This story illustrates how traditional village communities maintain extensive social networks that extend far beyond their geographic boundaries, even when individuals relocate to cities. The protagonist Erima Jr. attempts to escape her village's constant monitoring by moving to Lagos, but discovers that her village association has established a branch in the city with members working in various professions. The village network tracks her through multiple channels—church connections, market interactions, and social events—demonstrating that community ties persist regardless of physical distance. This narrative reveals that in many African societies, village associations function as formal organizations that provide mutual support, maintain social order, and ensure members remain connected to their community of origin, even when living in urban environments.
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THE RETURN:: Erimma Jnr Is Here... #africantales #folktales追加:
Many years later, in the village called It Okala, our village CEO wife, Erima, had retired from her adventures and returned to the city with her husband.
But, she had no idea that her cousin was destined to also become an adventurer.
This cousin was called Erima Jr. Now, the junior was very important to differentiate the two Erimas. At this time, Erima Jr. was 34 years old, unmarried, energetic, dramatic, suspicious, ambitious, and permanently convinced that her village was the headquarters of destiny monitoring in Nigeria. According to Erima Jr., nothing succeeded in It Okala without public discussion. If somebody bought a new wrapper on Monday, the village people would hold an analysis meeting on Tuesday about it. If somebody received money from abroad, by Wednesday, everybody would know the amount, the exchange rate, and what the person planned to do with the money. In fact, there was one man who sneezed continuously for 3 days, and before the fourth day, three different rumors already existed. The first rumor said he lost a lottery. The second said he joined a secret society. And the third said he swallowed fish bone. But, the poor man only had catarrh. Erima Jr.
suffered especially because everybody knew her business, every single body.
The women at the stream knew. The women at the market where she sold small provisions knew. The old men under the mango tree knew. Even children knew. One evening, she was returning from the market when one boy greeted her respectfully, "Good evening, Auntie Rima junior." "Good evening." she replied.
Next thing, the boy sighed and said, "Sorry your relationship ended." Every man paused. "What relationship?" "The one with the motorcycle rider."
Immediately, the boy walked away before evidence was demanded. That night, Rima sat outside her father's house staring into darkness. Enough was enough. Her destiny needed oxygen. Her future needed a breathing space and her life needed distance from these professional observers. So, the following morning, she announced her decision to her family. "I am leaving." Her mother looked up from peeling cassava. "Leaving to where?" "To Lagos." Rima replied. The knife nearly fell from her mother's hand. "Lagos?" Rima nodded. "Yes." Her father lowered his newspaper slowly.
"Which Lagos?" Rima muttered. "How many Lagos do we have in Nigeria?" The old man became quiet. Meanwhile, the neighbors had already started gathering because in I Tu Ozoala, privacy was merely a suggestion. Within 20 minutes, six women, three old men, one goat, and several children had arrived to hear the announcement. Mama Kemi folded her arms.
"Why do you want to leave us?" Rima stood proudly and replied, "My destiny cannot grow here." One old man asked, "What is wrong with your destiny?" Rima replied, "Nothing." "Then leave it alone." the man advised. The women laughed immediately, but Rima remained serious. "I need a fresh environment."
Mama Kemi shook her head. "Fresh [clears throat] environment does not perform magic." Another round of laughter followed, but Rima ignored them. Inside her heart, she had already built beautiful dreams. In Lagos, she would become successful. Nobody would know her history. Nobody would know her family. Nobody would ask why she was unmarried, and nobody would monitor her destiny. That was beautiful freedom. For the next 2 weeks, Every Macho almost everything she owned in her provision store. Every evening, the villagers gathered to watch. One man had to ask, "Are you relocating or escaping?"
Another asked, "Please greet Lagos for us." One woman whispered, "Just watch.
She will return home before Christmas."
The rumors also multiplied by the day.
Some people said she found a rich husband. Some said she got an oil company contract. One woman even claimed a rumor had become an undercover government agent. Nobody knew where that particular story came from, sha.
Finally, the departure day arrived, and the entire village behaved as if the president was relocating. People came to watch, advise, encourage, and to discourage. Her mother cried while her father prayed. One aunt gave her enough advice to fill a textbook. "Don't trust strangers, oh." Every man nodded, "I know." "Don't enter bad company." She nodded again, "I know." "Don't follow men." She nodded, "I know." "Don't follow women, either." At this point, even Every Macho became confused about who to follow. The bus finally arrived, and Every Macho climbed proudly, carrying two bags, one carton, one bucket, one handbag, and enough confidence to start three businesses. As the vehicle prepared to leave, Old Papa Udo shouted from the roadside, "Remember us when you become rich." Another old man replied immediately, "Let her first reach Lagos before becoming rich now.
The bus moved. The villagers waved and Emeka Junior waved back emotionally.
Then she heaved a sigh of relief.
>> [sighs and gasps] >> Finally, freedom at last. Finally, peace. Finally, no more destiny monitoring. Unfortunately, Destiny started laughing immediately at her because barely 2 hours into the journey, the bus developed serious problems. The driver stopped beside one lonely roadside and announced, "Everybody come down." Passengers groaned loudly as they came down. Emeka stared at the smoking engine. "My God." One woman beside her sighed, "This journey has started well indeed." 3 hours later, the bus finally resumed. Then another problem entered during the food stop. Somebody mysteriously occupied Emeka's seat. She returned carrying meat pie and soft drink only to find one large man sleeping comfortably where she had been sitting. She tapped him, "This is my seat." The man opened one eye, "I thought nobody was here, oh." Emeka frowned, "But my bag was there." The man looked around and yawned, "I thought the bag was traveling alone. You say?" Well, after 30 minutes of arguments, intervention, witness statements, and transportation diplomacy, Emeka recovered her seat and the journey continued. Then around midnight, another passenger started snoring with such determination that several people looked around searching for a generator. One woman started praying against the spirit of snoring. While one man complained loudly, but the snoring continued proudly. By dawn, everybody looked emotionally defeated. Then finally, sometime in the morning, the bus entered Lagos. Everybody pressed her face against the window excitedly. There were tall buildings everywhere. Traffic, noise, and movement everywhere. Her heart danced for joy. This was it, the city of opportunities, the city of success, the city where nobody knew her, the city where her village people would never find her. Everybody smiled proudly and adjusted her dress. Well, what she did not know was that somewhere inside this same Lagos, her first village problem was already waiting patiently for her arrival. Did I forget to mention that everybody loved imagination? By the time the bus stopped at the last bus stop, she had finished imagining her new life completely. In her imagination, she would rent a beautiful apartment immediately, get a good job within 1 week, make new sophisticated friends, start speaking English with confidence, wear dark sunglasses occasionally for no reasons, post motivational quotes, and then become successful. By December, she would then return to Itoku wearing expensive lace, and the same people laughing now would gather outside admiring her car. She smiled to herself.
Wow. Have a beautiful imagination.
Unfortunately, she was jerked back to reality by one woman selling bread and shouting as if she personally baked every loaf since creation. Another man who was selling recharge cards was shouting with enough energy to power a small generator. Everybody stood there holding her bags carefully. Why is everybody seriously shouting now? Then suddenly, somebody grabbed her buckets and ran off. Erima screamed, "My buckets!" The man looked back and smiled, "I am helping you." Helping care. In Ituk Uzalla, help normally arrived after introduction. Well, Lagos help arrived first and explained later.
However, after 30 minutes of confusion, negotiation, sweating, and physical survival, Erima finally reached the address of her very distant cousin, AK, who agreed to accommodate her temporarily. At least, that's was the original plan. The moment AK opened the door, she stared at the luggage, then she stared at Erima, then back at the luggage. "My sister." "Yes." Erima smiled. "How long are you staying?"
Erima smiled again, "Small time." "What is small time?" AK asked. Erima scratched her head. "Until I settle." AK closed her eyes briefly because every Nigerian understands that the statement "until I settle" has no expiry date. She stepped aside reluctantly. Enter. And for the next few days, Erima began adjusting to city life. At first, she enjoyed everything, the roads, the lights, and the buildings. Nobody asked her question or monitored her. One morning, she woke up smiling and nobody asked where she was going. This was life. Then, on the fifth day, disaster entered. It happened while she accompanied AK to church. The service ended peacefully. People greeted one another. Some exchanged numbers while others discussed business opportunities.
Everything looked normal. Then, one elderly woman approached her slowly. She looked at Erima carefully and said, "My daughter." Erima greeted, "Good afternoon, ma." The woman narrowed her eyes. What is your name? The question sounded innocent, so she answered "Eruma". The woman froze. Which Eruma ah? Eruma felt small fear enter her spirits immediately. Eruma junior. The woman's eyes widened. Etefia's daughter?
The ground nearly opened beneath Eruma's feet. No way. The woman clapped excitedly. You are Etefia's daughter from Ituwa-ozala. Impossible. Complete impossible. Eke started laughing immediately. The old woman grabbed Eruma's hand excitedly. My sister's husband comes from your village. No, no, no. This was not happening. She had traveled hundreds of kilometers.
Hundreds. Yet village connection located her within five days. The woman continued happily. Do you know Mama Ene?
Unfortunately, Eruma knew. What about Papa Udo? Unfortunately again, Eruma knew. What about old Nze? Unfortunately, Eruma knew him too. The old woman became settled. I know all of them. Hey, Chineke nna. The monitoring spirits had entered Lagos already. That evening, Eruma returned home very disturbed. But after much thought, she convinced herself that maybe it was a coincidence.
Nothing more. Lagos was too big after all. One church woman could not represent danger. The following morning, she followed Eke to the market. Again, everything looked normal. People bargained and bought items. Some women argued over tomatoes professionally.
Then suddenly, one fish seller shouted wait. Eruma froze. The woman approached Eruma slowly. Where are you from? Eruma frowned. Why? The woman replied you look familiar. Ah, I cast every familiar spirits away. Not again. The fish seller stared harder. Then suddenly, her face brightened. It took Ousala. The bag nearly fell from Erima's hand. What? My mother-in-law comes from there. I know your place. No now, this could not be happening. The woman continued happily.
Do you know one woman called Nkanu?
Unfortunately, every man knew. The fish seller laughed. Wonderful Wonderful for who? Certainly not for Erima. Well, by the end of that week, three separate people had already connected Erima to Ituku Ozalla. One security guard added to the church woman and the fish seller.
The village had somehow entered Lagos before her. Then, the real disaster happened. One Sunday afternoon, she decided to call home. After greeting her mother, Erima asked casually, "How is everybody?" Her mother laughed, "Everybody is fine." Erima nodded, "Good." Now, the next thing her mother said nearly stopped her heartbeat. "We heard you joined a new church." Erima went numb. What? Her mother continued, "We heard your pastor is short." "Is he?" Erima sat upright immediately.
"What pastor? The one in Lagos now?"
Erima nearly dropped the phone. She had only attended that church once. Once, only one time. How had the information reached Ituku Ozalla already? Her mother continued happily, "We also heard fish is expensive there." At this point, Erima soul left her body briefly. She slowly ended the call and sat motionless. She looked at A.K., then at the ceiling, then back at A.K. and muttered, "My village has network coverage stronger than MTN." A.K.
laughed until tears entered her eyes.
But, Ebere Mom was not laughing because one frightening possibility had entered her mind. What if the village people had followed her? Now, that thought refused leaving Ebere Mom's head. That night, she lay awake staring at the ceiling fan rotating lazily above her. Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered her mother's voice. We heard your pastor is short. How? Please, how? She didn't even stay long after the service because she wanted to avoid traffic. Yet, the information had traveled from Lagos to Itoko-Oja faster than a breaking news.
No, something was definitely wrong somewhere. The next morning, she woke up with new determination. Enough is enough. She would become invisible. She would avoid church introductions and stop giving people information about herself. Let them monitor air, not her, since they think they are wise. Later that morning, she attended one job interview. The office was beautiful with serious-looking workers carrying laptops like people handling state secrets.
Finally, this was a professional environment. There will be no village people, no monitoring, and definitely no destiny observers. The receptionist smiled politely. Good morning. Ebere Mom smiled back. Good morning. The receptionist gestured, "Please sit."
Eya, such civilized professional people.
People focused on work. Ebere Mom relaxed immediately. Then, another applicant sitting beside her suddenly turned. My sister, mbam mbam mba, not again. The woman smiled warmly. "Where are you from?" That dangerous question.
Ah, never. Ebere Mom smiled carefully and replied smartly, "Nigeria." The woman laughed. "I know now. Where exactly are you from?" Ebere Mom mumbled south. The woman pressed on. Where in the south? Every man sighed, Enugu. The woman's EYES WIDENED. WHICH PART OF ENUGU? NO, NO, NO. We are not doing that today. But, why are Nigerians incapable of accepting partial information?
Finally, Every man surrendered. It took Uzala. And the woman's mouth opened immediately. Ah, my roommate comes from there. The chair almost rejected Every man from shock. The woman became too excited. Do you know one family called Ude? Unfortunately, Every man knew them.
What about Mama Ngozi Uzala?
Unfortunately, she knew her, too. The woman clapped happily.
Ah, what a small world. Small world indeed. Tiny world. Very microscopic world. Long story short, Every man completed the interview emotionally wounded. When she returned home that evening, Ake found her sitting quietly.
What happened now? Every man replied, Lagos is village. Ake frowned. What do you mean? Every man shrugged. Lagos is just village with traffic. Ake laughed until tears entered her eyes.
Fortunately, 3 days later, Every man finally got a small sales job at one cosmetic store. She was excited. This was a new beginning. The first week went well. The manager liked her and customers liked her, too. Everything looked promising. Then, one Saturday afternoon, one elegant customer entered the shop. The woman bought body cream, perfume, powder, soap, and then suddenly stared at Every man strangely. My dear, Every man smiled. Yes, ma. What is your name? The woman asked. Every man's heart skipped a beat. Still, she answered, Every man. The woman frowned. Every man what? E woman bit her tongue. Why did people need surname like oxygen? She muttered. E woman junior. The customer froze then smiled slowly. Daughter of Etefia. The POS machine nearly fell from E woman's hand. No now. No now. The customer became excited immediately. I attended your uncle's burial. At this point, E woman wanted to resign from Nigeria entirely. How many people attended that burial? Why were they all living in Lagos? The woman continued happily. Please greet your mother for me. She paid and left smiling. While E woman stood motionless and culturally wounded. That evening, she called home immediately. Her mother answered cheerfully. My daughter, how are you? E woman lowered her voice carefully. Mama, please tell me the truth. What truth?
Did all of Itoku was all I relocate secretly? Her mother paused for a second then burst into proper laughter. My daughter, what happened again? E woman explained everything. The church woman, the fish seller, the interview lady and the customer. By the time she finished, her mother was laughing uncontrollably.
Then she said something that disturbed E woman deeply. My daughter, yes. Wait until you attend an Itoku was all I meeting in Lagos. E woman frowned. What meeting? Her mother answered casually.
The village association meeting. No way.
The room started rotating now. What association? E woman asked. Her mother replied, the Itoku was all I progressive union Lagos branch. E woman sat up immediately. They what? Apparently, without informing her, the people of Itoku was all I had already established their headquarters in Lagos with executives, meetings, contributions, and a WhatsApp group. They even had monthly gatherings with drama.
>> [clears throat] >> It was her complete village government inside Lagos. It was at that point every man knew that her problems had only just started. For almost 5 minutes after ending the call, she sat motionless on Ake's bed staring at the wall, but the wall did not answer her. It could not help. The wall itself looked tired.
Finally, she turned slowly toward Ake and asked, "There is an Itsekiri government inside Lagos?" Ake laughed immediately. "My sister, every village in Nigeria has a branch office in Lagos." Everyman wanted to cry. "Why?"
Ake shrugged. "Eh, to help one another now." Everyman asked, "Help who?"
"Themselves now." "Why?" Everyman asked again. Ake replied casually, "Eh, because Nigerians don't know how to mind their business." See, eh, that answer was too honest. That night, Everyman slept very badly. Every dream she had contained village people carrying an attendance register. One old woman chased her through Balogun Market shouting, "Pay your association levy."
Another dream showed Papa Udoh conducting election beside the Third Mainland Bridge. By morning, she woke up emotionally exhausted. Then, disaster arrived around 9:00 a.m. She received a phone call from an unknown number.
Everyman answered carefully, "Hello."
The voice sounded old. "My daughter."
Wait, that meant danger already. Old people rarely called strangers my daughter without something being attached. Everyman replied nervously, "Yes." The woman continued, "We heard you arrived Lagos." Wait, we? Already?
Does the association have an intelligence network? Every must upright immediately. Who is this, please? I am Madam Agnes. She gave no further explanation. Just Madam Agnes. As if the entire country was supposed to know her.
Every man asked, "Which Madam Agnes?"
"The women's leader." The woman answered. Every man frowned deeper. "The women's leader? Women's leader of what?"
Anyway, every man already knew it was her village government inside Lagos.
Madam Agnes continued happily, "We are having a meeting on Sunday." Every man immediately replied, "I won't be available." Madam Agnes chuckled, "You haven't heard the time." Every man repeated, "I still won't be available."
Madam Agnes laughed, "My daughter, every newcomer attends the meeting."
"It's not only newcomer, it's immigration applicant." The way they were talking, one would think she crossed the international border. Madam Agnes continued, "Your contribution book is ready." Wait, what? Contribution book? The call ended after 15 minutes of emotional ambush. Immediately it finished, every man blocked the number and heaved a sigh of relief. Problem solved, or so she thought.
Unfortunately, village people were not ordinary human beings. Nah. They operated like government agencies. If one office failed, another department would appear. The next day, another number called her. This time it was a man. "My daughter." Again? Every man held her breath. "My name is Chief Okeke." Chief? There was a chief too in Lagos? The man spoke proudly, "I am the chairman." Ah, the chairman himself had entered the matter. "We are expecting you on Sunday." Every man replied, "I will be at church." The man added, "Meeting starts after church." Every man counted. I have another engagement." The man asked, "What engagement?" That question annoyed Everyman immediately.
"Since when were people required to submit itinerary?" The chairman laughed, "My daughter, don't worry. We know your cousin AK's house." Everyman fainted immediately. After the call ended, Everyman packed a small bag immediately.
AK returned from work and found her arranging clothes. "What happened?" "I am relocating, oh." Everyman replied. AK frowned, "Again, what happened?" "Your address has leaked." AK laughed until she almost fell into a chair. "Ah, I give it to your village people. They are intentional. No wonder my mother always knows everybody's business. It is in you people's blood." When Sunday finally arrived, Everyman refused attending church. She refused leaving the house and refused opening the door. She sat inside quietly like a fugitive avoiding immigration officers. Around 2:00 p.m., she smiled proudly. "Wow, victory at last. The meeting must have probably ended." Just then, a knock came on the door followed by another, then another.
Everyman froze. AK froze, too. Both women looked at each other. The knock came again, "Boom boom boom."
Then, a familiar voice shouted outside, "My daughter!" "Eh, they really found the house? How? Please, how?" AK peeped through the curtain then immediately stepped back. Everyman panicked, "What? What? They came in a bus."
Everyman frowned, "What bus?" "The association bus." "The association bus?"
At this point, Everyman's blood pressure entered prayer mode. Outside, about 12 people stood, men and women, old people and the people, all smiling. Everybody looked ready to welcome a prodigal daughter back into the village civilization. Every man whispered urgently, "Tell them I am not here." Ake shook her head. "It's not possible. They can see two pairs of slippers outside.
It's true, oh. Village people noticed everything." The knock continued. Then finally, Chairman Okeke shouted, "My daughter, if you don't open, we shall continue knocking." And somehow, every man believed him because for these people to have crossed Lagos with a village in their pockets, what they cannot do does not exist. For almost 5 minutes, every man remained hidden inside Ake's room while the delegation from Itoku continued knocking outside like people serving court summons. Nobody appeared tired or ready to leave. In fact, one old woman brought out groundnuts from her handbag and started chewing comfortably. They had come prepared. Ake peeped through the curtain again. "They are arranging chairs." Every man nearly cried, "Whose chairs?" "They are chairs, oh." Every man nearly fainted. "Do they carry chairs about?" Outside, Chairman Okeke had already established a temporary headquarters beside the building. One man sat with a notebook.
Another man held an umbrella. While Madam Agnes looked completely relaxed.
At this point, it no longer looked like visitors had arrived. It looked like a village annexation. Finally, after almost 1 hour of siege operation, Every man surrendered. She opened the door slowly and the delegation burst into smiles immediately. "My daughter, my sister, our own person." Before she could escape, three women hugged her.
One old man shook her hand so hard that her shoulder almost relocated.
Meanwhile, Chairman Okeke stepped forward proudly. "Welcome officially."
Every man muttered, "Officially to what?" "To Lagos branch." Within minutes, everybody entered Okeke's room.
They sat anywhere they saw space. Some leaned on the window ledge. One uncle even sat on a bucket comfortably. Then, refreshments appeared mysteriously.
Nobody knew who brought them or when they arrived. Well, village logistics worked faster than technology. Soon, introductions began and that's was when Ezinma discovered something frightening.
The Lagos branch of Alapata contained almost everybody from bank managers to lawyers, business owners, engineers, civil servants, importers, and contractors. People she would never suspect. The village network had tentacles everywhere. Chairman Okeke cleared his throat proudly. "Our association is strong." Apparently, that's was an understatement. He began listing the achievements related to the association. They offered scholarships, hospital assistance, job connections, emergency support, funeral contributions, wedding assistance, housing support, and business referrals.
The more Ezinma listened, the more confused she became because really, the association sounded useful.
Unfortunately, usefulness was not her problem now. Her main problem was freedom. Then, the chairman smiled. "Now, let us discuss your contribution. Okay, here we go."
The room became serious immediately. A contribution ledger book thick enough to qualify as a university textbook appeared. The chairman adjusted his glasses and began, "You pay registration fee." Ezinma asked, "How much?" He mentioned the amount and everyman blinked. "For what?" Everyone laughed, but that was not all. She was also to pay monthly dues, then annual levy, then development contribution, then end of the year celebration contribution, then women's contribution, then youth's contribution, then emergency contribution. At one point, everyman became confused. She asked, "How many contributions exist?" Nobody answered directly, but that itself was the answer. Meanwhile, the meeting continued peacefully until one elderly woman sitting at the corner suddenly spoke.
"My daughter, we have also found a husband for you." There was total silence. Even the ceiling fan seemed surprised. Everyman blinked. "What?" The other woman nodded proudly. One auntie opened her phone immediately, eager to bring the beautiful picture of the proposed groom. Another auntie started smiling mysteriously. Chairman Okeke looked pleased. One Madam Agnes adjusted her wrapper excitedly. "No, wait first.
This was moving too fast now." Everyman argued, "I did not ask for husband." The women ignored that statement completely.
One auntie even exclaimed, "He's doing very well, oh." A second auntie added, "He owns three shops." At this point, everyman wanted the police intervention.
Then suddenly, the auntie holding the phone froze. Her smile disappeared and the room became quiet. Chairman Okeke frowned. "What happened?" The woman stared at the screen, then slowly looked up. Her expression had changed completely. "What is it?" Madam Agnes asked. The woman swallowed hard, then stuttered, "The boy we wanted to introduce to everyman is is currently trending online." nobody understood what she meant. Chairman Okeke frowned.
"Trended for what?" The woman looked down at her phone again, then back at everybody, then finally, she whispered, "I don't think this is good." The room exploded immediately. Questions started flying. "What happened? Show us now.
Which boy in particular? Did police arrest him? Has he gotten married? Is he dead?" Meanwhile, every man sat there completely confused because whatever was happening on that phone had to be very serious for it to have changed the atmosphere. Before anybody could explain properly, the woman turned the phone screen towards Chairman Okeke and the man crumpled like a house of cards. What do you think would be the problem? Do you think every man would look past it?
Is her life finally going to be free?
We'll find out in episode two. Now, let's gist bestie. Have you encountered a situation where someone you don't know from anywhere suddenly recognize you as their brother or sister? I'll go first.
I was once neighbors with one of my village people. Her house was just before mine. I had never met this woman before, but she found me out when I spoke our village dialect and she automatically started calling me her sister. From that day, I didn't have peace until I moved out. I'd love to hear your experience in the comments. If you enjoyed this story, kindly give this story a thumbs up and share this story out with your loved ones. Subscribe to this channel if you've not done so by now. Until I bring the next part your way. Bye.
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