Night of Betrayal and Humiliation And The Bloody encounter with Eiye

Night of Betrayal, Humiliation and The Bloody encounter with Eiye

Night of Betrayal, Humiliation and The Bloody encounter with Eiye

“That night, the sanctity of my home was shattered, turning a place of refuge into a scene of betrayal and violence. I was at home with my girlfriend, Oluchi, a rare moment of peace and normalcy in my tumultuous life. The evening was calm, the only sound being our low conversations and laughter, a temporary escape from the harsh realities of my existence in the cult.


Suddenly, the fragile tranquility was broken by the sound of the door being forced open. A masked man burst into the room, brandishing a gun and exuding menace. Fear gripped us as he ordered us to lie down, his voice muffled but carrying a tone of authority. He began ransacking the room, searching for valuables with a frantic urgency.


But amidst the terror, something about his voice struck a chord of familiarity. It was a voice I had heard many times, a voice I had trusted. ‘Emeka?’ I called out, disbelief mixing with a sense of betrayal. His reaction was immediate, a slight pause that confirmed my suspicion.


In a desperate attempt to appeal to our brotherhood, I threw him a code, a reminder of our bond, of the loyalty we owed each other. But my words only fueled his anger. In a fit of rage, he tore off his mask, revealing his face. It was indeed Emeka, a brother-in-arms, now standing before me as an assailant.


His eyes burned with fury as he struck me repeatedly with his gun. Each blow sent sharp pain coursing through my skull, blood beginning to cloud my vision. Oluchi’s screams filled the room, a soundtrack to the nightmare unfolding before us. Emeka took my money and left, leaving behind a trail of betrayal and humiliation.

I lay there, my head throbbing with pain, feeling a sense of shame wash over me. He had disgraced me in front of Oluchi, shattering the image of strength and respect I had upheld. Tears of frustration and anger streamed down my face as I grappled with the reality of what had just happened.


The brotherhood was my family, a bond that I believed was sacred and unbreakable. Yet, here I was, violated by one of my own. I reported the matter to the brotherhood, and Emeka was swiftly summoned.


In front of every member present that night, Emeka was subjected to a brutal beating. The violence was extreme, a display of the brotherhood’s ruthless form of justice. Emeka’s cries and pleas fell on deaf ears as the punishment was meted out. By the end of it, he lay motionless, his life extinguished by the very hands he once fought alongside.


As I witnessed the execution, a mix of emotions churned within me. There was a sense of justice served, but also a deep, unsettling realization of the brutal world I was a part of. The brotherhood I had once seen as a source of strength and protection had turned on one of its own with a ferocity that was both chilling and eye-opening.


Emeka’s death was a stark reminder of the price of disloyalty and the unforgiving nature of our existence. It was an incident that left a deep scar on my psyche, further fueling my growing disillusionment with the cult and the path I had chosen. The violence, the betrayal, and the loss of a life were poignant symbols of the destructive cycle we were trapped in, a cycle I was beginning to desperately want to escape.”


The Bloody encounter with Eiye

“The encounter with the Eiye confraternity was one of the bloodiest and most defining moments during the turf wars. It was a clash that was brewing for weeks, an inevitable showdown between us and one of our most formidable rivals. The tension in the air was palpable as we prepared for what we knew would be a fierce battle.


It began on a humid night, under a moonless sky. We had received intelligence about an Eiye gathering in a secluded area, a perfect opportunity for us to strike a decisive blow. Our plan was to ambush them, to catch them off guard. As we moved towards their location, the silence was broken only by our muffled footsteps and the distant sound of the city. Every one of us was on edge, adrenaline coursing through our veins.


The ambush was sudden and brutal. We descended upon them like a storm, the element of surprise on our side. The Eiye members, caught off guard, scrambled to retaliate. Gunshots rang out, slicing through the night, accompanied by the clash of machetes and shouts of combat. It was chaos incarnate, a deadly dance that left no room for hesitation or mercy.


In the heat of the battle, I saw the ruthlessness of both sides. We were not just fighting for control; we were fighting for survival, for dominance. I watched as some Eiye members fell under the relentless assault of my brothers. Each thud of a body hitting the ground was a grim reminder of the deadly stakes of our lifestyle.


But the cost was not one-sided. Three of our strongest members, whom I had come to know as brothers, fell that night. I remember seeing one of them, Akin, a man who had always seemed invincible, lying motionless, his life extinguished in an instant. The shock of his death, and the others, hit me with a force I wasn’t prepared for. The reality of our mortality, the fragility of our existence in this world of violence, became starkly clear.


As we retreated, leaving behind the carnage, the euphoria of victory was absent. Instead, there was a heavy silence, a somber reflection on the price we had paid. The faces of Akin and the others haunted me, their deaths a constant reminder of the path I had chosen.


That bloody encounter with the Eiye was more than just a physical clash; it was a shattering of any remaining illusions I had about the nobility of our cause. The loss of our members, the lives we had taken, weighed heavily on me. It was a turning point, a moment that began to erode my commitment to the cult. The cost of this lifestyle, the endless cycle of violence, and the loss of lives became questions too pressing to ignore.


In the aftermath, as I grappled with the grief and guilt, the seeds of doubt planted earlier began to grow. The reality of what we were, what I had become, was impossible to ignore. That encounter marked the beginning of a deep internal conflict, a struggle between my loyalty to the brotherhood and my growing desire to escape the bloodshed and find a different path.”

The Ambush: A Dangerous Encounter

“The ambush was a meticulously planned operation, one that we knew would escalate our ongoing feud with a rival gang to new heights. We had gathered intelligence on their movements, charting out their routes and timings with precision. The air was thick with anticipation as we prepared; this was not just another skirmish – it was a calculated strike to assert our dominance.


As night fell over Port Harcourt, we set out, our steps silent but determined. The atmosphere among us was a blend of nervous energy and a grim resolve. I could feel my heart racing, the adrenaline pumping through my veins. There was an exhilarating sense of power, being part of this stealth operation, yet it was underlined with a deep sense of foreboding.


We positioned ourselves strategically, lying in wait for the rival gang. The stillness of the night was almost surreal, a stark contrast to the violence we were about to unleash. And then, like a sudden storm, chaos erupted as our targets walked into the trap. We sprang from our hiding spots, catching them off guard.


The confrontation that ensued was intense and brutal. Gunfire echoed through the air, mingling with shouts and the sound of hand-to-hand combat. I found myself acting on instinct, driven by the rush of the moment and the need to survive. The sight of the rival gang members, equally determined and fighting fiercely, was both terrifying and galvanizing.


In the heat of the battle, I was acutely aware of the danger we were in. Each second felt stretched, every decision a matter of life and death. The reality of what we were doing, the lives we were endangering, including our own, hit me amidst the chaos. The line between exhilaration and terror blurred, leaving me in a state of heightened alertness.


When the dust settled, and we retreated, the toll of the encounter became apparent. Though we had succeeded in our objective, the cost of such violence was clear. We had injured, possibly even killed, members of the rival gang, and some of our own were wounded. The reality of the ambush, its dangerous and potentially deadly outcome, was a jarring experience.


As we made our way back, the adrenaline that had fueled us faded, leaving in its place a sobering reflection on what had transpired. The ambush, while a display of our strength and strategic acumen, was also a stark reminder of the perilous path we were on. It was a life where violence was not just a possibility but an expectation, a way of asserting ourselves in a world ruled by power and fear.


That night, as I lay in my bed replaying the events, the exhilaration I had felt turned to unease. The ambush, a dangerous encounter that I had survived, was a turning point, prompting me to question the cycle of violence we were entrenched in. It was a vivid illustration of the fine line we walked – one that could easily tip into disaster at any moment.”

This is an excerpt from the book: Cultism: A Monster Killing The Nigerian dream. Get a soft copy here         Hard copy here

Osoria Asibor (Author)

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