The Village Girl… by Daniel Nkado




“Are you okay?” Cynthia asked as Mma returned to the table.

“I fine now. I just using the toilet.”

“Ok. Finish your food before it gets too cold.”

Mma stared at the soup as though she couldn’t recognize what it was. “I think I full already. I not eating again.”

Cynthia’s eyes ran up at her. “You are filled?”


“So who will now finish the food?”

Mma wondered if she was upset. She had never known her to concern herself with who finished or did not finish her meal. She was the perfect picky eater herself: two or three spoons of rice and a few bites at the chicken and that’s it.

It surprised Mma now that she was still at the table, still on a dish she wasn’t familiar with.

Mma shook her head. “I not eating again. I rushing and eating the food before and now it tighting my belle.”

“Oh ok. You can clear the table then.” Cynthia washed her hand.

Mma left with the dirty plates and she quickly poured a glass of juice and added the killer drop in it.

She swirled the yellow liquid in the glass and dropped it on the table.

Soon Mma was back at the table to carry the wash water.

“Take the juice,” Cynthia said, “it will help your indigestion.”

“Thanking you, ma.” Mma picked the glass and downed all of its contents in a single drink.



Mma did not get to the kitchen before the feelings started.

First it was prickly pain at the walls of her stomach, like the feel of tiny glass particles on soft skin.

She beat her belly lightly and thought probably she’d need to visit the toilet again.

But the itch-like feeling metamorphosed into something else.

All of a sudden, her lower abdomen began to burn. Red hot pain like burning coals on feet.

She let out a scream that frightened even the perpetrator of the wicked act herself.

Cynthia shuddered and ran up from the couch.

The bowl of dirty water fell from Mma’s grip and water splashed all over the floor. She clutched the sides of the door to maintain balance, but she was on the wet floor the same minute.

She felt a sudden wetness underneath her pant and soon her garment was soaked through by a speedy gush of blood. She moaned and groaned, writhing this way and that in the pool of her own blood.

Cynthia threw her palm to her mouth. She was shivering.

She ran back to the sitting room and picked her phone. She was too hysterical and kept pressing the wrong keys.

Finally, Vanessa’s voice came on.

“Oh my God, Vanessa what did you give to me?”

“You said she was just gonne bleed slightly like a minor flow or something.”

“What are you saying? She is on the floor in the kitchen turning in a large pool of blood.”

“What? What do you mean by that? Are you not supposed–”

Vanessa hung up.

Cynthia was dumbfounded.

She tried dialling her again, but her number returned busy.

She dropped the phone and ran back to the kitchen.

Mma was now still on the floor, a great pool of blood around her like a halo.




Cynthia dropped to the floor and shook Mma. No movement.

There was so much blood.

She tried to pull Mma up but she proved too heavy.

She shook her again and started to cry. “I’m sorry.” She sniffled. “I’m so sorry, sweet heart, please, wake up.”

Another shake. “Please.” Another. “Please, wake up, my dear.”

She heard noises at the sitting room. She wiped her eyes and ran out.

Richard stared at her with confusion. “Hey, baby, your friend called me, what is the matter?”

Cynthia sniffled and wiped at her nose. “Vanessa called you?”

Richard lowered his briefcase on the glass table. “Yes, she said there’s been a fight in the house and that I should hurry.”

“Oh my god.” Cynthia covered her face with one hand. Tears ran down her cheeks. “I’ve been a fool. I’ve been such a big fool.”

“What?” Richard walked up to her. “Hey, baby, what is it, stop crying.” He made to hold her and she moved slightly away. “I’m evil.”

Confusion and bafflement warred on Richard’s face. “Baby, what are you saying?”

Cynthia’s fingers moved frantically through the air. “I’ve killed her.”


“I killed her.” She waved toward the kitchen.

Richard pulled back his eyes and ran into the kitchen. His scream of “Oh my God!” resounded through the entire space.

He appeared at the sitting room burdened with Mma”s limp body, blood stains all over his exquisite suit.

Cynthia stared, tears steadily running down her face, ruining her make-up.

Richard turned briefly to her. “You are a monster!” He said this with near-movie theatrics.

Cynthia flopped down on the floor and pulled her shirt over her mouth. Richard’s words, “You are a monster”, rang in her head.


Copyright © Daniel Nkado 2014. All rights reserved.

Consented personally by the author to be used on Alifediary only.

 Author’s Bio:

Daniel Nkado is a Nigerian writer and journalist, author of bestselling Ola – The Tale of a Young Moon Maiden and founder of

Interact with him on or @danielnkd on Twitter.


9 thoughts on “The Village Girl… by Daniel Nkado

Enjoyed? Tell us...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s