Burning Hurt

By Unyime-Ivy King

Raised in a dysfunctional home, Itohowo Ekanem, and her siblings experience neglect, and witness the relationship between their parents, deteriorate. When the man she has always known as her father dies unexpectedly, her mother re-marries another man, whom Itohowo believes to be her step father, but it seems that one set of problems have merely been exchanged for another, as the situation at home does not get any better. This drives Itohowo into the willing and roving arms of Daniel Ukpong; his warm friendship gives her respite from the challenges at home, but their relationship too, is shattered by an unexpected life changing event. Will Itohowo surmount her storms, or give in to them? Find out in this riveting saga.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Aug 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477218105

Unyime-Ivy King

A passionate writer and a voracious reader, Unyime-Ivy King began to write while she was still in the nursery school, having grown up in a home, where her parents encouraged her and her siblings to read books, thereby opening up her mind to endless possibilities, beyond the world she knew. She has written several articles on family values, relationships, women, and children, which have been published in magazines, and did a brief stint at Vanguard Newspapers, reporting for the Fashion and Beauty Desk. Unyime-Ivy, presently works with Protection Plus Services Limited and is a freelance contributor with TW, and Security/Safety Magazines. She blogs at: http://www.unyime-ivy.blogspot.com, http://www.unyimek.wordpress.com. Unyime-Ivy currently lives with her husband, Mr. Ubong King, and their 4 children, in Lagos, Nigeria.

Book preview

Burning 

Hurt

Unyime-Ivy King

US%26UKLogoB%26Wnew.ai

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2012 by Unyime-Ivy King. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   08/07/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-1811-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-1810-5 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

DEDICATION

There would be no me, without you lord; I could not have done this without your divine enablement.

I dedicate this first effort to my peerless master and king, my lord, Jesus Christ, who loved me, when I was unworthy of love.

And…To the Holy Spirit, my counsellor and my guide, whose might I rely on, each day of my life.

Tribute

As I write this tribute, to all who have helped me to get to this point of fulfilling a lifelong dream of becoming an author, I cannot help, but say, ‘a big thank you’ as I go down memory lane…

to that serene neighbourhood on Amaku street at the State Housing Estate in Calabar, which housed interesting neighbours like: the Akpakpans, the Ekpas, the Ekpohs, with whom my siblings and I frolicked and spent countless hours playing in the numerous parks in the estate, eventually setting up a drama/literary club, staging unscripted and unrehearsed plays, which also helped to further pique my interest in the arts. I made such unforgettable friends. Thanks, Uto, Inemesit, Ubong, Koko, and Ekaette Akpakpan.

Foundation is very important as it is the bedrock of everything one embarks on in life. I cannot forget my wonderful teachers at my alma mater, Charles Walker International Nursery/Primary School, Calabar, the greatest school of all times. I remember Mrs. Nya, Mrs. Ukochio, Mr. Omorie, Mr. Agyn, Mr. Diyen, and Mrs. Addai, Mr. Akpan, Sister Inyang, among many, who, under the revolutionary leadership of the late, Mrs. Ukwak, impacted on us kids in ways that we would never forget.

And to my English Teacher at Union Secondary School, Ibiaku-Itu, Mrs. Victoria Ukpong, nee Utuk, thanks for reaching out to a vulnerable and introverted little girl, and helping to push her out of her shell by making her President, of the School’s Literary/Debating club. It jolted me out of my little corner, and opened my eyes to see who I could become. Thanks for believing in me. I also remember my Literature teacher, Mr. Itong, thanks for igniting my passion for literature.

I want to acknowledge my dear sister, Uto-Lillian Ikpe, my very first fan. As a child, I loved to write a lot of make-believe stories; whether they made sense or not, Uto would faithfully and painstakingly read them. Thanks sis, for believing in my dream. My brothers too, have been encouraging. Ekerette-Alvin, and Ekom Ikpe, you guys are the bomb!

This dream would not have materialized, if I did not have the full backing and support of my beloved husband, Ubong Thompson King, who kept pushing me and believing that I could do it. His financial support too, has been a big plus; thanks, my love for life. In every way possible, you have pushed and encouraged me to reach for my stars, these past 14 years plus.

One of my greatest push, stems from the fact that God has blessed me with 4 little angels, who are looking up to me. By doing my best to be my best me possible, they also know that they can, too. I love you my darlings: Adora-Edima, Jamon-Mfonabasi, Atara-Uyaiabasi, and Sarah-Mboutidem King

To my dear father, Elder Eno Benjamin Ikpe, I remain eternally grateful for bequeathing a love for books and writing in us all-I remember all those times, many years ago, when he would faithfully drive us to the State Library at Calabar, where we discovered a world of books, I remember, ‘Stories Told Round The World’ by Taya Zinkin, British Tales and Folklore, classics that opened up our minds to other worlds beside ours. He also assisted with the editing of this book. Thank you so much for your invaluable contribution to this work.

I cannot forget my dear mother, Deaconess Ekaette Ikpe, who also helped tremendously to nurture a love for books in us kids. How can I forget all those story books, Clash of The Titans, being one of the most memorable classics she bought for us, further fuelling our interest for reading? In those days, it would be easier to catch everyone reading, if one dropped in on a surprise visit to my home, than catch us watching TV.

I want to acknowledge, even though post-humously, my aunt, Mrs. Imoh Umoh, nee Ikpe, who further encouraged my craving for reading by giving me access to the numerous literary books that she used for her sandwich program at the University of Calabar. You will not see this, but your son, Ekeme, who has become another brother, will, thank you.

By virtue of marriage, I also acquired a brand new family, whom I also want to duly acknowledge. My other mummy, Mrs. Grace Thompson, Ekaette, Esther, Mary-Ini, and Ofonime Thompson, thanks for being a part of my life.

It was in Rev. & Mrs. Damina’s church in Uyo, Akwa Ibom State, then known as, Power Chapel International, that a strong foundation of excellence was imputed into my life, by the many sermons that were preached. My contact with this wonderful couple, shook me out of mediocrity and paved the way for me to see endless possibilities. I cannot thank you enough.

This tribute cannot be complete without mentioning another wonderful couple, whose teachings have caused a revolution in my thinking. They have helped me understand how to create that needed balance between the spiritual and the secular. I love you both, Pastors Ifeanyi & Paul Adefarasin of the House On The Rock church.

Two great women journalists, encouraged my writing pursuit and gave me the space to express myself. First, Remi Diagbare, Fashion and Beauty Editor at Vanguard Newspapers, with whom I worked briefly, honing my writing skills on the fashion and beauty desk, and later on, Adesuwa Onyenokwe, publisher of TW magazine, who drilled me until I got it right. Thanks for your influence on my life.

I cannot forget Ikwo Ikhidde; you ‘disturbed’ me tirelessly to get this done and over with. I don’t know about being over with this, but I do know that you played a great role in pushing me to complete this manuscript, and I remain ever grateful.

There are just too many people to acknowledge, as different people impact on one in different ways. If I have not mentioned anyone directly, it is not deliberate. I am grateful to everyone, who has played a big or small part in encouraging my aspirations: Ajah Couples fellowship, you are too much, one love; Ifeoma Onerhime, my fellow script writing pal at RAA, I dey wait you-o, hope I can use this in proper writing, lol-oops! I did it again. My CME 11 class of 2012-06-27, at the LBS’ School of Media and Communication, I’m glad I met you all, and Dr. Martins Akpan, a most prolific writer, and my one time HOD at the Press dept. of Power City International, thanks sir, for encouraging me along. I cannot forget, Mr. Lazarus, who laboriously typed the first draft of this book in record time, thank you very much,

Finally, I also thank AuthorHouse for agreeing to embark on this venture with me. To Tony Harris, my first contact with AuthorHouse, I say a big thank you for encouraging me to take those first wobbly steps towards getting published. I’m also grateful to my check-in coordinator, Rey August, who called, and e-mailed relentlessly, until this work was completed. I owe you a world of thanks.

A WORD TO READERS.

For as long as I can remember, I have always wanted to write a novel. All through my Nursery, Primary, and Secondary school years, I had written lots of fictitious stories on notepads too numerous to recount. My first fans were my immediate family, especially my younger sister, who faithfully and voraciously read every story I wrote. A lot of my school mates and friends, who saw me with those notepads, read them too, and gave me lots of rave reviews, even though I did not rate my writings half that high. I finally felt that my stories must make sense, when my French teacher in primary 5, wanted to adapt one of my plays for a class drama, which encouraged me the more. However, I delved into the world of writing magazine articles, and my desire to write a novel went into abeyance for a while, until I began to see works by emerging, young African writers, which ignited the flame once more. The result of that ignition is, ‘Burning Hurt’ which you have in your hands today.

This story, like a lot of yet to be published stories that I have in my archives, was inspired by a true life event. As I heard stories of heart break, caused by people who were simply said to be ‘sowing their wild oats,’ it made me wonder about cause and effect, which birth the idea for this novel. The consequences of some of our wrong, or ill-advised decisions in life may not always play out the way it did in this story, but if all I succeed in doing, is make many people have a

re-think, before embarking on an irrational course of action, I would be fulfilled.

Thank you for coming on this expedition with me. I hope you find this story as intriguing as I did.

Chapter One

The night had been far spent, and all would have been quiet and peaceful, but for intermittent sounds from some creatures of the night, like the ominous cries of the black crow, the chirping of crickets, croaking of frogs, and hooting of owls, which shattered the serenity of the freezing harmattan night. The moon dazzled in all her brilliance, casting a flattering silhouette on a few huts, sparsely located in the sleepy little village of Ayemekut. A few inhabitants, who happened to be awake at the time, shivered with dread as the black crow, reputed to be the harbinger of evil, sounded its death knell. Suddenly, the deafening silence of the night was shattered by the heart breaking sobs of a feminine form, emerging from one of the huts, with what appeared to be the body of a dead baby. As she staggered forward, the moon cast its light on her, revealing her nude and disoriented state, while at a distance, a stray dog howled, as though expressing her pain. She knelt down suddenly with the lifeless child and began to speak, her voice raspy from excessive weeping. She was barely a child herself, a teenager wearing a stubborn and angry expression. Still sobbing bitterly, she lifted her eyes upwards, and spat out the words with ferocious vehemence.

God, are you sleeping? Why are you silent in my suffering? Where are you in this my time of sorrow? Why, oh why would you allow my son, the only joy I have known in my life, to die? I kneel here naked and demand for justice against the father of this child! If any other man has seen as much as my thighs, not to mention my naked body, punish me forever. But if the Father of this child has been the only man in my life, who took advantage of my love and trust then shamed me by disclaiming my pregnancy, may he not escape trouble! She paused and stroked her baby tenderly then began to weep again, "Eyen mi, your father shall experience joy in life, but it shall be fleeting; he shall know pain, then he will realize the pain he has caused me. For callously disowning a baby that he fathered, no cries of a baby shall be heard under his roof. As he has disgraced me, so shall he be disgraced!"

She continued weeping over her baby punctuating her tears with what sounded like the incantations of a witch doctor under a spell.

An older woman emerged from the hut she had come out of and looked around, as if in search of something, then she shook her head as she noticed the kneeling girl. She rushed to her, expelling a heavy sigh.

"My goodness Itohowo! Is this what you have been up to? What are you doing? Enobong and I have been looking all over for you. Hmm! Enough of curses my daughter. Come, duk ufok, kuseme aba. Your uncle is waiting to bury the child." The woman stoutly pried the baby loose from Itohowo’s obstinate grasp and pulled her up to stand on her feet. She followed behind the woman, lamenting bitterly.

"Aunty Ikwo, ufon mmie? I have nothing to live for again!"

"Shsss, Ity, kutang ntoro. You are still young, only 17 and your whole life is ahead of you. You will have other children at the right time. Let’s go in, your uncle is waiting to bury the child. And she added in a hush tone, Perhaps this is for the better, who knows?"

Like a lamb, Itohowo allowed herself to be led gently into the house, still sobbing like her heart was breaking.

33065.jpg

Lying on an old, worn—out sofa whose best days were long over, Daniel was momentarily startled out of his reverie by the distant toll of church bells from the nearby ‘Chapel of Holiness Unto God.’ He sat up and rather absent—mindedly, took a sip of water from a cup on a low stool by his side, glanced at his wristwatch, and sank back into the sofa, going back to the somber thoughts that were dancing around in his head . . . .

Mark my words Bessie, this boy may not amount to much in life if he continues at this pace!

Iniuwem, you do not sound like a father at all! was Bessie’s sharp retort, Does playing truant amount to a life sentence of doom? He’s only a teenager, passing through the usual teenage phase. How can you use such harsh and condemning words on your own first son? There are better ways of handling this matter!

"Jacob and Abigail are younger, but they do not give me a day’s worry like this boy, or are they also not . . . ."

Why are you always condemning me papa? Daniel interrupted angrily, Sometimes I wonder if I am really your son because all you do is predict my failure. It seems you hate me most, of all your children. I will surprise you papa. I will succeed and you will see!

And Daniel careened out of the living room like a lightning bolt before Iniuwem could recover from the shock of this sudden outburst, then Iniuwem shouted to him to return; if Daniel heard his father, he certainly made no move to obey, running as far away from the compound as possible, his face distorted with spent emotion.

Pointing in the general direction of Daniel’s departure, Iniuwem barked at his wife, Bessie, you see your son? Did you listen to the insults he uttered to me just now?

Eh, how convenient! He is now my son, not our son?! Anyway, I can’t say I blame him. Is that how to correct a child? She responded angrily and walked off in a huff, hissing.

Iniuwem glared at her retreating figure for some seconds muttering and shaking his head . . . .

". . . Darling . . . . darling, get up! Are you okay?"

With a start, Daniel sat up staring absent-mindedly at the young woman shaking him frantically.

Daniel, are you okay? She repeated in a worried tone. You were so far gone in your thoughts!

He smiled with apprehension and responded with a sheepish grin.

Oh, Verity, my love! You are back already; I must have fallen asleep for some brief seconds.

Verity’s concern was obvious, as she searched his face anxiously, as if, for clues to what was bothering him.

Daniel, is everything all right? You were not sleeping, your eyes were wide open but you did not seem to recognize me! Her voice was slightly tremulous, with a hint of accusation as She sat beside him, going into his open arms. He looked at her. She was