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Ozila's Adventures

Welcome To Ozila Home Of Supernatural Stories

STORY LIBRARY

COMPLETED STORIES
Adanna: The Mysterious Aba Girl || Brouhaha In The House Of God || Brouhaha In The House Of God 2: the guardian angel || Fucking With The Devil || My Woman My Everything || The Carpenter, The Witch And The Mysterious Mirrow || The Mysterious Twenty Thousand Naira || There And Back On Time: Germany Dilemma || Adanna 2 : Seeds of Adanna || Deji The Pool Boy || The Private Lesson Teacher || The Tales Of Ozila Laveda And The Bank || The Preachers Son || Adesuwa || There And Back On Time Season 2: Europe Wahala || Brouhaha In The House Of God 3: Road to hell ||Sex And The City || Fausat The Fish Seller || Who Love Me Most || Witches And Wizards || The Magnificent Brothers season one || Confession Of Funnab Yahoo Boy || Honest Illusion || Sex Robbery And Delivery Service || Once Upon A Nite Stand || My I.T Sexcapade || Murica My River Wife || How I Cherish My Sister || A Clarion Call To Confusion || Adanna3: The Sacrifice || Secrets And Scandals || The Magnificent Brothers 2 || Sins Of My Past || Diary Of An Assistant Girlfriend || Allen Avenue: Story Of A Call Worker || Cassandra || Church Rats || The University Prestos || The Curious Case Of Boda Meko || Dark Tears Of Babylon || An Ace For Oscar || The Coffin Of Errors || A Merry Chrismax || The Nemesis Of Daddy || Me And My Supernatural Girlfriend || The Road To Stardom || Three Days To Remember || || heart of a lucifer || Murica 2: How Do I Return || Three Days to remember 2 || Brother Paul || My Imsu Desire || Diana the mermaid || Belinda: tender beauty || The Darkest Hour || The Darkest Hour 2 || The Last Smile || Omolara's Faith || Blinkered || Behind Her Smile || Bukky Alakara ||Intermission: The Love ||The University Prestos || M.A.R.Y || The President Son And I || Abominable Act || In The Dark || Act Of Faith || Act Of Faith 2 ||Mr Rajas Daughter 2 || Shattered Dreams || Adanna 4: Unavoidable Nemesis || Brouhaha In The House Of God 4: Die Another Day || Brouhaha In The House Of God 5: Judgement Day || Brouhaha In The House Of God 6: Political War ONGOING STORIES
Tarasha || Endless Tears || 7 Days || The Hole In The Wall || Behind Her Veil || Married || Maimed Soul || Belinda 2 || I Fell In Love || M.A.R.Y 2 || There And Back On Time 3 : The Shadow Chase || Is It A Sin || Is It A Sin 2 || Is It A Sin 3 || Isabella : In Love With A Mermaid || Once A Lover || There And Back On Time 3: The Shadow Chase || The President Son And I : 2 || Fierce || Ownets Adventure || Brouhaha in the house of God 7: Retaliation || Apocalypse: The Second Coming

The Coffin Of Errors (chapter one)

The old and bad-tempered Pa Jimoh was
dead, to begin with, but he did not go to his
grave. And this deprivation of proper
interment prevented among mourners any
thought of planting over his head a mango
tree. The real cause of his demise, however,
if brought to focus, would result in an esteem
more mirth-inducing to any spectator at the
sight of the incident than to the actual victim
on whom such tragedy befell.
Pa Jimoh had already hoisted himself to the
apex of a rather lofty palm tree before he met
his end. His intention behind this ascent was
merely to tap in the early wine, but instead,
he found his own hand tapping on the delicate
nest of snoozing hornets. Not many mortals,
if placed behind a judgemental desk, would
put too much blame on the piqued wasps for
their collective efforts in the attack on the
feeble curmudgeon. And it would be unfair if
this little but fatal brawl between insect and
man was not elucidated in full detail.
The kind of irritation this swarm fostered
could only be imagined after putting oneself in
their thorax. Just imagine yourself a wasp
making passionate insect love to your spouse
in your apartment erected feet high on the
branch of a palm, then suddenly poof! your
castle was demolished by the single stroke of
a hand. And this destruction came not just
from any hand but from the hand of Man;
that specie with whom you have never been
(and possibly will never be) of benign
companionship. In this instance, the last thing
a patriotic wasp would care about was
decency; no male wasp would scramble to a
wardrobe searching for a pair of trousers to
cover its privates, and neither would a female
scream for her pants and bra. What would
they do? They’d call on immediate neighbours
whose mansions had also been reduced to
rubble and launch immediate attack on the
human intruder.
Initiating the divide-and-conquer techniques,
some wasps made their own attack on the
human’s skull; thereby, in the process,
reshaping the dimension of the tapper’s
occiput into that which was totally different
from the Creator’s initial design. But this
was not what resulted to the old man’s
demise; of course, something more brutal
sufficed. While some wasps families were busy
assaulting the old man’s skull, others lodged
themselves into the dark comfort of his rather
oversized pair of trousers. The poor man
wouldn’t have launched into that extraordinary
wail even people far away had sworn hearing
if those bees had shown kindness on their
intruder. The offensive had found it incubent
to sting him on the delicate tissue of the sac
dangling between his thighs, while some were
satisfied by only sticking their probosces on
the flesh of that tender rope that always come
with the sac. The agony could only be best
described by someone who’d experienced a
nearly equal attack. So, it could be deduced
that the latter attack was more brutal than the
former, for it was at this moment that the
old man forgot about the precarious position he
was in; he’d disremembered that he was still
perched against the stem of a tall tree. And
because the pain was getting unbearable, Pa
Jimoh let go. Witnessing the brutal event
could cause one to see only figuratively the
morals behind the anecdote that ‘the higher
you fall the higher you bounce’, and the old
man literally bounced when his slim body came
in contact with the earth. And these mean
insects returned to build another nest only
after accompanying their victim to his final
destination. A rather eccentric writer may be
inspired to coin a catchy title from this
tragedy: ‘Death by Sting’ would go the title.
Pa Jimoh was really dead. There was no
doubt whatsoever about that, for he truly and
undeniably died from half a thousand stings
and a broken vertebrae. He knew about his
own death? Of course he did. How could it
ever be otherwise? Because Pa Jimoh died a
virgin, there was really not wet eye for his
funeral. The reason behind his decided
celibacy would forever remain a mystery even
to the most seasoned of all detectives alive
today.
Now, the mention of Pa Jimoh’s funeral
brings the magic of the pen back to the first
line of the immediate paragraph before this.
Pa Jimoh was really dead. This must be
distinctly assimilated or there would be nothing
of consequence to fathom from the
extraordinary sequence of events that succeeded
his demise. And when a man dies and is still
refused the peacefulness of a grave, then most
people will agree that there is something still
amiss with the world, as it has always been.
Jimoh, being the last of his race, was of no
known family member to claim his corpse, let
alone rewarding him with a befitting burial. It
was only the kind indegenes of Ogbomosho
that took it upon themselves to plant the
loner, but they refused to do it without a
coffin available. It was part of their culture in
the remotest part of the village not to bury
any corpse in the soil without first locking it
in a casket. But the only coffin-maker they
knew had his shop in the city, which was
many kilometres away from the village. Having
no other known maker of coffins, the village
elders gathered together their resources and
employed the service of Saka, a gifted coffin-
maker. These elders exhibited their generosity
over the tapper’s corpse to a commendable
degree. If they’d allowed themselves the
pleasure of considering Pa Jimoh’s manners
in his life they wouldn’t have made any step
at burying him; they’d rather have watched
the corpse rot and become meat for fowls of
both air and land, for Pa Jimoh was known
to be tight-fisted in his life; a squeezing,
wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching,
covetous old man. He was a well from which
no bucket had ever fetched a generous water.
No beggar who knew him implored of him to
bestow a trifle, no children asked him what it
was o’clock, no man or woman in the village
ever once in all his life inquired the way to
such and such a place, of Pa Jimoh. Even
the blind men appeared to recognize him; for
when they sensed him coming ahead, they
would tap their canes and make their ways to
their doorways. It almost seemed as though
whenever it came to situations pertaining
Jimoh, they revelled in their affliction. Some
of them would console themselves by saying,
‘No eye at all is better than an evil eye!’
But even Jimoh himself did not give a trifle
care to this obvious neglect; it was the very
thing he liked, and he always defended
himself by preaching about how he was the
oldest inhabitant of the village at seventy-
five, and that every other villager should
always accord him the respect for an elder.
Although he always emphasized how he was a
year older than any other old man in the
village, everybody knew that he was never an
hour richer. And to have such an evil-
embodiment die in the village without the
benefit of a burial might spell misfortune for
the growing generation of the village.
Saka worked round the clock to make a
presentable coffin for Pa Jimoh, and when the
work was ready the next day, Saka was
impressed at his own achievement; because
he’d never, until now, completed a casket in
a single day. It was as though the spirit of
the dead palm-wine tapper urged him to
hasten up. He knew quite well that his client
would likewise be duly impressed at the
rapidity with which he completed the work.
He also knew that the villagers could not wait
to inter Jimoh and get it done with. But in
the modern world, there was always Murphy’s
Law that could not be avoided. And in this
case at hand, everything worked together to
make sure that the coffin built for Jimoh did
not arrive Ogbomosho in time.
Pa Jimoh had chosen the wrong time to die;
he kicked the bucket when fuel scarcity was
rampant in the city yonder.
With his faithful work of art beside him,
Saka waited impatiently at the bus-stop, but
the road was practically devoid of vehicles.
The very few that plied the quiet road didn’t
give the carpenter a second glance, and even
those who gave were shied away at the sight
of the corpse apartment. Most motorists
believed that the presence of a coffin in their
vehicles could cause doom to their journey,
with or without corpse. Sometimes though,
some braver ones would adorn their automobiles
with leaves of unknown botanical
nomenclatures, believing therefore that this
action was enough to ward off both potential
evils and evil potentials. Besides, everything
in life has always boiled down to faith; but
faith itself is limited. Would you believe so
much in faith that you’d take a bold step to
the middle of a rail track with the firm belief
that the speeding locomotive would bounce off
you at impact? And it is not unusual to find
that it is only readers who’d not misplaced
their mental gadgets would find the mission an
extremely ludicrous one. And if you trust
otherwise, then the writer can only shrug his
shoulder and urge you to prove him wrong.
Saka was already at the verge of giving up
and returning home when he sighted an
approaching lorry. There, he decided within
himself that this one vehicle would not pass
him by, no matter what it took. This was the
perfect six-wheeler to transport him, coffin
inclusive. He was determined to make the
driver stop, and hand-flagging might not
achieve that. When the vehicle was closer,
Saka suddenly leaped to the middle of the
road. There was no one at the bus-stop to
stop him from engaging in this suicidal
mission. Everywhere was silent, as if the
situation was not only inflation in fuel price
but also an imposition of curfew. Although
this feat was not unlike that of the demented
incipient already mentioned in the former
paragraph, Saka was one of the sanest people
in all of humanity; because it takes a large
degree of sanity and ingenuity to build such a
remarkable coffin. Fortunately, Saka was not
flattened by the wheels of the truck, though
almost. The driver had managed to repair the
brakes the day before. The vehicle stopped at
only a few inches from the carpenter.
‘Are you crazy?’ Screamed the driver in a
thick Yoruba language. As he poked his head
out through the window Saka could not help
noticing the brutal tribal marks on the man’s
cheeks. Whoever had carved this tally on his
face had not intention of bestowing
pulchritude. The lines were not even
symmetrical; the driver’s ugliness was classic.
‘No, I am not crazy, just desperate.
There’s a difference between insanity and
desperation.’ answered Saka in like language.
‘What do you want?’ The facially-challenged
man asked impatiently.
‘My name is Saka and I urgently need to get
to the town of Ogbomosho.’
‘How does that concern me?’
‘You are going to drive me there.’
‘And a dozen beauty queens would fight over
me.’ Spat the driver, whose name was
Dawodu; an ugly name among ugly names.
‘Listen carefully to me, Prince Charming,
I’m not leaving here unless you agree to
transport me.’
Dawodu scoffed amusedly, ‘And you think
your rigid presence here is a threat to my
tipper? I can just run you over.’
Maybe Saka’s sanity had reached such a
boiling point that a regular prefix had been
added to his ‘sanity’, or the spirit of the
deceased client was influencing him negatively,
because the coffin-maker’s reply was
sensationally inane. ‘I’ve memorized your
plate number.’
The truck-driver stared at Saka for a long
moment; what was running through his mind
could be explained by only him, because he
quietly but firmly replied, ‘My fee is ten
naira.’ Of course, the amount charged during
this prehistoric time was a direct equivalent
five hundred times its value fifty years aft.
‘What!’ screamed the wide-eyed Saka.
‘That’s a fortune! I can only afford five
naira.’
‘Deal.’
‘Come and let’s hoist that to the back of the
lorry.’ Saka pointed at the coffin he’d left at
the site of the road prior his maniacal bound
before a moving engine. It was at this
moment that Dawodu noticed the wooden
object.
‘What’s that?’ he asked incredulously.
‘It’s a spaceship.’ Saka replied absent-
mindedly.
‘It looks like a coffin.’
‘Wow, that’s very brilliant of you. You’re
right, it’s a coffin,’ Saka said impatiently,
‘Now come and assist in lifting it.’
‘You are not planning to put that in my
lorry, are you?’
The coffin-maker looked at the driver as if he
had just said something incredibly silly.
‘No,’ he answered in anger, ‘I’m planning
to string it on my waist like a bead.’
‘I’m not putting a corpse in my car!’
‘The coffin is empty, genius!’
‘Prove me wrong.’
It was only after Saka had opened the coffin
to show that it was truly empty that Dawodu
assisted in lifting.
Then the journey began.

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Updated: October 16, 2016 — 6:08 pm

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