ONLINE BOOK TOUR: BEYOND THE TRIAL BY Chigozie Anuli Mbadugha

 

Today, I bring you another book tour where you get the opportunity to read a brief synopsis and an excerpt from a collection of short stories. The author; Chigozie Anuli Mbadugha will be available to answer your general questions about writing and her works.  And wait for it, there’s a nice catch! There will  be a free book giveaway for one lucky participant! So, go ahead and share the link with friends and invite them to join the conversation.

 

BRIEF SYNOPSIS

Beyond the Trial is a collection of three short stories. The first story, ‘Erased Reproach’, is the story of young love and ruthless heartbreak. Funke, a teenager at the beginning of the story, gives in to peer pressure and ends up with an unwanted pregnancy which leads her into forced exile from her childhood home.  In ‘Rude Awakening’, Nkechi’s eutopic world is brought to a rude halt when her husband of eleven years dies suddenly in a car accident. She must face a chequered future alone with three sons. A family’s past is haunting its members in ‘Shadows from the Past’ and it is Ada’s responsibility, to lead her entire family out of darkness and into the light. A long-postponed visit home opens a can of worms about the past and provides the opportunity to deal with it and put it well behind them all. Beyond the Trial, is a collection of three short stories about three women who choose to see life beyond their trials and dare to reach for it.

 

AN EXCERPT FROM ‘RUDE AWAKENING’

Listen to the reading by the author here

The Emecheta family compound had been repainted in preparation for the funeral, but there were no new buildings or structures on it. It reminded Nkechi of the stagnancy of waters fed by streams of greed. Various canopies had been mounted in, and around, the compound. Most of them were labelled to identify the groups expected to occupy them. Some members of the groups were already sitting under the canopies in matching attires or headgears for the event. A traditional thatched hut (mkpukpu) had been erected close to the entrance of the compound. It was meant to be occupied by the male members of the Emecheta family after the corpse had been laid to rest. Mama’s golden brown casket occupied a small canopy in front of the main house.  A grave had been dug some distance away from it.

Seated in a bigger canopy adjacent to the casket were Mama’s immediate family members. Nkechi had no desire to sit with them. She identified a mango tree in a corner of the compound. She had enjoyed long conversations with Mama and Afam in the early years of her marriage under that tree. It held special memories for her. She dragged a white, plastic chair from underneath the nearest canopy, repositioned it under the mango tree, and sat on it. Uzoma did likewise.

From their position, they had a good view of the entire compound and the funeral proceedings. They ignored inquisitive glances from villagers who were wondering who the two fair-complexioned, bespectacled women were. When it came to the dust-to-dust rites, the officiating priest called for her with the public address system.

“Mrs Nkechi Emecheta, please come forward,” he announced.

Nkechi was speechless.  She looked over her shoulder as if expecting another person to come forward. She was aware the officiating priest was looking pointedly in her direction. So much for thinking nobody had recognized her! She could see Mama’s hand in this. She had assumed her quiet presence would be enough for Mama. She should have known her mentor better. One could have heard a pin drop in the deafening silence that engulfed the compound when she was called to step forward. As she stepped out, a murmur erupted as people whispered among themselves. Some people’s inquisitiveness had been assuaged.

She avoided looking at Papa, Chidi and Nwakaego and walked straight to the priest who handed her a spade with dust in it. Her dark glasses hid her eyes well. No one could decipher her feelings through her facial expressions. Today, she was a mysterious woman. The priest explained to her that Mama had requested that she take part in the dust to dust graveside rites. She did. She was taken aback when he told her Mama had also asked that she give the funeral oration. Nkechi was totally unprepared for this. Mama was favouring her above her own biological children. She dared not look at their faces even more now. The priest gave her the microphone and encouraged her to speak. These were Mama’s last wishes. It behoved them to honour her, the way she desired to be honoured, he explained.

Nkechi took a deep breath, pushed her sunglasses up onto her headgear, and in flawless Igbo language, she addressed the villagers. There was total silence.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Chigozie Anuli Mbadugha wrote her first unpublished novel at the age of six and has been writing poems, scripts, short stories, and songs since then, mainly for leisure. One of her poems, “The New Yam Festival,” won second prize in a nationwide poetry competition in 1983. She was the recipient of the silver prize at the Kanagawa World Biennial Children’s art competition in Japan in 1987. She was educated at two Federal Government Colleges (Enugu and Ijanikin, Lagos) and at the University of Benin Medical School. She holds a Masters degree with distinction from University College London.

Her debut publication Beyond the Trial is an inspirational collection of short stories published in 2015. It was nominated for the 2015 Dan Poynter Global EBook Award. In 2015, Beyond the Trial was featured in the London Book Fair, Book Expo America, Beijing Book Fair, Frankfurt Book Fair and the Guadalajara Book Fair. It was also featured in the 2016 Nigeria International Book fair in Lagos.

Chigozie Anuli Mbadugha is constantly trying to maintain a balance between medical practice, family commitments and her passion for writing. She is grateful for the inspiration and support she gets from her husband, family and friends. She is undecided which gives her more pleasure – writing songs or words.

 

Beyond the Trial can be purchased from the following bookstores:

TerraKulture, Laterna Ventures, Patabah bookstore, Bible Wonderland, UNILAG bookshop, Vog & Wod Bookstore, The Hub Media Store, De Prince Supermarket, CLAM Bookshop, and other leading bookstores nationwide.

Beyond the Trial can also be purchased online in the Paperback format via: Konga and Amazon. The E-book is available at these online stores: Amazon and KOBO

 

Now you can leave your questions in the comments section below.

 

Ranting of a Frustrated Thin Nigerian Lady

(I found this in a jotter and can’t even remember when I wrote it; two years ago probably. Read and enjoy!)

I was told that I came into the world screaming my lungs out. The nurses had oohed and aahed over my long limbs – that would be the only time anyone found my body shape appealing. Since I had no rosy cheeks for doting adults to pull and croon ‘what a cute baby’, I became a case of head shaking and disapproving looks. “That child must be sick. I’ve never seen such a pitiful thing!” Mama Adeyi, our big-bosomed neighbour had been known to comment in a loud whisper during her visits. Mama Toun, our good-natured neighbour with a missing front tooth always came to my defence. “My Aderonke was just like that as a baby. I could even count her ribs but see how she turned out now – big madam!” Then, she would pat my mother’s shoulder, giving her hope that her Ebunoluwa will be endowed with flesh as she grew.

A Writer Writes….

I hate routines. It gives me depression having to do the same things over and again in the usual manner. You know, maybe that’s why I write what some have tagged ‘crazy’ stories. For the life of me, I even won a prize (WriteRight 2) for writing, Wewe: a mystical love relationship between the ‘mad’ and the ‘madee’ (you don’t know what that means? Haba! It simply means the one who wasn’t mad but along the way ‘collected’ flavours of insanity). Yes, I can be strange like that.

HOME!

 

Fruuuumm, fruum – the sound of Mama’s long broom raking the dry leaves woke you every school morning. She did not give you chores except on weekends so you would not be late for school. At the edge of the compound, Papa’s chewing stick hung in the corner of his mouth. He liked to stand with his chest bare, confronting the cool morning breeze.

The chilly water shocked your skin pores and you quickly lathered your body, rinsed and hurried back into the room you shared with your sister. Maryam’s mouth was slightly open and a dribble of saliva patterned her pillow. Just as you pulled on your tights, the black one, Mama got for you when you began to see red every month, Mama thundered into the room.

Asero Hills – Part 2

Baami stood rock still like a tap rooted acacia tree. He glared at Uncle Lambert for what seemed like hours but was indeed just a few minutes. One could almost hear the sugar ants talking in the silence that hung like a cobweb over the compound. I had expected anger and shouting and screaming. The silence perturbed me and the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight.

When Baami had arrived, Maami had shuffled inside like a scared chick seeking refuge from a hovering hawk. I had thought Uncle Lambert’s reappearance would provide answers. But the enigma was enshrouded in deep waters more than ever.

“What are you doing here?”Baami finally uttered in a strangely calm voice.

Uncle Lambert’s eyes were cast on the ground. He still nursed his aching limbs with those lines of pain etched on his eyebrows. Then, he heaved a long sigh and spoke. “Brother mi, Ile l’abo s’ini oko. No matter how long a man sojourns, he must return home.”

Baami let out a gruff laugh, “Oga o! So, the outcast is now concocting wise sayings. Abi, you’ve forgotten why you left?”

Uncle Lambert shrugged his shoulders. “It has been a long time now; the wind has blown over everything.”

Baami made as if to speak. Then he noticed me and swallowed the words with his saliva. He shook his head from side to side and entered the house, leaving me with Uncle Lambert and Ewatomi and Lola who had sat subdued in a corner throughout the scenario.

“Lola, get Uncle some water to drink,” I said. She ambled to the kitchen. When Lola came back with the water, he pressed the rim of the bowl to his lips. He didn’t raise his head until he’d drained it all. “Thank you,” he said to her.  He also turned to me, “Thank you, Tade.”

I nodded and wondered how grievous his actions must have been. No visitor had ever been denied the offer of water in our house.

Ewatomi moved forward and stared at his wooden leg for a while. “Who cut your leg?” She asked with the kind of forwardness only a child could muster.

“Shut up, Ewatomi. It’s rude to ask elders such questions,” Lola quickly interceded, assuming the big sister role she liked so much.

“No, leave her alone. It’s not wrong to ask questions.”Uncle Lambert said.

I waited eagerly, expecting him to answer the question. But he was silent. He had a faraway look in his eyes.

Maami and Baami had ignored Uncle Lambert since he returned, so he became my responsibility. I instructed Lola to feed him with the eba and left-over water leaf soup from the previous day. He ate with total concentration. His Adam’s apple bulged as he swallowed lump after lump of eba until the plate was empty. One thing was still the same – Uncle Lambert’s voracious appetite had not lost its vigour.

At twilight, he was still sitting on the same spot on the veranda. Uncle Lambert’s former room had been rented out to an Igede man, a labourer on Baami’s plantation. I removed one of the yellow uncovered lumpy mattresses which made up my bed and laid it below the window. I left the higher bed for Uncle Lambert. Eminem and Chris Brown and Beyonce and Rihanna kept him company from their vantage positions on the wall.

I watched as he unhinged his wooden leg and rested it against the wall. He’d arrived with no luggage. I pretended to be asleep. He grunted as he laid on his back. Then, he sat up again. He looked in my direction in the dimly red-bulb lighted room. I liked to sleep in that reddish haze. It made me feel like an actor in the setting of a horror movie.

Uncle Lambert brought out a wrapped packet from inside his jalamia’s pocket and peered into it. Then, he quickly replaced it in his pocket. He inclined his head towards me again. I simulated a loud snore.

I tossed on my mattress. “What’s in the packet?”I wondered.

Uncle Lambert’s return had become a great puzzle. I wondered how long it would take for all the mysteries to be unravelled.

REMEMBER TO VOTE FOR MY STORY ON THE WRITE RIGHT CONTEST, IF YOU HAVE NOT DONE SO, VIA:  Wewe by Ifeoluwa Watson,  http://tlsplace.wordpress.com/2014/01/07/voting-page-for-week-one-of-write-right-two/