“Please call me, I love you.” Samson reads out the message and fling the phone on the creamy laced sofa. “Nonsense” he sigh as he made his way into the bathroom. He had been expecting a bank alert notifying him of the money his friend Jero claimed to had transfered to his account via the internet two days ago, but instead had got an entirely different message. His composure throughout that day had been due to the much anticipated lucre he envisaged would change his pocket status. His neighbour, madam mercy, who noticed this had teased him that afternoon whispering into his left ear when no one was in sight to ask the cause of this his new found joy.
“Is my wife going to come?” she had asked him hoping to get no answer than a shy smile that usually plays around the corner of a one o’clock sun, and that was what she got from Samson plus mouthing of ‘na you sabi’ as a bonus.
As he drags his feet lazily into the bathroom, he could not but think of how penury will so drink a lady’s blood to the point that instead of putting a call across to one and wishing him happy new year, she instead is sending “please call me” and to even make matter worse, she added I love you. He laughed sarcastically at the mere thought of that word, love. Does that even exist in his own dictionary, it has died long time ago, and it will take only God to get it resurrected. What now overcharged his heart like air across the space is how he will get to meet Jero and tell him to his face that he could be nothing more than a liar, he is going to have to split open all the dirt he’s been bottling up for a long time, he thought to himself.
As the cab make it way towards Challenge finding its bearing from Ojoo, Samson soon find himself in the midst of bee-like noises of co passengers. And if not for courtesy he could’ve shouted one particular middle aged man down who insisted Badmus is not a good name, and anybody bearing such should just make a change of name to ‘Goodmus’, if he was in his right mood he could have open the gate of laughter, but such for now counts for nothing .
“Mr man, the name is not what matter but the achievement” stated a man whose big tummy is perfectly matched with a bald head. “Well, if you say so, but as for me I will never name my child Badmus, a combination of bad and musu.” The average aged man retorted.
As he alighted from the cab, his mind once again feeling the breeze of peace from the unnecessary arguments the cab avail him of the unsavoury chance of partaking in, he heads toward Jero’s lodge, his legs moving with the speed at which his mind pants to drop in Jero’s ear a piece of his mind before collecting what he brought from Abuja. He soon find himself standing in front of Jero’s quarter as before him stands a view of a crowd, moving close to where they stands, Samson could not believe the sight before him, at first, he wipe his face with his right hand to see whether his eyes was after all not deceiving him.
Jero lie down with face congealed, showing no sign of glee nor pain, foams covers his lips and some remnant drips down his neck.
‘Bros, please what is wrong with this guy’ he ask a young man who also stood amidst the crowd.
‘I were told by the mon over there that na magun he take’ answered the young man almost making Samson to laugh inspite of himself. ‘If you don believe, ask the mon’ he said Samson move closer to the elderly man standing near Jero’s body.
‘Sir, what happened to him?’ he asked as he jettisons the courtesy of having to greet first before speaking an elder, something typical of the south western Nigerian culture.
‘My son, he died of maagun’ the elderly man answered shaking his head like a leaf on top of a river. ‘sorry to ask sir, WH..A…T is the meaning of MAA…GUN’ he asked stammering.
The elderly man looked him over as if he is a strange being from mars. ‘You mean you don’t know the meaning,’ He said with mouth agape, well it is a charm that is attached to a married woman’s waist in which any person that have sex with her will die without remedy.’
Samson could not believe his ear, his intellect refute the possibility of such crap, if any of his friends had brought this up he could’ve asked for the test of verifiability of such posit, but now, for the sake of the situation at hand he will pretend as if it really is possible.
‘And this Jero lived for only one thing since I knew him’ said a ‘bedtacled’ man. ‘What is that’ the elderly man asked.
‘sex’
Samson looks at Jero and wonders at the ignorance of the men that sorrounds him as they runs their mouth on him like an heaven that is not exhausted of pouring floods, how could a handsome guy like this not live his life to the fullest, he thought before retracting his focus back to the issue on ground.
‘And who did he do it with’ he ask briskly.
‘That young lady over there’ said a broad chest man pointing in the direction opposite where Samson stand. ‘You mean this girl’ Samson look the girl obviously amazed at how Jero could so debase himself to the point of having an illicit affair with a girl he sized to be nothing less than 14 years, at that moment a part of him want to beat the hell out Jero’s corpse.
‘Who is her husband please’ he said, throwing the question to no one in particular. ‘The husband had taken to his heel having learnt about what happened’ someone answered from the crowd.
Samson thought he had learnt enough, his leg is soon found drifting away from where Jero lies. He couldn’t conceive of it that Jero could die this way, he died committing paedophilia and to even think he was maagun-ed rather than murdered is disheartening, he thought of reporting to the police but thought better of it, there and then, a thought occurs to him, he had before then thought of dropping his ambition of becoming a writer but here is a really interesting story, he is going to write a book on this and name it maagun; THE MURDERER WITHOUT A SWORD.
I I I I 
