Back To Sender: Landlord’s Evil Plans Backfire On Daughter (II)

This is Part II of Back to Sender, a reader’s narrative of how his wicked landlord reaped from his wickedness.

He was just coming home from service, not knowing that some strange substances have been dropped into his room from his open window. Incidentally, it was the landlord’s daughter that went ahead of him to sit on the cushion on which the concoctions have been smeared, only to begin to cry and scratch… It is truly a case of back to sender; read on what follows:

“The way the landlord launched forward at me, huge frame and husky voice et al, anyone would have lost their bearing.

“Worse, he owned the room where I lived, the house, the entire compound; in fact, he was my landlord, and I was just one anonymous, unaccompanied and unmarried young man from some “unknown” community several kilometres away in Imo State.

“He had just grabbed his daughter and ran back to his room at the boys’ quarters, in the same frenzy in which he charged forward, leaving me in utter confusion.

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“I hadn’t done any wrong but I had to follow him to ensure all was well with the girl, my small friend for the sake of the peace, but at a safe distance. Once he sensed footfalls behind him, he threatened me against coming into his room. I stopped dead there, sluggishly turning on my way.

“Many tenants had come out by this time, attracted by the tumult. It was the Alhaji whose room faced mine, that quietened me. He just motioned to me, to keep my peace, very careful not to let his voice ring. The same with other tenants who by now had spilled in the corridor

“For what seemed eternity, I stood rooted to my door, the very last on the left wing before the boys’ quarters’ area. I would stand by the door, sit, turn right, left and then right again. I just awaited my fate, what the landlord’s verdict would be.

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“I just was sure it would be a very punitive verdict. I was sure that his threat: “eni ti oba fe, ko oko kuro n’ile me”, which by constant application we understood to mean: anyone who does not want my style should just leave my house – would be applied to me, in full measure.

“Poor me, who would fight my case. Not even Alhaji, not any of his three wives, yes, not even Aunty Aina, the second which he called his “Aya mi”, (my sweet heart),

“She it was who had received the most pounding from landlord’s broad palms, and kicks from his huge legs. The most sociable of the lot, and of presentable personality, there was no doubt she was lacking in the tact needed to survive with such a husband, and therefore became the most badly treated.

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“I would never forget a day his bile overturned for whatever reason, and he descended on Aunty Aina, shoving, slapping, and kicking, right in the room he had allocated her at the boys quarters.  We were hearing slaps, punches and hits, amidst Aunty Aina’s desperate pleas for help, but no one dared draw closer. All we could do was mass about the long passage, pleading from the safe distance, in Yoruba, broken English and Igbo, any language, all to no avail.

“By the time Auty Aina was able to jump out of the room to the passage, she was swollen parts, bruises and blood all over.