The Runaway Hero (Excerpt) by Uche Peter Umez

The Runaway Hero by Uche Peter Umez

 I slid down so fast from the wall that I landed flat on my chest. The fall was painful, like a blow. I couldn’t stand up at once. So I lay still on the ground, allowing the pain run its course.

I was in the compound. My plan was still on track. I felt glad that everything seemed to be working just fine. The next step was to tiptoe to the shed. Unlocking it wouldn’t be much of a problem; I had my penknife on me. I crawled to the back of the shed to see if there was a window: it was boarded up with planks. It would take me two hours or so to take out the planks with my penknife and a stone. I didn’t have that much time. I slipped back to the door, hoping the girl had not been spirited away on foot while I was waiting for nightfall.

‘I’ve come to get you out,’ I whispered through the keyhole. ‘Just be quiet. You hear?’

I didn’t hear any response. She must be asleep. As I repeated those words, I heard some shuffling. I laid my head against the door. I nearly jumped when someone rapped on it.

‘Get us out of here,’ cried a girl.

That must be her. But she had mentioned us. ‘Is there any other person with you?’ I asked, hoping she would say no. 

‘Yes,’ she replied. 

Yes? I froze up a second. How was I going to save two persons? 

‘We are five in here.’

‘F-five?!’ 

‘Yes, five!’ 

My legs would have given way if I hadn’t managed to control myself just in time. This was far more than what I’d expected. I didn’t have any problems with saving one person, but five?! That was way past my limit. ‘Why didn’t you all scream?’ I asked.

‘We’ve been screaming,’ said the girl. ‘Nobody hears it. This place is more of a no-man’s-land. Even so, any scream and the giant gatekeeper will slap you so hard your teeth will rattle.’ 

How was I going to free five children? I should have stayed back, minded my own business.

‘I want to see my mummy,’ a boy sobbed. 

‘Shut up,’ I said. I didn’t want him to wake up the gatekeeper lest we all get caught. 

I began to shake the door knob. But it was firm. I put my penknife in the keyhole, in the way I had seen a spy do in a movie. In the same way I’d done a couple of times when I went to the food store. I didn’t hear the usual click as I twisted it around the keyhole. I pushed the door. The lock still did not give. I twisted the penknife some more; it was totally stuck. 

I gripped it with both hands, wedging my feet against the door. I pulled and pulled. I began panting. The door had failed to open. If the square clip could unlock the door to the food store, then the penknife would do just fine. But this was not the case. It was proving much harder than I thought. Tired out, I bent down to catch my breath. 

‘Please help.’

‘Open the door.’

‘Don’t leave us.’

The children were beside themselves now. Someone banged at the door from inside.

‘I’m trying...’ I gritted my teeth, frustrated. ‘Give me a little more time.’

‘You think you have the whole night?’ said the girl.

I wanted to reply. But the words got caught in my throat as I saw the glow of a lantern, the long shape of the gatekeeper in a window of the main building. I tried to pull my penknife out of the keyhole. I couldn’t. So I left it there, stuck.

‘Get away from the door,’ I whispered. I dived to the ground just when the gatekeeper held up the lantern. My heart shrank as I stretched out. I hoped he wouldn’t see me once he swept the light around. I wished I had hidden behind the drum standing some feet from the shed. The gatekeeper stood still at the window, as if too sleepy to even care. The room was dark again. He must have crawled back to bed. I reached for my penknife once more. ‘You almost got me in trouble,’ I said. ‘I can’t help anyone, if you all don’t shut up.’

‘How long will it take?’ the girl asked. She sounded rude; I said nothing. If I should try to speak back to her, I might end up not helping anyone.

I went on picking the lock. After several attempts, the penknife came loose. I yelped in excitement. This time I pushed the penknife into the keyhole, more carefully than ever. I was turning it this way and that, when I heard a small click. Still, I went on turning it until I heard another click.

My breaths came out in quick puffs as I waited for the lock to give. Finally, the door squeaked open. The children crowded around, pushing me away. I staggered, but I didn’t fall. I felt somehow giddy and fancied myself floating on the cool night breeze. 

‘Come back here,’ I called as a pig started to squeal.

I almost seized up when a ray of light came on again. The gatekeeper had appeared in the window once more. The boys were already at the gate. Grabbing the girl by the wrist, I pulled her towards the drum. I turned as I heard some noises. ‘Why are they moving like that?’ I asked, wondering why the boys were hopping around the gate.

‘Their legs are tied,’ the girl said.

I quickly ran to the boys as they began to shake the gate.

‘Stop, stop it,’ I said in a rush. ‘Let me get that off your feet.’ I squatted and cut the cloths at their ankles. ‘There.’ I pointed to the gap under the gate. ‘Down there, lie flat, squeeze your body through it,’ I commanded as if I were their leader.

The girl screamed. My eardrums tingled.

The gatekeeper was stamping over to her, his lantern swung back and forth. He looked like a giant, though lean. Terror gripped me. Blood pumped hard in my head. Then he swayed around in an abrupt yet drunken way and went after the boys. I ran back to the girl to cut her loose too, before the giant could turn.

‘Let’s roll the drum!’ I said.

‘Why?’ asked the girl.

‘You talk too much! We roll it to the wall-’, I broke off as I heard someone scream.

The gatekeeper had grabbed a boy by the leg. But the other boys had made it through the gap. I panicked. But, with the timely help of the girl, I rested the empty drum against the wall. She shot me a startled look when I told her to get on it. ‘I can’t climb,’ she cried. ‘I don’t climb.’

‘Go on top, now!’ I shouted, leaning my back against the drum.

She held me by the shoulders and, gingerly, lifted herself onto the drum. ‘What do I do now?’ She appeared shaky.

‘Hey monkey, where you think say you dey go?’ asked a roaring voice. ‘Come down, yeye girl!’

I started as the gatekeeper came at me. He was dragging the boy after him along the ground. Then the girl leapt so high I feared she would slam her jaw into the wall. But her hands caught the edge neatly. She screamed out, even before she could pull herself onto the wall. I turned to see what had made her scream. And the gatekeeper sent me flying backwards with a heavy blow to the shoulder. I landed on my back. 

The pain was so severe that it knocked me out for a minute. When I opened my eyes, the sky glared down at me. I tried to sit up, but was shaken by a roar.

‘Who be you? Wetin you dey fin’ for here?’

I couldn’t place the voice. I could only make out a shadow over me. It gave off a strong sweetish odour as it asked me more questions than my mind could hold. I blinked, thinking I had begun to see double.

‘Who send you?’ asked the roaring voice.

I shut my eyes as a lantern came close enough to burn my face. Then I figured out who the shadow was. The gatekeeper had caught me. I reached out a hand to feel for my penknife so I could scare him off with it. But my heart broke. It was nowhere close by. I had saved all the other children, yet I did not save myself.

The Runaway Hero written by Uche Peter Umez was published by Jalaa Writers' Collective, April 2011

...Jalaa Writers' Collective

Jalaa Writers’ Collective is a publishing initiative consisting of nine notable Nigerian writers. Members are united by the common purpose of using their collective power to achieve individual writing goals. Read more about JWC on their website.  The following books have now been released by JWC:

Pride of the Spider Clan by Odili Ujubuonu

Book description: 398 pages

ISBN 978978125326

Trade paperback

Published April 2011

Praise for the book:

Odili Ujubuonu’s masterful novel about group survival and loyalty to kinship set in pre-colonial Nigeria is enthralling, enriching and awesome…This extraordinary book is one of the best novels I have read in years – Akachi Adimora-Ezeigbo

About the author: Odili Ujubuonu’s debut novel, Pregnancy of the Gods was an instant success. Since then, he has published follow-ups, Treasure in the Winds and Pride of the Spider Clan. The three books are woven around a magical instrument – sacred flute – lost and sought in communities around the lower Niger Delta. Pregnancy of the Gods won the 2006 ANA/Jacaranda Prize for Prose while Treasure in the Winds won the 2008 ANA/Chevron Prize on Environmental issues and was also nominated for the Nigeria Prize for Literature 2008. Ujubuonu has practised Advertising since 1991.

Roses and Bullets by Akachi Adimora-Ezeigbo

Book description: 518 pages

ISBN 9789789125302

Trade paperback

Published April 2011

Praise for the book: This is a compelling and riveting narrative, executed in a haunting style. Akachi Adimora-Ezeigbo writes with the ferocity of a barbed arrow: straight from the quiver of the heart to the target of another heart. The result is a lyrical tale that is experimentally rich and enriching, a veritable mosaic of the human condition. – James tar Tsaaior.

About the author: Akachi Adimora-Ezeigbo is a professor of English at the University of Lagos. She is the author of several novels, poetry collections and children literature. A joint winner of the Nigeria Prize for Literature (2007), Adimora-Ezeigbo has, over the years, won numerous literary awards and has undertaken reading tours locally and internationally.

Blackbird by Jude Dibia

Book description: 322 pages

ISBN 9789789125319

Trade paperback

Published April 2011

Praise for the book:

Blackbird is an important modern novel by a contemporary writer. It pushes beyond Walking with Shadows and the prize winning Unbridled into new territory – Independent reviewer.

About the author: Jude Dibia is the author of two well received novels; Walking with Shadows (2005) and Unbridled (2007). Dibia’s novels have been described as daring and controversial by readers and critics in and out of Africa. Walking with Shadows is said to be the first Nigerian novel that has a gay man as its central character and that treats his experience with great insight, inviting a positive response to his situation. Unbridled, too, stirred some controversy on its publication; a story that tackled the emancipation of its female protagonist who had suffered from incest and abuse from men. Unbridled was awarded the 2007 Ken Saro-Wiwa Prize for Prose (sponsored by NDDC/ANA) and was a finalist in the 2008 Nigeria Prize for Literature (sponsored by NLNG).

Dibia’s short stories have been featured in the Caine Prize Anthology (2010) and One World: A Global Anthology of Short Stories as well as on various online literary journals. Dibia was a recipient of a Commonwealth Highly Commended Award for his short story ‘Somewhere’ in 2010.

The Runaway Hero by Uche Umezurike

Book description: 104 pages

ISBN 9789789142484

Large square paperback

Published April 2011

Praise for the book:

Kachi aka Runaway Hero is the very likeable protagonist of this book. Just when it seems that things can’t get any worse for him, his luck turns, and so does that of the orphanage in which he lives with his best friend, Nomso and other boys his age. Kachi’s adventures provide a thrilling page turner for any child who has ever dreamed. – Chika Unigwe

About the author: Uche Peter Umez was born in Lagos, but now lives in Owerri, with his charming wife, and their children. His children’s novella, Sam and the Wallet, was winner of the ANA/Funtime Prize for Children’s Fiction, 2006, and runner-up for the 2007 Nigeria Prize for Literature.

For a list of outlets where JWC books are stocked, visit the JWC Facebook page (http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jalaa-Writers-Collective/109002779156435).

All enquiries should be directed to:

pr@jalaawriters.com or jalaa.write@gmail.com

Phone: 08181953753

Website: www.jalaawriters.com

Expect interviews with writers and give-aways here soon. 

Changing Shapes: Uche Umez

Here's something very interesting to start your week. We hope that you enjoy 'Changing Shapes' by Uche Peter Umez and respond with your comments!
1.
Something is wrong. Emeka isn’t sure when and how it started. But it is obvious something is just not right with her body; it seems to have evolved. Maybe it has something to do with his sight. His eyes sometimes water, other times an ache pulses behind his temples. The optician did suggest bifocal lens. It’s unnecessary, he thought – at the time. He puts away his files in the cabinet and cracks his knuckles. Soon he will be leaving for home.

2.
Certainly. Something is happening to him, too. Maybe he’s growing less religious, more open-minded. Of late, he has begun to size Ogechi up. Cast sly glances at her when she moves through the sitting room. She puffs easily these days. He is familiar with her strained breath, every time she busies herself with some chores: she never pants before. Emeka doesn’t want to think of home at the moment, but –

She used to walk in silence, as though she had cat’s feet. Not anymore. He rests a hand on his forehead. This is why he wants to believe some shape-shifting thing has sneaked into her body, so he set about to deconstruct or precisely reconstruct her shape. Mentally, though.

3.
Always. The sight of Ogechi sprawled out on the couch shocks him: a Barney hunched up in a tiny chair. His two boys love Barney. They rock with laughter, but that thing stuffed in that seat is no joke. This is not the woman who was a spring in his bed – before the nuptials, before the babies started coming. She’s no longer his woman. She is somebody else’s – his children’s, perhaps.

There are times Emeka fears the seams would burst when her hippo-size butt sinks into the plaid-patterned fabric. Puffing, she’ll heave herself off the floor, but he wouldn’t lend her a hand. Instead, he sees himself turning away. She will feel no pain, of course: she’s well cushioned for slips, what with all that flesh.

4.
It is wrong, he knows. He can’t help it. Whenever he holds Ogechi in bed, his mind races to that girl in the beer joint. They both have large boobs, but the girl’s looked tight and firm; a clenched fist, without veins. Makes him wonder...

He once caught a man drooling over her. He thought the man was drunk, then pondered if he was single or married, if the man’s wife’s breasts were like his own wife’s: pendulous globes that remind you that a politician’s potbelly is even more tolerable than a woman’s. How can Ogechi, in a short space of time, barely six years, evolve into a lumbering mass of tissue?

5.
She was (still is?) unlike the girls he once dated: sofa-cradling, spur-of-the-moment, and breezy. They can’t carry on a conversation that is removed from fashion and cars. He was pleased when he discovered during those heady years that she wasn’t crazy about make-up; not that she was godly. Cosmetics are vain, a poor screen for beauty, she said.

Thus, she adores the simple look, low cuts and neat plaits; no mascara or rouge – and never obsesses about perms, bangs and wigs. Horsehair and wool, she called them. A waste of money and time, Emeka quite agreed. He knew how much he spent on some of his ex-lovers.

The last girl was addicted to Mary Kay. He’d found it juvenile and vexing – though not as vexing as her weakness for chicken or her ignorance of whom the Liberian president is. Yet she was a graduate of political science.

If there is one thing he can’t stand in a girl, it is stark ignorance especially when she speaks fluid English. So he ditched her. He married Ogechi instead – she can mesmerize you with her viewpoint. A storm of wits, when engaged in a conversation. He likes that in a woman. I like being different from the sheep, she once mentioned. He had smiled.

6.
Those qualities had drawn Emeka to her. Bring up any subject, and she would go on without fail. She likes Animal Planet, National Geographic; she watches CNN as though there is something therapeutic about it. His friends complained about their wives. Africa Magic has possessed their minds; not his wife’s. She wrote off that channel as ‘Superficial, ethnic and indolent,’ as if nothing good will ever come out of Africa.

A couple of times he had tried to change the channel so the both of them could get amused by the buffoonery and antics of Nkem Owoh or Sam Loco, and she was like, ‘Honey, please don’t.’

‘Aren’t you bored with all this whitewashed things?’ he said.

‘Better than the stupid things they call home videos,’ she hissed.

One of these days he would throw out that chair or smash it to pieces. Imagine her slouching and glued to the screen, adding so much flab that was unbefitting for a twenty-eight-year old woman. He doesn’t want to imagine what Ogechi would look like when she has two more kids.

7.
As the clock chimes six, he wonders if being thickset and matronly is her idea of being unique. He fears he might someday just pull out a suitcase from the top of the wardrobe, cram it with some clothing, and speed off to Jos. There, he will start a new life. Or pick up his old philandering life. Instead of driving straight home, Emeka makes a detour. He glances in his side mirror and heads in the direction of the bar on Douglas Road. The bar with the poster of the big-breasted movie actress.

Meet Uche Umez

Who is Uche Umez?
A simple man trying to live simple in a simple world made complex and chaotic by other less simple men. (Aint this very poetic?)

Who is your perfect reader?
Someone who reads any story or poem and says, gosh, I wish I could write like that!

How many books do you read at once?
I read two not really at once, but in a comparative way, especially when I’m on a long distance trip.

What is the last thing you read that made you laugh?

To St. Patrick by Eghosa Imaseun for its delicate smattering of wit. It tackles a serious theme in a somewhat amusing tone. (Expect an interview with Eghosa on Bookaholic soon!)

Which talent would you most like to have?
The ability to remain unflustered at all times. I wouldn’t mind if I chance upon the gift of a magician, though.

How will you introduce your child to writing?
I’ve already started. I got her a small box of books last year while I was in US, picture books mostly, and hope she out-writes me.

What part of the process of writing do you enjoy most?
For me, the rewriting process because it’s more leisurely and paced-out and so you don’t suffer much headache and blues from it.

What would a story about your life be called?
The Convoluted Misadventures of an Aspiring Writer

Three favourite writers and why?
How do I choose? From which era? Classic or modernist writers? I like fiction writers and poets for different reasons. For instance, I like stories that deal with suffering and redemption. And poetry that is pithy and razor-sharp. But – I just can’t resist short stories of Nadine Gordimer and Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

What lessons do you bring back from your journeys?
One, life is more complicated than any Homer’s tale. Two, people are more in conflict with themselves than with their situations. Three, we are all narcissist in varying degrees. Four, beauty is everywhere but greed is closer. Five, love is so delicate it seems immaterial.

How do you balance a 9-5 with writing?
What wouldn’t I give to write full-time? Actually, I work from 8a.m. to 6p.m in the office, and then manage to do my writings in the silence of predawn, of course with great strain.

Have you ever imitated another writer’s style?
I only imitated Shakespeare when I started learning how to write poetry. Then Katherine Mansfield and Ernest Hemingway when I started short stories. Now, I just write as expressively and uninhibited as possible.

What inspires your writing?
The minutiae and quirks of life and humanity

What story do you consider as your ‘hit’ story?
I’m not sure I have anyone yet. Sometimes, I look back at my early short stories and twist my lips in uhm-hmm. It only gets better, as they say.

What is the hardest thing to write about?
That should be sorrow, in its entirety such that it wrenches the reader’s heart.

What awards have you won? How does it feel?
A couple of awards. Not the ‘loud’ ones though, with a photograph of you trying a modest (masking that smug) smile on the front and back pages of dailies. Heck, after all those long miserable hours of writing and re-writing and gritting your teeth through the strain in your spine and crick in your neck, and you think the writer doesn’t deserve to get elated?

What is your advice to budding writers?
I’m still budding. Anyway, writing is like weightlifting, you soon get used to the dumbbells and barbells eventually, if you don’t quit.

What do you have to say about the literary landscape in Nigeria?
It gives me hope – that beneath the stagnant pool breathes life. There’s a renewed zest to be heard by established and upcoming writers: a regeneration. I think younger writers are becoming very daring. Take the ‘Abyssinian’ Onyeka Nwelue, for instance.

As a Nigerian writer, what is the greatest challenge you face?
The apathy of government to establish a solid institution or structure, which will nurture and promote a vibrant culture of arts and literature. Until the government shows some genuine interest in education/humanities, everything literature will continue at a slug’s pace – when compared to other literary societies of the world.

Who are your literary heroes?
Cyprian Ekwensi and Eddie Iroh, essentially because their children books tickled my imagination when I was in primary school and still echo in my mind.

What does it mean to be a writer?
It means euphoria – self-doubts + patience – sleeplessness + fortitude – boredom + fulfillment

Philosophy of life
Learn to be happy and immensely thankful – because there are others far more knowledgeable and diligent than me, yet they have not been that fortunate and blessed.