Books by Chioma Ebele Mbanisi
fish bone
Trouble begins at home. Ezenwa came to the village to spend two months’ vacation. His sole aim was to bask in the love of willing girls. He could not have imagined giving a plate of rice to one of his girlfriends could spin off a chain of reactions.
the outing dance
Since childhood, and for reasons Enyi could not understand, Nkenke always taunted him. Enyi was no stranger to verbal salvos, but he had a secret, which stopped him from responding to Nkenke. When Nkenke’s insults increased after Enyi’s two daughters married, Enyi was afraid that Nkenke will push him to the point he will spill the beans. What is this secret anyway?
micheal jankson, my love
Set in 1982, thirteen-year-old Ngozi who lives in a village in Eastern Nigeria has an epiphany that a famous musician is her husband. The problem is that he lives in the United States. She writes a letter to him.
when a father bleeds
Welcome to the fictional town of Okeobodo in Eastern Nigeria, where like many Eastern towns, patriarchy holds sway, where wives without sons are not respected, where the female child is considered less valuable than a she-goat, where people believe reading the Bible could lead to madness. Welcome to Okeobodo, the home of Onye Ocha stream, where the rules from the stream goddess leave both young and old in fear. We journey with Nnenna, a girl child, as she dares the odds…
cheta
How could he have known sneaking into her bed would haunt him after three years? A menacing looking Azuka had growled and snarled at him in his dreams. When he could no longer endure the nightmares, twenty-six-year-old Cheta had left his room and sat outside. That night, he had wished for the protective cover of a moonless night. Instead, a full moon, as Mama would say, swept the ground. He should have known the countless stars, which winked at him, were not in camaraderie. The night’s brightness should have deterred him, but no; the dog beckoned by death, does not perceive the smell of excreta...
jump of no return
I raised my head slightly off the ground. My body was under a heap of papers and polythene. A few danced in the light breeze. I wanted to sit up, but a thought restrained me. Last night, I had slept, naked, on my bed, in my room. Both my ceiling and standing fans worked simultaneously to cool my fifty-one-year-old menopausal body ravaged by hot flushes. How and why am I in a refuse heap? Moreover, in this notoriously rowdy street, why has nobody detected me? Ordinarily, a crowd would have gathered, taking pictures and videos. I could imagine their conversations. “She was on a mission to attack a child of God but our midnight prayers arrested her.” ‘…Eeyaaah. Her body would still be on her bed, waiting for her spirit to return.” “She was a big black bird. I saw when she fell from the sky and changed into a human being.” I turned my head from side to side. Nobody was around. I heaved a sigh of relief.
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