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BN Prose Series: Rain (Part 3)



It had been raining all morning. I sat on the bare floor of my bedroom looking through the window wishing the rain would somehow last forever. Normally, I would have dashed outside and danced to the sound of the thunder as each drop of rain struck my head, sending its cleansing powers to the very tip of my toes. My tears would have been swallowed by the rain and my eyes would have been washed by the power of its purity. But I was in no mood to dance or even cry. Everyone around me was in floods of tears. For the past seven days, mourners had arrived our compound in droves, the women rolling on the floor while the men held their heads in dismay. I looked at them from my window. I watched the commotion with utter disinterest and annoyance. What did they know about sorrow? What did they know about despair? Where had they been all these years when I lived in an abyss of hopelessness? Where were they then? Instead now they crowded out our gate with meaningless grief. I refused to go to them. I refused to acknowledge their empty words. Instead I stayed in my room and continued to stare at the window. Ogonna, the house maid, had tried on several occasions to coax me from my room with food but I remained uninterested. What good was food to me now anyway? I hadn’t slept in days. Each time I shut my eyes my mind replayed images of events I wanted to forget, images I wish I had never seen. But they were real, ingrained in my memory for a lifetime, drawn on the back of my eyelids, ready in wait for my eyes to shut.

This is why I was glad when the rain came. Even though I was in no mood to dance, I knew that just by looking at the rain my cleansing process had begun. It didn’t matter that the burial rites were being delayed. It didn’t matter that the hole that had already been dug for the burial was now overflowing with water. No. What mattered now was that I could think, I could now begin to decipher what was fiction and what was real as I replayed the events of the last 7 days.


“Chinwe! Gi ki ne me neba?” [what are you doing here], papa screamed again as he approached me. I stood like a corpse. My feet cemented to the ground, my mouth sealed with sellotape, my heart pounded like a festival drum. He reached me then. “You foolish child, do you no longer answer when…?” his voice tailed off as he caught an eye full of the images behind me. At first he too was silent. His face looked calm; only the pulsating vein at the top of his forehead showed any sign of emotion. I was finally about to speak when all of a sudden like the roar of a lion, papa let out a scream like I have never heard before. Even till now I am unsure if he was actually speaking or just screaming. It was such an earth shattering scream, I covered my ears for fear they would explode. His feet sprang to life like a hyena and his scream grew louder as he entered the wood shed grabbing Father Peter by the back of his beaded Rosary.

“What is this Amaka? What is this?” He screamed at mama with Father Peter’s neck still firmly in his hand. Mama’s screams of passion had now turned into one of total hysteria. She was screaming, crying and begging all at the same time. Mucus and tears ran down her face simultaneously and I could see a fear in her eyes I had never seen before. Father Peter on the other hand looked angry and kept screaming at mama to shut up. It was then papa threw Father Peter to the floor. One swift motion and Father Peter’s head fell to the ground like a coconut whose outer shell was about to break. Papa wasted no time in turning to mama. His hands moved so fast I was unsure if he actually slapped mama twice or thrice, her screams were now unintelligible. I felt sorry for her. She was my mother after all and who was Papa to play God when he himself was guilty of a more heinous crime. I moved towards the door of the woodshed unsure of what exactly I was going to do. It was then I saw Father Peter stand up, stark naked and reach for one of the long pieces of wood we kept in the shed.

Papa was so busy beating mama he hadn’t noticed Father Peter’s naked body moving towards him. I willed Father Peter’s semi conscious body on in my mind. I wanted him to swing the long heavy piece of wood which he was now holding with both hands at papa’s head and break it into two. Yes, I wanted Father Peter to kill papa. So I stood silently, watching as Father Peter lifted the piece of wood with both his hands, over his head, aiming straight at the back of Papa’s head. I watched Father Peter lower the piece of wood and hit Papa on the side of his shoulder instead of his head. I shut my eyes in bitter disappointment. Papa barely flinched. Instead, he turned around and punched Father Peter straight in the nose. Father Peter staggered but remained standing, his nose now bleeding profusely. He tried to punch papa but missed again. Papa muttered something in Igbo about how a man with a small penis had the courage to sleep with his wife and then try and beat him in his own house. He pulled Father Peter close to him again with his rosary and swung his own head at him. Father Peter fell to the floor instantly. Papa knelt over him and began rendering a set of blows like a deranged boxer. Mama leapt on papa’s back her arms tightly wrapped round his neck, but he shrugged her off like he would a fly. I looked at the scene. Mama lay on the ground crying while papa’s well formed body lay astride Father Peter’s now motionless body, his hands relentlessly burying punches into his face.

I saw it then. The glint of papa’s hunting riffle. It had always been there but in the confusion of the events I had totally forgotten its existence. I was right there in front of the door of the woodshed barely an arm’s length from where I was presently standing. But what would I do with it? I thought. What if papa turned and saw me holding the riffle? My fate would be worse than Father Peter’s and mama’s combined. Mama saw me then. The intensity of both our eyes meeting made me realise she too was searching for the riffle. At the side of the shed I could see papa’s bulky body making to stand, his work on killing Father Peter now complete. Who would be next? Maybe mama, then me. Like a body possessed by a thousand demons I grabbed the riffle, aimed at papa who was now standing looking directly at me and fired. The force of the gunshot sent both papa and I back. I fired again. Papa’s face seemed to bare the same expression it did when he was on top of me, shivering from the climax of my defilement. I shut my eyes and fired again. Then again and again.

The silence that followed was bone-chilling. I opened my eyes to see my father’s corpse lying in front of me, his chest riddled with bullet holes like a bush rat. I turned my gaze to mama, her mouth was moving but I could not hear her. I could not hear a single thing, not even the beating of my own heart. The silence was all I could hear. For once in my life I felt peaceful. Like the moment you experience before you fall into tired asleep. And then without any warning, my legs gave way and I fell to the ground.


“Chinwe! Chinwe! Chinwe!” I opened my eyes to find Ogonna, the house maid, hovering over me on the floor of my bed room. The rain had stopped and the sun shined so brightly I could see its ray of light shine straight through my window and over my neatly made bed.

“You must come out now. The burial rite has almost finished. Your father has been put in the grave”. “You must follow me now!” she screamed.

She pulled me up, straightened my cloth and rubbed some white powder on my shiny face. She then led me through the crowd of mourners until we came to the parlour. My heart skipped a beat as I caught the sight of papa’s empty chair draped in white george. Mama knelt at the base of the chair crying, her newly shaven head shinning like a well-oiled frying pan. A white wrapper mixed with gold threading tied around her waist almost covered her expanding stomach. She actually looked like a widow grieving the loss of her husband instead of an adulterer, who had watched her daughter kill her husband while she and her lover lay naked on the floor. I hissed at her tears as I took my position beside her. My hatred for her was limitless. Father Peter had been buried two days earlier. The knowledge of the seed that grew in her belly was now lost forever. It was unfortunate, really. I had always looked at mama like an innocent by-stander, a meek woman who was caught in the crossfire of life circumstances. But she was anything but meek. She was a witch. The way in which she, aunty Chioma and aunty Ifeoma had covered up the events leading up to Father Peter’s and papa’s deaths led me to believe she was nothing but a blood-sucking witch. She had told the whole village that Father Peter was attempting to rape her when papa caught him and in the confusion of it all I had mistakenly shot papa instead of Father Peter. To my surprise, the whole village believed this false account of events and treated her like a widow mourning the loss of her heroic husband.

They began shaving my head – the last part of the burial rites that began 5days ago. I was kneeling beside mama wincing as I felt the sharpness of the blade scrape my scalp. I felt the blood trickle down from my scalp into my ear and I wondered what it would have been like to kill mama as well. Surely the opportunity would present itself within the next nine months.

The end!

To God be the Glory

Glory is the host and executive producer of Inspire Series, the web talk show which uses the collective stories of everyday women to inspire others. She believes women are more than hand bags, hair, make-up and other externalities and is passionate about about pursuing purpose and living above societal conformities. She is also a day dreamer, and romantic at heart who loves TV, food and family. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram @inspiredbyglory and read more from her on


  1. Aibee

    May 28, 2010 at 11:55 am

    Oh my God! this is really deep and heavy. I’d been watching out for the concluding part of this story but now that its finally here, I’m not sure I liked it. It is really tragic. I sometimes come back to read stories fromk the BN Prose Series, but this is one story I doubt I want to read again.

    All in all, well done Glory. I look forward to reading more from you but could we please have something lighter. Lol

  2. neli

    May 28, 2010 at 12:20 pm

    well done glory,i expected that the devil will be punished and
    yes it did happened.

  3. lola

    May 28, 2010 at 12:28 pm

    hmm……… really tragic, but nice writing Glory.

  4. ify

    May 28, 2010 at 2:04 pm


  5. Lola

    May 28, 2010 at 5:29 pm

    Oluwa Oba! Great story, biko I need more of this…please work something out with
    Bella so I can get a weekly tonic. Thanks for posting 🙂

  6. D.O.T.M.H.

    May 28, 2010 at 5:34 pm

    seriously ify, wow! meehn Glory, this is deep… I think I like it though, I was actually playing the scenes out in my head already. wish I could see this in a movie. for some reason father Peter is white to me or did u already say that? cos I think a white rev father would make the story juicier… good story Gloria. I give u four and two-third stars.

  7. Oremi

    May 28, 2010 at 5:47 pm

    Weird! The morale of this story? A killer has been born. You are a verry good writer glory, thumps up. U shd really look into publishing the stack of novels you have kept hidden… 🙂

  8. kunbistic

    May 28, 2010 at 5:48 pm

    Glory Glory Glory – How many times did i call you!! Thats right 3 times….hunny you have outdone yourself….the suspense and story is flowing….i feel like im reading a short story of an Adichie or Eric Jerome Dickey….This is bad badder baddest …………eagerly waiting for part 4!! Im soaking this prose up like water to a sponge mehn….keep it up!! xxx

  9. Ayo

    May 28, 2010 at 6:12 pm

    This is the first time I’m commenting on this site…. I was looking forward to the end of this story and I must confess I LOVE IT!!! This is what a good writer does; put you in suspense and then take an unexpected turn. Keep it up.

  10. HEYR

    May 28, 2010 at 7:35 pm

    Don’t tell me the girl was also preggers! Meaning her mom will be shocked at finding that out when d baby drops in 9 months!!!! educate me o

  11. kemi

    May 28, 2010 at 7:46 pm

    @Kunbistic, part 4 ke? Pls o Glory, no part 4. D ending is lovely as it. Thumbs up.

  12. Dee

    May 28, 2010 at 9:24 pm

    An interesting read, welldone!

  13. luvlife

    May 29, 2010 at 4:19 pm

    Glory Glory, so this whole time you be fyne girl!!! You should develop a novel
    out of this. you have something going…


    May 29, 2010 at 5:08 pm

    I just love this.Its very deep. Thanks Glory for this wonderful piece.

  15. Pinky

    May 30, 2010 at 5:19 pm

    Love this totally… Would be an amazing movie….

  16. Her

    May 30, 2010 at 9:18 pm

    Finally! been looking forward to this story! I really loved it!!!
    it was really deep! Good ending!!! Please put up more of her work!

  17. kunbistic

    May 31, 2010 at 12:21 pm

    @ kemi – nutin wrong with a girl wanting more of a good thing nau….. but it might ruin it sha..

  18. Ivory Malinov

    June 1, 2010 at 11:51 am

    omg…glory i remove my hat for you. This is simply beautiful. wow!!!!!

  19. nonye

    June 1, 2010 at 12:28 pm

    nice work Glory!!!! more more more!!

  20. dabusta

    June 1, 2010 at 4:12 pm

    woah! this is very very gud….very tragic ending though.Glory keep it up……nice work

  21. Olivia M.

    June 2, 2010 at 3:29 am


  22. Miss Natural

    June 4, 2010 at 6:21 pm

    Glory this was awesome! It was sad, very sad but a befitting cliffhanger ending. I agree with Oremi’s take on it, a killer has been born, that was the first thing I thought of when I read the last line. That is how evil starts sometimes. Loved this, you are sooo talented!

  23. JAI-HO

    June 7, 2010 at 10:08 am


  24. oby

    September 15, 2010 at 1:18 pm

    Well done!The suspense was good.

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