Kidnapping Father Christmas: Chapter 9 – Nigerian Christmas Story, Funny, Kidnap Santa Clause, Adventure, Children and Mischief, Free Web Novel, Fabling, Pam
Mama Oyinbo, still brushing her teeth, walked to the edge of the pavement, noticing the two men sleeping on the ground. Without hesitation, she kicked them awake.
“Atutu, Ọ̀gbeni, wetin happen? Why you no sleep for house?” she asked, watching as the two men scrambled to their feet, clearly disoriented.
“Oyinbo no show?” Atutu asked, glancing at Ọ̀gbeni, who looked equally puzzled.
“That my useless son no come house,” Mama Oyinbo replied, shaking her head in frustration. “Maybe he don go drink forget himself for gutter again.”
Just then, her phone rang. She unwrapped it from her wrapper and answered.
“Hello, Oyinbo?” she began, then her face twisted in confusion. “MOTHER CHRISTMAS?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow.
“Who is it?” Ọ̀gbeni asked, trying to glean some information.
Mama Oyinbo shrugged, signalling she had no clue. “Who are you?” she asked the caller, then fell silent, her mouth agape as she listened. When the call abruptly ended, she stood there, still stunned.
“Wetin happen?” Atutu pressed, concerned.
“I no know oh,” Mama Oyinbo replied, still trying to process the bizarre call. “Some kin pikins dem call me, begin tell me say them don kidnap Father Christmas. Say make I send them one country, one kingdom, 50 gazillion dollars, ten crowns, one big boat, one limousine, three servants, one aeroplane, one helicopter, one private jet, one Lamborghini, 20 mansion… I no even remember everything. Them talk say them go kill Father Christmas if I no send them all these things. I for say na wrong number, but them use Oyinbo number call.” She shook her head, tucking the phone back into her wrapper as she returned to brushing her teeth, unfazed by the absurdity of it all.
“Wait, she talk Father Christmas?” Atutu and Ọ̀gbeni exchanged awestruck glances.
“Abeg, Mama Oyinbo, pass us your phone make we call Oyinbo,” Ọ̀gbeni requested, reaching out.
Mama Oyinbo stretched out her hand, palm up. “Owo credit, or na my money you wan use call that useless son?”
Grudgingly, Ọ̀gbeni handed her a 100 Naira note, and she handed over the phone.
Ọ̀gbeni quickly redialed the last number. “Hello, who be this?” His tone quickly shifted to anger. “You dey craze? You know who you dey talk to?”
Meanwhile…
Chukwuma had the phone on speaker, and hearing Ọ̀gbeni’s voice, he scoffed. “You dey craze? See this mumu wey dey ask me if I know who him be?”
“Osas, slap Father Christmas again,” Chukwuma ordered, his voice dripping with authority.
Osas moved without hesitation, delivering another slap. Oyinbo, panicking, shouted, “Ọ̀gbeni, abeg no vex them! Them go kill me for here!” But it was too late; Osas had already slapped him, and he began crying once more.
“Where we go drop everything wey you talk say you want?” Ọ̀gbeni asked, his tone more cautious now.
“Drop it at our school or at our house. You know where we live, abi? Father Christmas knows where everybody lives,” Chukwuma replied coolly, then ended the call.
Turning to Bayo, Chukwuma asked, “When is your daddy coming to pick you?”
“He said he will come from work,” Bayo replied.
“So we still have time. Oya, tie his mouth back. Let’s go inside; my mummy is cooking rice and chicken,” Chukwuma said, his demeanour taking on the calm authority of a gang leader.
Bayo obediently tied Oyinbo’s mouth, while Osas stood nearby, stick in hand, ready for any further instructions.
“Your father is a policeman, abi?” Otomokpo asked, eyeing Bayo.
“My father is not just a policeman, he is a Grade 11 Superintendent of Police,” Bayo bragged, puffing out his chest with pride.
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