My elder brother was a kleptomaniac, a mental disorder that makes him crave for other people’s possession, and steal it even without having anything to do with it.
In our family, we had noticed this strange and abnormal behavior of him after he came back for holidays one term from the boarding school he was in.
At first mum would caution him about stealing, atimes mum would use her fist on him for stealing plantain chips from the shop opposite ours, or stealing from her pocket.
Dad was a railway worker in the far west and was rarely at home, mum would always complain to him over the phone whenever he calls home and he’d give chukwudi strict warnings about taking people’s property.
This act of chukwudi stealing Continued even after his graduation from secondary school, I was in ss2 when he graduated, countless times have he been suspended from school for breaking students cupboards in the hostel and stealing.
Honestly it wasn’t easy being a brother to a renowned household name in stealing in the whole of St Patrick’s secondary School, I always hide in shame whenever my classmates remind me that my brother is a thief.
Our parents took him to many prayer house since our local pastor told us it was a spiritual problem, and he was cursed by the first person he had ever stolen from to continuing stealing till his killed, but still no change.
Most times after chukwudi have stolen people’s phone or wallet in the street, he’d run back home crying profusely, begging mum to forgive him, atimes he’d go on his knees praying for God to forgive him.
He was always remorseful after each act, honestly my brother was struggling with this kleptomania act, I saw it in his eyes to stop taking others property, he’d embark on fasting, crying and praying to God, once have I stumbled on his browser, in his history was “How to stop stealing Addiction” I wished I could help but I just couldn’t.
Well, last week I went with chukwudi to Onitsha main market to get some provisions and clothing for him since he was newly admitted to the university of Ibadan where our father was.
I didn’t know what came over chukwudi, in the shop while we were pricing some beverages he took a packet of golden morn from where it was packed and hid it under his cloth.
The Attention of the apprentice boy in the shop was drawn to him and he had immediately raised an alarm, before I could say jack Robinson, chukwudi was already dragged from the shop to an open space where people were already kicking and beating him shouting “Onye oshi, Onye oshi!!”
Minutes later, tires were brought and petrol poured on him, I saw chukwudi struggle to let himself loose, I stood vulnerably pleading with everyone to let him go that we’d pay for it but all fell on deaf ears as they were all bent on lynching him.
I saw them ignite fire on my senior brother, I saw him crying, wailing and shouting for help as the flames went up, I stood crying too.
The offensive odour of a human flesh being roasted alive oozed out to the atmosphere, People stood helplessly watching, others videoing the scenario.
I saw my mother, someone must have called her and narrated the place to her, she came rolling on the floor, crying for her son who was burning, some of the market women tried to held her but she was hard to control, I saw the tears from her eyes, she was shouting, the memories still vividly playing inside of my head till date despite it been seven years ago, “Nwa m oh!, nwa m oh!, e egbugo rum di okpara m! Kedu Ife m mere uwa! Nwa m oh! My son, they have killed my son, what did I do to this world.
Its been seven years ago today but still I can’t erase the memory of loosing my senior brother who was lynched to death by those mob, my dad had come back the previous day, I could see it in his eyes despite trying so hard as a man not to cry, but loosing your first son who just got admission into the university to death for stealing wasn’t something that it’s emotions could be hidden, no amount of consoling could help either from friends and relatives as he nearly slumped into mild depression.
Seven years later, we still moving on from the death of chukwudi who died from jungle justice.
The saddest part of this story is that my father had planned taking him to a rehabilitation center before he resumes school.
Keep resting in peace chukwudi.
#fictional story