my story would be a source of hope and strength to somebody, somewhere, sometime.

Oscar "Blade Runner" Postorious gives the first full account of how he killed his girlfriend

PARALYMPIC idol Oscar Pistorius told a court in his own words today how he shot dead his model girlfriend. In an emotional statement, he claimed he fired shots at the bathroom door, thinking an intruder had climbed through the window. He said he then realised that Reeva Steenkamp was not in his bed, which filled him “with horror and fear”. Earlier in the hearing, prosecutors accused Pistorius of murdering his girlfriend following a heated row. The athlete grabbed a gun, attached his prosthetic legs and walked seven metres before shooting dead his girlfriend as she cowered in a bathroom, prosecutor Gerrie Nel said. Pistorius shot Reeva, 29, four times inside his gated Pretoria mansion on Valentine's Day, the court heard. Pistorius, known as the Blade Runner, sobbed uncontrollably in the South African court during his second appearance over the alleged murder of his girlfriend. In his statement read out by his lawyer, Pistorius said Reeva had come over earlier that evening and done some yoga before he went to bed. Waking in the summer heat in the early hours of the morning, he went out to the balcony to get a fan. The double amputee had not attached his prosthetic limbs and was walking on his stumps. Suddenly he "heard a noise in the bathroom". Pistorius knew the bathroom window was open and that ladders were accessible nearby. His statement read: "I screamed words to the effect of for him/her to get out of my house and for Reeva to phone the police. "I thought Reeva was in the bed. I felt extremely vulnerable but I knew I had to protect Reeva and myself." He said he then pumped bullets into the locked bathroom but returned to the bedroom and realised Reeva was not in bed. "That's when it dawned on me it must have been Reeva in the toilet," he added. Pistorius described how he put on his legs, tried to kick down the door then bashed it in with a cricket bat to find his 29-year-old girlfriend shot inside. She was killed after being hit in the head by bullets fired through the bathroom door. Pistorius, 26, said he ran downstairs with her but “she died in my arms.” He denies murder, saying the couple were “deeply in love” and that he had no intention to kill her. The gold-medal winner added that he was “absolutely mortified at death of my beloved Reeva”. Pistorius also revealed he kept the 9mm pistol under his bed because he had received death threats. He added: “I fail to understand how I could be charged with murder, let alone premeditated murder, as I did not plan to murder my girlfriend, Reeva Steenkamp.” He swore the affidavit under oath during a meeting with his legal team at a Pretoria police station ahead of today’s two-day bail application. Mr Nel, prosecuting, said the victim arrived at the house between 5pm and 6pm the night before she was killed at 3am. Reeva locked herself inside the cramped bathroom following a argument and was unarmed, the prosecutor added. “She couldn’t go anywhere. You can run nowhere,” he said. “It must have been horrific.” Nr Nel also said the athlete had not provided investigators with his own version of what happened. Before adjourning the bail hearing till 7am GMT tomorrow, Magistrate Desmond Nair ruled that the case was a schedule six offence – meaning premeditated murder – rather than the less serious schedule five. The 26-year-old Olympic champion sobbed as his lawyer insisted that Reeva’s shooting was an accident. Barry Roux, defending, said Reeva was not murdered and there were a number of cases where men have shot members of their own family through doors after mistaking them for burglars. He also suggested that Pistorius broke the bathroom door down to help Ms Steenkamp after the shooting. It follows last Thursday when police formally charged Pistorius with premeditated murder. Prosecutors told the bail hearing that Pistorius had put on his prosthetic legs and walked seven metres (23ft) to the bathroom before firing his gun. After the shooting he told his sister that he thought Ms Steenkamp, 29, was an intruder, the court heard. Mr Nel said the killing was premeditated because the defendant planned to say that he thought he was shooting an intruder. He added: “It was all part of the pre-planning. Why would a burglar lock himself inside the bathroom?” But Mr Roux said: “We submit it is not even murder. There is no concession this is a murder.” Pistorius, wearing a grey suit and tie, replied “Yes, sir” after the chief magistrate asked if he was well. The court appearance came as Reeva’s heartbroken family gathered for her private funeral after her body was returned to her home town of Port Elizabeth. Her mother, June, has described her “horrendous” torment at her daughter’s death. Mrs Steenkamp told South African newspaper The Times: “She loved like no-one else could love. “She had so much of herself to give and now all of it is gone. Just like that, she is gone. In the blink of an eye and a single breath, the most beautiful person who ever lived is no longer here. “All we have is this horrendous death to deal with... to get to grips with. "All we want are answers... answers as to why this had to happen, why our beautiful daughter had to die like this.” South African newspaper City Press reported that a cricket bat covered in blood had been recovered from Pistorius’s property. Mourning ... pallbearers carry the coffin holding Reeva's body into the crematorium this morning His arrest triggered shock across the globe and prompted reports that he might have mistaken his girlfriend for an intruder in what could have been a Valentine’s Day surprise gone wrong. But police swiftly distanced themselves from that suggestion and said there had been previous incidents of a “domestic nature” at Pistorius’s house. His family has vowed to fight the murder charge in the “strongest terms”. Pistorius’s best friend Justin Divaris claimed the sports star called him minutes after the shooting telling him “there has been a terrible accident”, according to reports. Pistorius’s father said he had “zero doubt” that Ms Steenkamp’s death was a tragic accident and that his son may have acted “on instinct”. Ms Steenkamp’s father, Barry, paid tribute to her in a newspaper interview, saying the family was struggling to come to terms with her death. He said: “There is no hatred in our hearts. He must be going through things that we don’t know about. “We ask the Lord every day to help us find a reason why this should happen to Reeva. She was the most beautiful, kind girl in the world.” Pistorius’s management company has issued a statement announcing it had “no option” but to cancel all future races in which the double amputee was contracted to compete. Pistorius, who won two gold medals and a silver at the 2012 Paralympic Games in London, was contracted to compete in the Manchester City Games on May 25, following Qantas Tour races in Australia on March 9 and 16 and meetings in Rio de Janeiro (March 31) and Iowa (April 26). Meanwhile, French fashion house Thierry Mugler has become the latest high-profile sponsor to distance itself from Oscar Pistorius as the Paralympian fights murder charges. The company will withdraw all products featuring Pistorius, including its ’A*men Pure Shot’ fragrance, all point-of-sale advertising featuring Pistorius, and all references to the athlete on its website. (Culled from http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/4802187/Oscar-Pistorius-breaks-down-at-bail-hearing.html)

I Died And God Woke Me-Dame Patience Jonathan Confesses

First Lady Patience Jonathan Admits Undergoing Nine Surgeries In One Month As Lavish Thanksgiving Party Shuts Down Abuja About 5000 guests, including 18 state governors, have overrun Abuja for a lavish thanksgiving party thrown for Nigeria’s First Lady, Patience Jonathan, at a cost of N500 million. Although she had previously denied being in hospital in Germany, Mrs. Jonathan opened up today at a special service at the Aso Rock Chapel, stunning worshippers with the admission her medical condition had been very serious. “I actually died,” Premium Times quoted her as testifying. “I passed out for more than a week. My intestine and tummy were opened.” She said her doctors had actually given up hope, although she did not specify her diagnosis. “It was God himself in His infinite mercy that said I will return to Nigeria. God woke me up after seven days.” During her six weeks away from Nigeria last year, the presidency refused to say anything to the country about her condition. Upon her return to Abuja on October 17, Mrs. Jonathan denied having been in any hospital. “I don’t even know that hospital they are talking about…” she said on that occasion. “I do not have any terminal illness or cosmetic surgery.” For today’s thanksgiving merriment, an organising committee chaired by Mr. John Kennedy Okpara raised over N500m, which would most likely be presented to Mrs. Jonathan as a gift, as the presidency is bankrolling the event.

Did Nike's Goddess Spiritually Control Postorious As The Bullet In The Chamber To Commit Murder?

Nike's advert featuring para-Olympic star, Oscar Postorious described him as the Bullet In The Chamber and this manifested on Valentine Day when Postorious opened four bullets from the chamber of his hand pistol into his girlfriend's head and arm. The victim,Reeva Steenkamp,died at the spot. This has got Nike going into damage control measures and monitoring the South African athlete facing charges of "premeditated murder." In Nigeria, we are always told by pastors that the spiritual controls the physical and Nike is the Greek goddess of victory; a virtue Postorious has enjoyed since hitting limelight. He was so victorious in the Olympics games that he even won a case to be allowed to compete with able bodied athletes. Do you believe the Greek goddess has spiritually controlled the Bullet in the Chamber to physically commit murder and will he come out of this charges victorious?

The Other Side Of Goldie

You must have heard about the death of the Nigerian artiste and BBA Housemate,Oluwabimpe Susan Harvey, popularly known as Goldie and of course heard her confessed love for Kenyan house mate Prezzo who reports say is in Nigeria armed with an engagement ring to propose. Well, it’s all good. While fellow artistes and her fans are mourning the death of the singer, stark revelations are emerging about the other side of the diva. Her legal husband, Andrew Harvey, who she still bears his surname has come out to post exclusive pictures of Goldie and as well granted an interview to a Nigerian newspaper, The Nigerian Entertainment (thenetng.com). Goldie’s maiden name is Susan Filani and her husband cleared the air that they were married until her death and were never divorced. He also stated that they were planning to have a baby this year. Mr. Harvey who said he is planning to visit Nigeria next was making plans to become Nigerian. Some of his responses to the interview conducted by Victoria Ige goes thus: So sorry about your loss. And so sorry to be contacting you under this circumstance. Nigerians are shocked to discover, through your FB post, that Goldie was married. I’m wondering if you’ll able to give me more details, and if we can have your permission to print some of the photos in the folder ‘Memories of my darling wife’? You may print the photos, as for the details it really depends on what it is you’re looking for Thanks Andrew. Just to clarify a few things Like? When did you wed her? And were you still married as at when she passed yesterday? We wed in December 2005 and were very much married when she passed indeed I was talking to her on arrival in Lagos before the fateful event I see you moved back to England. Do you have another family? I work in Malaysia, we have a private home in UK, I do not have a second family Also did you have kids together? No kids, we were planning this year There had been speculation for many years that she was married to an ‘oyinbo’ man. But no one could lay hands on anything. Why did you keep it a ‘secret’? Our private life is nothing to do with work life, there has to be a balance How did you hear of her death? I found out you last saw her in December? I was talking to her on arrival in Lagos before the fateful event How did you meet her? She must have been very young… I met her at a friend’s leaving party and fell in love straight away, but had to work hard to persuade her I was genuine So you will be planning to come here for burial rites… Yes I have applied for visa and shall come next week But how did you manage the Prezzo drama? Prezzo was part of BBA game, just like in the movies, there was nothing to fear But funny it dragged way beyond BBA It dragged because the media dragged it, other wise it would have died naturally. Prezzo will say anything to get attention Do you think he fell in love? And did you ever think Susan liked him for a minute…? People fall in love and it’s not impossible to love more than one person, but there are different levels. She liked him initially, but began to despise him and distanced herself as he tried to use her she complained he was very manipulative How did you come about your alias ‘Oyibopeppay? Oyiiibopeppay is a name used in the villages for white man getting burned in the sun. I used to work in the bush erecting BTS for MTN and Glo You have direct access to her password? The memories album was posted on her twitter. Or you requested for an admin to post? I am an official admin. I don’t need any password but my own. It was authorised by Goldie One last question: so much speculation on cause of death. I see from your facebook timeline that you’ve followed the reports. Have the doctors/family/label told you what the cause of death is? An autopsy is being carried out and we will await results. The rest is speculation and hearsay And did she have any medical condition? She had no medical condition, Is it true she was in India recently? She was in Malaysia, we spent Christmas together away from prying eyes What will you miss most about her? Everything, she was the most beautiful person I ever met, no moment was wasted. Sweet, intelligent, sexy and a magnificent cook!!!! And she was a determined young lady… Very. That’s what I liked about her Are you originally from England? Was she officially a citizen of your country by marriage? Or that was not concluded? I’m from England and was processing Nigerian citizenship before I was transferred to Malaysia. Of course she was citizen of UK before we met, she lived and schooled there She was indeed a star, as I’m sure you’ve seen from the tributes coming from far and near. Even the BBC and Billboard recognise her star Yes we saw it on BBC news tonight. It is a devastating loss, but I support just as much wherever she has gone to. May her soul rest in peace