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354 pages

English

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Set against the backdrop of contemporary Nigeria, this novel follows the lives of two young lovers as they deal with the far-reaching consequences of vengeance.
Tosan Mayuku—a talented art student of Aliu Zamani University and also National Arts Award winner—meets and falls in love with the beautiful Ebi Dabiri. She is the daughter of Chief Ezontade Dabiri, a Nigerian politician who is also a major financier of an Ijaw militant group at a time two of Nigeria’s popular ethnic groups, Ijaw and Itsekiri, are locked in a bitter tribal war.
Tosan and Ebi make an amazing couple, but their love affair is also dangerous. It pits a gutsy Tosan, who has Itsekiri blood running through his veins, against powerful forces. There’s the head of his department, who is Ebi’s ex-lover and who is trying to get Tosan killed. There’s Ebi’s mother, who is against their union for more reasons than the obvious, and there’s Ebi’s father, who employs militant Ijaw youths to take Tosan’s life. Meanwhile, Tosan is the leader of a university gang—but Ebi has connections in a New York art gallery that can help his artistic career soar. Will they manage to overcome the hostility in their environment and escape to build a new life together? Set against the backdrop of contemporary Nigeria, this novel follows the
lives of two young lovers as they deal with the far-reaching consequences of vengeance.

Sujets

Adventure (Guyana)

Warri Crisis

Itsekiri

Niger Delta

Ijaw people

African art

Urhobo

Adventure

Romance

Fiction

Action

Informations

Publié par	iUniverse
Date de parution	26 juin 2022
Nombre de lectures	3
EAN13	9781663240873
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

IN TURBULENT WATERS

TIMOTHY ETCHIE

INTURBULENTWATERS

Copyright © 2022 Timothy Etchie.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.iuniverse.com
844-349-9409

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6632-4086-6 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6632-4088-0 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-6632-4087-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022910671

iUniverse rev. date: 07/26/2022

CONTENTS
Acknowledgments

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

To the memory of my brother,
Joseph Egharegbemi Atsemudiara Etchie,
and
for the man of all times, Egharegbemi Atsemudiara Etchie,
my late father, who never once doubted but believed
wholeheartedly in the vision God has given me.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The writing and publication of this book would not have been possible without the marvelous contributions of many wonderful people.
It all began with the love of my family and the support of my friends.
First, my sincere thanks and gratitude to my mother, Rebecca Ejiyere, for her prayers, and my wife, Angie, for her love, support, and guidance, most especially for always looking out for me. Babe, thank you for everything.
My heartfelt gratitude goes to my beautiful kids—Temisan, Ari, and Timeyin—who I hope one day will write their own books. Temisan has started hers already. I love you guys more than words can ever say.
Many thanks and special gratitude goes to my brothers—Solomon, Jonathan, and Festus—but most especially Jonathan “Ayabic” Etchie, not just for reading sections of the manuscript and making meaningful suggestions, but even more for the general interest he took in it.
Special gratitude also to the late historian and former chairman of Itsekiri Leaders of Thought (ILoT), Pa J.O.S. Ayomike. Papa Ayomike helped this book in several meaningful ways. He gave me confidence and good counsel.
It was Pa Ayomike that introduced me to Professor Tony Afejuku, who was then head of the Department of English and Literature at the University of Benin.
Professor Tony Afejuku received me warmly into his office and into his home, and in spite of his academic responsibilities, he found time to wade through the voluminous manuscript and greatly influence the final outcome of the manuscript. He was convinced that I had a worthwhile project. I warmly thank him for his incisive guidance and encouragement.
I would like to thank my childhood friends—Henry Demisi, Jonathan Edileh, Patrick Okpomu, George Panama, Vincent Madamedon, Arthur Bofede and Kolawole Benjamin. I appreciate their precious friendship, constant wit, wisdom, and support.
I would also like to thank my classmates and the friends I made at Ambrose Alli University Ekpoma: Godday Igbinoba, Afekhai Elempe, Nefishetu Abu (as she then was), Lucky Izevbizua, Ivie Egbe (as she then was), Wole Akinsanya, Oje Imoroa and Fredrick Mabiaku.
I also appreciate the fabulous editorial, design and production team of iUniverse, who saw this book across the finish line.
Thanks to Chief Eugene Ikomi, my mentor, a man who has made an incredible impact in my life; I cannot imagine anyone to whom I owe more gratitude.
My thanks also to the good people of Warri, who continue to indulge my imagination.
Lastly and most importantly, my biggest thank-you is reserved for God Almighty, whose grace saw me through the production of this book.

When you walk this school,
My friends let your feet be fleet;
When you cross a dark street,
My friends do not be a fool.
Ignore the howls of Owlsmen,
What they foretell is death,
Designed to entrap good men
And take away their breath.
—A popular poem at AZU

CHAPTER ONE

WARRI, MAY 2004
It had been gradually getting overcast, and the sky was black and lowering with the weight of the storm beneath its pouches. If not for the gallant splendor of the departing moon that sent up fingers of faint but burning white fire, it would have seemed as if the world were about to end the very next minute. The rays of the departing moon gleamed white through the black veil of the coming storm and shone bravely upon the earth. In the distance, the wind began to moan. A stream of dull clouds coming up against it flashed down thunder, and quivering lightning followed it.
Large drops of rain soon began to fall. As the storm clouds came sailing fervently downward, others immediately refilled the void they left behind, spreading over all the sky. Then came the low, angry rumbling of distant thunder. Lightning quivered, slicing the earth with its light, and then darkness covered everywhere as NEPA—the national electricity powerhouse—cut the public electricity supply.
At that late hour, with the curfew now relaxed, a young man walked the cold, rainy highway called Warri–Sapele Road. The buses, taxis, and okadas (commercial motorbikes) were all parked for the day, so he had to walk home in the rain. It was an opportunity to stretch his legs.
He was completely unconcerned by the rain but very watchful of his surroundings. He walked down the broad freeway with his hands in his pockets. He was decked out in a pair of faded blue jeans, a black T-shirt, and a heavy blue leather jacket. His two hands were in the pouch pockets of his jacket. Inside the right pocket, his fingers were wrapped around the handle of an automatic. The small handgun was a powerful weapon, his companion for the past year. As a leader of the Egbesu Boys of Africa, EBA, the young man, Isaac Wuru, claimed it a right to carry a gun. He wasn’t carrying the gun for fun. He was carrying it to protect himself against the WV, the Warri Vanguard, a roving pack of militant Itsekiri youths who roamed the streets of Warri, searching for people like him.
There had been some killings recently. The thought of those killings caused Wuru to tighten his grip around the butt of the pistol. Only two weeks prior, his best friend had been shot and killed not very far from this place where he was now walking. The WV had killed him. Sixteen 7.62mm slugs were pumped into him.
Walking quickly, quietly, his mind flooded with memories of his friend. Wuru reasoned and tried to grasp how they could’ve killed Conboye so cheaply. Conboye was a top-notch member of the Egbesu Boys of Africa. He was a good fighter of the Ijaw Nation, armed twenty-four hours a day and “fortified to the bone” with the protective Egbesu juju. He was not supposed to be killed that easily.
Conboye was one of the “gallants” who could be relied on. He had a mind for the cause. An eyewitness’s account claimed that a black “V-trunk” Mercedes-Benz had accosted him in broad daylight. Two young men had emerged from the rear seat and, without saying a word, shot him with SMGs, reentered their car, and drove away. Just like that. It was a terrible way to die.
He was about a hundred meters away from the gasoline station when he spotted the car. It was a Mercedes jeep parked at the curb in front of the two-pump Oando filling station. It was a gleaming black car, droplets of rain hanging on its body like fish scales and rain thundering softly on its roof. It carried dull yellowish parking lights.
Wuru slackened his pace, and as he buttoned his jacket, the headlights of the vehicle came on and the engine started. Instinctively, his fingers tightened around the butt of the handgun in his pocket. He saw first a chauffeur’s head through the rain-soaked windshield, and then the shape of another man sitting in the rear seat. Are these the same people that killed Conboye? he wondered.
He was walking past the car when the rear door sprung open and the man called out to him in an uncommonly loud voice, “Hey—you!”
Wuru looked neither concerned nor baffled. His face was inhumanly still. Quietly he brought the automatic out of his pocket.
“A few words, Wuru!” the man shouted over the rising windstorm.
The bastards even know my name! Wuru turned quickly around, pulled the gun out from his side, and leveled it at the man.
“May we have a few words?” the man said, swaying on his feet as