The Beginning of the End

By Goldlyn Ugonna Ozowuba

The beginning of the end is a collection of short
stories that explores issues such as economic
desperation, corruption, marital discord, false
religion, education, culture, loss of a loved one etc. The stories are diverse and compelling and will take you to places you didnt know existed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: May 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462851683

Goldlyn Ugonna Ozowuba

The beginning of the end is a collection of short stories that explores issues such as economic desperation, corruption, marital discord, false religion, education, culture, loss of a loved one etc. The stories are diverse and compelling and will take you to places you didn’t know existed. Goldlyn Ugonna Ozowuba is a Nigerian. She had her early Education in South West Cameroon where she was born. She now lives in Sweden. The beginning of the end is Goldlyn’s third book. Her debut Beyond Imagination won the Niger Delta award and the award for women writing in 2009.

Book preview

Copyright © 2011 by Goldlyn Ugonna Ozowuba.

ISBN:

   Softcover   978-1-4628-5167-6

   Ebook        978-1-4628-5168-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 03/04/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

0-800-644-6988

www.XlibrisPublishing.co.uk

[e-mail]

301922

Contents

1)    Living outside the society

2)    When one door closes

3)    The white Paper

4)    You can lean on me

5)    A better Life

6)    You defiled me

7)    Wasted years

8)    Time for testimony

9)    The Festival of the Maidens

10)   Economic Desperation

11)   On his aging head

12)   The Dawn of a New Beginning

13)   I Died With Him

14)   Pay Back Time

15)   The oath

16)   Your enemy is within

17)   The Beginning of the End

18)   Endnotes

Other books by the author…

Beyond Imagination

It is an account of one’s journey from childhood to adulthood. Set in Nigeria the novel narrates a woman’s struggle to overcome poverty and social stigma in a society dominated by cultural norms and values. It is a tale of love and of pain. The novel explores other issues such as marriage, family relationship, poverty, religion, culture, destiny, education and corruption. Beyond Imagination won the Niger Delta award and the award for women writing in 2009.

Leaving Home

This book was first published as To Live again. The book deals with the internal conflicts one faces with race, identity, marriage, love and life. It gives an in-depth insight into the challenges faced today’s immigrants in Europe. The novel explores other issues like human suffering, poverty, man’s inhumanity to his fellow man, corruption, racism, destiny and faith

DEDICATION

For Bryan Chimdera, my adorable son.

LIVING OUTSIDE THE SOCIETY

The early morning air was fresh and cool. It was scented with the odour of the earth and withering autumn flowers. I slipped on a leaf as I rushed out to buy fresh milk from the nearby supermarket. I nearly fell to the ground. This often happened if the leaves had fallen suddenly and had not been cleared and rain had followed. On my way back I noticed a crowd in front of the building next to mine. I saw a police car and a bus. I was quite convinced it belonged to the migration board. I stopped and stared for a while. Then I sighted a man from Angola who spoke little English.

‘What is going on here?’ I asked as I walked up to him.

‘The police want to deport a family from Russia,’ he replied.

‘Why the police? I thought it was strictly the job of the migration board?’

‘That is the system here. The migration board works with the police. They are often afraid that people may go into hiding when asked to leave the country. They were not even informed,’ he concluded.

I watched in fright as the family packed their belongings into the bus. Six police men were there to ensure that they complied. The little kids didn’t understand what was going on. They couldn’t comprehend why they were being chased out of their home. The mere site of their mother crying was a sign that there was a problem. Their father tried to assure them that all was well when he saw the frightened looks on their faces. But they kept asking questions, which neither their father nor their mother knew how best to answer.

The crowd that gathered to watch the scene was a major source of discomfort and embarrassment to the family. The man bowed his head in shame as he hopped into the bus. His children and wife followed. The bus zoomed off with the police car following closely behind. Other asylum seekers were filled with fear. Incidents like this brought nothing but fear because no one knew who was going to be next. Everybody walked away silently with their heads bowed down. That was the first time I had seen a family being deported.

I quietly walked back to my apartment visibly shaken. I felt so sorry for the family. But it was also a surprising discovery that so many Russians and eastern Europeans were asylum seekers in France. When I first came to Lyon, I used to think that everybody with white skin was French. I could only differentiate the Asians because of their peculiar look. With time I came to discover that most of the people living around me were from the former Soviet Union. Many people in Lyon were not actually French. I thought about my own fate. I could imagine myself being deported home like a criminal. The thought of it frightened me. I was lost in thought that I walked past my apartment without noticing. The whole drama had a negative effect on me. I was completely demoralized.

Greg’s silence troubled me. I had expected him to call often after the text message. I had expected him to tell me that he wanted me back. I had expected him to tell me that he still loves me over and over again. But that didn’t happen. I was deeply troubled. I was convinced that there was another woman in his life. His silence made me feel humiliated.

I was buried in thought when I heard a sound. I turned and saw two letters the post man slipped through the door. I picked them up immediately and tore the envelopes. One of the letters was from the post office. It merely informed me that I had a parcel. The other was from the migration board. It was written in French. I was curious to know the contents. Since I didn’t understand the language, I knocked on my neighbour’s door, and requested for a translation. I watched her as she read the letter. When her countenance changed I knew it was bad news. That notwithstanding, I held my peace and waited patiently. She lifted her head slowly and heaved a sigh.

She spoke very little English. This made it tough for her to explain in details. She simply said, ‘‘this is not good news. C’est ne pas de bonnes nouvelles.’

Then she added, ‘L’Office des migrations a réfusé votre démande. L’Office des migrations a dit que vous rentrerez chez vous. The migration board has turned down your application. The migration board say you will go back home.’

‘My heart sank. I imagined the police knocking on my door. I imagined them ordering me to park my belongings just like the family I witnessed their deportation. I imagined a crowd gathering to watch the scene. My mouth wobbled and my legs quaked. An unusual numbness descended on me. I wanted to say thank you to her, but I couldn’t. The agony in my heart stole my voice. I took the letter from her and without a word, I went back to my room. I slumped on the sofa and wept. Attached to the letter was an invitation to report to the migration board in two weeks. I was bothered. I was worried because I hadn’t heard from Greg. I sobbed and in sympathy, my nose cried with my eyes.

Outside, the temperature had dropped to freezing, in spite of the fact that it was not yet winter. My body froze as well. I sat motionless for a long while. I was deeply confused. Ursula’s last words to me before she left echoed in my ears.

‘Keep hoping. Keep hoping for your heart desire. It will come, even sooner than you expect. Hope makes us carry on. Hope makes life possible. Your dreams will come true very soon.’

‘Yes, my dream will definitely come true,’ I said aloud to herself.

‘I am confident that my dream will come true soon.’

* * *

An hour later, I thought of going out to buy an international call card. I needed to call my parents. Such cards were found only in African and Asian shops in the heart of the city. But Susann had told me about a man from Gambia who sold such cards in the neighbourhood. I decided to rush out and buy one. Fortunately, Susann was on her way to my apartment. I tried to put up a false smile as I wiped my tears.

‘Thank God you are here. You have to help me get a call card from the Gambian man. I want to call home,’ I said as she walked in.

‘Are you the only one who doesn’t know that the man left Lyon with his family last week?’ She asked, almost laughing.

‘Why?’ I asked in surprise.

‘He sensed that the police might come at any moment to deport them. So they went into hiding. I am told that they have gone to Marseille. Three days after they left the police came. He was lucky.’

‘So how will they cope? How will he get an apartment, pay his rent, feed his family, and all that?’

‘There is always a way out. All that must have been arranged before now. He will definitely get a black job and fend for his family. There are so many families in hiding. Their children no longer go to school. I wonder how they manage when the kids are sick.’

‘There are many people living in this society, yet they are living outside the society. It is amazing that things like this happen in the so called civilized world,’ I replied in an unsteady voice.

‘So where do we buy call cards now?’ I asked after a while.

‘Well, his Ghanaian neighbour bought the unsold cards from him at whole sale price. He now retails them at a slightly higher price. I have his number. I can call him and tell him to bring a card here for you.’

‘Please do that. It saves me the trouble of going out at least. I don’t know why there is so much suffering in the world? When will the world ever be a better place for humanity?’ I asked as I beckoned on her to sit down.

‘You haven’t seen anything yet, there are worse cases. The Albanian family that lives at the end of the road sought asylum in Italy and Finland before coming to France. Now France is threatening to send them back to Italy. They keep moving from one country to another with their children. They have disrupted the children’s education. Sometimes the children don’t know what language to speak. They speak a little bit of Italian and Finish and now they are beginning to learn French. They are completely disoriented. Their parents don’t even bother about the effect of this movement on their children.’

‘It is really sad. I would not have believed this, if someone had told me when I was in Nigeria. It is a shocking revelation. Europe is not the bed of roses as many think.’

Susann called the man as we discussed. A few minutes later he walked in with the cards. He smiled and greeted us as soon as he came in, displaying his stained teeth. His lips were so thick and dark an evidence that he must be a chain smoker. He wore a haggard expression. He looked like a troubled and confused soul—like a fish out of water. He handed over the cards to Susann and I paid. He was surprised that he hadn’t met me in the five months I had lived in Lyon.

‘How long have you been here?’ I asked.

‘Two years.’

‘You have not had any decision?’

‘I got a negative decision thrice, but I have not been deported because I have a daughter with a girl from Ethiopia. She is also an asylum seeker. So it is pretty difficult for them to send me away. My child needs me.’

‘You are right.’

‘I just pray it works out this time. I am tired of having children here and there,’ he said again.

‘You mean you have had children before?’

‘Yes. I was in Finland for three years. I had a set of twins with a Finish woman. But the woman threw me out. The authorities refused to give me a resident’s permit. I left for Norway. I had a child with another woman, but things didn’t work out. So I hope it works here.’

‘What plans do you have for them? Will you ever be a father to them?’

‘I can’t answer that question now. The future will take care of itself. But do you really blame me? You blame the system. Many men had children with women, not because they wanted to, but because it was a means to an end. That was the only way they could get to stay permanently. So you blame the system, not me. There are