The Evil Commandments Of Canada (Part 3) -By J. Ezike

The persecution and the abuse of my privacy and freedom in Canada were relentless. I have no memory of how it all began but in that hellish world, I endured uncountable attacks that made me yell and scream on Twitter. I had wanted to alert the outside world of what the Canadian government was doing to me. It was so bad that I got hacked out of my old Twitter account, my Upwork account, my gmail account and even my Amazon KDP account. My Canadian number was disabled upon arrival in Nigeria. And that number had been connected to all my business and social media accounts.

On the 18th of January 2022, two female white police officers came to arrest me at Shepherds of Good Hope because I had violated my bail condition. It was perhaps the fifth time I had been arrested. On that fateful evening, I was beaten by six Ottawa white male police officers. They had demanded that I take off my ring. And I refused. I told them it had spi-ritual significance. They insisted and brutalized me into submission. All six of them dragged me on the floor like a sack of rice and threw me into the cell dungeon. I had a broken left wrist and a swollen face. The visual recording of that brutal event still exist at Ottawa Police Station – except if they had chosen to destroy all the evidence.

I had had enough. Thus, I began to demand my removal from Canada. I remember screaming in the cell: “Fuck the police!” “Fuck Justin Trudeau!” “Deport me!” I refused to be granted bail and I demanded to return back to Nigeria immediately. But my removal was denied. The gay government of Canada frustrated every effort to have me removed from Canada because they wanted me dead. That is the truth of the matter.

While in the cell, I was told by a female lawyer on Legal Aid that if I refused bail, I’d be imprisoned at Ottawa Carlton Detention Centre (OCDC). I wasn’t intimidated anymore. I had suffered enough and thus insisted to be imprisoned if that was my ticket out of Canada. Then followed the terrible episode with its evil plots that summarized my entry into prison. Life in prison was another hell. On some occasion I was served cold, uncooked meat and inedible food. The prison guards in OCDC tortured me. They would serve me pork even though I had told them it was against my spi-ritual values. The prison opened the door to another page of my suffering. Sometimes I’d purge in quick successions after eating a certain meal and would experience constant pain in my stomach.

I was frequently moved from one prison hole to another. On the 4th of February 2022, a prison guard came to my cell in the early morning and told me that I had a date in the court. This happened after I had written political poems on the prison wall. That morning, I was driven in a police van with two white men who were prisoners or pretended to be prisoners. We were taken to 161 Elgin Street in Downtown Ottawa. It was the exact address to Ottawa Court House. When it got to my turn, a black police man handcuffed my wrists and feet and led me into the court room.

During court proceeding, I defended my action of flaunting a knife violently at my gay neighbor and threatened to stab him in his anus. I defended my actions in the past which led to numerous arrests. I narrated my ordeals to the white judge and even recited my prison poem titled: “Locked Up”. A poem which summarized my entire experience in Canada. And this is the poem:

Locked up, they won’t let me out

Cuz these fags want my dick in their mouths

Hit with blows of persecution

Rockstone, the symbol of investigation

Canada, the home of the Fag Minister

Whose white power crucified the black Christ on Easter

Caesar’s butcher mind

Far from color blind

Gold digging the wealth of this refugee was the plan

But thank God who rescued me

So here I am, screaming “Deportation!”

For Justice got raped in the ass

But it aint Fornication

This is sodomy

And I’m gonnah kill it

With the Fire of God in me!

I had recited this poem to the judge from memory. Upon hearing the poem, the judge called me “homophobic” and “mentally sick” because I had told him that my spi-ritual values did not conform to Canada’s culture of homosexualism – which is a sin against God and for that reason I had chosen to be deported. Hence, I demanded to be removed from Canada, to be returned back to Nigeria. At the end of the court proceeding, the judge declared that “Homosexualism was not a sin.” The visual recording of that fateful court proceeding still exist – except if the government of Canada had chosen to destroy the evidence. The judge insisted that I won’t leave Canada and declared that I had no criminal record. I was released by the judge but I was determined to be deported. I wanted to leave Canada at all cost. I was fed up with its hostility and evil commandments which literarily sought to kill me.

Upon leaving the court house, I walked few steps away from the court premises and stopped in front of the busy traffic in Elgin Street. There, I made a public nuisance of myself. I screamed and yelled on top of my voice: “Fuck Justin Trudeau!” “Fuck Ottawa Police!” “To hell with homosexialism!” The crowd was obviously offended and shocked at the sight of a young African man prancing on the busy traffic, looking unembarrassed, unapologetic as he yelled anti-gay and anti-liberal comments. Some curious spectators took video recordings of me. I stood on the road for more than ten minutes protesting and screaming. As if to grant my wish, the Ottawa Police arrived at the scene and arrested me. They handcuffed me and took me in the car. I was jailed in the police station for the sixth time and I refused to be bailed. Thus, I was transferred back to OCDC for the second time.

While in prison, I could not communicate with my family. The last time I spoke with my father on Whatsapp in 2021, he had fallen very ill and was battling with cancer. My mother had sent me images of my father in the hospital while I was in Shepherds of Good Hope. He had lost so much weight and appeared to be nearing death. I wept. I feared that my father would die. I wept because he had suffered so much to raise me and I hadn’t attained financial success to make him proud.

My parents were aware of the hell I was going through in Canada because I had told them on phone. I had even announced to them that I was no longer safe in Canada and had chosen to return to Nigeria. I wanted to escape the evil commandments of Canada. I wanted my privacy and freedom. I wanted to be far away from Sodom and Gomorra. I wanted to live. I wanted to survive. And above all, I wanted to meet my father alive. I had a strong conviction in my spirit that he would die soon. I wanted to be with him during his last days on earth. I knew that returning to Nigeria was a threat to my existence as a Biafran activist but I was willing to risk it. In my opinion, Nigeria was a lesser hell compared to Canada. And I admit that I chose Nigeria’s meanness to Canada’s evil commandments.

On the 14th of February 2022, the court declared that I had no criminal record and thus, insisted on a bail which was imposed on me. It came as a Valentine gift, a romantic gesture from a country that sought to kill me. But I wasn’t fooled. To be released on Lover’s Day meant absolutely nothing to me. It was simply a process in the grand conspiracy to assassinate me. On that fateful day, two white prison guards drove me from OCDC to my shelter at Shepherds of Good Hope. Upon arrival, I refused to step my foot into a facility that was a shelter to gays, drug addicts, retards, government agents and assassins. Shepherds of Good Hope, Salvation Army and Ottawa Mission were some of the institutions in Canada that contributed to my suffering. I was always on a constant battle with some of the residents of the aforementioned institutions. I can’t forget the relentless harassment in the rooms, the toilets, the bathrooms and the food banks. I was always engaged in a violent argument with strange people within these facilities. In one of those episodes, I was nearly killed with a brick stone and got no justice from Ottawa Police.

I dare these aforementioned facilities to declassify all the videos that have footage recordings of my deeds and actions in Shepherds of Good Hope, Ottawa Mission and Salvation Army from 2018 to 2022. I dare my employers in Ottawa to swear by God that they did not know about the many strange people (men and women) that came to interview me in my place of work as a security guard, by having stealth political conversations with me. I mean, conversations bordering on Biafran Freedom, Pan-Africanism and Black History. I dare Ottawa Police and OCDC to declassify all the videos that have footage recordings of my periods of arrest and detention to prove me a liar…

On the 14th of February 2022, along the streets leading to Shepherds of Good Hope, I protested to be deported. I had laid down on the busy road, disrupting car movements. Within few minutes, Ottawa Police arrived. I told them to return me back to Nigeria. My query would hang in the air while they made a call to the Immigration. A white female police officer and a black male police officer had exercised my deportation request on that day. That evening, I was driven to the Immigration Office. The Immigration officers claimed that I had criminal records in Canada and thus, would be deported back to Nigeria. The truth of the matter is that, the government of Canada through its Immigration had wanted it to seem as if they were the ones facilitating my deportation, when in fact I was the one protesting and rioting to be deported. I was the one insisting on leaving Canada against the wish of the government. I was the one demanding to return back to Nigeria and had refused to be conditioned like other immigrants and refugees who would rather lick the gay ass of the Canadian government and submit to its evil commandments.

I did not want to be part of a country like Canada where children are conditioned and groomed into becoming homosexuals. A country where gay rights are sacrosanct and gay people are held in high esteem. A country where privacy and freedom are non-existent. A country that prohibits the political criticism of the government. A country that persecutes the accusers and haters of gay people. A country that controls its civilians and turns them into drug addicts and puppets. A country whose leadership and system functions as the devil that gives with the right hand and takes with the left hand…

The Canadian Immigration took me to a room for questioning. A white male officer and an Indian male officer, who were both Canadians, had led the interrogation. In the course of the conversation, they asked about my publishing company – Cobana Books. I had told the Immigration of Canada upon arrival in 2018 that my whole world was writing. I had shown my published works on Amazon and my political articles on “Opinion Nigeria.” They seemed curious to know about the ownership of my books, most especially my best published work – Baba Goo.

The Canadian Immigration officers appeared conquered when I told them that I owned every book written by me and published on Cobana Books (My publishing company). Their expectations seemed to have fallen apart. And I wasn’t surprised. I had engaged on a stealth war with the Canadian government in the course of writing Baba Goo. In the book, I had named most characters in honor of Africa, Biafra and the heroes of black freedom: (Ojukwu, Achebe, Fela…). In the aforesaid book, there were characters such as: Ikemba, Bifara the Chief Philosopher and Fala. Each of these characters were named after Ojukwu, Achebe and Fela. The name – Bifara, was named in honor of Biafra. The character Uli was named in honor of Uli Airport which played a vital role in the mass survival of Biafrans during the war in 1967 to 1970.

In the story – Baba Goo, I had mentioned four masters of the Universe who were all Africans. And by the virtue of black history, I had positioned the four masters in regions within North Africa (Horusia), EuroAsia (Andia), West Africa (Orllu) and the Americas/Caribbean (Merica). In the book, I had contested with the pseudo-historical account of black history also known as world history. I mentioned the evolution of Egypt that led to the disintegration of its original identity. I had reiterated the fact that the Syrians were the first to conquer Egypt, then came the Persians, the Greeks, the Romans and lastly the Arabs. I mentioned that world civilization originated from black civilization and that the African man was the first original man from whom all other racial groups emerged. In other words, the African man was the first European, the first Asian, the first American etc. The African man was the first human creature to have occupied the entire space of the human planet known as earth. Also, I mentioned an aspect of white history that has been buried or silenced by the white people. It is the Barbary Slave Trade which was the enslavement of white people in North Africa. Thus, I created white slave characters such as: Narya and Amin. In the book, the enslaved and captured tribe known as the Gudus was the collective name for the Europeans and white slaves conquered by the Moors and Arabs…

I remember days when I would receive strange text messages on my Canadian number. These were messages from people requesting that I sell my book titled: “Baba Goo” to them for a price. And I wondered how they got to know about the book – and how they got my number. The white governments, upon realizing the essence of the story, were frustrated that they couldn’t own the story in other to control the narrative. Thus, they decided that it was necessary to stop the progress of the story – to stop the message by killing the messenger. They knew that the book – Baba Goo, has allegorical meanings that stood in great opposition to White Supremacy, Pseudo-historical account of black history and homosexualism. The villain in the story is a homosexual character by name – Satana, which references the evil quality of the biblical villain known as Satan. This was one of the reasons the gay government of Canada and its allies, wanted me dead!

That fateful night on the 14th of February 2022, the Immigration of Ottawa, drove me to the Immigration office in Quebec for documentation. I had spent the night in the cell where they had taken vital information about me in preparation for my deportation. The next day, the same Immigration officers from Ottawa came and drove me to OCDC. There, I was detained for the third time. For over 35 days in prison, the Immigration frustrated my removal by delaying the ticket booking. As if, they hoped that I’d change my mind and decide to stay. As if, they wanted me dead in prison.

At the height of my protest, I stayed for three days without food – only water. I starved myself to prove my point. During those three days, I fell sick and the pit of my stomach was rioting. The prison guard had sent a white doctor to treat me but I rejected the offer and demanded to be deported immediately. In my last days in OCDC, I was transferred to a cell which had the names of the states of the US and the name Martin Luther King written on the prison wall. On the 23rd of March, after a visual court proceeding within the prison facility, I was released.

When it was time to leave OCDC, after almost 40 days in prison, my bag which had my hand-written copy of my book titled: Baba Goo and several other vital documents and properties, were missing. OCDC spoke in denial about having a hand in the missing bag. Also, the Immigration of Ottawa had claimed that I did not come with a bag – which was a lie. I roared like a lion and swore that I’d take legal actions against OCDC and the Immigration of Canada, if they failed to provide my bag and all the content inside. At that moment, the Immigration officer made a call and confirmed that my bag was in the office. The truth of the matter is that if I had not threatened to sue OCDC and the Immigration of Canada, my bag along with all the contents inside would have been stolen.

I was driven to the Immigration office. There, I found my bag. That morning, I was driven to Ottawa Airport. I was escorted by two agents. When they had processed my documents at the airport, I “never looked back” as we walked through the exit to board the flight. We flew from Ottawa to Toronto and then took a flight to Amsterdam. We stayed in Amsterdam for approximately seven hours and took a flight to Lagos.

I arrived in Lagos on the 24th of March 2022 in the night and slept at the airport. The Nigerian Immigration had refused to let me go. They had confiscated my international passport. On the 25th of March 2022, I was called by a Nigerian Immigration officer. He told me that my international passport had become the property of Nigeria and that I was free to go. I left the Lagos Airport and took a taxi to my home. That morning, I had called my mother at the airport to inform her that I was in Nigeria. Upon arrival, my mother hugged me with tears in her eyes. She was shocked by my savage appearance. I had grown dreadlocks and unkempt facial hairs. Indeed, I appeared like a man who had emerged from an evil dungeon. My mother led me to her room and there I saw my father lying on the bed. I can never forget the sight of my father that day. He had grown very ill. The cancer had done severe damage. My father and I wept, as I hugged him on his bed…

Two days later, exactly the 27th of March 2022, my father celebrated his 62nd birthday in the company of his wife, my younger brother (Cyril), my youngest sister (Linda), my brother in-law (Pastor Remy) and myself. August 2022, my father’s cancer grew worse and he seemed not to be responding to treatment anymore. Then, we were referred to a herbal doctor in Calabar. During that time, my family had exhausted all our money and life savings on drugs and injections. We had spent millions of naira and had even borrowed from family members and friends. In a desperate attempt to find a solution, my father was quickly transferred from Lagos to Calabar.

On the 7th of October 2022, around 9am in the morning, my father “Ichie Ferdinand Ezike” died of cancer in Calabar. He died in my arms. I cried and pleaded with death to spare him. My father died at the age of 62. He was an angel. He was a man with a good heart. He was a saint, a man of the people, a philanthropist and a lover of God. My greatest pain is that I did not become successful in life as he had desired. He had spent a fortune to raise me. And I wept, because he died without reaping the fruits of his labor. My father had died in my presence, in my arms. My mother was also present. She wept like never before. One hour later, my maternal uncle (Justin Ihedioha) accompanied me in carrying my father’s corpse back to our place of origin. On the 13th of January 2023, my father was buried in Orsu…

This memoir: “The Evil Commandments Of Canada” is available on Kobo

The author can be reached at: Johnpaulezike1000@gmail.com