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The Lesser Evil

“Why do I still like my brother?” he was saying. “Love him? Respect him? Admire him?”

“I should hate him because he is so successful and I am not. But I don’t.”

“I should hate him because he was almost always first in class. I am almost always not. But I don’t.”

“I should hate him because he lifted the bar so high that it made it impossible for me to emulate him.”

“He left me such big shoes to fill that they ended up belittling me. I should hate him for doing that. But I don’t.”

“I am an ordinary boy. I am content being ordinary. But I have the same parents he had, the same neighbours he had, the same teachers he had."

"Therein lies the problem. None of them can forget him or stop talking about him.”

“Not that it is his fault he is so lovable. So hardworking. Industrious. Diligent. Thorough. Understanding. Caring. Dependable. Good-looking. Intelligent. Polite.”

“I am none of these things. Well, perhaps I am good looking, intelligent and polite; but that is where our similarities end.”

“I am so many other things. I am creative. Passionate. Loyal. Strong. Shredded. But nobody seems to notice these traits.”

“I used to care. I used to even resent these comparisons a lot. Not anymore. Well, perhaps I still do, but maybe because I have grown up with them for so long now, these comparisons really don’t matter anymore. Well, maybe they still do, but I love my brother.”

“Despite all his faults like being so good and universally liked, I love him because he cares about me. Really, he does.”

“He taught me things. Like how to safely light a matchstick. It was one of my biggest fears. I was always afraid that I would burn myself. The moment a stick flared, I’d throw it down. I almost burned down our home once because of that. But he was always so patient.”

“I have fond memories of him lifting me in his arms when I was little. I used to be happy with him then. We played together, bathed together."

"He fought my fights. Protected me. Understood me. Something my parents, neighbours, or teachers never did.”

“My father just wanted to live vicariously through me. As if one life hadn't been enough for him. He never saw me in me. He saw only himself, and possibilities of what he could be through me, this time.”

“Successful. Glorious. Wealthy. None of which he was in his life himself. His ambition destroyed my contentment. I hate him.”

“My mother was a tiger mom. She wanted me to study. Always study. Only study. Like life is nothing but a table, lamp, books and stationery.”

“Sorry ma, but I have only one life and too many interests to be tied down to a table, lamp, books and stationery forever.”

“But what did she care? Now, neither do I. I don’t care about what she cares about anymore. I hate her.”

“My neighbours keep reminding me of how wonderful my brother is, how he is travelling the world, serving the poor and needy voluntarily, while doing exceptionally well at his medical degree. They can’t wait for him to be a doctor.”

“What do they really care about him or about what he does? They just want the privilege of saying they knew him. Something finally memorable in their otherwise unmemorable lives.”

“The hypocrites! I hate them too.”

“My teachers just can’t seem to understand how two children can come from the same parents and be so completely different.”

“They keep talking about how I should be like my brother, working hard and getting big scholarships like the $50,000 Auckland University scholarship he's received, along with so many other little ones.”

“All they do with their incessant preaching is remind me that I am not my brother. When he laps up almost all the trophies on offer, how bad does he make others feel.”

“Being perfect is a folly, it belittles others. I am not greedy like him. I give others a chance to shine.”

“Perhaps he can’t help it. Perhaps there is evil in him too, driving him to perfection, because he wants to show us all up. But I will fight the good fight and never give up. I will be spectacularly ordinary, unlike him – the spectacularly extraordinary. I will never be like him!”

He looked up at her finally, a gleam in his eye. She stared at him silently for some time. It was supposed to have been his creative writing piece on a New Zealander he admired. He had obviously chosen to write about his brother.

But what a twisted lot of feelings these were. She was in shock, almost from his first word. So negative, so envious. Nothing like love, admiration or respect. Then she understood.

‘Envy is the highest adulation,’ she thought. ‘The sincerest. Love and hate are really just two sides of the same coin. So, he does look up to him. And he did capture my attention. Creative indeed!’

She relaxed and kissed him on his forehead.

“Brilliant!” she said at last. “Submit it.”

But as she turned to leave his room, doubt claimed her again.

‘Mike is a perfect package,’ she thought, ‘but does Smith truly believe all the rest of it? We're not like that, are we?’

‘No, it is just creative writing,’ she tried dismissing her misgivings. ‘Some envy is natural. It is the lesser evil. Isn't that why he chose that title?’

‘Or is he talking about the path he’s chosen for himself? To be ordinary, and unlike his brother. Is that the lesser evil?'

'But what if he's really consumed by envy? Is he really talking about his brother being the lesser evil? Or worse, himself as being the lesser evil?'

She felt tormented, but she didn't really want to find out. She hurried out of his room. It was better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to speak up and remove all doubt.

Hope Springs Eternal

“What are you thinking?” Sunny asked, as he snuggled in with Ben in his younger son’s bed. Ben had been lying in his bed staring at the ceiling.

“About a creative writing piece I’ve written up for my next assessment,” answered Ben.

“It is set in war-torn Afghanistan of 1980s and talks about why people are forced to abandon their homelands and seek refuge elsewhere in the hope of surviving and re-establishing their lives.”

“I think I have written it well enough to capture the power of hope when one is surrounded by tragedy. Wanna read it?”

Sunny nodded. Ben got up and fetched his story.

“Hot off the press,” he said as he handed it to his father.

Sunny smiled, sat up in the bed and began reading. His son had written:

The sun looked sadly down upon the city of Shar Shar and descended behind the mountain range with a heavy step. Dark ominous shadows slowly crept up on the city.

A tired breeze gathered softly what leaves were left on the almost barren trees and renounced them. A hot earthy smell rose from the sun-baked earth filling me with a lethargic yet contented drowsiness.

The chatter of birds and chirping of cicadas had mellowed, as they too were getting ready to settle down after a long day.

I took off my worn shoes and sodden rags which reeked of hard yakka and settled down on the barren crusted land, under the rusty mud-brick roof. My roof.

Night climbed up my walls stealthily as I lay on my bruised and abused back looking up into the heavens. A deep relaxing sleep overtook me.

I dreamt of peace. I dreamt of a happy place. I dreamt of a happy peaceful place where my family and I could relax and be free of fear.

My young children danced around joyously on the soft green fields with striking flowers of many colours and the sun beamed down upon them from the endless clear horizon.

It was simple, yet so beautiful. It was a life ironically, that I could only dream of. Afghanistan was being torn apart by war.

My daughter was running up a steep gravelly slope playing with her brother. Her foot slipped and she fell. Her shriek startled me, shattering my dream.

I awoke with a start. My eyes flicked open, and I looked about me incomprehensibly. I was where I had slept last night, but it all looked different now.

What had happened to my home? It was in tatters. The roof was gone, the walls blown apart.

A shrieking missile tore down towards me from the sky. I stared at it in paralysed dismay. It landed a short distance away, tearing up the countryside. The impact of its shock-wave knocked me senseless.

As I emerged from my stupor, I noticed flames consuming neighbouring huts voraciously. I stumbled up on my feet and wavered drunkenly.

There were large new depressions in the once-flat ground around me. I heard cries, but what they wanted failed to register on me. Some sounds were near, some far. Some were distinct, some unrecognisable.

I looked in sheer horror at my mother lying on the ground like a broken doll. Her arm was twisted unnaturally and a leg was missing. Another bloody decapitated body lay beside her. It was my brother.

It broke my heart to see her beating her breasts as she lolled beside him, shaking his body as if her feeble efforts to wake him up would bring him back to life.

A tear involuntarily rolled down my dirty blood crusted cheeks. I sat perfectly still as if I was frozen.

Time stood still. I tried frantically to comprehend what was happening. Nothing made sense to me. Why was this happening? Why had it happened to us?

I trembled and shuffled uneasily forward towards my grief-stricken mother. I picked her up in my skinny arms and made an attempt to turn. I almost dropped her.

Slowly, I clambered out of my broken house, swaying from side to side like a drunken man walking. My mother strained her neck back, staring at the motionless body on the ground.

Her good hand stretched towards it earnestly, not ready to let go and her mouth babbled unfathomable pleas. I felt confused, afraid and angry.

Why couldn’t she stay still? She was making it difficult for me to carry her. I was so exhausted, I was almost ready to drop her right there.

A blinding flash lit up the skies, and a thunderous clap followed it down. Another missile flew past, deafening my ears, snatching the earth out from beneath my shaky legs, as if it was just a sheet beneath my feet that someone had effortlessly pulled away from under me.

I dropped my load and sank on my knees beside her. I turned around terrified, in sudden remembrance of my children.

Dread filled my heart, yet fear surged in my limbs lifting my body in an involuntary spasm as I rose and stumbled back inside the rubble that had once been my home.

Then I saw them, huddled in a corner with my wife. They were safe. Tears of relief blinded me.

‘Allah hu Akbar!’ My arms lifted to the heavens in a silent thankful prayer. ‘God is great!’

As I began to regain my composure, I was surprised at my relief. My home was shattered, my neighbours burning, my brother was dead, and my mother was broken.

Yet I felt relief and had thanked my creator, because my children had been spared. They were safe. For the moment.

The human mind lingers not on tragedy. It chases after hope. Hope keeps him alive. It is the fountain head of the resilient human spirit.

I looked around. I didn’t know what to do, but I had to get them all out of here. We weren’t safe here. Not tonight, not ever now.

Fear cleared my mind. Suddenly I realised that as the eldest male, it was now my duty to protect those who had survived, and farewell those who had not.

The Three Friends

Tom, Julian and Dan were fast friends. They went to the same school and were neighbors too. One day, they decided to go for a walk near the river side. They took Dan’s red ball to play with. They played for a long time. When they got tired, they sat down at the river’s edge to rest. They watched river boats go to and fro. “I want to go on a boat one day to the other side of the river,” said Julian. “We will go with you. I will borrow my dad’s fishing rod,” said the other two.

They played for some more time then sat down under the shade of a big tree to rest. “I am hungry Tom. Did you get something to eat?” asked his two friends. “Well Martha made me a few sandwiches. Didn’t you guys get any grub?” “Sure I have chocolate cake my mom made yesterday and some lemonade.” spoke Julian. “I only had time to grab some grapes and oranges,” Dan laughed.

The boys had just taken their first bite, when they heard a sobbing sound coming from the other side of some bushes. Dan ran towards the sound to see who it was. “Hey look! Who is here,” he exclaimed with surprise. Julian went to him and saw a boy of about ten. He was in rags and his eyes were full of tears. “What’s happened to you,” questioned Tom, joining his friends. “What’s your name?” asked Dan.

“My name is Sam. I live with my mom on the other side of the river. I asked a boatman to give me a lift to this side of the river. I have come in search of work. My mom is sick and we have nothing to eat. I want to earn some money and give my mom food and medicines.” said the boy in a sad voice. “Did no one give you a job that side of the river,” asked Julian with surprise.

“The people who live there are very stuck up and don’t care for anyone. Most of them are rich folks with big houses. My mom used to work as a companion to one of the rich old ladies, but she has not been keeping well, so had to give up her job. No one was willing to help me, so I thought I should try to get some work this side of the river,” spoke the boy wiping his eyes.

“Here, take this food and lemonade and eat it while we tell you what to do”, spoke Tom. The boy gobbled the sandwiches in no time, drinking the lemonade thirstily. It seemed he had not eaten proper food for quite some time.

“Well, you can help my dad doing odd jobs in the garage,” said Dan. “My brother needs someone to help in the garden. He is a gardener and has his own farm near by,” spoke Julian excitedly.
“My dad has a grocery store. He will appreciate some help I’m sure,” said Tom.
“Thank you for your food. Can I start work from today?” asked the boy enthusiastically.
“Well come with us and we will see what we can do,” chorused the friends.

When each of the friends talked to their dads, it was decided that Sam would help all three families one week at a time and would get his wages at the end of each week. He started work at Dan’s father’s garage from that day. His new employer gave him some advance with which Sam bought some food and medicines for his mother. He thanked all the three friends and promising to come the next day went back to the other side of the river with the same boatman who had brought him. He was promised a lift by the kind old boatman and Sam being a good boy helped the boatman clean his boat every day.

Thus the days passed happily for everyone around.

Soldier Boy

“Soldier boy” was an affectionate nickname given to me by my father before he passed away. It was both said with pride and his way of calling me a dunderhead.

Dad was an intelligent, cerebral, well-read man, anti-war and pro-independence. He tried to convince me in a variety of ways not to “sign your life away”, including leaving a collection of DVDs for me like “Beneath Hill 60”, “Cross Of Iron” and “My Boy Jack”, as well as many war poems. He also highlighted my distaste for authority. But he failed to stop me. I signed up.

Scottish independence was a different story.

I’m a soldier in the “Ubique” Royal Engineers – “first in, last out” as our esprit de corp goes. There’s a big push for people to register and vote in the Scottish referendum on the British Forces Broadcasting Services (BFBS), repeated more than hourly because encouraging people to vote is good. Let’s be honest, though – the real reason is because the forces are seen as a bastion of No. But don’t be taken in.

Signing up was easy and it wasn’t. On the application paperwork there was a tricky question. I put the form to one side and gave it some serious thought.

I was then advised that I was British and should fill the form in accordingly, to avoid any awkward questions on nationalism or holding “extreme views”.

But I’m used to identity conflicts. My two Glaswegian grandparents made an interesting contribution. My grandma was a Catholic and a Celtic fan, and my Granddad – an armed forces veteran himself – was a Protestant and a Rangers fan, so you can picture their house on Old Firm day: my granny supping her Bells-and-coke cheering the green mob, and my granddad drinking Special Brew next to her shouting on the blues. (Comically, dodgy tickers in old age meant that games were watched only after finding out the result.)

It was at Granddad's funeral we discovered that he secretly supported both Rangers and Celtic. This was a seismic shock to my own identity as well as for others in my family. As a toast to the life-long trickster (famed for selling half-full cigarettes and whisky in the Middle East, or giving me a Rolex as an “heirloom” that after 10 years’ loving protection turned out to be a fake), one half of us at his wake sang “You’ll Never Walk Alone” followed by the other half with “Simply The Best”. Yet I was reliably informed that had they lived to see the day, both he and my granny would have voted Yes.

“As in football, as in life”, was my dad’s catchphrase. But the point here is that identity is multifaceted. It’s not a dichotomy, nor are seemingly-conflicting elements necessarily mutually exclusive. The fact that I’m in the armed forces and Britishness plays a part in my self-awareness and identity does NOT preclude any other elements contributing to my sense of who I am.

My comrades and I are a mixed bag. There are a lot of Scottish soldiers who are sharp, charismatic, with a strong sense of injustice. The community of serving and ex-servicemen and women holds what some may think is a surprising amount of Yes voters, as well as people who “don’t have enough information” and still haven’t made their minds up.

I’ve just started a fledgling “Forces for YES” Facebook group, there’s also “Veterans for Yes” as well as other military-related groups. Many more, due to Queen’s Regulations, don’t feel too comfortable being overtly political. My point is we exist – the forces vote is not a foregone conclusion, and it’s certainly not the ramrod for No it’s often perceived and portrayed to be.

Our glorious and individually mongrel, hopscotch, patchwork identities are exactly that: glorious and individual. The variety of people who consider being “a Scot” as part of their identity is itself part of my identity. That may be hard to follow, so I’ll say it clearly: being inclusive, open minded, friendly, and multifaceted is very much part of for me what being a Scot is all about.

I am a “soldier boy”, a dunderhead, a football man. I’m a quarter Welsh, Bahrain-born, Dunblaner, nomad, living in Germany married to a Canadian, and I’m Scottish. I’m all of those things at once, and I’m voting Yes.

Dedicated to you all my friends, Ovat, Chukwudi, Christain,etc.May the Good Lord Protect YOU all from Danger AMEN

The Princess and the Golden Ball

Once there was a beautiful princess who lived with her father in a huge palace. Although the princess was very beautiful she was also very selfish and conceited. The princess always got her own way and the king was often disappointed with his daughter. He was worried that she would grow into a selfish woman and that she would not be a good example to his people.
One day the princess was playing in the gardens of the palace. She was playing with her favourite possession in the whole world, a golden ball. The princess loved the golden ball because it was so shiny and she could see her reflection upon its surface. She also loved the ball because it was so valuable.

The princess threw the ball high into the air where the sun made it sparkle against the blue sky. Higher and higher she threw the golden ball. So high that she imagined the golden ball was a second sun; a sun belonging to her and her alone.
The golden ball went so high up into the air that it really did begin to look like a sun, and the reflections dazzled the princess who had to close her eyes. The ball landed some way away and began to roll towards the lake in the shadows of the giant Nakla trees.
The princess let out a cry and ran towards the golden ball with her arms outstretched. But she was too late. The ball rolled into the lake and sank beneath the surface out of sight. The princess collapsed onto the ground and began to cry. She cried to hard that her tears fell into the lake making a sound like raindrops. Little ripples stretched across the surface of the lake and still the princess cried and cried.
Then a small voice came out of nowhere. 'Why are you crying, princess?' The princess looked all around but she could not see a single person near the lake. Again the small voice asked, 'why are you crying, my princess?'
When she looked down she saw a small frog sitting on the edge of the lake with wide eyes and little webbed feet.
'I have lost my golden ball and now I will never get it back.'
'Where have you lost it, princess?' said the little frog. 'I can help you find it if it will stop your tears.'
The princess wiped her tears away. Perhaps this little frog can help me, she thought.
'It is at the bottom of the lake where I cannot reach.'
The little frog looked at the princess and smiled. 'I can fetch it for you, princess. I will dive to the bottom of the lake and I will bring back your golden ball for you.'
The princess was delighted by the news and also smiled, but before the frog jumped into the water her wanted the princess to make him a promise.
'I will promise you anything if you will bring me back my golden ball,' said the princess.
'I want you to take me with you back to the palace and be my friend. If you promise to do this then I will dive to the bottom of the lake and find your golden ball.'
The princess agreed right away and so the little frog jumped into the lake and swam all the way to the bottom where he took the golden ball in his mouth. The ball was very heavy and the little frog struggled to get back to the surface. Eventually he appeared on the edge of the lake and dropped the ball onto the grass at the princesses' feet.
The princess took the ball and held it to her chest and laughed with glee. Then she ran towards the palace, leaving the frog behind.
'Wait for me,' cried the little frog. 'You promised to take me with you!'
But the princess ignored the frog, forgetting all about her promise. All she could think about was how happy she was that she had her golden ball. And she knew it would be dinner time at the palace and she was hungry. The princess only ever thought about herself and the poor frog was left alone on the edge of the lake.
Later that evening the princess and the king were sitting down to dinner in the palace. The princess did not spare a thought for the frog, or for the promise she had made him.
Then there was a knock at the palace door. A moment later the frog hopped into the dining hall and jumped up on to the table next to the princess. The princess was horrified and cried out, 'go away you disgusting frog!' But the king silenced his daughter and asked the frog what he was doing inside the palace. The frog told the kind all about the promise the princess had made to him. The king was very angry with his daughter and commanded her to keep her promise to the frog.
'We must always do as we promise, daughter.'
'But he is just a frog and I am a princess,' she said, almost in tears once again.
'That does not matter. You must do as you said you would do.'
The king made the princess serve the frog a small plate of food which the little frog hungrily gobbled down.
The princess was angry at her father and even angrier at the frog. She thought it wrong that a frog should be inside the palace, eating at her table with the king. But the king paid no attention to his daughter's foul mood.
Eventually the princess had had enough of the little frog and stood to go to bed. She bid her father goodnight and made to leave, but the frog reminded the princess of her promise to stay with him and be his friend. The king agreed that the princess must take the little frog to bed with her so that he might sleep on her pillow.
'I will not do it!' exclaimed the princess. But the king insisted his daughter keep her promise.
Although she did not want to, the princess knew that she must do as her father instructed. She placed her hand on the table and the little frog jumped into her palm. Then she went up to her bedroom.
Once away from the king, the princess was very mean to the little frog. She threw him onto her bed and told him that he was an ugly creature, and that he was very impudent to assume he could sleep on the pillow of a princess.
She got ready for bed and pulled the covers up close around her, ignoring the little frog who was sitting on the edge of her pillow.
'Why do you hate me so?' asked the frog. I did as you asked and rescued your golden ball from the bottom of the lake. All I asked in return was for you to keep your promise to be my friend.'
The frog lowered his head and tears escaped from his sad, wide eyes as he began to cry. 'I have been living by the lake for many years and all I wanted was to have your company. It is not a good life to be all alone with nobody to talk to.'
The princess was very moved by the frog's tears and her heart began to soften. Although she was a princess, and she had everything a young woman might want, she was an only child with no brothers or sisters to play with. The princess had grown up alone in the palace and she often wished that she was able to share her time with others. Often she would hear the young children playing on the other side of the palace walls and she was envious of their laughter and games.
The princess and the frog talked into the night and soon the princess forgot altogether that he was a frog and thought of him in a kind way. She shared stories her father had told her as a baby, and the frog enjoyed listening very much.

Towards dawn both the frog and the princess were very tired. The princess realised that she was happy to have a friend to talk to, and she regretted being so mean to the little frog. Just as they were both about to fall asleep, the princess leaned forwards and kissed the frog on the lips.
Instantly there was a blinding flash of silver light. The princess closed her eyes in shock. When she opened them a handsome prince stood before her and the little frog had vanished altogether.
'You have set me free with your kindness, princess,' said the handsome prince. 'You kept your promise and you befriended me even though I was just a frog.'
The very next morning the prince asked the king for his daughter's hand in marriage. The king agreed at once and the young couple were wed in the palace grounds next to the lake, beneath the shadows of the Nakla trees.
From that day forwards the princess was a changed person. She knew how important it was to keep a promise, and she treated her people with kindness and respect no matter how rich or how poor they were.

Two Best Friends

Two girls and one boy is about two best friends fighting over a boy they both really like. They make him choose one of them. Who will he pick?

Chapter 1: Best Friends Forever

There are these two really good friends and there code was if there was ever a boy they would never ever break there friendship just to be happy in life. One day that all turned around. But earlier that year.

Vanessa POV❤️💬
C clap clap s clap clap a clap c clap clap, what as everyone heard from me and Rose walking down the nasty halls at LC high school.. We were the popular, but all we really cared about was our friendship.
There was the most ugly girl I ever met her name was Amy. She would call people thing that I would never repeat. One day she told someone that they were a mother f in b. Then I said that she was the ugliest fish in the sea and then she left the room crying. That was a first me, always having to hear her raspy voice it makes you wanna throw up.
💗💗💗

Rose's POV🎀💬
OMG I can't believe Claire just did that, well that's what that ugly girl gets for saying those words to somebody! I absolutely hate that girl! She's so annoying! So me and Claire were walking in the hallway and we saw the cutest boy ever! But of course we remembered our rule never let a boy get in between us. Yeah so sisters before misters! But girls always said if he comes after one of us first then if we want to we can say yes and the other girl can't get mad over it. We always said we would never do that to each other. Then something happened... That would forever change our friendship........
💗💗💗

Evans' sister, girlfriends helped police arrest him

- Billionaire kidnapper Evans was arrested after his sister provided useful information - The police said she was arrested alongside four of his girlfriend - It was reported that the notorious kidnapper has 126 registered SIM card for his operations New reports have emerged that the sister to Chukwudi Onuamadike popularly known as Evans provided key information to the police that finally led to his arrest. The arrest of Evans on Saturday, June 10 by security operatives sparked public jubilation as he had eluded arrest a number of times.

The Punch reports that Evans’ younger sister was arrested after her number was identified in one of his special SIM cards.

Also, four of his girlfriends were also arrested after they were identified and they all provided valuable information that eventually led to his arrest. Police sources also revealed that Evans had three special phones, two of which were expensive Vertu phones that cost N4.6 million. It was these phones he used to call families of his victims to demand for ransom knowing that the calls could not be tracked as it contained anti-tracking devices. Sources also said he had 126 registered sim cards which he used for his operations.

The police source said: “He has 11 phones. Two of them are special Vertu phones, which are very difficult to track. He also has a Turaya, which is a satellite phone. It can be used anywhere, including in the bush, on the sea, and desert, where there are no GSM service. In Nigeria, we don’t have the capability to track Turaya. “He said he bought the Virtu phones N4.6m. He used the three phones for his nefarious activities. We succeeded in tracking him through the other phones he has.”

He said: “We studied and analysed 126 SIM cards before we caught him. We have about two-page analysis of each of the numbers. He used 125 of those numbers to call his gang members only and used one to call his mother, wife and sister. He said he bought all the SIM cards already registered in Computer Village for N1,500 each. “We picked his sister, his childhood friend with whom he attended primary school, and four of his girlfriends. They gave us the information that led to his arrest. Evans confirmed that they didn’t know he was into kidnapping. Because of that, we granted them bail, while investigations continue.”

New Telegraph reports that Mr. Abba Kyari who led the operation for Evans’ arrest said this was the toughest operation he had undertaken. He said: "Evans almost got away with his crimes. No criminal has given me this kind of headache in my career. "Not even the case of Godogodo or Vampire. I hardly sleep. Even when I’m in the toilet, I would be analysing over 100 numbers, checking out those he had conversations with. What we have gathered is like a book now. “But the case was a hard nut to crack until we found something interesting in one particular number. Out of the all the phone lines, it was the only number that he was using to communicate with family members in Nnewi. We followed up on that and he was nailed.”

NAIJ.com had reported that Evans revealed that he would not have been arrested if his charms had not failed him at the last minute. Evans said his juju man was a traditional ruler in Anambra who had assured that he would never be apprehended. He said: “The native doctor resides in Nnewi, Anambra State. "He is a traditional ruler. After police busted our Igando hideout, he told me to have no fear. He said nothing would happen. He told me that nobody would be able to catch or arrest me. I believed him. I don’t know what went wrong.”