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Weep Child, Weep


This story contains scenes and descriptions that may be offensive to some people.


I know it’s a personal opinion, but my school is way better than every other school in the world. Okay, that was a bit far-fetched; my school is the best in Nigeria at least. Do you know what it takes for someone to prefer being in his school to going home? Exactly. Now you get the picture.

Hello, I’m Chinonyelum. Nonye for short. And I’m not happy about going home. I would have preferred to stay in school with my friends, especially Justin, than going to that… that graveyard, a place where I felt neither loved nor welcomed. But it was our mid-term break and everyone was going home.

Okay, let me tell you about myself. I am the only child of my parents, both doctors. I had my every material and financial need met before I even voiced them out. I wore the latest clothes, used the latest gadgets, and of course, went to the best school—Glorious Minds Academy. But I lacked one thing. And it was the one thing I’ve always yearned for from my parents—their love. Throughout my childhood, they were always too busy to notice me; I was always relegated to the care of my nanny, whom I detested because of the way she worshipped my mother.

And things got worse when I turned ten and was about to go into secondary school. My parents called me (one of the few times I actually sat down with them) and told—no, warned—me never to come back from school without first informing them. It had struck me as strange then, but when I asked them the reason for such an instruction, they shifted in their seats before replying that it was for my safety. Safety indeed; they just hated the sight of me. And I know why.

You see, I’m not what my parents expected, most especially my father. They wanted a son who would outshine his mates in all aspects—academics, sports, you name it; they wanted a genius who would walk in their footsteps; in short, they wanted another medical doctor. Instead, they got a blockhead of a child, who took two years to learn how to walk, who took almost four years to say his first words. They got a girlish boy who runs from any and every fight, who turns squeamish at the sight of blood. They got a boy who preferred dancing (especially ballet) to sitting down and cramming books (books are boring please).

So you see, I’m not your regular only child. The only time I felt anything akin to love was when I got into secondary school, particularly in my JS3. My hostel master, Mr. John had picked a particular interest in me and had taken my as his child. He had cared for me in many ways, most of which, if I remember, makes my penis go hard and my anus to go wet, as I bubble with excitement. The first time he had touched me was… heavenly. I was—

“Oga, we don reach,” the taxi driver said. I was so lost in thoughts that I didn’t realise that I was at the house already. I got down, paid him and took my bag. By then, the gateman, Nnamdi had opened the gate for me. He had seen me get down through the CCTV camera in his small office.

We were the only people in the estate who had an Igbo gateman. My father had been adamant against employing an Hausa or a Fulani gateman, saying that they were of the same blood with the Boko Haram terrorists and the Fulani herdsmen; I don’t want to be killed in my bed, he had said severally.

“Small oga, welcome,” Nnamdi greeted, smiling broadly and revealing a perfect dentition. He was a handsome man, and I’d fantasised about what it would be would be like to kiss him, to run my hands on his perfectly toned muscles, to have him…

“Oga,” he said again, bringing me out of my reverie, “I dey greet you.”

“Ah… yes… umm… thank you,” I managed to say. “Are my parents around?”

“Dem dey oo. Dey tok say make pesin no disturb dem.”

“I see. Take my bag to my room. I’ll go say hello to them,” I said, heading towards the main house where my parents stayed.

“Ah, oga. I jus tell you say dem no wan make pesin disturb dem,” Nnamdi reiterated.

“I know Nnamdi. But I’m not just any person. Go now, I’ll quickly say hello to them and head back to my room. I even need to freshen up and sleep.”

With that, I turned and with quick steps, distanced myself from him. Our compound contained three houses, each separate but joined by a long walkway, which led from the main house to the boys’ quarters, where the servants stayed. I quietly got inside, and headed towards my father’s room. I wanted to greet him first before seeing my mother; it was better to take the bitter pill before the not-so-bitter one.

As I approached his room, I heard moans, and the unmistakable sound of skin slapping against skin. Were these two people, these old people having sex? Was that why they instructed that they were not to be disturbed?

I turned to leave, but on a second thought, I decided to watch them for some seconds. Some of the boys in school have told tales of seeing their parents have sex. This was the perfect opportunity for me to see how the scene looked like.

With perfectly silent steps, I crept towards the door of the room. It was wide open, and if someone happened to look carefully towards my direction, I would be spotted. I didn’t plan to stay long anyway, I would just watch for like five seconds and be on my way.

But as I saw what was happening inside the room, I let out an unconscious gasp of horror that made both of their heads to snap towards me. With their eyes glazed over with lust, it took them time to recover. It was in those seconds in which they were recovering, that I fled from the building, towards my room, towards safety.

I got to my room and locked myself in. The horror of what I’d just witnessed caused me to empty the food I ate before coming back on the floor.

What kind of monsters were my parents? What kind of twisted pleasure were they…? I couldn’t even think of it without feeling nauseated.

Slowly, I gained my bearings and the images kept on flashing in my mind. Both my parents were evil, believe me.

They had a boy between them. The child was about twelve. My father was having sex with him through his anus, while my mother had her legs spread, and was rubbing his face in-between her legs. The worst part was that the child appeared to be unconscious.

My parents were paedophiles! The thought boiled my blood, and I felt like killing them. They were the worst of sinners.

“Chinonyelum!” my mom shouted as she knocked. “Please open the door. It’s not what you think!”

“Go away you monster!” I yelled. “You are evil, you and dad are monsters!”

“Please my dear, open the door. Give me a chance to explain.”

In the end, I opened the door. I guess I needed to make sense of the whole thing. She gingerly came in, perhaps afraid that I would lash out on her. Which I would have done. She said at the edge of the bed, and looked hard and long at me, then she said:

“You didn’t call us that you were coming back.”

“And I’ve found out the reason for that mystery. So both of you are paedophiles! You are disgus—”

“You don’t understand. It’s not our fault,” she cried.

“Obviously it’s my fault,” I replied, my voice dripping with scorn and sarcasm.

“I know how you feel now. You feel hurt and disappointed. But you see, both of us—your father and I—cannot have sex like normal people. We… we have special needs.”

“Which involves molesting an innocent child. Whose child is that anyway?” I asked.

“I don’t know. We pay some people to get the boys for us.”

“So you get your sexual satisfaction from destroying young boys you don’t even know?”

“It’s not like that. We send them away with payment.”

Payme—Can you even hear yourself? You rape someone’s child and you pay the children?”

“We have no choice. I love having sex with boys between twelve and fourteen years. So does your father. There’s no other way to satisfy ourselves apart from doing what we are doing.”

A part of my brain said, you are the son of your parents. As a hostel prefect in my school, I had a lot of junior students under me. Most of them were my lovers. But I never forced any of them, I had chased and wooed them like a man.

I am nothing like them, I screamed in my mind.

“I know it’s hard to take. But we had to do it. Please try and under—” she was saying before I cut her off.

“I should try and understand that you are wicked and heartless? That you and the beast that is my father are—”

“Please stop!” she cried. “Don’t make us look bad. We give them enough money to change their lives.

“How much can you give them to bring back their innocence?”

“I—we can’t… I’m sorry you found out this way.”

One thing struck me. “Why was he unconscious?” I asked.

“We normally give the boys drugs which would put them in the mood for sex and also make them numb to the pain of anal sex. But this particular boy passed out before we were done. But we had to finish—”

“—raping him,” I completed.

She said nothing. She just sat there, wiping her tears off her cheeks. After a while, she slid her hand on the bed towards me. I didn’t notice her movement until her fingers touched my arm. I cringed instinctively away from her. The action made her gasp in sorrow. As I looked at her, I felt nothing for her. Which wasn’t hard, considering the fact that I’d never gotten any maternal love from her.

Suddenly I asked, “If you both do not like normal sex, how was I born?”

“Artificial insemination,” she said simply.

“No wonder neither of you love me,” I said with bitterness burning my heart.

“No! Don’t say that. We love you so much. You are the only source of joy in our lives.”

It was hard to believe. And I told her so. She kept on pleading and telling me how much she and my father loved me. I tuned her out as I thought of what I would do about what I’d seen.

I have to tell the police, I thought.

“You can’t do that,” she said in a frigid voice.

Shit! I’d said that out loud. “I’m sorry, but I can’t keep this evil to myself. I can’t forgive myself if I did,” I said, standing up.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she said as she stood up. She was a head taller than me. She held my hand in a forceful grip. She was incredibly strong.

“I have to go the pol—”

Before I could finish my statement, she threw me on the bed and jumped on me. I tried to lift her off me, but I had never been strong. We started struggling, and she took one of my pillows and covered my face with it. I was fast losing precious air. I scratched and clawed at her, but she didn’t budge. I felt my life being snuffed out and I flayed my hands, frantically searching for something, anything I could use as a weapon.

Then my hands touched my pen, which I’d removed from my trouser when I ran into the room. With desperation, I uncapped it and with my last strength, stabbed her face. She let out a piercing wail and fell off me. I removed the pillow and saw her lying on the floor, with the pen lodged in her left eye. She was screaming and writhing in pain. I knew that my father and the servants would soon come into the room, so I fled. I had only my boxers on, and I was covered in her blood, but I didn’t care. I ran towards the only place I knew I would be safe.

I got to the police station and they jumped up at the sight of me. One of them called me into his office and asked me what happened. By then, some of them had congregated at the door of the office.

After taking in huge lungfuls of air, I told them. I told them everything I knew and saw.

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