Before Akpantanibo died, everyone knew it was only a matter of time; and in unanimous consensus, they felt when it happens, it would be his penis that did him in. So, when news hit the people on Mosadoloun street in the evening some of them had just seen him leave Rhoda’s shop, it didn’t come as a shock. In fact, when the men learnt of his demise, Atanda was the first to react.

 

He screamed for joy, gulped two cups of palm wine, and demanded that Gibola and Elumelu pay him the agreed sum they owed on the bet they made at one point in the past. He sang King Sunny Ade’s poetic lyrics without concern as his vocals rang out of note. For him, it was less about the death of a friend than it was about his prediction coming true. 

 

Akpantanibo Ubibiong Charles was a man of great libido and only a few hours to his death he was at his usual spot gulping heavily on intoxicants.

---

 

He drank his palm wine savagely unperturbed that it was only ten in the morning. “The best time to get drunk is when no one is watching. That way you can enjoy yourself without a  judgmental lot coming between you and your journey to gross self indulgence.” He’d often say to the other illiterates on his beer table who would cheer him for his unusual vocabulary.

 

He was a dropout from Lagos State University where he was studying Political Science and was once the son of a middle class doctor who became without child after finding the only one he had on his bed unclad with his second wife. Dr. Charles, greatly offended, sent his son packing without a second thought. This was three years ago and many things have since changed aside Akpantanibo and his unquenchable desire for women whose bodies were not his to touch. 

 

This morning, seven hours and thirty six minutes before his eyes would close forever, he was with Atanda, Gibola, Smirnoff, Elumelu and Soldier. All six sat on an old wooden bench in Rhoda’s shop, shielded from the hot sun smoking, drinking and seldom breaking out into arguments. He was talking about Cynthia, the daughter of his boss on whose property he was a gardener. “That girl don dey gree for me.”

 

“Abeg, we no be pikin for hia. Gree for you bawo? When she is not mad.” Atanda said. 

“Is it not me that is telling you my story? Abi you will come and collect the talk from my mouth?”

“Abeg no vex. We dey hear you.” The other men pleaded. “Atanda you have come o, no spoil flow again.”

Akpantanibo adjusted on his sit with a sense of pride. “She called me to her room yesterday evening after I was done tending to oga’s flowers and crops” He paused, only continuing after his audience expressed shock. 

 

“Eh ehn now.” He chewed on the hard ponmo in the bowl in front of him. “That’s how I got upstairs and small Madam said I should help her with a box from her wardrobe because her hands could not reach the top. Me wey don sabi the scope, I say make I play along. I got the box and found shoes in them, I then asked her to let me put them on for her and she agreed. When I was doing that, I started dropping small small talk like, ‘do you know my father disowned me when I was only 19 years old.’

 

And if you know women you’d know the best way to their heart is a good story. Na so my story hook am so tey She begin dey question me. Some parts I go yan her true talk, some kin part wey dey wowo I go just use small lie cover am. Anyways, long story short, after I told her my stories, I asked her some questions too. Boys, remember this, a woman likes to hear stories but what is more important than that is you listening to their stories.” 

 

Elumelu and Soldier hailed him while Gibola and Smirnoff nodded their heads like a congregation of believers receptive to the words of the prophet. “After like an hour, I pretended like I had to leave telling her it was inappropriate for me to be in my oga’s daughters room. Omo, Cynthia beg me o. Ehn, ‘please don’t go.’ ‘Akpan, I don’t care, it is my room.’ ‘I can tell you are different. You are not like all these uneducated area boys. I can tell.’”

 

“Ehn, who is she referring to as uneducated area boys?” Atanda slammed his cup on the rickety table.

“Abeg abeg! How it take dey do you? No spoil my furniture o.” Rhoda called out from the counter.

“You na, you do pass primary 4?” Akpantanibo teased Atanda. 

The other men laughed and Atanda’s bleached skin rose a shade of red.

“Abeg O.G continue.” They nudged Akpantanibo.

 

“Atanda has ruined my mood.” His voice sounded wounded. “I will just conclude. After staying for another twenty minutes, I asked Cynthia to prove how much she thinks I am different by kissing me the way she would kiss one of her rich boyfriends. And omo, all I can say is, her mouth tasted like pussy wey dey grow pineapple.” 

 

The men rapped their fingers on the table, whistled and sang odes to him. Even Atanda was impressed. He rubbed his hands on his reddish bald head and shouted, “Kai, Kai! I swear women no get sense. Akpan, you be bastard.” He grabbed his hand in a firm handshake, “I swear you na boss!” 

 

Fourteen minutes past twelve, the men still drank heavy gulps of palm wine as they talked; they spoke of women and football. Once in a while, a brawl threatened to break out but because the intentions of drunk men were never to be taken seriously, a shout from Rhoda was all that was needed to restore peace. 

 

Alente walked in on the men baring their unwashed teeth as they laughed. She sneered at Akpantanibo. When she walked past his table in the small, densely lit stall in contrast to the blazing sun showering its rays right outside, she hissed, loudly, as though wanting to be heard. Her slippers screeched on the roughly cemented floor, a sound she knew Akpantanibo hated especially when it came from women. “It’s so classless ah ahn, when it is not that your body is too heavy for you.” He’d corrected her on occasions. 

 

She bought a keg of palm wine from the counter and made her exit louder than earlier. Then when she passed by his table, Akpantanibo squeezed her buttocks tightly, sending the unsuspecting woman flinching. “Akpan, are you mad?” She said, “Are you ok? Do you think I am one of these street girls you can do anyhow? Let my husband hear of this.”

 

Ignoring her rant, he tapped her buttocks again. This time she made to slap him but the agile man swiftly propelled his slender frame out of her reach and positioned himself directly behind her. He drummed his fingers on the bogus flesh on her back. “param-pata-putum” he sang between a mischievous smile and letting his hands do as they liked. 

 

Her scream rose to the roof as she hauled insults at him. “My husband must hear of this.” She pursued him round the stall until she got hold of his waist. When she rose her hand to hit him Akpantanibo yet maintaining his smile asked, “How is my boy Imole?” Alente paused. Then, in a whisper he said. “You better stop this your excessive anger. I am getting tired of it. I told you from day one, na fuck I wan fuck. I did not sign up to be the father of any child.” 

 

Her eyes roamed the room in worry that the others would hear him but they only smiled, showing hideous brown teeth clearly enjoying the show. “Shut up.” She whispered back. “I don’t need you. You think you are a man simply because you sabi fuck.”

“Good, so stop giving me attitude.” He allowed his eyes land on her breast, “But I don’t mind doing it one more time, who knows it may change my mind. Na puna dey make man kolo.” 

She smacked her lips, tongue in cheek with her eyes trailing up and down his body before storming out. “Animal, tueh.”

 

He rejoined his men on the table and ordered for more palm wine. 

“Akpan,” it was Elumelu, “You have just been buying and buying abeg where you see money?” 

His smile reached his brown and misty red eyes, “I thought you’d never ask. Na small madam add twenty percent to my pay yesterday as I dey comot her room.” 

 

He drank for a bit and by the time he decided to leave, five hours, seventeen minutes and forty-five seconds had passed. The time was 3:12pm and the palm wine stall was beginning to draw the usual evening crowd. 

---

 

He stepped out of Rhoda’s shop into the unrepentant heat that had not done much to lick up the mess from the previous night’s downpour. The road on Mosadoloun street was a hurdle to cross. He hopped this way and that, dodging puddles and cursing when he couldn’t. The sound of honking Hausa motorist hagrode his ears, and the shops that sold an array of things from stock fish, to fairly used frying pans and fried yams complimented with fried hot dogs and chicken didn’t attract him.

 

When he stopped at the junction, it was to buy Pakurumo from Iya Biggie. And right after gulping two bottles, he dialed Cynthia’s number, “I am coming to the hotel now.” He belched the effect of his stamina enhancing drink and assured her, “I am ready for you. No cry when I put it inside o.” he heard her giggle before ending the call.

---

 

At 4:39pm, the peace on Mosadoloun street which was never much was disturbed by the voices in Odiore’s single room apartment which she shared with her jobless husband. “What do you think you are doing, Eburutu?” Odiore demanded.

“Touching my wife.” 

“Abeg shift. Your mates are at work you are here talking dirty dirty. Shift one side make I pass.” She tried shoving the six footer out of her way but his bear frame wouldn’t budge a foot. 

“So because I am without a job, I should not sleep with my wife abi?” his tone matched hers.

“Na man wey get job dey fuck. Ọkwa mụ k’I chọrọ ị-la? You want to sleep with who? Is it not someone that has stress to relieve that will cum, ehn? You stay in this house, eat my food, sleep and you want to relieve stress?”

 

“Who said anything about stress? I want to enjoy your body. I want to also give us another child. Ehn? Please now.” He crawled to her side and began to caress her shoulder. She tried to push him but he had encircled a nipple in his fingers and her legs only patted in response. Slowly, he found her other nipple with his mouth and was sucking just fine before his teeth sunk in them. 

 

“Ye! Ye!” she shrieked. “This man don chop my breast like bread.” The small crowd that had gathered around their commotion,  giggled. She pushed him away from her body. “You see why I didn’t want to sleep with you.” 

 

“I’m sorry.” He grabbed his crotch. “It’s been months since you allowed me touch you. Almost a year. Please satisfy me, please, let my body just calm down.”

 

She spat venomously, “Satisfy what?” Odiore was screaming now, “Satisfy what now, Eburutu? That toothpick you call penis? Job you no get, face you no get, penis you no get. See your juniors out there like Akpantanibo, why can’t you do like them?” Her eyes bulged as she clasped her hands over her mouth.

 

Eburutu’s eyes went dark and glistened at the corners. “What did you say now?”

She shook her head without looking at him, “Wooh, just forget, leave me alone.”

“What did you just say?” 

“Eburutu,” her voice was quiet, “You are yelling at me, you know I don’t like it when you shout at me.” She touched his forearm.

His action was swift, he pushed her on the bed, “Don’t touch me. What is Akpantanibo doing right that I am not?” 

 

Just then, their son, Emma walked in from school unbothered by the heavy stains on his worn out uniform. “Go outside, I want to talk to mummy.” Eburutu flashed his brightest smile, “And make sure you are not playing o, do your homework-“ A thought crossed his mind as he took in his son’s features, noticing overlooked differences from over the years. “Nna, just go outside.” 

 

He turned to his wife and whispered, “That boy is Akpan’s son, isn’t it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “So just like Omotola, Abijjah, Nmesoma, Esosa, you allowed that animal touch you?” He sank his large frame on the bed. Odiore shrank in size and cried as hard as she could. The fear of what he might do made her shiver and her tears, she felt, was the only means to communicate her remorse. 

 

When she tried to touch him, his hands held her on the neck and he allowed his anger rush into his grip. It didn’t cause him much to half lift her from the bed with her small head dangling above his hold. He watched her face turn purple and her eyes bulge into table tennis balls. “I did naming ceremony for another man’s pikin. Is that what this means?” Odiore only scratched his hands in response but he did not let her go. At least, not until the trailing fluid from her eyes fell on his massive forearm. 

 

Eburutu looked at her for a while. “Where can I find him?” The look on his face was enough to make her narrate her life’s history to him. Without wasting time, she gave him the details of all the places she knew were familiar with Akpantanibo including the hotels in the area they had their fun. Long after he left, she sat on the bed still coughing and caressing the pain on her neck. When Emma came back to the room, she held him close thinking of his real father and prayed that he’d be lucky enough to escape Eburutu. She prayed longer, Akpantanibo, she thought, was going to need it.

---

 

The ‘tah tah tah’ sound from Room3 in PentHouse hotel in Iba New Site echoed through the walls. Cynthia’s vocals reached new ranges she didn’t know she had in her. The heavy and sanctimonious strokes of Akpantanibo’s manhood sent shiver, pain and pleasure from her member all the way to her spine. He didn’t know how to slow down even when she asked him to. 

 

Now, he pressed her head to the bed with his left foot, keeping her back arched. The foot held her in place with his motion driving in his penis mindlessly. If he ever slowed down, it was to catch his breath but that didn’t last ten seconds because Cynthia’s whimpering drove him crazy. The time was 5:19pm, an hour and forty four minutes had passed since he made his first thrust but it didn’t seem like Akpantanibo was ready to reach his destination. “Please can we take a break?” Cynthia asked between moans.

 

“No.” He said plainly.

“Ah, I am beginning to hurt. Please let us stop for now.”

He ignored her and went on. She began to struggle until she broke free. “Akpan why won’t you hear me, baby I said I am in pain.”

“Oh! Forget the baby baby thing. Please let’s just fuck. I promise I am close.”

She scoffed, “Really? Is it just sex you want from me?”

 

“No no, let’s continue.” He tried to reach her from across the room. She doubled around. Soon it became a game of police and thief. They went round the room. “I told you before o, that I will tear you open. Why are you doing like pikin.”

 

“Akpan I am so disappointed right now.”

“Ogbeni Koni dafun disappointment.”

“Did you just call me Ogbeni?” her eyes glistened with tears.

“Ah wahala o. Which kin tin be this na. All this boti boti.” His voice cooled, “I am sorry.” He encircled to where she was. She rested her weight on him and began to cry.

“You called me Ogbeni. Do you know how unemotional that sounded?” 

“I am sorry, please.” He said as the tip of his member stroked her thighs. 

“God, Akpan stop that.” 

 

He turned her around and got on top of her, “I don’t like lazy women. And I am begging you, and you are saying no, after we don start.” He positioned himself and got back in. His strokes were more violent with each whisper he made, “I am rushing so that I will come fast, you hear? I will be fast. I am close, I am close.” When he noticed her tears, he said, “Baby why are you crying? Is it paining you? It remain small. I will soon pour, just small remain.” 

 

Cynthia shook beneath his lean frame. Her wiggling was useless and her tears did not tug on his conscience. Even when she fell into pathetic silence, Akpantanibo continued for his pleasure sake.

 

It was when he grunted in anticipated ecstasy that the door broke open with an enraged Eburutu standing where the door once stood. Akpantanibo jumped to his feet with a thread of precum trailing from his penis  like a spider web. “What is the meaning of this?” Akpantanibo said. 

 

Without saying a word, Eburutu flashed the knife he had in his back pocket. Behind him were two staff members of the hotel, threatening to call the police. He ignored them. When the bolder of the two staffers tried to pull him out, he responded with a slap that sent the guy crashing against the wall, instantly losing consciousness. The other guy ran to his desk to call the police. Eburutu wielded the knife with so much savor, passing it from one hand to the other as he made his way to Akpantanibo, “So you have been performing my matrimonial duties.” 

 

“Who is this man?” Cynthia asked.

“Someone who is going to kill me.” Sweat that had nothing to do with his sex marathon broke from his face. “Please Ebu.”

 

Eburutu pounced on him and instantly overpowered Akpantanibo. Cynthia, without looking back, grabbed her clothes and ran out without failing to lay curses on Akpantanibo. During the course of their struggle, Eburutu had slapped him twice, squeezed his testicles until Akpantanibo’s eyes dimmed from the excruciating pain. He found flesh on the bigger man’s shoulder and sunk his teeth into it. His tongue tasted blood but he didn’t mind at all. He cut off a small pound of flesh, blood spurted out like a loosely closed tap. Akpantanibo dug his teeth into the same spot but Eburutu didn’t as much as wince. He rather stretched his fist to the side and brought it down against the smaller man’s jaw. Akpantanibo let go of his flesh, flexing his jaw involuntarily to check if it had broken. It was in that moment that Eburutu took his knife and angled it at Akpantanibo’s manhood. 

 

“No, no, not my penis. Kuku kill me. I need my penis, Ebu abeg.”

 

Without second thoughts, the knife dug into the flaccid skin. The anguished scream only lasted a moment after which Akpantanibo began to jerk on the bed. His body, it seemed, had gone into shock. Not knowing what to do, Eburutu staggered to his feet and watched him squirm until he was still as a corpse. When he looked at the man’s face, it still had colour and when he touched it, it was warm but his eyes were blank. The rickety wall clock hanging four feet above the bed was stained with blood but one could still see the time. It was 5:36pm, seven minutes had passed between the tussle and Akpantanibo’s death. 

---

 

As they brought his body under the cool of the 6:30pm breeze, the people of Mosadoloun gathered not to mourn but speculate. They saw the police drag an injured Eburutu out on the street and into their koropin patrol bus. The people shook their heads in pity for the bigger man. “And he was nice o.”

 

“As in, he never fought with anyone here.”

“That his wife is worse than the devil. Na woman fit make man kolo.”

 

But Atanda was in high spirit, contacting the men he had bet the life of Akpantanibo with. His festive voice rang and sang with every round of phone calls he placed. “Shebi I tell you? Oya gimme my money.” He’d say before calling the next debtor. 

 

He smiled remembering the deal they made three years ago when Akpantanibo had just moved to the area and stolen two girls from him. He had raged and cursed but as it was known of men to, he swept it under the rug but not before he’d made the bet with Elumelu, Soldier, Gibola, Skye and Menus that “Akpantanibo was going to die young and na penis go kill am.”

 

 

About the writer: Oluwatoba James Abu likes to think of himself firstly as a writer. Above all else, he believes in gender equality, advocating about climate change and in the existence of a saner world— where words like phobia and marginalized are redundant because there would be no need for them. His first publication is Fire Is For Silence, published by Afritondo Media and Publishing.