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Showing posts from December, 2015

Celebration of Death by Mark Anthony Osuchukwu

That day, the morning was misty and the air mixed with the smell of wet sand and scents that came from breeze running through the leaves of big trees.  Ajulu the town crier passed again repeating the announcements that elicited responses like- “finally, chukwu aluka, chukwu daaluand other responses that could be heard in the scene of a ghastly auto crash where no one died. The announcement tore the veil of the early morning serenity that enabled the birds to perform serenading concerts.

Death is a healer; when a man or woman who lived their lives as brute slave masters and oppressors are arrested by death, their subtraction cum removal from the affairs of this world heals the tormented souls of their slaves. It places smiles on their age long unsmiling faces. Tears dribble down the cheeks of the slaves. Now, those are tears of joy.

The death of Ezekwelu in the village was a balm to souls that were wounded by his callousness. His death was a full stop to the conventional ‘every weekend-b…