A Broken Rose

By Uju Amanambu

Why is a stunningly beautiful and brilliant young woman rejected by her society?
Why is she so feared?
In an impoverished and deeply religious village where strangeness is stigmatized, a young woman deals with abuse, alienation and torture in a most unusual manner, incurring societys wrath.
One cursed by such beauty deserves to be in the hands of a very powerful man.
A Broken Rose takes you on a startling journey from an erosion-ridden, superstitious village, through the practices of a dying pagan religion to the modern world of a wealthy and influential family burdened with secrets.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503566194

Uju Amanambu

Uju Amanambu is very passionate and outspoken about the domestic and cultural issues plaguing her society. In A Broken Rose she explores the unpopular views and stigma associated with being different in a society rife with superstition, religion and overt ignorance; lending a voice to the ‘branded’. Uju is from Nnewi North, Anambra, Nigeria. By day, she manages projects and when evening calls, she relaxes with writing, Yoga or a book.

Book preview

Prologue

H OOOO HOOOO, HOOOO h oooo!

She fearfully opened her eyes. The distinctive hoot of the lone owl that had been playing in her subconscious had her fully awakened. She had been dreaming. It was a good dream. She was a child and a nice-looking man had brought her chocolates and ice-cream. He had made her laugh so much by playfully chasing her around a park while some children looked on - then the owl unapologetically interrupted.

She shifted uncomfortably as the sound of the chains that held her bound to the dungeon chased away the remnants of the dream, jolting her back to reality. Summoning her last remaining strength, she pulled the chains forcibly as if to wriggle free; but intense pains bit through the deep wounds on her wrists and ankles, and she let out an agonizing scream, putting an end to the futile exercise. She immediately collapsed into the utter darkness and hopelessness she had become accustomed to.

She screamed again—this time not only in pains but in despair— and as always, her screams were the only sound that filled the darkness. She listened for footsteps, any footstep. She had lost count of the days since she was thrown into the dungeon, hung spread-eagle and left to die.

Lifting her head to listen to the continuous hoot of the owl, she bit her lower lip out of habit. It was so dry she tasted blood. Her throat was parched with thirst. She had no saliva left. Her eyes were tired, her naked body sore and frail from hunger, torture and poor health. The darkness was her only companion and the hoots of the owl, a steady reminder that she was still alive.

She was told she was going to die there, she was told that the demons inhabiting her body were relentless, strong, and would kill her right there in the dungeon. She could only be freed if she renounced them. She would only see daylight again if she told them to let her be.

Her neck hurt terribly. It had been hanging downwards unsupported. A frown suddenly creased her forehead. If only she knew these demons they spoke about, if only she communicated with them, she would readily tell them to take leave of her body. She would do anything to be freed of the pain.

She had considered lying to ease her pain, but what would she say to her captors? That she summoned these much-talked-about demons of hers right there, right there in the dungeon, and asked them to take leave of her body and they did? Would that be enough? Would they believe her? Or would they torture her some more? The latter seemed more likely to happen.

She wasn’t sure which will be responsible for her demise: the demons they claimed had taken control of her body and senses or the cruel punishment they dealt upon her.

She shut her eyes tight, trying to make a connection. She had overheard one of the inmates talk about psychic connections and how they helped in times of trouble. If she concentrated enough, perhaps, just perhaps…but her concentration wavered. She was too weak, too hungry, too faithless.

They said her demons were powerful, brutal, without pity, and were making a monster of her. She shook her head in confusion. Several questions simultaneously popped into her head. Where were these powerful, brutal beings living inside her? How come the dungeon was awfully quiet and cold? How come none of the demons said anything to her? There must be a way to summon them, to either make them go away or come to her aid. Did they, like everyone else, leave her to die slowly, painfully and alone?

If indeed these demons used or rented her body for whatever purpose, they must be grossly ungrateful and, against popular belief, they must be entirely powerless. They couldn’t even fight for the continual use of a body they once enjoyed ravishing.

February 2011

One

R ICHARD DA’SILVA LOVED the sleek feel of his brand-new Aston Martin DB9 Volante and the sense of recklessness it gave him as he raced through the almost completed four-lane expressway. The cool night air blew all over him as the car went from 0 to 62 mph in 4.6 seconds, and the euphoria of knowing nothing else consumed him. It was just the right time of the day to indulge in his favorite pastime. Here, the only things that mattered were the car, the road and the night; and when they came together, it was perfect harmony. A rare peace swam through him as the beauty he held in his hands sped away. He loved the night. The peace and solitude it gave him was unparalleled.

He loved this world, his ideal world, a world devoid of power, responsibilities, and control. He ceded control to the night. As he sped through a proposed toll gate, he completely ignored the new commercial billboards at the sides of the Lekki-Epe Expressway. New buildings were sprouting up. Industrialists were seizing the opportunities created by the massive expansion of the once one-lane road. Lagos was a haven of opportunities, and like most major cities, these opportunities gave rise to many more. The once traffic-ridden, easily congested area was attracting real estate and businesses, rapidly metamorphosing into a formidable residential cum commercial area.

It was also his way of testing the new road. Although he had made a name and fortune in the construction of quality roads and had the utmost trust in his team of engineers, he always loved to test all of his newly constructed highways with one of his favorite cars, and what better car to use than an Aston Martin? He knew a few friends would disagree, and he also knew a couple of people had their hands clasped to their rosaries praying for his safe return. They did not understand his appetite for speed and the night. They did not understand why he spent some entire nights speeding through highways.

He felt like a sure-footed man in bed with a young vixen, showing off years of expertise and prowess. He let go off the wheel, allowing the car show off its capabilities, and dared death—for dying like this would be the ultimate gift …

He didn’t see it. It moved too quickly. Whatever it was. He jerked forward, applying immense pressure on the brakes, expertly steering the wheel to control the car. The car screeched, swerving from the road as he struggled to control it. It leapt over the protective curbs, missed a signpost, and crashed straight into a huge newly constructed billboard.

The airbags popped open, trapping him inside. He tried breathing as the car came to a stop, then struggled to open the door; and when he did, he fell to the ground as he felt a sharp pain on his left side. He let out a scream, cursing and at the same time holding his hurting side to assuage the pain. He must have broken a couple of ribs, he thought. He staggered terribly, trying to get onto his feet, and piercing pains went like a dozen knives through his body. He uncontrollably shuddered. Getting up with difficulty, he looked towards the road where his car had veered from.

It all had happened so fast; something had sprung onto his car out of nowhere. He staggered to the road cautious and apprehensive. What was it? From the distance, he made out a form lying still on the road, and his heart beat furiously against his rib cage.

Oh . . . no!

Walking closer, with caution in every step, he approached the form. He stopped, heart still pounding. A fragile-looking body lay naked except for the rags that obscenely covered the lower body, the neck terribly twisted.

No, he whispered to himself. Please . . . no.

A little disoriented, he painfully walked back to the car. Through the open door, his eyes searched for the latest black-and-gold custom designed iPhone. It was still in the phone compartment, intact. With a trembling right hand, he reached for it, squirming in pain as he did. He unlocked the phone and made a call.

Walking back to the body in the hope of finding any sign of life, he went down on his knees, still holding his hurting side. The body was that of a woman, obviously a young woman, he thought, as he looked at the small well-rounded breasts and the frightfully thin, starved body. Her terribly twisted neck held a head that was as bald as an eagle’s. What kind of creature is this? She didn’t entirely look human.

He held her wrists in search of a pulse. There was none, and his heart flipped. He leaned closer and placed his ear against her chest. He thought he heard a faint heartbeat, but the smell of unwashed body overwhelmed him. He got up quickly, wriggling his nose and shaking his head at the same time. There was no way she could be alive with her neck twisted like that. He tried to control the adrenaline that had rushed to his head, but his heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Did he just kill someone? He had to leave the body the way it was, the position it laid meant that bones were broken.

He looked around. The road was empty, and there was no car in sight, so that wouldn’t be a problem; but he needed to get the warning sign from the booth of his car to warn off any approaching vehicle. This was Lagos. A car will show up when least expected, though thankfully it wasn’t a weekend; people in this city never sleep weekends.

A frown wrinkled his forehead as he put up the signs on the lonely expressway. Who jumps onto a moving car? A fast-moving car, and goddammit, was she fast too? he thought to himself.

Goddammit! he swore out loud.

He looked around and then at the diamond-crusted Hublot wristwatch he wore. It was 3:12 a.m. What in heaven’s name was she doing all alone on a highway at this time of the night? He looked around again. These roads could be unsafe, and robbers could attack them. He shook the feeling away, that should be the least of his worries.

He sat beside the body and, despite the smell, held the left hand gently, as if to give it life, anything as long as the faint heartbeat he thought he heard earlier never left. She was so fragile and looked almost grotesque with the twisted neck. What kind of creature is this? He didn’t believe in aliens, extra-terrestrials, heavenly beings … whatever beings people fancied, but the body besides him looked out of place. He looked around. Were they really alone? What or who was she running from? Was she in some sort of danger? There was nothing to indicate so. He winced, his left side was hurting so much now. He glanced at his watch again. The ambulance service he called earlier should be there soon. He shifted impatiently.

Patting her fragile hand, he thought it may be wise to say a prayer, but he couldn’t remember any prayers. He closed his eyes and whispered gently, Stay with me. Stay with me … Don’t go … please. A sudden surge of anger coursed through him. It wasn’t at the girl or at him, but at death.

Tonight, he had dared death, not for the strange-looking young being lying beside him, but for himself; and as usual, the crafty master picked on the wrong victim, deliberately punishing him.

September 2009

Two

I JEOMA ANOSIKE QUICKENED her steps to avoid the intense heat that always left her very fair skin sore. Trickles of sweat ran down her loosely packed mane of black and curly hair to her temples and right into her ill-fitting blouse, causing her great discomfort. She narrowed her downcast eyes as if to wade off the sun, and then frowned. She was worried she would miss the last bus to her village. Out of character, Professor Orazulike, her history professor, had lost track of time and she had to pay for it. She had missed the bus that went from her school to the central bus stop, and now she had to walk all the way to the bus stop, she frowned again.

The humid air made her drab-looking clothes cling to her thin body. She wiped away the sweat that had ran through her hair to her forehead and then picked up the long flowing dull-brown skirt that gathered dirt off the ground as she walked. She sighed in exasperation. She resolved to cut her skirts by an inch because she was getting tired of washing them as they always caught dirt and water was becoming increasingly scarce and expensive on campus. It was unlike her village where she could use free water from the Idemili River to do all her laundry. Perhaps doing all her laundry back at home would be a better option, she thought.

Instinctively, her body stiffened, halting her thoughts. Someone or people were laughing. She dared not look or turn around. She clutched her tote bag closer, knowing it was the only thing she cared about at the moment and kept walking, eyes still downcast. They were laughing at her surely, she thought, but she mustn’t bring herself to look or care. In truth, she didn’t care. She had mechanized her body and mind to instinctively protect her from the world. She knew that a lot of eyes were following her.

Her almost transparent light skin shone as the sun danced. She flinched knowing she would certainly be left with a terrible headache and sunburn soon, for the sun had never been her friend and it was a very sunny day. She wished she could stop for a cold drink at one of the poorly built wooden kiosks that lined up the untarred and unlevelled road she walked past. She wished she could do things like any normal student, but that was luxury she couldn’t afford. She knew the exact reaction she would get and had no intention of proving it. She quickened her steps again, relaxing her body, putting the laughter she had heard earlier behind her. More importantly, she mustn’t miss the bus for Mama would be furious.

Mama said it was her cross, for every human had one. Nature had blessed her with beauty and brains but, in a sad twist of fate, cursed her with a strange ailment. Not that she understood, but Mama was always right.

Her stomach rumbled. She wondered what Mama made for dinner. She hoped she got home just after Mama had lifted the pot off the hearth for she loved her food hot and spicy. Ijeoma smiled to herself. Mama’s cooking kept her racing home on Fridays after her last lecture. As quickly as the smile had come it disappeared, leaving her with a heavy heart. On her last visit home, Mama had excitedly told her that she was making progress in getting them an appointment with Dibia Ukponu, the well-known and much respected witch-doctor. Ijeoma shook her head. She didn’t want to see another dibia. She was tired of being tossed from one dibia to another.

For years, Mama had made sure they pledged allegiance to Idemili, the River goddess who sees and cures all, convinced she will be cured of her ailment but she had somewhat suddenly decided they started seeing dibias. Over the years, she had watched Mama spend all her money and sell her properties in search of a cure for her. Quite justifiably, she couldn’t hope and pray to Idemili alone. The goddess indeed needed some assistance.

They had also tried Christianity and became pious members of the local Christian community and went from one church to another in search of a cure, all to no avail.

She pulled up her skirt again to reveal a low-heeled brown sandal crafted by one of the village’s shoemakers. It was a treat from Mama. She had two others like that—same color and same design. Mama had used some of the money her father had left her and had also sold some of her vintage Hollandis wrappers to shop for clothes and sandals for her so she could feel like the freshman she was at the university. She didn’t feel any different being a freshman. She loved the knowledge she was acquiring, but her new schoolmates didn’t make her university experience worth looking forward to. She was used to stares and mean side comments, which forced her to grow a thick skin, but rude, obscene comments, catcalls, and the occasional throw of pebbles were another kettle of fish.

The tote bag was a gift from Uncle Azuka. He said it was the finest in the village, and he had spent a fortune on it. Mama had smirked at the comment. She never believed a single word Uncle Azuka said even though he was her only surviving child. But she agreed that it was a fine bag, a fine bag for a freshman.

Mama would be waiting for her. The smile reappeared as she wondered what Mama had prepared for dinner. She hoped it was fried plantains and stewed okporoko-stock fish.

May 2011

Three

K IND BROWN EYES stared at her as she opened her eyes.

The handsome woman sitting beside her smiled, exposing perfect white teeth.

You are awake, the woman said with a voice as soft as feathers. The smile never leaving her face. She replied with a tired gaze, not sure what the woman meant. The woman leaned closer and gently stroked her left cheek, getting up as she did.

Fresh air always does the body some good. She watched her walk to a window at the opposite side of the room and drew open the Maude patterned blinds. I really cannot fathom what Mike does with the remote controls here. Now I cannot find that of the air-conditioner. When I said he should look after you, I didn’t mean he had to play with everything he finds in here. She heard the laughter despite the rebuke in the voice. She felt uninhibited fresh air and light flow through the windows into the room, and her body warmed up immediately. She looked around her. Where was she? She took in her surroundings. It looked vaguely familiar. She was lying in the middle of a queen-sized bed adorned with Arabian linen and smelled of fresh roses. A soft velvety patterned duvet covered her body.

On the wall opposite, a high-definition fifty-inch Sony LED TV hung, and the matching home theater set was so slim they almost weren’t there. The room was bare except for the bed, the gadgets, and a dressing table without mirrors at the right-hand side of the room. A full triangular white Persian wool rug that looked as if it had been freshly sheared boisterously covered the center of the room while well-polished glassy brown tiles beautified the corners of the room. On the left side of the room, an imposing painting of some woman, two infants, and an angel in a rocky setting caught and held her attention.

"The Madonna of the Rocks, the woman said, obviously noticing her interest in the painting. The Virgin Mary, the child Jesus, an infant John the Baptist and an Angel. It is, of course, a replica. The original hangs in the Louvre," the woman finished with a smile. She had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

My name is Ruth, the woman curtly provided, walking back to her.

Ruth? She thought. Ruth? Where was she? Where was this place and who was this woman?

Be careful with your neck, little dove. She was beginning to move her head to see if she could make a connection with her surroundings and felt some pain. It’s healed, but it’s still delicate, and you mustn’t hurt it. The girl’s hand flew to her neck. It was heavily bandaged, and she felt a little sting. The woman’s smiling gaze never floundered as it held hers. The woman, Ruth, as she introduced herself, had defined strong features that made her handsome rather than beautiful. She couldn’t especially help noticing the shape of her nose, slightly curved but strong. She was broad, and her eyes gleamed when she smiled. Her nails were well-manicured and painted with bright red glossy nail polish. She wondered what she did to her hair. For an African woman with an almond complexion, her hair, which was full of curls, neatly extended down to her shoulder. The jeans and t-shirt she wore only revealed her muscular build. She smelled very nice and looked elegant and strong. Ruth laughed out, sensing the younger woman’s interest in her.

I have been your nurse and caretaker for three months now. A worry line appeared on the patient’s forehead.

Hush, she calmed the patient down, taking her delicate fragile hand in hers and gently patting them. The worst is over now. You have been in a coma and just came out of it. We are very happy to finally have you here with us and, of course, to meet you.

Her breathing was weak as she listened to the nice-looking, softspoken woman, with no clue of what she was saying. She was tired and on becoming more aware of her surroundings, her head throbbed with pain. She closed her eyes in response to the pain. What was the woman talking about? She gently opened them as she felt the woman stroke her cheek again.

It’s really okay, and you are safe now.

Her mind was blank. Nothing the woman said made any sense. She just wanted to go back to wherever it was she came from. She wanted to rest, but she felt a need to understand what the woman was saying.

Coma? She heard her own voice—small, shaky, and weak.

The woman never stopped smiling. She kept her hold on the patient’s fragile hand.

Yes, little dove, you won’t remember. You have been out of touch with the world for three months since the accident.

Little dove? Was that her name? It sounded ridiculous. What accident?

Accident? The frown reappeared on her forehead as if trying to recall. Her mind was blank. Accident? she asked again and at same time thinking there was something about the woman’s accent.

No need to worry, my dear. It will come to you. The kind eyes comforted her, and then she smiled. Now that you are up, she said animatedly, we are going to throw a huge family dinner with you as the guest of honor. Her smile broadened. We all have been worried sick over you, and thank heavens, you are awake now! We? the patient interrupted and Ruth chuckled.

Yes. She smiled softly, staring into her eyes. You will meet every one of us. She laughed now, getting up. You must be hungry. You’ve lived on liquid for far too long, and Udoh can’t wait to fatten you up.

The patient frowned. She was hurting. She closed her eyes, and a little whimper escaped her lips. Food was the last thing on her mind.

Ruth leaned closer, touching her forehead. You are burning up. It’s time you took your medication. Are you in pain, young one?

The patient nodded. For a little while, the smile on the woman’s face disappeared. She watched her prick her skin with an injection she picked from a nursing tray by her side, and like magic, the pain slowly began to dissipate.

That’s for the pain. You will be experiencing a lot of it, but you will be fine as long as you take the right dose of your medication at the right time.

What happened to me? the girl asked the woman.

Ruth looked at her interestingly, then cocked her head to one side.

You don’t remember? The girl shook her head.

Well, that—Ruth hesitated—that’s normal. You don’t remember the accident, or right before it? she asked again, curiosity getting the better of her.

The girl closed her eyes for a while as if in thought. Upon opening them, she shook her head.

That’s okay, but you do remember that you were on the expressway and …

She stopped looking at the girl. She looked more confused with each question. Ruth smiled.

What’s your name?

My name?

Her face was a mask of confusion. She thought it was Little Dove, even though it sounded stupid for a name. The drug was doing something to her. She was becoming weaker. She stared bleakly at the older woman. What was her name?

You don’t remember?

She closed her eyes gently, giving in to the effect of the drug, and with summoned strength, she whispered, I don’t know.

…………………………………………………………………………….

Ruth fed her sips from the porcelain cup resting on a matching saucer. The tea immediately relaxed and calmed her. She inhaled deeply as she felt some strength seep into her. Ruth was still by her side, watching her. She gazed at the wiry-looking old man with decent crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes in deep conversation with Richard. Richard, she noticed, was frowning, and she wondered if the doctor had made some pronouncements he didn’t like.

She had awoken to the calm words of the old man draped in casual pants and blue t-shirt. He looked ordinary yet distinguished, taking into account the gray hair that gracefully crowned his head.

Look, who’s awake, he had said with a smile, which enhanced the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes when she had woken up. She had glanced around, and her eyes found Ruth standing a few feet away from her bed and relief overcame her. She had been glad to see her. She was differently dressed, in a stylish green knee-length dress that exposed strong, muscular legs. She had smiled at her, and the smile immediately warmed her, and she smiled back. Standing at a far corner of the room and leaning against the wall with his legs crossed was a man who didn’t smile like the others but stood watching her with keen interest.

Little dove. Her gaze returned to Ruth, who had walked quietly to her side, her smile never leaving her lips and eyes. This is Dr. Ekene. He’s an old friend of the family and our doctor for as long as we can remember. Ruth introduced the old man who smiled and winked at her.

Ruthie, you don’t have to say how old I am. She can tell by my looks, the man joked.

The patient smiled. Her headache was gone, but she was very weak.

It’s very nice to finally meet you. He smiled again. You are really a strong one to cause quite a stir in this humble and honorable home.

Oh! C’mon, Doc, let the young one rest, Ruth said. You see the man standing over there? she asked, referring to the man standing aloof at the far corner of the room. That is our Richard.

She shifted her gaze to him. He gave her a little smile, which very briefly touched his lips and disappeared as quickly as it came. He stood straight, and then walked to her side. He wasn’t only darker than the other people in the room, he towered over them and confidently carried himself as if he had everything under control.

Richard, he said in a deep but passive voice. He was handsome, she thought, but in a subtle kind of way. There was something about his eyes, they were a darker shade of brown and intensely focused; she was immediately reminded of an eagle and they held a certain glint to them. His nose sat squarely but proportionately on a clean shaven face with clear skin. His lips were tight and ‘serious’. He didn’t seem like the sort that will have the time for a ‘little’ joke. A square, set jaw and a closely shaved head further enhanced his serious looks.

He