I think this songbird with a deluge of grief and anguish, mining in the cave of silence has more truths to tell us. One is left Oliver Twisting as one nears the closing pages of the book. He has proven, through the gift of this book, to take-up one of many difficult roles of the writer:
The city you left waved you away with a clouded eye
& the city you embark on wears you in diverse colours ;
An old time friend, your lonely mother,your childhood competitor who
Is willing to measure your success in notes.
The one at Nworiubi was known by the rate suspects disappeared and their frequent visit to the morgues like a chronic whoremonger. The other at Orji, had a woman who broke men with slaps, it was rumored once she had slapped an old man in front of his son and the old man unable to explain to his son how he’d let a woman not even his own mother slap him –committed suicide.