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Itzprince

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  1. Itzprince

    WE ARE ABLE

    WE ARE ABLE "A Touching Story" Episode 1 I feel a cold touch at my back. It is harmattan period. I just want to be left on my bed. I turn around like a fat cake, but mother turns me around again. I can see her mouth moving. I wonder what she is saying. But certainly she can’t be saying anything more than the fact—I am lazy. My school is in Ejigbo, Lagos. They say we are special people, yet I haven’t perceived anything special about us. Some of us can’t talk. Some of us can’t walk; some of us can’t see, yet they say we are special. Well, I am not moved a bit by those flatteries. I look at mother’s hand movements. It is funny to me. I smile. I wonder when she will be able to master the sign language. “Rose, get out of bed,” she has managed to communicate with her hands. She has to repeat each word just to put them at their best. I could remember challenging my teacher some times back that… I rise up lazily and go straight for my bath. When I get to the bathroom, I see a basin filled with water there. Wow! It is warm. I splash the water on my body. I observe that the door is shaking but I didn’t really think about it. I continue pouring water on my body. Today in particular, I spend around thirty minutes in the bathroom. The water is just exactly as I want it to be— warm. When I step out of the bathroom, daddy gives me a scornful look. The grotesque on mother’s face also suggests to me that I have done something wrong again. Why me all the time? My father gets into the bathroom and begins to open his mouth. Since I am deaf, I didn’t hear what he is saying, but my mother is opening her mouth too in return. They understand each other—it’s only we, the special one so called, that can’t understand them. Mother helps father to carry a bucket of water into the bathroom. That man—always angry. I don’t know his problem. He is far away from me more than a stranger. I wonder why he is my father. Mother quickly taps me and I face her when that man has entered the bathroom. “Rose, you used your father’s water,” mother says to me in her amateur sign language, yet she claims that she has learnt the language while I was five years of age. I wonder what is still keeping her in the amateur level till now, after six years. “I used his water? How?” I ask. Sometimes my hands just get tired of speaking. I wonder how I will be able to speak if I become paralyzed in my hands or a bad accident claims them. “I put his water in the bathroom first because he must be in Ikeja as early as possible.” “Why don’t you tell me that before I entered the bathroom?” I ask. “Em…Rose…erm…” my mother’s face is clugged up with tears. I know she is a very tender person —not wanting to raise anything that will remind me of my status— deaf and dumb. “Em what? What has letter ‘M’ got to do with this?” I am confused. “When you were leaving, I was calling you, but you were too fast. You have already entered the bathroom. I only woke you up so that you could go and brush your teeth and not to take your bath. Your daddy will be angry with us. He has been kicking at the bathroom door for a long time to break it if he could.” I know what mother is talking about: she wakes me up; I rush to the bathroom without looking at her to hear from her (you have to look at someone to see his/her communication). But if that is the only thing that has happened, does it warrant my dad frowning at me in that manner as if I am nothing but a fart? “Is he my daddy? I doubt it,” I say. Mother doesn’t want my eyes to get those tears in them again. She comes on time to wipe them off for me. I don’t believe I have a daddy yet. The only pictures I took with that man mother calls my dad are the ones during my one year and two years birthdays. No recent pictures, yet I am already eleven. Maybe if he knew that I would never speak in life, he would not have snapped those pictures with me then. Who creates me? I am sure it is not the same God who creates the other people on earth. I have approached my mother once and said, “Don’t you think it is satan who creates me?” “Don’t say that again Rose!” mother replies me. The vigour with which she moves her hands shows to me that she is shouting. “But why can’t I hear and speak?” I challenge her. “I thought that they say that all the things he creates were good.” “You are good either,” she says to me. “Good?” I laugh mockingly. Those lips of mine, what can they do other than eating, laughing and crying? I have been advised by my teachers to laugh always, since it will prevent my mouth from smelling. But I don’t seem to see the reason for laughing at all. I only laugh to make jest of people sometimes. Nothing again can make me laugh, even if you tickle me I won’t. I didn’t feel like going to school that day again. That man in the bathroom has killed my joy. How I wish I am not born into this family. If I am born into another family, it’s only my mother I will miss. Who cares about John, that wicked man? I think. Reluctantly, I sit at the table. If only mummy can allow me have my own meal inside my room and not at the dinning table. Or what is the essence of eating at the dinning table when my daddy is having his own food in a separate dish? It’s only my mother and I who eat together in the same plate. I see the way John is leering at me as if he should just lock me up somewhere. He is guzzling the food as if he hasn’t eaten since the day before yesterday. He can’t even communicate with me since he has refused to learn the sign language like my mother. He will only tell my mother to tell me anything he wanted to tell me, yet if he has written them down I would have understood him. I have perceived that mother doesn’t use to tell me what my father was asking her to tell me. Perhaps my father’s words will be too harsh on me. She has to come out clear one day when the preacher in our church condemns the act of lying in all its ramifications. That day, mother said to me that she has been telling me the opposites of what father has been asking her to tell me. I didn’t need to ask her what exactly he has been saying since commonsense is there in me to know that they were unpleasant things. I am looking away while eating. Mother taps me. A mould of amala is still in her grip, but she has something to tell me. With the food in her hand, mother gestures to me, “Rose, your daddy says you should stop looking away from your food.” I frown. I know that what he said is more than that. His face can tell it all—many wrinkles on his forehead. If only he can speak in a mild manner to me, it had been better. I quickly readjust and eat my food, silently as usual, since there isn’t any noise I want to make. I see daddy speaking to her again. This time, mummy speaks back with an angry face. It seems as if they are on my matter again. At last, mummy speaks to me: “Rose, don’t get angry, but your dad says that I should tell you that if his boss gets angry at him for coming late to office today, then you are in trouble. But don’t mind him, Rose, he can’t do anything for you.” That is how my mummy will always say, yet that man will beat both of us together whenever it is time for him to do so. My father looks at us as if he is suspecting that my mother is saying more than he said to her. I look at his mouth and I am able to figure out the first word he says: “Hannah…” That is the name of my mother. I fold my hands and didn’t eat again. Father didn’t even care. He has finished eating the amala. He has begun to rush out of the house. That Volkswagen he has, he hasn’t used it to take me to school once. Sometimes my mummy will use it to take me there if he is on afternoon duty, since he will be sleeping in the morning by then. Father points to me as if he is threatening me when he gets to the door. Mother is just looking at him. When he leaves, she rushes to me and hugs me tight. She was shedding tears as she presses her lips firmly against my cheek. I am off to school. Mother takes me there herself before going to her own work too. Throughout the school period, I didn’t speak a word. Mrs Oyin, our class teacher is surprised. How come Rose’s name didn’t enter the name of noise maker today? she must have thought (we write names of noise makers in our school too; making unnecessary sign language is a noise). Mrs. Oyin is a second mother to us. She likes everyone of us in Primary Six B. When she comes into the class to punish the noise makers, she calls me out and takes me out of the class. If only I can hear, then she would not have taken me out of the class. She would just have whispered into my ears. In the office, she says, “Why are you not speaking today?” I tell her there is nothing. When I get back home, daddy was already inside. I am surprised. He is supposed to be in the office by then. I go on my knees to greet him, but then, he slaps me on the face. I scream with all the power inside me. He will be the only one to suffer the sound from my throat. He didn’t leave me alone. He has come on me, punching me like a punching bag. Mother rushes in at once and begin to prevent him. But it is too late. My eyes are swollen already, yet I didn’t know my offence. It is the next day I know what has happened. My father has been suspended from office for two weeks for getting late to work that day. But does that call for dealing with me brutally that way? God should kill me once and for all, I think. To be continued
  2. Itzprince

    Ass-ignment

    Ass-ignment . . With gratitude to God for giving me the uncommon wisdom of blocking my parents, nosy aunties and religious siblings on whatsapp. As far as they are concerned, I’ll always be their last born or baby brother that is pure and untainted and God forbid I know anything like a-s, condoms and the unholiest of them all “sex”. God will continue to bless their naivety (Ameen). So if you’re reading this, I don’t consider you holy and we will burn in hell together ( just kidding). Brethren, I, like any other curious, God-fearing, law-abiding, attention- seeking and well meaning Nigerian have always wondered why a-s or crudely known as nyash is underrated. (Idle Mind na Devil workshop true true). “The understanding of a-s(ets) and it’s movements and proper gyrations which translates to it’s power is the beginning of wisdom for any girl” – Herbert Macaulay, 2017. We will all agree that this is true because he left his grave to inform everyone that cares to listen about this before going back. God bless his blessed soul. It is safe to say, ladies and gentlemen that these remarkable attachments have gone a long way in defining or redefining our growth and achievements as people of this great nation. To understand a-s is to understand spirituality. How else would you explain why one part of the body will cause an innocent man to defy the laws of physics and biology and turn his neck 180 degrees?. If you think I’m joking, just go to the market place or live in a neighborhood with yoruba people (pepper is not their only trademark) and you will see miracles (TB Joshua is an apprentice). That was how one young man, caught under the anointing of a-s attempted this and his neck remained there permanently. He didn’t even realize this until his forward movements seemed backwards and vice versa. Basically he was moon-walking forwards. How we solved that problem is a story for another day. To understand a-s is to understand divine wisdom. You think all these young boys and married men (oops) especially the ones not doing well in school have poor memories?? Think again. If you’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing greatness in the form of men describing a woman’s behind that he saw 7 years ago to other men, you will understand that Scofield is a learner and that the devil is a liar. If you’re a girl and you’re reading this, calm down before you accept the devil in your life and say hurtful things like “men are pigs” or “men are scum”. While they are hurtful, they are as useless as condoms to an impotent man. My point is, it won’t change anything. Men will look, analyze, carry out lab tests even. Sue them!!. God will bless you with enough money and female lawyers to facilitate your cause (Ameen).. To understand a-s is to understand pure suffering. I know what you’re thinking, how can something be so beautiful and yet so dangerous?. You’ve obviously never heard of money before. That was how this single astounding booty (pun intended) succeeded in wiping out half the men in my street and leaving the other half to tell the tale. How?, Let me explain. My street used to be like any mechanical engineering department in the world, it lacked a-s. And as expected, we were living happily but we’ve always known something was missing, mi(a-s)ing if you will. Keep in mind that this incident happened before I was born, so praise the Lord. Maybe I won’t be here telling this tale today. Angels don’t drive neither do they enter public transport. They do what they do best. They appear and that was how this lady showed up. News of this booty spread like butter on bread ( somebody that knows my parents might read this and truncate my hustle, so yes, it’s bread and butter I’ve always wanted to say, not anything else. I love you mummy!!) and before you could say “assignment”, half the men were already on their way to the scene. The other half heard but they were not able to outsmart their wives as they promptly locked all the doors and they dutifully swallowed the keys (God bless those women). Boys will be boys, but in this case, men will be zombies because nobody had the courage to interrupt the a-s by asking questions like “who are you?” And “what are you doing here?”.The sensible ones were at home with their wives, loathing her asslessness. When you hear cases of women “locking” their husbands down or up as the case may be. This is what they meant. Anyway, they just followed her until…. well, I don’t know what later happened, as I have pointed out earlier, I wasn’t born yet. The narrator (the only man with balls) told his wife that this was his house and she was going to abide by his rules and God dammit he was going to leave his house and do what real men were doing. Long story short, he later peeped through the window with his first son on the lookout for the real owner of the house. Sometimes men have to relinquish control for the society to prosper (life is mysterious like that). Nobody saw or heard from them after that assident, sorry accident. The remaining people left the street for fear that the a-s might return. I know a lot of people will not believe this story. They will let the devil use them and say fallacious things like “this story didn’t happen” but let me ask you, have you ever heard of a street called hskvdgu before? ( the “v” is silent). I didn’t think so. Enough said. If I tell you everything now, what will I tell my coworkers when I’m trying to sound wise and insightful. Imagine how I’ll feel when they come to me for wisdom and I happily narrate this story and they go “we’ve already heard this somewhere, tell us something else”. Then I’ll hesitate and one of them with eyes that words cannot describe will say something like “he doesn’t even know anything sef”. Blood will spill that day. Most likely mine but blood is still blood. I believe with all these points, I’ve been able to convince you that the importance of booty is key to the development of any society and its power, if properly harnessed, will create world peace, solve world hunger and eradicate our energy problems once and for all. In order words, any part of the body is important, but a-s is importanter.
  3. He breathed deeply as he thought about it. She had obviously been carried away by Chief’s generosity. The day she left him was the day he realized that she had been visiting Chief secretly. Chief continued to send his boys to buy produce from him but he was unable to turn them back. If he did, he and Ade would go hungry. He therefore swallowed his pride and continued to supply Chief’s household with food even after Chinenye’s betrayal. Papa looked at Ade’s raised arms waiting for the onslaught of his belt. He saw something glistering in his palm as he gripped the shard of glass tightly. He was bleeding severely and did not even realize that his body was drenched in blood. As he tried to lift up his son from the floor, he struggled and whimpered. He pulled him up with force and he suddenly went limp in his hands. “Ade, Ade.” Papa shouted his son’s name. He took out the shard of glass out of his son’s palm and threw it into the bin. He carried him in his arms and ran out of the house. He struggled to open the stiff passenger door of his beetle with Ade in his arms. The door opened after much force and he placed his son gingerly on the back seat. He breathed deeply as he thought about it. She had obviously been carried away by Chief’s generosity. The day she left him was the day he realized that she had been visiting Chief secretly. Chief continued to send his boys to buy produce from him but he was unable to turn them back. If he did, he and Ade would go hungry. He therefore swallowed his pride and continued to supply Chief’s household with food even after Chinenye’s betrayal. Papa looked at Ade’s raised arms waiting for the onslaught of his belt. He saw something glistering in his palm as he gripped the shard of glass tightly. He was bleeding severely and did not even realize that his body was drenched in blood. As he tried to lift up his son from the floor, he struggled and whimpered. He pulled him up with force and he suddenly went limp in his hands. “Ade, Ade.” Papa shouted his son’s name. He took out the shard of glass out of his son’s palm and threw it into the bin. He carried him in his arms and ran out of the house. He struggled to open the stiff passenger door of his beetle with Ade in his arms. The door opened after much force and he placed his son gingerly on the back seat. “Ade, Ade, Ade.” He called again but his son refused to answer. “Oh God, hear my prayer. Please save my son. I will never touch him again. I will never let the anger I feel for his mother get to me again. I will never transfer the aggression to him again. God, I need your help, please. He is my only son. He is all I have got.” Papa reeled out prayers as he struggled to start the car. It always took a while to start and it usually did not until it was pushed. But there was no one to help him push it now. Ade who always helped in pushing lay still in the back seat of his rickety beetle. Tears streamed down Papa’s cheeks. He got out of the car and opened the gate in a hurry. He tried to single-handedly push the car. He grunted as he pushed and jumped into the moving vehicle. The rickety beetle coughed and started. As he raced to the hospital, he prayed in his heart that God will forgive him and save his only son. +++++The End+++++
  4. Papa wrapped his belt around his hand. How many times had he told Ade that he should walk like a man anytime he called or honked? He had had to open the gate himself to drive in his rickety beetle car. The sound of the car could be heard a 100 metres away as it coughed out thick black smoke. Many of his neighbours had told him to get the car serviced but whose business was it, what he did to his car. As he closed the gate with the weather-beaten padlock, he calculated in his mind how to deal with his son. Since his mother left them to become Chief’s third wife a month ago, Ade had been unnecessarily absent-minded. He had broken a plate, a flower vase and even forgotten a pot of soup on fire. He wondered what the boy’s problem was. He had had enough with his mother. He was not ready to deal with his forgetfulness. He remembered how Ade’s mother had insulted him every day over his inability to provide her the nicer things of life. He worked hard to provide for his small family but it was never enough for her. He tilled his farm day and night to put food on the table. They never lacked food as he planted every food item they consumed. Cocoyam, maize, tomatoes, vegetables etc. He even had a small poultry he managed all alone but Chinenye was never happy. She whined every day about how Mama Nkechi’s husband had bought his wife twelve yards of Hollandis. Mama Uchenna’s husband bought his wife a brand new car with which she went to shop in the Epe fish market. Mama Kunle travelled abroad like she was going to the salon. It did not matter if she went to Ghana or Benin Republic which was just a few hours away. As far as she was concerned, those countries were abroad as long as you had to fly there. Each day, she reminded him of his inability to satisfy her materially. She refused to work because these other women just sat at home taking care of their kids. None of them got their hands soiled; she always crooned. Each day for the past ten years, his confidence dropped a notch lower. His confidence was eventually shattered when she left him and moved in with Chief. She left with nothing. She said everything she had or shared with him was wretched compared to what Chief would provide. She did not even remember to go with her son, Ade. He was probably one of the wretchedness she left for him. Papa wrapped his belt around his hand. How many times had he told Ade that he should walk like a man anytime he called or honked? He had had to open the gate himself to drive in his rickety beetle car. The sound of the car could be heard a 100 metres away as it coughed out thick black smoke. Many of his neighbours had told him to get the car serviced but whose business was it, what he did to his car. As he closed the gate with the weather-beaten padlock, he calculated in his mind how to deal with his son. Since his mother left them to become Chief’s third wife a month ago, Ade had been unnecessarily absent-minded. He had broken a plate, a flower vase and even forgotten a pot of soup on fire. He wondered what the boy’s problem was. He had had enough with his mother. He was not ready to deal with his forgetfulness. He remembered how Ade’s mother had insulted him every day over his inability to provide her the nicer things of life. He worked hard to provide for his small family but it was never enough for her. He tilled his farm day and night to put food on the table. They never lacked food as he planted every food item they consumed. Cocoyam, maize, tomatoes, vegetables etc. He even had a small poultry he managed all alone but Chinenye was never happy. She whined every day about how Mama Nkechi’s husband had bought his wife twelve yards of Hollandis. Mama Uchenna’s husband bought his wife a brand new car with which she went to shop in the Epe fish market. Mama Kunle travelled abroad like she was going to the salon. It did not matter if she went to Ghana or Benin Republic which was just a few hours away. As far as she was concerned, those countries were abroad as long as you had to fly there. Each day, she reminded him of his inability to satisfy her materially. She refused to work because these other women just sat at home taking care of their kids. None of them got their hands soiled; she always crooned. Each day for the past ten years, his confidence dropped a notch lower. His confidence was eventually shattered when she left him and moved in with Chief. She left with nothing. She said everything she had or shared with him was wretched compared to what Chief would provide. She did not even remember to go with her son, Ade. He was probably one of the wretchedness she left for him.
  5. He looked at his inner arm and rubbed it looking for a vein. He had to do it just like the man in the movie. There was no time to look for a rubber wire; he would just do it. He placed the splinter on his arm and tried to draw a line with it. He squeezed his eyes. It was painful. But the man in the movie had been happy. Maybe he needed to go deeper, so he could feel the same joy. He was contemplating on his next action when he heard the honk of a car outside. He looked around him. The shards of glass still lay strewn all over the floor. This was going to earn him extra lashes. He quickly kept the large splinter in his pocket as he grabbed a broom. He weighed his options.Should I run to open the gate or should I sweep away the broken pieces of glass? Which option would get me a lesser punishment? He opted to sweep the broken glass away and let his abuser open the gate himself. The most he would get for refusing to open the gate was a slap. This time he would make sure he turned his right ear. He quickly swept up the little splinters and dumped them into the bin. He got out some old newspapers and put them in the bin. That should mask the evidence till evening when he would throw out the trash. He heard the voice of his abuser boom through the living room. It sounded louder than usual or was it his imagination. He got out the splinter of glass from his pocket and in a hurry, he slashed his wrist. “Ade, Ade.” The voice roared in anger. He stood in the kitchen shivering. He angled his head to the right side expecting the slap. The abuser’s right hand was not as strong as the left. The slap would not be as painful. But his abuser had other plans. He had removed his belt and he was wrapping it around his left hand. Ade saw his abuser’s face and his heart fell to the bottom. He was going to get lashed not slapped. He cowered as his knees collapsed under him. They suddenly felt heavy and unable to accommodate his weight. He lifted up his arms to receive the beating. He counted to three in his mind, waiting for the belt to hit him. But it did not. He wondered why. If he dropped his arms now, the slap would attack his left ear. He felt the strong hands of his abuser pulling him up by the shoulders. He struggled to stay down. ______________________________________________________ The story continues
  6. He wrapped the belt around his left hand in anger. Lines of fury turned his face into a monster. He gritted his teeth in mad anger and lifted up his belt. The boy cowered, raising up his arms to receive the thrashing. His body could not take them anymore. It was already torn in various places. He whimpered expecting the belt to hit his raised hands. He was tired of crying. One, two, three. He counted in his mind expecting the worst but it was not to be. He refused to look up or lower his arms just in case a deafening slap hit his cheeks. The last one he received still caused his left ear to ooze out pus. He had tried to no avail to stop the ear from leaking but it behaved as if it had a mind of its own. Suddenly, he felt strong hands pulling him up. He knew he was done for.Why did I break the glass cup?He had tried to be careful while washing it in the kitchen zinc. He had been happy that he had completed the task without any mishap. But his happiness had been cut short as it had slipped off his hands as he was about to place it on the shelf. “Kpa-ka.” The sound of the glass tumbler shattering broke the still silence in the house. He looked around with tears in his eyes. This was the only glass tumbler in the house and he had broken it. He stooped to pick the shards of glass. He tried fixing it back together even though he knew there was no use. But he could still make an attempt. Maybe by some supernatural power, the ruins of the glass would merge back together. As he picked the shards, a thought occurred to him. He could cut himself with the broken glass, so he would not get beaten. That could earn him some sympathy. He could bleed out on the floor. The sight of blood could destabilize his abuser and he could receive compassion. He sat on the floor, the shards of glass still in his hands. He fiddled with a long splinter and the thought took shape. He wiped his cheeks. This was no time to cry. It was time to take action. He looked at his arm and thought of the best place to draw blood. His mind went back to the movie he had watched last night with his abuser. The man had tied his upper arm with a rubber wire. The veins on his arm had bulged out as he did that and he had injected something into his arm. He remembered seeing joy on the man’s face as he smiled. He had heaved a sigh of relief before dozing off.Would I also experience the same joy? Would I smile and doze off just as the man had?The shard of glass in his hand was not an injection but he could make do with this for now. He wanted to experience the same happiness the man in the movie had. He wanted to smile again even if it was just for a moment. He was tired of crying every day. He never got anything right any longer. Last week, he had broken the flower pot while he was cleaning it. He thought he could move it a bit, so he could clean the side away from him. That action had resulted in the flower pot falling off its stand. He looked at his shoulder and touched the open bruise. By next week, the bruise should heal if the belt of his abuser allowed it to rest. Two weeks ago, he had broken a plate while he was in a hurry to get to his abuser. He had been told so many times that he needed to walk like a man. He did not want to get slapped for walking majestically; so he had broken into a run with the plate in his hands. Unfortunately, his right leg hit the door just as he was about to hand over the plate to him. He fell down and the plate in his hands came crashing down right before him. What he had been scared of eventually happened. The slap had been deafening and he had hit his head on the wall from the impact and the force with which it had come. His abuser was left-handed and he used it with dexterity. The pus still oozing out of his ears was a reminder of the fateful day. ****scroll down****
  7. Where and How to Kiss Your Love Behind their ear. Tip of their nose. Back of their neck. Underside of their forearm. Curve of their waist. Palm of their hand. Inside their wrist. Under their chin. Their eyelids. Inside of their ankle. Their collar bone. Tips of their fingers. Their spine. Small of their back. Their tummy. Behind their knees.
  8. Below you will find a variety of kiss types. If you find some that catch your fancy, feel free to try them :-) Butterfly Kiss - With your faces less than a breath away, open and close your eyelids against your partners. If done correctly, the fluttering sensation will match the one in your heart. Cheek Kiss - A friendly, "I really like you" kiss. Often the preferred kissing method of a first date. With your hands on your partner's shoulders, gently brush your lips across her cheek. Earlobe Kiss - Gently sip and suck the earlobe. Avoid louder sucking noises as ears are sensitized noise detectors. Eskimo Kiss - With your faces less than a breath apart, gently rub your noses together. Freeze Kiss (or Melt Kiss) - Experiment with this fun kiss. Put a small piece of ice in your mouth, then open mouth and kiss your partner, passing them the ice with your tongue. It's an erotic and sensual french kiss with a twist of cold. Foot Kiss - An erotic and romantic gesture. It may tickle, but relax and enjoy it! To give a toe kiss by gently suck the toes and then lightly kissing the foot. It helps to gently massage the base of the foot while performing the kiss. Forehead Kiss - The "motherly" kiss or "just friends" kiss. The forehead kiss can be a comforting kiss to anyone. Simply brush your lips lightly across the crown of their head. French Kiss - The kiss involving the tongue. Some call this the "Soul Kiss" because the life and soul are thought to pass through the mouth's breath in the exchange across tongues. Surprisingly, the French call this "The English Kiss". Girls Kissing Fruity Kiss - Take a small piece of fruit and place between your lips (juicy fruits such as grapes, strawberries, small pieces of pineapple or mango are ideal). Kiss your partner and nibble one half of the piece of fruit while they nibble the other until it breaks in half, allowing the juice to run into your mouths. Hand Kiss - Gently raise her hand to your lips. Lightly brush your lips across the top of her hand. Historically this kiss was performed with a bow, which showed deference to a lady. Hickey Kiss - The object is not to draw blood, but to gently leave a mark that will prove your interlude was not a dream. This is often included in erotic foreplay. Mistletoe Kiss - Surprise your lover by capturing them with a gentle holiday kiss under the mistletoe. This is also a good method for shyer individuals to steal a kiss from a potential lover. Letter Kiss - Send your lover a kiss in a love letter by writing the letter x several times in a row at the bottom of a letter such as XXXXX. Neck Nibble Kiss - Gently nibble up and down your partners neck. End with a gentle kiss on the lips. Nip Kiss - This kiss can create a very erotic sensation. While kissing your partner, ever so gently nibble on their lips. You must be very careful not to bite to hard or hurt your partner. When done correctly, this kiss ignites wonderful sensations. Shoulder Kiss - Simply come from behind, embrace her, and kiss the top of her shoulder. This is a sensual, loving kiss. Sip Kiss - Take a small sip of your favorite drink. Leaving a little bit of it on your lips, kiss your partner. It is a unique way to create a sensual feeling and your partner will enjoy it. Talking Kiss - Whisper sweet nothings into your partner's mouth. If caught in the act, simply say as Chico Marx, "I wasn't kissing her. I was whispering into her mouth." Tiger Kiss - Quietly sneak up behind your partner making sure they do not know what you are going to do. Out of the blue, grab them and gently bite their neck. Make sure to get a few good growls in too. This will surely surprise them. Trickle Kiss - Take a sip of a favourite drink and trickle it slowly into partner's mouth while kissing. Tongue Sucking - A variation of the French kiss. During an open-mouth kiss gently suck on your partner's tongue (not too hard because it may hurt). Very sexy :-) Quickie Kiss - When you're in a rush. Often the nose gets it rather than the lips. Vacuum Kiss - While kissing open-mouthed, slightly suck in as if you were sucking the air from your partners mouth. This is a playful kiss. Virtual Kiss - For Internet lovers. Send an e-card or a kiss via email with this symbol: :-* .
  9. BROKEN ‘I’m too broken to attempt to fix you. I’m also too tired to try.’ Yara screamed as the wind buffeted her sideways to the foot of the mountain where she landed heavily on her backside, hitting her head on a pile of rock and magma. David looked down at her, the muscles of his jaw working quietly. He began softly,‘ You’ll continue running away from things and people and emotions. Anything that does not cut your definition of perfect, you’ll run away from. You’d run until you eventually run past the one who really loves you and then you’ll run into the arms of who you think is your vision of perfect. He’d do everything perfectly and you’ll fall perfectly. And then when he has you down under, he’d revert to being an asshole. He’ll ride you and you’d regret every last mean word you said to all the people who really loved you.’ By now he was screaming. The end!
  10. Itzprince

    BROKEN LOVE

    BROKEN LOVE Although it has not been long Beatrice left house that morning, ken can’t stand the chance of waiting for her to come back in order to confront her. He was pacing up and down through the whole house thinking of what could have led Beatrice into such act, they have multi+ in all aspect of wealth, many cars, houses, and investments. Could it be that that Beatrice is a prostitute before ken married her? Or is that ken was not capable of satisfying her on sex? All these things kept running through ken's mind, he went to the sitting room and laid down on the chair, not so long to count he dozed off because he has been stressed since he heard the story. The next few minutes was so fast to him, , he woke on hearing the wife's car horn, he came down from the chair and stand on the door that led to the staircase. Standing on the door he was thinking of how to attack his wife, in a jiffy of time Ken stood face to face with Beatrice who was busy greeting him as usual but he was not responding, Beatrice looked at him and saw the fiery look on his faced, she was marveled and transfixed, she tapped him on the shoulder and asked him who made him angry without knowing she was the one. Ken slapped her twice and asks her who Mike was, she tried to speak but she was short of words, tears rolled down her cheeks. She tried to control the tears but she couldn’t. Ken asked her for the second time who mike was but she could not give him any answer, Ken sent her out of the house with nothing not even a car or transport money. Since Beatrice have no money on her she have no other option than to go to her friend Amanda. Amanda gave her money but the money was too small to take her to her father’s house, so she trekked for a long time before she entered a bus. When she got to her house, she saw her parents and narrated all that happened to them claiming she don't know anything concerning Mike .Her father went to Ken's house but the gatekeeper could not let him in, all attempt made by Beatrice to call Ken proved abortive because he ignored her calls. After two months, Ken met and married another girl. The new wife was a troublesome, she would left early in the morning without keeping any food for ken and came back late in the night, When Ken confronts her she would tell him that she is a busy woman and not a house wife like her first wife Beatrice, this remark always threw Ken back down because he never thought that she knew he had married before. Beatrice in the other hand was struggling to survive not having any hope to be the wife of Ken knowing fully he was a man of his word. It happened that one day a man came looking for Ken but he was not around but he dropped his number with the wife, when Ken came back he dialed the number and a male voice was heard, the man told ken that a man was involved in a ghastly accident and he requested to see him before he will be taken in for surgery. When Ken got to the hospital, he found out it was his best friend Mark. Mark told ken that all he told him about Beatrice were all lies, this made ken so angry that he wanted to strangle mark but the doctors pulled his hands off marks throat, mark also told him that someone gave him money to do that, when he was trying to tell him the name of the person he gave up the ghost. Ken was in the world of confusion he blamed himself for everything, how could he have sent out a sincere and adorable woman? He should have investigated the matter very well before taking action, how could he face Beatrice and her family? And even if he succeeded in bringing her home, what is he going to do to her new wife or should he marry two wives at the same time? Oh God what have I gotten myself into, he lamented. When he got home that day, he could not concentrate neither could he do anything, he drank himself in to a stupor, her wife tried finding out what the problem was but he keeps avoiding her. Early the next morning, he drove to the village and begged Beatrice and her parents for forgiveness but they refused at the first time but after a continues pleading by ken which lasted up to ten hours the family forgave him and he took the Beatrice home. When they got home, Beatrice saw Amanda at ken's house, she thought she was there to welcome her, she ran to hug her but Amanda avoided her. These surprised her; a friend that has not seen her for a very long time was avoiding her. When Beatrice looked at Amanda's stomach she found out that she was pregnant. She asked her how? Knowing fully she was single when she left the city months ago. Ken told Beatrice that Amanda was the girl he told them he married. Amanda knelt down and begged Beatrice, she latter forgave her. After delivery Amanda handed the child to ken and left to return no more. Ken and Beatrice lived together forever. THE END
  11. As usual, he came during the day. When everyone else is too busy working to understand what goes on in the big office. No, I don’t work. Yes, I go to the office, I resume at 7:30a.m and close at 5:00pm. Yes, I’m paid huge sums of money. But no, I don’t work. Or rather, I don’t consider what I do work. It’s more like hoeism. Yes, I said it. I’m an office hoe. You know that category? The one that is called ‘office sex’ on those sites, yeah? That’s what I do. Only to me, it’s paid office prostitution. No no, don’t think i enjoy it. I hate it, I detest it, in fact I loathe it! This life…this bondage. This living prison cell, but I have no control over this… He smiles as he walks in. That mischievous smile, fueled by lust and an awakening in his groin. His smile is gleeful, his expression shouts triumph, victory. I steel my body against his touch. I’ve had enough, too much. I smile back at him, one laced with anger and pain, one showing only hospitality to his nasty desires. I’m used to the routine, why won’t I? It’s been my weekly activity for years. But today will be the last time I dance to his music. I remember how it started-the interview that rainy Tuesday morning. I remember how my black pumps were kept on as he had his way. It was my only way to get the job. And I thought that would be the end. And then my second day at the office. “You know what I want”, he stated flatly as if it had been part of our deal. I was shocked, but now it’s as usual as drinking water. But not again. I fell helplessly against him, and allowed him have his way. Till now, I still remember his grunts as he took his savage pleasure in my frail body. Yes, he tripled my salary. I earned even more than the directors earned. But no more. Frankly, I don’t give two fucks about the money. After all, he’s treated me like a mistress, filling my bank accounts with more than enough funds. As he whispers endearing words in my ears, the same ones he says every time, I’m grateful I’m against my desk. I arch my back, reaching for it. My Saviour, My Deliverer. Shar’Dama Ka, I say within me, enjoying the flow of the Krasian word for deliverer. I’m going to set myself free today; surely, I have power over what goes into me and comes out. And certainly who derives their pleasure in me. I chuckle a bit, managing to make it sound as a moan, stunned at what a little object can do. I imagine the headlines when they find out, ‘Office Worker Ends Game For Boss’ and the frantic search for me when it all comes to light. ’Worker disappears leaving boss in a state of deep sleep’. My laughter turns to sadness as I think of his pretty wife and cute daughter. Barely a teenager, I can’t help but feel sorry for the daughter who would now live her life without a father. But then, it is probably for the best. A monster like him would know no boundaries, not even with his daughter. He turns his back and starts talking while unbuttoning his shirt and removing his other items of clothing. This is my only chance. I pick up the weapon and aim it properly. I’ve timed it all to perfection, he’s slow at undressing, always wanting to ‘give me a show’. Too bad I’m the one giving the show today. Before I can have any rethink or feel sympathy for anyone who might be affected, I pull the trigger once…twice…thrice…five times. Until I see him fall down, so wounded that I know there’s nothing anyone can do to save him. Satisfied, I pick up my bag and walk towards the door. At the point where I have to cross over his now lifeless body, I stop and stare at him. This man was once my only source of hope. I remember walking into his office, hoping and praying that I get the job. Indeed, I got the job. But what a job it was. I close my eyes and will all memories of him to be drowned in the deepest part of my mind. I want nothing to do with a dead man, not even memories. After all, who wants to remember memories of being a pleasure toy? I shut the door firmly, against him and that world. Before anyone finds out what has happened, I would be on the flight to New York. A new name, a new life. I’ve timed everything to perfection, I think again to myself. And in the comfort of my Camry, the thought of being caught slowly creeps in. But then, even if I am caught, no prison would be as bad as the one I’ve just broken free from The End
  12. “Chris, let’s check out the pub. Perhaps, there are girls we can chat up over there,” Etienne suggested. He had knocked on my door moments earlier. When I opened the door, he was standing with hands in his pocket, grinning at me as though he had just won a lottery. “I am tired, Etienne. I just returned from playing football at the park,” I replied, resisting his lure for another evening of ‘hunting’ (as he often put it) in the student pub on the ground floor of our hall of residence, the international students house (ISH), London. Etienne was one of the first few people I met upon arrival in London. After a train ride on the Piccadilly line, from Heathrow to Great Portland Street, I hauled my luggage behind me, famished after the trip from Lagos to London. Nonetheless, I was excited; thrilled to be in London for studies. When I saw the sign on the big building on Great Portland Street – International Students House (ISH), London, I felt relieved. All my efforts in studying the London underground map had not been in vain. I did not want to get lost, so I had invested loads of time and energy into figuring out my train route from Heathrow to International Students House, right in the heart of London. I paced up, crossing the road hastily as I walked towards the lobby of the big building. “Welcome to International Students House, London,” a middle aged English lady said to me with a smile on her face. “Thank you,” I replied, returning her smile. Minutes later, I was checked into the room that would be home to me for the next one year, eat least. As I turned to make my way to the elevator, there was a big, tall black guy smiling at me. “Are you African?” he asked. His accent was heavy…unmistakably African. I tried to place his accent as quickly as I could – something I have mastered over the years, listening attentively when people from different countries talked. “Yes, I am. I am from Nigeria. I take it you are from Cameroon,” I replied. He stepped back, looked intently at me, his eyes boring holes through me. His smile had vanished, momentarily. Slowly, another wave of smiles reappeared on his face. “How did you know I was Cameroonian?” he asked. “I have been here a few days now, and you are the only person to have placed my nationality with impeccable accuracy; just by listening to me,” he said. I could tell he was surprised…delightfully. “I tend to listen to different accents and memorize them afterwards. I took a wild guess. Clearly, you are African, I could hear that from miles away, but you are not East African. Your accent is different from the East African accent. At the same time, you are not from Southern Africa. I heard a blend of English and French when you spoke, so knowing that there are French Speaking and English speaking parts of Cameroon, I took a crack at you being Cameroonian,” I explained. “You are very correct, Masa,” he said, his smile broadening. I later found out that Masa is the Cameroonian version of ‘old boy’ in Nigeria. Etienne and I became friends right away…you know, the African bond held us together in a strange land, far away from home. “Come on Chris, when I walked past the lobby a while ago, I saw some girls heading for the bar. Let’s go check them out.” Etienne was a classic womanizer. For some reason, he liked to go ‘hunting’ with someone – a backup who would distract the second girl, should his target have a sidekick with her. Following his incessant persuasion, I sluggishly dressed up, wishing he’d get tired of my delay tactics and go by himself. Not Etienne; he was a hard man to lose. He stuck it out. Eventually, we rode the elevator from the third floor to the ground floor. The bar as more quiet than normal. The usual student population; largely revelers were nowhere to be found. The bar man, a French guy sat quietly behind the bar, peering keenly at the TV monitor with no one to serve. A dry frown appeared on Etienne’s face. “Come on, where are the girls?” he asked, rhetorically as we walked to the end of the large pub. Looking to the right, we sighted two girls tucked in a corner, sipping on a cold glass of apple cider – Strongbow, to be precise. Etienne’s face lit up. Even from a short distance, you could tell that they were beautiful girls. I have to admit the dark-haired one with her back to us looked more beautiful. Well, her physique said it all even from a distance away. Etienne instantly had his sights set on the blond one. “Hello, you mind if we sit with you?” Etienne asked. “Sure,” the blond replied with a smile. Etienne dragged a seat out and balanced his weight on it. He was at least, six feet ve inches. He made sure to sit close enough to the blond. I took the last remaining seat at the table near the darkhaired girl. “So where are you from?” I asked. “Switzerland,” the blond replied. “Have you been there before?” The dark-haired one asked. “No, I have not, but I would like to someday,” I replied. “I bet they have never been anywhere else. I wonder how long it has been since they jumped off trees in the forest where they lived all their lives…deep in the heart of Africa” the blond girl said to the dark-haired one. She spoke in French, so I was completely lost…had no clue what she had said. The dark-haired girl laughed raucously, throwing her head backwards and flicking her hair. I had no idea what was amusing them both. I could not help but notice their unsullied beauty as they laughed fervidly. “What is it?” I asked naively, with no clue what they were saying. Etienne was rather quiet….unusually quiet. By now, he’d be making his move on his target like military commandoes zeroing in on their target. “Nothing,” the blond girl replied. Yet, Etienne remained quiet. “I was just telling her that your accent is sexy,” the blond said. “Thanks, I said unaware of what was truly said about me…about us. “So, how about you? Where are you from?” The dark-haired girl asked. She was still wrestling with a fervid outburst of laughter. I never knew my accent could be so sexy, yet so funny. “I am from Nigeria.” “I replied. “I am from Zambia,” Etienne lied. I could not for the love of my life fathom why he was concealing his nationality, but I kept quiet. Etienne never did anything without a reason. I was going to ask him about it later. “So, are you students? Do you live at the international students house?” Etienne asked them. “Yes, we live here in ISH. I am studying at the University of Westminster, just down the road from here. I am taking a master’s in international relations at the Regent Street Campus,” the blond girl replied. “Me too, I am studying at University of Westminster – Law,” added the dark-haired girl. She leaned over the table and said something in French to the blond, and again, they laughed their heads off, giggling like teenagers chatting about their crush. “I am sure they have no clue what international relations and Law are all about,” she had said to her friend. “Look at the big one…he really looks like a big monkey,” the blond replied. “And the small one, he looks like he is about to die of hunger. I bet those starving Africans we see on TV are his relatives.” “His hair is all scruffy, are you sure he is not suffering from some sort of nutritional deficiency?” They dissected us in French, speaking as fast as possible. I could only look and wish I spoke French. Yet, Etienne who spoke French fluently remained quiet. I looked at him, and he appeared to be staring coldly at me. I think he meant to say something with his eyes, but I could not quite make out his cryptic message. The Swiss girls laughed even harder. “Do you want beer?” The blond asked. “No, thanks!” Etienne answered before I could say a word. I knew he understood French perfectly, so from his tone, I could tell something was wrong. An offer of beer was a normal ice breaker in the ‘hunting’ game. Typically, he would have jumped at the offer, knowing it was his turn to buy the next round for the girls…which meant, there was time for another round. Usually, he’d be heading up to his room with a girl after a few rounds. “I will go get a pint of beer for my friend and I,” I said heading for the bar. When I returned with two pints of Strongbow cider, the girls were still busy yapping away. “Who knows if they have ever tasted cider,” said the dark-haired one. By the time I returned, I noticed that Etienne’s phone was lying face-down on the table. “So, do you stay in this building of international students house or the other one – Mary Travelyan Hall?” I asked. “We stay at Mary Travelyan Hall,” replied the blond. “So, where do you study?” The blond asked. University of Westminster as well,” Etienne and I echoed. “So, we all go to the same university!” The dark-haired girl exclaimed. “How dare you say we go to the same University with these apes?” The blond asked the other girl in French. Her voice was inundated with sheer contempt. “These apes are both first class graduates from their universities in Africa and they are studying here in London on scholarship!” Etienne said in French. His voice was loud. He was overly animated. The girls said nothing in reply. An eerie silence hung in the air. I stared at the girls who had been loquacious moments earlier, as they suddenly looked subdued; panic-stricken. “What is it?” I asked Etienne. “These two idiots here are racists…blind racists!” He replied, his voice dripped with anger. “No, we are not!” They both said. Then, Etienne raised his phone and began to play back their recordings to me – he explained each one to me. I wanted to leap like Bruce Lee and kick life out of both girls. “It is not true. We were only joking,” the dark-haired one replied. “It does not matter what you say, I have you two on tape. I will make sure you are rusticated and thrown out of international students house. I promise you that!” Etienne yelled at them, boiling peevishly. “Let’s leave,” the blond said to her friend. “Run…Run all you care, but there will be no hiding place for you racists!!” Etienne yelled at them as they rose to their feet and began to head for the exit They walked briskly desperate to put place for you racists!! Etienne yelled at them as they rose to their feet and began to head for the exit. They walked briskly, desperate to put the incident of the past minute behind them. I was sweating despite the air conditioner being on. A massive ball of rage bounced around ebulliently within me. I wanted to run after them and show them shege!!! I managed to calm myself down. By the next day, Etienne and I led a complaint against both girls, sending the voice recordings to the authorities. The authorities of international students house swung swiftly into action. Both girls were thrown out of the building. They did not wait for us to complete the complaint process at University of Westminster. They packed their bags and left town, abandoning their studies for good…at least in London. Hunting was over for me after that. Well, by that I mean my role as Etienne’s backup was finally over. I was saddened by that experience that it took quite some time for me to get over it and begin to get along well with white people. Etienne on the other hand was out hunting the next night. Nothing would deny him, not even racism! THE END
  13. EZINNE: THE CHRISTIAN MOTHER – Part 3 “So, who are you? Where is my wife? Who is she with?” Ekechukwu was running mad. He could not believe what he was hearing. “Well, you know my price,” Nzekwe replied. “There is no chief, right? You are the same person that we picked up in front of my house, right?” “It does not matter, Chief. What matters is that you get to the root of this.” “I want to know where my wife is and who she is with!!!” “If you would text me your phone number, then I will send you my account number, sir. Your number does not show when you call.” “Ekechukwu thought about it for a moment. “I will call you back,” he said and hung up. He called Chinyere immediately. She did not take her call. She was underneath Idoko moaning furiously. “I don’t care who it is, darling. All I want now is you…just you, my dear,” Chinyere said, almost rhythmically as she savored every thrust that Idoko made. Ekechukwu called repeatedly, but there was no answer. Ekechukwu texted his phone number to Nzekwe. He could not smother his flaming curiosity. Nzekwe sent his account number to him. He called him back immediately. “You will be receiving two hundred and fifty thousand naira in your account in the morning. You get the rest as soon as I have all the information I want.” “You will get all you want once I have my money…all of it, not half.” Reluctantly, Ekechukwu acquiesced. By morning, his account was credited with half a million naira. “So, can I get all the information now?” “Yes, you will. Your wife just went out with her man who happens to be Rev. Fr. Idoko of St. Patrick’s Catholic Church, Umunze. He has been sleeping with your wife. I have extracted the video I made of the two of them last night. I will send that to you if you will send me your email address.” “Father Idoko?” Ekechukwu said. He was utterly discombobulated. “If you want to do something about it or see for yourself, you should take a flight down to Asaba before nightfall. Your wife is going to a wild party in Asaba with the priest tonight.” Ekechukwu took a chattered flight to Asaba, where Nzekwe met him. He watched all the video recordings with Nzekwe with tears racing down his face and anger stabbing relentlessly at his poor heart. It happened that he knew some of Nzekwe’s relative. Nzekwe’s family was from a neighboring village. … “Now is the time, darling!” Chinyere said. Her eyes were burning with excitement. She was literally quivering with indescribable anticipation. The compound, which belonged to a party-loving multi-millionaire, was buzzing with life. Girls in bikinis and guys in boxers reveled as if there was no tomorrow. Chinyere set down her glass of wine by the pool. There were a few couples already in the pool. There were all latched onto each other as though they had been glued together. From the looks on their faces, one did not need to contact a fortune teller to work out what was going on underneath the water. There were hardly any lights around the pool. “I am going in, baby!” Idoko said as he got in the pool. He helped Chinyere in. Eagerly, they kissed and then, their hands went underneath the water for a while. Then, Idoko yanked off Chinyeres bikini top, pushing it aside so he could gain more unfettered access to her bosom. Chinyere’s eyes closed with her head leaning into Idoko’s shoulder. She moaned gently. They could hear all couples moaning too. “I have fantasized this in my head forever, darling. I am glad we are finally doing this,” Chinyere whispered. “Yes, my dear. You are amazing. I think my brains are going to burst open, honey,” she said to him. Then, out of the blues, the rhythmic moaning of revelers in the pool away from the music on the other side of the massive estate was broken by a loud bang. “Kpo! Kpo! Kpo!” Gun shots rang out. Chinyere’s eyes snapped open. Before she could react, Idoko was staggering backwards with blood spewing out of his back. Quickly, the pool turned red. Other couples in the pool sprang out of the water. Revelers dashed frenziedly in all directions, with some diving into the main building in search of refuge. It happened so fast. No one saw the shooter. “God! Idoko!!!” Chinyere shouted. “Someone please call the police. We need to take him to hospital!!!” Chinyere shouted. Her eyes scanned the area. She was afraid that the shooter would gun her down too. She scurried out of the pool and made a mad dash for the hedges to the right of the pool. … “I did not know you were going to shoot him!” Nzekwe complained. “None of your business. You did your job and I did mine. You must never tell anyone what happened here tonight. If you do, I will come after you and your whole family!” Ekechukwu warned him. They had quickly sneaked out of the compound amid chaos. Ekechukwu quickly took his chattered flight back to Lagos before dawn. “I will wire an additional three hundred thousand naira into your account. Travel abroad – go to Malaysia, Europe or Canada; whatever works for you. If you need more money, please let me know. You mustn’t talk about tonight to any living soul, okay?” Nzekwe nodded. He was battling a tsunami of guilt. Much as he found Idoko and Chinyere disgusting, he did not want anyone’s blood on his hands. He returned to Onitsha and began to think of what to do with the money. “You have to leave this place now!” said Mirabel, Chinyere’s friend. “Who could have done this?” Chinyere asked through tears. “This is not the time to ask questions. You do not want to talk to the police. You’d have to explain who he is you know…and who you are! Get out now, Chinyere!” Chinyere got dressed and drove off before the police arrived, as did most of the party attendees. Mirabel and her date left too. … “How was your trip?” Chinyere asked Ekechukwu. “It was great, honey. I missed you a lot though,” he said. “I missed you too,” Chinyere replied. Her eyes were red from crying. She had been checking the news for any news of Idoko. It would be hard for the police to identify him. He had nothing on him to indicate who he was. As Chinyere brought dinner to the dining table for Ekechukwu, there was a knock on the door. “Dange, is everything okay?” Ekechukwu asked. “Sir, the police are here. They claim they want to see madam.” “Okay, send them in. I wonder what they are here for. Honey, the police are here looking for you. Is everything okay? Did you kill someone while I was gone?” “Of course not,” she replied, but her face betrayed her fear. Her eyes were filled with worry. Her heart was pounding ferociously. “Madam, we have reason to believe that you were in Asaba on Saturday night and one Rev. Fr. Idoko with whom you attended the part was shot dead,” the police sergeant explained. Ekechukwu stared at Chinyere who stared back, trying to fake surprise, but her fears were paralyzing her. “Me? At a party? You must have this all wrong, officer.” “Madam, we have obtained CCTV images of you leaving the hotel in Onitsha for Asaba in the company of Fr. Idoko. We have CCTV images from the hotel of two of you from previous visits. We understand the Rev Father was the priest in your local church.” “Yes…yes… he is…he was. I don’t understand what is going on. I was not at the party.” “We have eye witnesses who are willing to testify that you came to the party with this priest. Did you hire assassins to kill him? It looks like you were in an…you know…you were having an affair with him. Perhaps you were fed up with him and decided to end it silently, so that your husband here would not find out.” Chinyere continued to plead her innocence. Ekechukwu feigned shock. He urged the police to take Chinyere away, promising to get his lawyer on the matter. Weeks later, the police unearthed further incriminating evidence against Chinyere. They found love letters she had written to Idoko, which he had stashed in a file cabinet at the parish house. The village was agog with the news of Idoko’s death and his affair with Chinyere. Ekechukwu conducted DNA test on his children and neither of them were his child. Chinyere was convicted of murder and sentenced to death by hanging. Ekechukwu sat in his living room the night after Chinyere was convicted. He was in tears. He wiped them each time the house help or his security came into the living room. Pain…untold, gored mercilessly at him. In his anger, he had called the police to inform them of the murder of Idoko. He told them to talk the hotel staff, as well as revealing Idoko’s full identity to them. What do I do with these children – a two-year-old and a four-year-old? He pondered his dilemma. They have done nothing wrong. My wife simply brought this upon them…and me. Should I send them to an orphanage? Or keep them? Should I send them to Idoko’s family? God, what do I do? I don’t even feel guilty for killing the priest! Chinyere sat in his cell crying uncontrollably. She had done all she could to regain her freedom, but the court was not convinced. Everything pointed at her. She had been found guilty of killing Fr. Idoko. Ekechukwu had told her before her verdict that he found out their children were not his. That was no surprise to her. She had known all along that they were Idoko’s. She wiped her face to clear her blurred vision. If only I could have stopped myself, she thought, wishing she could break out of the claustrophobic cell. One year later, after several unsuccessful appeals, Chinyere was killed by hanging. She had asked God for forgiveness repeatedly before facing a gruesome death. Ekechukwu sent Chinyere’s children, as he referred to them after the DNA tests, to Idoko’s family. They reluctantly accepted them. He, Ekechukwu began life anew, keeping his secret about Idoko’s murder to himself. “I never really took you seriously then,” Elochukwu said as she planted a kiss on Nzekwe’s lips. “I had a massive crush on you for years, Elo. It had to be you or nothing,” Nzekwe declared. They were in their apartment in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Nzekwe had managed to squeeze a lot more money out of Ekechukwu. With that, he funded a master’s program for himself and Elochukwu. They planned on remaining in Malaysia or relocating to Europe after their studies. Nzekwe had proposed to Elochukwu and she had accepted. They hoped to get married after their studies…after they might have landed decent jobs. Nzekwe, just like Ekechukwu, found himself wrestling with his conscience every now and again. THE END Like my facebook page for more thrilling stories… www.facebook.com/nnaemeka.ireokwu
  14. EZINNE: THE CHRISTIAN MOTHER – Part 2 “Yes! Yes! Yes, my love,” Chinyere shouted. I missed you all day darling. I don’t know what I am going to do when you travel to China and India, sweetheart.” “I will miss you a lot too, honey. Not to worry, I will call you every day. Before you know it, I will be back home and in your embrace again,” Ekechukwu replied. “And I will be waiting impatiently, dearie!” “I won’t be long honey. I have to leave for the shop now. Are you still travelling home for the Christian Mother’s meeting this weekend?” “Yes darling.” “Is your driver coming with you?” “No honey, I will drive myself. I told him not to worry. It is only the village. I will be alright. Your bath is ready sweetheart,” she shouted from the master bathroom.” About an hour later, Ekechukwu’s Mercedes SUV emerged from his mansion. There was a man outside his gate waving at him. “Who is that?” He asked his driver. “I have no idea, sir,” the driver replied. There was a look of bemusement on his face. “Should I call the security man, sir?” “Yes, please do.” The driver pressed a button and three security men dashed out of Ekechukwu’s compound. “Who are you?” They asked Nzekwe, having nabbed him with brute force. “Who are you? Are you part of a kidnapping ring?” One of Ekechukwu’s security men asked Nzekwe. “No…no sir. I am not a kidnapper. I just wanted to pass a message on to Mr. Ekechukwu.” “What message?” “It is something I must tell him in person. I was asked to deliver the message directly to him.” They searched Nzekwe thoroughly, while scanning the area for kidnappers. “Sir, he is not armed and there is no indication that he has company,” Ekechukwu was informed. He stepped out of his SUV finally. “What do you want, young man?” “I have some information that might interest you, sir.” “And what might that be?” “I am not at liberty to disclose it here, sir. I was told by my boss to tell you to call this number, sir.” “And who is your boss!” “He goes by the name, Chief Nnamdi Diribe.” “I don’t know him. Where is he from?” “He is from Udi, sir. He said you would not understand, but when he talks to you over the phone, everything will be clear to you.” Nzekwe handed him a piece of paper with a phone number scribbled on it. Ekechukwu looked askance at it with a frown on his face. “Look, if you are playing pranks on me, I will find you and when I do, you will be in hot boiling oil.” “I am not playing pranks on you, sir. I promise. Chief Diribe said the information he has to offer you is very important to you, sir.” “Okay, I will give him a ring now.” “He said to call on Tuesday, sir. He is out of the country now.” “Well, I will be out of the country on Tuesday. I am afraid; I will have to call him when I return to the country. Dange! Take a picture of this man in case we have to look for him or report him to the police,” Ekechukwu ordered. … Rev. Idoko entered his pre-booked hotel room. He tossed his bag to the side and peered excitedly at his watch. One more hour before Chinyere arrives, he thought. He could hardly contain his excitement. He quickly changed into a pair of boxers and undershirt. Lying on the bed, he turned on the TV and gazed morosely at the screen. He could not stop thinking of Chinyere. Chinyere steered her Lexus Jeep towards the hotel. She too was excited. She was itching to get her hands on Idoko’s muscular body. She had been seeing Idoko for years…even before she married Ekechukwu. Her town and Ekechukwu’s shared the same Catholic Parish. When she was a single girl, she was very active in church. One evening, she was on duty at the parish house cleaning and cooking. She was billed to be on duty with a friend of her, Nnedimma, who did not turn up because her mother had gone down with malaria. Except for the security man who was at the gate, the parish house was deserted. When Idoko drove into the compound and saw Chinyere, whom he had been eyeing for some time, he quickly asked the security man to take the night off. “Hello beauty, how are you?” he asked Chinyere. “Fine Father,” she replied bashfully. He walked over to her in the kitchen, placed a hand on her shoulder and began to massage her neck area. Then, he reached for bosom. “No Father,” Chinyere resisted him halfheartedly. His strong arms sent electric waves through her body. “Come on, I have been thinking of you. I too, have feelings. Just this once…I beg of you, just this once,” Idoko pleaded, while groping her. “No…no,” she said feebly, closing her eyes. He pressed on, planting his lips on hers. Shortly afterwards, their lips were talking to each other, wading and thrusting passionately. Idoko then carried her to the master bedroom where he deled her. Afterwards, they did it over and over again. About a year later, Chinyere was married to Ekechukwu, the most eligible bachelor around town. They continued to see each other after Chinyere’s marriage to Ekechukwu. She climbed the stairs briskly. On reaching the door, she banged gently on it. Idoko sped to the door and yanked it open. He pulled her in, shut the door and began to remove her clothes. With animalistic desires, they yanked and pulled at each other with unbridled passion. He climbed her as he had done several times as they consummated their passion. “Three days…three days, my baby. I can’t believe we are going to be together for three good days. I have been thinking of doing it in the pool since our last time. I can’t wait, baby!” Idoko said exuberantly. “Me neither, honey. You are my first love, my true love. I can never leave you, Idoko. I hope you never get transferred far away from here. Yes, tomorrow night will be amazing. In the pool, we will make love never before!” “I hope there will be no one at the party that knows us.” “Not a chance. I was told of the party by a girlfriend from Benin who lives in Lagos. I went to University with her. Not to worry, she is coming with her sidekick too, so she can’t tell on us. She is married too.” “Okay,” Idoko said, relaxing finally. … “You mean all flights to China are cancelled?” Ekechukwu asked the airport staff. “Yes sir. A volcano on the major flight path to China erupted, releasing massive layers of ash in the air. Visibility is very poor, so all flights have been suspended until the ash cloud clears,” she explained. “Do you know when this ash cloud is likely to clear?” “No one knows, sir.” “My goodness, I have meetings to attend… important meetings.” “I am sorry, sir.”Ekechukwu peered at his watch momentarily. “So the flight is definitely not leaving tonight?” “Yes sir.” He returned to his hotel. Once in his room, he dug up the number that Nzekwe had given him. He had been thinking of the encounter since he flew out of Enugu to Lagos. He dialed the number and placed the phone to his ear. Nzekwe was in a small room used by cleaners on the third floor. He had seen Rev. Father Idoko and Chinyere arrive. He was planning on taking pictures of them whenever he got the opportunity. More importantly, he had wired the room with a tiny video camera recording from behind the couch facing the bed. He had found out through Elochukwu that Idoko and Chinyere always asked for the same room. Suddenly, an unknown number appeared on his phone screen, which jangled as it vibrated energetically in his pocket. “Hello,” he said into the receiver. I would like to speak to Chief Nnamdi Diribe. I was told to call you by one Mr. Ifeanyi Isiguzo (Nzekwe had given him a fake name). My name is Chief Ekechukwu Ironna. “Oh! Chief Ironna. I was not expecting your call until Tuesday.” “Yes, my flight got cancelled so I decided to ring you ahead of plan. So, what is the information you have for me?” “It is about your wife.” “What about her?” “She is cheating on you. Before I can give you the entire information though, I will need half a million naira from you.” “I always thought this was a hoax. Now I know I had been right. I am afraid, I have to go now.” “Don’t go! You will regret this. I am sending you a picture now. You’d see your wife in a hotel setting. If that is your wife, then you should be wondering which hotel that is and where. As I speak to you now, your wife is sleeping with a man at a hotel!” “What?” “Call her now! I promise you, if she takes your call, by tomorrow morning I will send you a recording of your discussion with your wife, because I know where she is now. I am a few feet from the room where someone is making love to her.” “I will call you back!” Ekechukwu said and hung up. Ekechukwu called their house help immediately. “Ifeoma, is your madam at home?” “No sir,” the house help answered. “She said she won’t be back until Monday, sir.” “Where did she say she was going?” “She said she will be having a series of meetings with some clients, sir. She did not tell me where.” “She left you with the kids alone?” The house help did not respond. Ekechukwu hung up and dialed Chinyere’s driver immediately. “Where is your madam?” “I don’t know sir. I was supposed to drive her to the village, sir, but she asked me to take the time off.” “Okay, bye.” He hung up and called the security man. “So, does Madam do this often when I travel?” He asked the security man. “I don’t know sir,” he replied. “Dange, you are my chief security officer. You need to be honest with me now, unless you want to lose your job right now!” Ekechukwu was yelling into the mouth piece. A cavalcade of sweat marched frenetically across his face. “Well, you know,” stop it and talk right now!!!” Ekechukwu cut in. “She goes out and stays out late repeatedly sometimes when you are not in town, sir, but she has never stayed overnight outside.” “Why didn’t you tell me?!!!” “I assumed you knew where she was, sir.” TBC
  15. “My fellow women, please join me in appreciating Mrs. Chinyere Ironna!” Mrs. Akudo Azuka, the president of the Christian mothers’ association at St. Patrick’s Catholic Church, Umunze said with a glowing smile on her face. She had the microphone to her mouth while her left hand gesticulated feverishly. Chinyere Ironna walked majestically towards the altar. Her resplendent wrapper glowed brilliantly. The entire women in the church hall rose to their feet, clapping energetically. “This young woman is a real star,” Akudo continued. “She has offered scholarships to numerous indigent children in our community. She and her husband have been a massive support, financially to our parish. They have given and given much more to ensure that our able priest is well taken care of. They recently installed a new Lister generator here in the church and at the parish house. “What about widows? Every Christmas, Chinyere offers bags of rice, canned tomatoes, clothes, fish, yam, garri and numerous other food items to widows. We are blessed to have Chinyere Ironna as one of us. She gladly agreed to return home despite her tight schedule in Enugu to be with us for this year’s August meeting. On behalf of the Christian mothers of St. Patrick church Umunze, I hereby call on our able parish priest, Rev. Father Chukwuani Idoko to confer a betting title on Mrs. Ironna.” By now, Chinyere was standing before the priest who smiled at her. “Please sit down, Mrs. Ironna,” the priest said. Chinyere sat on a lavishly decorated couch. A young lady appeared from behind the altar with a gold colored crown that glittered vibrantly. “We must celebrate our own!” The priest began. “Just as the Israelites celebrated their kings and heroes that rescued them from the snares of their enemies, we have gathered here today to celebrate you, Mrs. Ironna. You will never lack. For every thousand you give away, you will get millions in return.” “Amen!” The congregation bellowed. “I hereby confer on your, the title of Ezinne (A good mother). You are a mother to the young, the old, the forgotten, the weak and downtrodden. May your years be long. From now on, you shall be called Ezinne Chinyere Ironna.” A raucous applause rocked through the church. Cameras clicked repeatedly – some with their smart phones, some with dedicated cameras and some with iPads. “What a wonderful wife you have,” Nze Okafor said to Ekechukwu Ironna, Chinyere’s husband. Ekechukwu who was due to y out to China that week had to cancel his planned trip to join his wife for the Ezinne ceremony by Christian mother’s association in Umunze. “I am a lucky man, Nze Okafor. This woman is an incredible woman. I don’t know what I’d do without her,” Ekechukwu replied. “Just thank your God, my son. Thank God every day. Most men would kill for what you have.” “Well, not this one. I’d kill the person before they get any close to me. I love her that much,” Ekechukwu teased. “I myself would kill too if I had such a beautiful, kind, strong, and intelligent wife like your wife,” Nze Okafor replied with a broad smile. … “Just hearing you breathe in my ear sends shivers down my spine,” Chinyere Ironna said. She squirmed and slammed her hands against the king size bed in sheer pleasure. You are driving me crazy…you are driving me crazy!!!” She shouted. A hotel staff cleaning the adjoining room could hear the sexual kerfuffle unfolding in the room next door. He pressed his ear against the wall in an effort to hear more. He could tell that a sexual encounter was in progress. They were in a hotel in Onitsha. They had recently started using the hotel for their sexual rendezvous. “I could not wait to rip those jeans off your body and make love to you,” he said. “I wore hem for you…especially for you, because I know how much you like me in tight jeans,” Chinyere replied, breathing heavily. “Really? Just for me?” “Everything I do is for you…just for you my dear! I like the way you ripped my jeans off like a lion tearing a zebra to shreds on the African plains. The wild passion in your eyes, they send me into a sexual frenzy. Tear me apart, darling. Spare nothing of me. Tear me like a mad dog…I am all yours.” They made love over and over again. In the end, Chinyere rose to her feet, reluctantly getting out of bed. “I have to shower and dash back to Enugu,” she announced. “That is the part I hate the most,” Rev. Father Idoko said. “I hate it when we have to split up and return to our various, sad, boring abodes.” “We have no choice, my dear. I am glad you and I can manage some time together, no matter how short. Not to worry, darling. Ekechukwu is travelling to India and China in a week’s time. I will spend a few nights with you somehow. I can’t wait to make love with you all night. I have been waiting to spend days with you just making out. First, we can drive across the Niger Bridge to Asaba. There, we will attend a party…it promises to be a heck of a party. I am told you could do anything there. Are you thinking what I am thinking?” “You are more imaginative than myself, Chiichii. You tell me what you are thinking.” “There is a pool at the mansion where this party is billed to take place. Are you getting some ideas now?” “I think I am!” “Right in the pool…we can do many things in there. Gosh! Just thinking of it makes me want to jump back in bed with you.” “You can jump back in by all means, my dear!” Chinyere heeded his plea and rolled back into bed. Seconds later, she was naked underneath him as they both inhaled and exhaled like marathon runners. … The hotel cleaner walked down the hallway, vacuuming dust off the floor. Chinyere opened the door and walked out casually, heading towards the stairs as fast as she could. The cleaner’s eyes were fixated on her. I think she came out of the room where I heard a lady making love with someone a while ago, the cleaner thought. He set his vacuum cleaner aside and ran down the stairs on the west end of the building. He was on ground floor before Chinyere made her way to ground floor. From his vantage point, he could see her clearly. It is her…yes, it is her, Ezinne Chinyere Ironna, wife of the multi-millionaire, Ekechukwu Ironna, he thought to himself. He took out his phone and took a few shots as Chinyere entered her car. She had no idea she was captured on camera. The cleaner made sure to capture her plate number as her Lexus jeep exited the compound. The cleaner ran to the reception quickly. Elochukwu was on duty. He had a crush on Elochukwu and everyone on staff knew about it. He was in the habit of buying her gifts and going the extra mile to help her when they both worked together. “Elo!” He said with a smile on his face. “You look smashing in that dress.” “You have seen me in this dress multiple times, Nzekwe,” Elochukwu countered. “You look smashing in everything, Elo. Even your…you know, your birthday suit!” “Hahaha!” Elochukwu laughed loudly, tilting her head to the left. Her Bob Marley braids swayed elegantly. Damn! She is very pretty, Nzekwe thought. “Is that what you are thinking of…my birthday suit?” Elochukwu asked. “I think everything about you, Elo…you know that.” “That is topic for another day. What can I do for you?” “Elo Baby, I need your help with something small please. You saw the lady in tight blue jeans that just walked past here, right?” “Yes, I did. Why?” “She was in 344. Please could you help me check whose name the reservation for that room is under?” “You know I am not supposed to do this?” “I know, but it is between us. I know that lady. I need to check out something about her, please.” Elochukwu’s elegant fingers moved effortlessly on the computer keyboard. Nzekwe’s eyes were fixated on her bosom as she worked on the computer. “You said room 344, right?” “Yes.” “The room was reserved under the name, Martin Idube.” “Thank you my queen!” Nzekwe said as he dashed back upstairs. “Who be your queen?” Elochukwu asked him as he left. “You of course; my one and only!” He said with a cheeky smile as he raced upstairs. Nzekwe took a good position at the end of the hallway from where he could see anyone exiting room 344. Nearly an hour later, Rev. Father Idoko emerged. He donned a pair of black trousers, a well ironed white long sleeve shirt and a pair of black shoes. He clutched a black bag as he walked along the hallway towards the stairs. Rev Idoko! Nzekwe thought. He was visibly shocked. It is Rev Idoko of St. Patrick’s Catholic Church, Umunze. I am sure he does not know me, he thought as he glared at Rev. Father Idoko from the corner of his eye. As soon as Rev. Idoko entered the stairwells, Nzekwe raced downstairs and took the same position he had occupied earlier. From there, he took clean shots of Rev. Idoko. … TBC
  16. Chun Hua smiles as she boards the long bus back home from work. It is 5 pm. It has been a busy day at her office; the statistics department in the ministry of National Planning located at Dongcheng district of Beijing. The governor of Ghanzou province had ordered for statistics of various indices of development to be forwarded to him in a week’s time. It would soon be time to prepare the annual budget of Beijing and he wanted to study the facts and figures in order to come up with a well planned budget. As a staff of the statistics department, it was part of Chun Hua’s work description to fish out the hidden figures, memorize them, document them in understandable formats and forward the files to the director of the Department for vetting and approval. Earlier on in the day, she had stumbled on a document, stating, “there are nine million bicycles in Beijing”. It was an old report prepared for the tourists that flock the city daily. Chun Hua felt that the figures were obsolete and needed to be updated. As she researched on the internet to source for more information, she came across a song titled “nine million bicycles” by Katie Melua, a British singer. She checked out the lyrics of the song and was disappointed that it wasn’t performed in Mandarin language. But she was bilingual. She could read and write sparingly in English language, so she had no problem relating to the song. The bus races through the busy streets of Beijing and slows down to a halt at the traffic gridlock at Gangzou university avenue, Chun Hua leans back on her seat. She closes her eyes and silently hums the song that has been playing on her head all day long. “There are nine million bicycles in Beijing That’s a fact, It’s a thing we can’t deny Like the fact that I will love you till I die.” Love…love…that subtle emotion…love… Chun Hua smiles once again as the image of her new crush and love interest floods her mind’s eyes. Her 27 year old heart was falling for her new co-worker Li Wei and there was nothing she could do about it. He had been transferred from the directorate in Shanghai to Dongcheng, three weeks ago. Li Wei has the looks and airs of a movie star. The first time she saw him she told herself that he was a younger version of Jet li. His round shaped face, tiny but piercing eyes that seem to gaze into her soul and pink lips were irresistibly seductive. His baritone voice was unnerving. Her hands had trembled when he shook her by way of introduction on his first day in the office. “Hello, I am Li Wei, your new colleague” “You are welcome!” She had replied him. He had gazed into her eyes and held her hands longer than necessary, giving her the impression that he was already smitten by her. It wasn’t a new thing for a man to get attracted to her. She was certainly a head turner. Her pretty oval shaped face, petite nose, white teeth, high cheek bones, curly hair, slender body frame has always made her attractive to the opposite sex. She was used to males gawking at her body. “You should have been a model, Chun Hua. You should be cat walking with the stars on the glittery runways of the forbidden city and Honk Kong” A male colleague had once told her. He had wondered why a beautiful lady like her would take up a monotonous job in the Chinese civil service. Right from day one, it was obvious Li Wei had more than a passing interest interest in her. The little things he did and said, the way he kept coming to her desk to ask trivial questions all betrayed the signs of a man in love. Even though they had exchanged phone numbers, he was yet to ask her out. She would wait for him to make the first move. The traffic gridlock clears up and the bus goes into motion. Chun Hua opens her eyes and looks through the window, recognizing familiar buildings. She would soon be home. ********************* From the distance, Chun Hua spies her father Zhang Yong, working on the lawn in front of their home. He is bare chested, carefully raking together a stack of dry leaves with a long rake. His shiny body betrays the sweat seeping out of his skin pores. “Good evening pa, I can see you are busy” “Welcome my daughter! You are back from work?” “Yes pa” “Welcome, your mum and sister are inside” “Alright pa” ***************** Wang Jing, her 18 year old sister and Zhang Jing her mother are in the kitchen preparing the evening meal. “So food is not yet ready?! I am so famished!” Chun Hua exclaims as she throws her bag onto the in the living chair and storms the kitchen. “Welcome sister,” Wang Jing greets with a warm smile. “Chun Hua you are back already? Food would soon be ready. Your sister here has been lazy, otherwise we would have finished preparing this wonton soup by now” Zhang Jing says. “I am not lazy. Besides, sister does not look like someone who is hungry” Wang Jing mildly retorts. “Yes, it is true. Chung , you you have been looking radiant these days, there is a sparkle in your eyes” the elderly woman says to her daughter. “What are you people talking about?” Chun Hua replies with a coy smile. “Your face is radiant, your heart is happy. Tell me who is he? What is his name?” “What are you talking about mom?” “Don’t deny it, you are in love. When a woman is in love, it shows in the light in her eyes, the glow of her skin, the tone of her laughter and the breezy manner of her footsteps” Wang Jing winks at her sister as she starts grating the fresh ginger for the dish. Chun Hua sighs, “His name is Li Wei, he works at my office” “I knew it!” Wang Jing exclaims and imitates a dance-step that amuses her elder sister. “Keep quiet Wang! Come over here and dice these carrots” Zang Jing says to Wang. She turns around and pats Chun Hua’s cheeks, “i am happy for you my daughter. Does he know? Does he love you in return?” Chun Hua nods with a broad smile. *********************** Its 7:30 pm and Chun Hua is in high spirits. She is walking along the rows of beautiful and nicely scented flowers at Wangpang resort. Li Wei is walking beside her, rolling a bicycle along with him. He had called Chun Hua about an hour ago. He said he wanted to meet her. He said he had something urgent to tell her that couldn’t wait till the next day. He had begged her to meet him at the ever serene and romantic themed Wangpang green park. Chun Hua had dashed out of the house to meet him. She was pleasantly surprised to see him turn up with a bicycle. He had driven her on the bicycle and lost balance midway. They had both fallen on the ground and shared a huge dose of laughter that set them at ease. Now they are just strolling around having fun, sharing in the blissful moment. “As I was saying, I checked out some new stats about Beijing today. Do you know that there are 9 million bicycles in this city, including yours?” Chun Hua addresses him. “That number is way too small for a big city like ours, well…tell me more” “Do you know we are twelve billion light years from the edge?” Chun Hua says and silently sang the rest of the verse in her mind “….that’s a guess, No-one can ever say it’s true But I know that I will always be with you…’ “You are a good statistician Chun Hua” Li Wei says as they stopped and stood under a cherry blossom tree. Li Wei carefully placed the bicycle on the ground at the base of the tree. “I have more statistics for you!” Chun Hua declares. She is elated and carefree. “Do you know there are six billion people in the world?” They are looking into each other’s eyes, waiting for the person who would vocalize what the heart wants to say. Li Wei seems to be making up his mind to say something. As Chun Hua waits for him to say something, she sings the rest of the song in her mind. “…more or less and it makes me feel quite small But you’re the one I love the most of all…” Li Wei’s indecision is over. He suddenly puts his arms around her waist and gently draws her to himself. She offers no resistance. “This is it! The moment of love’s expression…” Chun Hua’s heart races with joy. Li Wei strokes her soft curly hair and whispers slowly into her ears. “Do you know there are now 30 million bicycles in Beijing?” He sharply releases her from his arms and moves away from her. A cold chill of disappointment runs down Chun Hua’s spine. The raging emotion of love turns to bewilderment. She can only stare at him, tongue tied, at a loss for words. “But I am not done yet!” Li Wei says and breaches the gap between themselves. He cups her face in his palms. “There are 30 million bicycles. That’s a new fact. It’s a thing we can’t deny, like the fact that I will love you till I die!!” The passionate declaration cascades like a flood bringing instantaneous relief and euphoric sensations to Chun Hua. Locked in an embrace, their lips meet. At first, a shy kiss, then deep and penetrating flurry of kisses and movements, unleashing the passion that has been repressed for a long while. Their love reaches a crescendo and is complete. An elderly man cycling past on his bicycle, stares at the lovers and narrowly misses hitting a tree by his left hand side. He steers his bicycle back on the right path and cycles away with a knowing and longing smile on his wrinkled face. *************************** The End!
  17. Itzprince

    Behind Bars

    I like taking long walks at night because I feel bolder under the cover of darkness than when everywhere is bright. In the light, people can see flaws in my features easily, and I have lots of them. I wish I could change so many things about myself but at the moment I can’t. Maybe when I can afford plastic surgery…? But I’m terrified of hospitals, so that may not work out for me. I guess I’m stuck being the way I am. I have a great family, and I know they love me. Mom tells me I’m beautiful every day, and dad calls me his little princessa. I’m not little anymore, I’m 24, but he still calls me that. As much as I love them, I don’t believe them when they say I’m beautiful. Why are they trying to deceive me? Who do they think they’re fooling? I have a mirror, you know? And I’m not 5 anymore. Anyway, that’s why I like walking at night. Sometimes when I’m walking, I’m smiling. The wind blows past me and I smile because no one can really see me. I mean sure, they can see me, but not clearly enough to see all the flaws. I feel normal when I walk at night. I hate the day time. A list of my flaws? Ha! My flaws are endless, but I’ll mention a few: I’m a lot bigger than other girls, and shorter too. I’m five feet nothing. Who would want to be five feet and big like me? Also, have you seen my face? It’s like a child was given a black marker and told to draw circles and color them in. There is no smooth, clear surface on my face. It’s all bumps and marks. Hideous. To make things worse, I’m light skinned. So all the marks are prominent. Perhaps if I was a darker version of brown, the spots wouldn’t look this bad. I started struggling with acne when I was 8. Who starts out that early? I was hoping that once I got past my teenage years it would go away. I’m 24 and there is no sign of relief. I’ve put aside my fear of hospitals and seen numerous doctors for this. Nothing has worked. Now I hear that when I have children, the pimples will finally disappear. When my elder sister tells me this, I chuckle. Might as well remove kids from the equation. Who would want to marry me let alone have children with me? You know, I used to think that by now I would be married, or getting close. I’ve dreamt of being the princess bride since I was 3. So much for dreaming. This is part of what hurts the most; that I may never see that dream come true. What princess is fat and ugly? I’m not articulate either. I stutter. I tend to stay quiet a lot because of it. I’ll admit that my stutter isn’t so bad, but it’s there. And I hate it. Oh, and have you seen my one large eye? It used to be a family joke. I used to be called one- eyed Felix because I have an eye that is larger than the other, and it’s painfully obvious. And let’s not even get started with the name. It’s a boy’s name. My parents named me Felix and my elder sister got Patricia! How fair is that? They thought I would be a boy, but even after I was born and they could clearly see I was a girl, the name stayed. I also have no breasts. I mean, I do, but they are so small. It makes me disproportionate because I’m probably the only fat girl without breasts in the world. I could go on and on with the things that are wrong with me. But I don’t want to break down and cry. So I’ll stop here now. The things I like to do? I…I like, no, love listening to music. I do everything with music: read, work, do chores, walk, everything! I also like to write. Not surprising since I don’t like to talk right? I like writing because it helps me escape me. When I write I can create the perfect girl, with the perfect life. I can create a perfect world, where people aren’t judged based on physical appearance. I can put my daydreams to paper, but it can also be a painful thing. Several times, I’ve cried bitterly after reading one of my short stories because I’m thinking, “this is great, but this can never be me.” Writing can be a blessing and a curse, reminding me of all the things I love but may never be able to have, like marriage, a family, friends and just pure happiness, whatever that is. Anyway, as you’ve guessed, I also like taking long walks. I used to take early evening walks every day, but the stares were disconcerting. I felt so self-conscious, so aware of my ugliness that I stopped. Now I walk at night, when it’s dark. I can tell you I feel much better. I enjoy watching movies and role-playing…with myself! I’m also goofy. My family knows that. I like to play silly games and make a fool of myself at home. I can actually be fun. Ha! Surprising isn’t it? I believe that the only times I feel a semblance of happiness are when I’m home and when I’m walking. However, I still have frequent bouts of depression. I’ve struggled with it for as long as I can remember, it’s now a companion. I can feel really happy one minute, but somewhere in my head is the knowledge that depression is lurking around and will turn up shortly, so even in that moment of happiness, I’m mentally preparing myself to accommodate my partner, depression. I’m used to it. I don’t think I will ever be free of it. Or she. Or him. Whatever depression is. I’m currently out of a job, which is good. I hated going to that office every morning and interacting with those colleagues whom I knew were talking about me behind my back. I just knew. I never overheard them or anything, but my instinct…. Anyway, I was fired two weeks ago. I was becoming rather unproductive. I’d come in late, after spending hours on the bed pondering whether to call in sick or not. This struggle happened every morning. I would end up going to work after I talked myself into realizing that I had used up all my call-in-sick tactics. I was always the first one out of there though. I couldn’t wait for 4 pm. Even though most days I still had work to do, I would storm out once it was 4. My boss did me a favor by firing me. He probably did himself a favor too. Now I stay home in my room and write. I’m working on a book. Once I’m done I will have to find an agent and hopefully get it published. I’m seriously contemplating a writing career because nobody will need to see my face. I can bask in the comfort of solitude and write my heart out and feel productive. So, that’s my plan for now. Plans for the future? Hmmm. Besides being an author, I’d love to have a family someday. There are methods by which I can do that without getting married, because I know that will never happen. I’m thinking of using the services of a sperm bank and undergoing artificial insemination. My fear of hospitals has kept me from doing so yet, add to that the need to make enough money to care for whatever children I bring to this world. Adoption? No. No adoption for me. I guess there’s something in me that wants to know that I can produce something beautiful. You know, if I can give birth to a beautiful, normal kid, maybe I’ll feel less like I do now, you understand? Adoption is great, but I don’t think it will satisfy my longing to see something good come through me. I mean, I hope the book I’m writing will be something beautiful, but I also want a baby, no, babies very much. Why do I think I will love a child when I have such intense self- loathing? I just know. I have so much love to give, it breaks my heart that I don’t give myself any. Maybe that’s why I want a family, so that I can channel all that love somewhere. I have to start by loving myself? Well, that’s hard right now. Maybe one day. What’s happening in my family that I’m excited about? Patricia’s baby is coming. It’s a boy and he’s due in about two months. I wasn’t at Patricia’s wedding because I didn’t want to ruin all the beauty and splendor with my awkwardness and ugliness. It hurt that I couldn’t attend her wedding, but I was doing her a favor. We argued about it constantly in the weeks leading up to the wedding. She wanted me as her maid of honor, and I stood my ground. I wasn’t even going to be there as a guest let alone a maid of honor. I won. But I would really love to see her baby. She wants me there when she gives birth, so I’m excited about that. I’m looking forward to that. Do I realize I’m locked in a self-made prison? No. I know I’m locked behind bars, but it’s not of my making. It’s the prison made by society. There is this perception of what ‘normal’ or ‘wild type’ is, so I’m considered a mutant, an anomaly. I walk on the street and I sense eyes boring holes behind my back, or I see people shielding their children from me like I have some disease. I’m very healthy by the way. I hear people whisper to each other when I pass by. I’ve been body- shamed on social media countless times. Someone actually told me to go and kill myself because I’m too ugly to walk the earth. I closed all my social media accounts. I have tried to kill myself several times. I must be so unlucky that even my attempts to kill myself were never successful. I used to cut myself. I still do, but not as frequently as when I was in school. School was the worst! I’m quite proud of the fact that I braved all that ridicule and graduated in the end with a degree. I have Patricia to thank for pushing me every time I wanted to give up. I have countless scars on my body from the cutting. Mostly on my upper and lower arms, and my thighs, my large thighs. The most recent cut happened two weeks ago when I got fired. I felt worthless that day, and for several days after that. I think I’m better now. I started writing last week and I’m OK. I’m starting to come to terms with my fate. I don’t fit into any standard. I’m fat but flat chested; I’m short with unequally sized eyes. I stutter when I talk. My face is irritating. It makes me look dirty when I’m actually a clean person. I don’t like any sport. I prefer being cooped up at home than being out. Society has no place for me so I guess prison is it. And here I am. I have the love of my family. I tell myself it should be enough. They are the ones who matter, not strangers on the street. But it’s extremely difficult to brush off the snide remarks, the hostile glares, the callous gestures, as if it’s somehow my fault that I look the way I do. When no one wants to sit next to you in a bus, or you can’t even attract the opposite sex, when you leave the comfort zone that is home and experience the real, harsh world, then you realize that these strangers do matter. Are they important? No. However, what they think becomes very important. So important, that you start to believe them and disbelieve your family. After all, they are the majority, not your family. So I know I have the love of family, and I will always be beautiful to them, but I also think they are wickedly deceitful in telling me I’m beautiful when I’m not. And I hate them for that sometimes. What message do I have for the world? My name is Felix Anamosa. I’m not a boy! Remember my name, buy my book and read it when it comes out. And if you are a guy out there with amazing genes and would like to donate some sperm, please contact me. End!
  18. It’s a large open field, the size of a football stadium. The arena is filled with all kinds of animals. There are Lions, tigers, cats, dogs, monkeys, donkeys, cows, chicken, sheep, goats, birds, elephants, antelopes, tortoises, rats, cockroaches, etc. All categories are animals are represented. A giant television set is showing a movie and all of the animals are watching with rapt attention* *The movie ends and a big elephant stands to his feet to moderate the meeting* “Order! Order! Can we have some decorum here please? Order! You have all watched a clip of the secret movie; Animal Farm, the movie that Nigerians do not want us to watch! I know everybody has been inspired by this film. It is now time to act! It is time for revolution! It is time for freedom!” He shouts shaking his entire body. “Yesssssssss! Time for revolution! Time for freedom!” The excited animals scream in various sounds. “Like the animals in Mr Jones farm, we are going to chase away human beings from Nigeria for good! We are going to kill them all and take power by force!” “Yessssssssss! We want revolutionnnnn!!!” The whole crowd burst into spontaneous singing, jumping up and down, and dancing with a high level of excitement. “Beast of England Beast of Ireland Beast of every land and clime Hearken to my joyful tidings Of the golden future time Soon or late the day is coming Tyrant man shall be o’erthrown And the fruitful fields of England Shall be trod by beasts alone!” The elephant stamps his foot on the ground and everybody stops singing. “I have been informed that the birds have composed a new national anthem for our new nation! Let us sit down and listen to them.” …chirp..chirp…chirp…. The birds are chirping as they move into the centre of the crowd to perform. Their feathers are very colourful. Golden necklaces hang around their necks. Their leader is wearing a white robe with bangles around its legs. It stands in front of the bird choir and starts conducting the song by fluttering its wings… …one…two…go! “Beasts of Nigeria Beasts of West Africa Animals of the glorious Greenland We must come together and unite As we fight and overcome the tyrants Human beings shall be gone forever We shall wine and dine daily Gaiety and happiness shall be ours continually As we enjoy this precious land That God gave us to dwell in forever!” *Applause* “We like it!” The lions are roaring with excitement. “We like it!” The chickens and giraffes scream. “We like it!” The monkeys screech happily. We like it!!!! The crowd thunders. “My compatriots, that is now our national anthem and we must all learn and sing it by heart. The name of our country shall be called Waziwaziland. Any objection?” Elephant asks. “No objection!” “Human beings are wicked creatures and must be defeated. They oppress and kill us everyday” “Yes, they kill us, roast and eat our bodies as Suya!” The cows moo angrily. “They kill us and fry, and eat our bodies as fried chicken!” The hens yell. “They cut off our heads and eat it as isi ewu peppersoup!” The goats bleat furiously. “We have suffered in the hands of Nigerians!” The snakes hiss in anger. “They kill and eat us as meat! The dogs bark angrily. They kill us and eat us as fresh fish peppersoup! The fishes seethe with rage. The animals are all on their feet as they chant hysterically. “Human beings must be destroyed! Destroy the bad creatures now! Heigh hooo!” “Yes, we will destroy them. We will arm ourselves. Before you leave this meeting, weapons would be given to all of you! On the 1 of November, we shall surprise them with a bloody revolution!” “Yesssss! We want a bloody revolution!” the animals chant. “We have to strike soon. Nigerians are currently disunited. They are split into factions based on politics, religion and tribalism. So they would not be able to come together to fight us! Our motto is ‘All animals are equal!’” “We like it! We like it!” “After we overthrow the Nigerians, we would hold elections for various positions in Waziwaziland. We are going to practice true democracy that would be the envy of the world!” Yes! We like it! We like it! “There are three political parties and everybody must belong to one of them. The parties are: -Animal Redemption party -Four legs and Tail Freedom party -Feather and beak congress party “We like it! We like it!” The animals chorus as they rush to pen down their names in the registers of the different parties. “Stop it!” The lions are yelling at some flies who are already sipping palm wine from the calabashes that would serve as refreshment. The flies hang their head in shame as they quickly fly away from the pots. “We would not tolerate any form of indiscipline in Waziwaziland! We cannot behave the way Nigerians behave!” Elephant thunders at the flies. The animals burst into a song; “Wait for your turn Wait for your turn Take life easy and simple We Waziwaziland citizens Are good people Heigh hoo!” “Alright. Now we have to choose a capital city for our country. It is going to be a city that would be the pride of our nation, a national asset that we would all identify with and be proud of!” *The animal assembly breaks into several clusters as the different animals confer among themselves* *Time for capital city suggestion* “We the birds hereby suggest Benin city as the capital of our new country!” “We the goats wish to project Damaturu to be the capital of our new nation!” “We the Fishes announce Yenegoa as our capital city” “We the dogs suggest Calabar as the capital city of our country.” “No! Calabar was once a capital city of Nigeria, we don’t want anything to do with the land Nigeria!”, the cows moo, and continue, we the prestigious cows of waziwaziland hereby announce Kano as our capital city! “You people are wasting our time. We the chickens say that our new capital city must be Oshogbo!” “We the monkeys suggest Onitsha as our capital city!” “We the honourable Snakes declare that we won’t accept any other capital other than Markudi!” “And you all are foolish by not choosing Abeokuta which we the lions want as our capital city! The lions roar. “How dare you call us foolish animals? Is it because we are not from your ethnic group? The capital of Waziwaziland must be Lagos!” The cats declare. “Impossible! You Yoruba creatures want everything for yourselves” “You Igbo creatures think you can dominate and own everything, just like your human being counterparts!” “Every member of Animal Redemption party has agreed that the capital city should be in Warri!” “All Feathers and beak congress party members hereby announce that the capital city of Waziwaziland is now in Abuja! “Nonsense! We four legs and Tail freedom party members have decided to adopt Enugu as our capital city!” “You all are foolish, because you are Christian birds, you want the capital to be in a Christian city. You think we don’t know your plans?” “All muslim animals should unite now and let’s fight the Christian animals who want to take control of our new country!” “Shut up there!” “You keep quiet!” ….fight…fight…..fight…. The arena breaks into a riot as the furious animals are pecking, hitting, biting, kicking and chewing each other’s body parts. Sweat and blood flows…screams and yells of pain can be heard everywhere as the strong preys on the weak. The animals scatter in various directions and the idea of a revolution for the formation of a united animal kingdom is totally forgotten and relegated to the dustbin of history. ******************************************************* THE END
  19. The engine sputtered and stopped all of a sudden. It was almost 7.00 pm. I was not prepared for this. I turned the ignition again but it refused to power up. My colleague who was in the passenger seat asked if she could help with anything. “Let me hit the battery head”. I told her. I got out of the car, opened the bonnet and hit the battery head. I tried the ignition again, but it still refused to light up. I was confused. This should not be happening on the third mainland bridge. I had heard stories of people who had been robbed at night on the bridge. I sat in the car for a few minutes thinking of my next line of action. Traffic had slowed and cars passed with occupants gawking at us. A car passed by with about 3 guys in it. “Hey sis, don’t stay in your car. This place is not safe”. One of them said as he rolled down the window. They however, continued on their journey without looking back. Another car passed by. The window rolled down to reveal another guy telling us to try to get ourselves out of the area. Two ladies and an unresponsive car! How were we supposed to leave here when nobody was willing to help? I removed my work shoes, put them under my seat and retrieved a pair of slippers I had in the car. I carried my portable cassette boombox and my handbag. My colleague looked at me and asked “Where are you going?” “Home”. I responded. “Home? What about your car?” “My life is more important”. “But the car is not safe”. She said worried. “You can stay with it”. I answered smiling. “No oh, I am going with you”. She said as she started packing up her belongings. Traffic had eased out by this time and cars sped by us. We stood about 10 meters away for the car and flagged down motor bikes (popularly known as okada) but none stopped. After about 10 minutes of waiting, a car which had initially driven past made a reverse towards us. It was a small red two door car and I wondered who was in it. It parked a few meters away and a man came out and walked towards us. “Yes, how may I help you?” I attacked. This was no time to trust anyone. He lifted up his hands and said “I only want to help. Two ladies should not be alone on the bridge at this time of the night”. “Thank you”. I said. I peeped behind him to look at his car and noticed a young boy peering at us from the back seat. I also noticed a lady was in the passenger seat. “What is wrong with your car?” He asked. “I don’t know. It just stopped and refused to pick up even after hitting the battery head”. Mr. asked that I open the bonnet and hit the battery head again. I turned the ignition, still no response. A towing vehicle passed by and we tried to negotiate with him to tow the car to my friends’ house in Anthony Village. He insisted on collecting fifteen thousand naira for the trip. “But Anthony is just off the bridge”. I said. Mr. dismissed the towing vehicle, saying we would sort it out ourselves. By this time, I was tired. After a long day at work, I did not need this extra stress. Just then, the lady sitting in the passenger seat spoke up. “Honey, honey, please come into the car. Àwön area boys tí n bò (Area boys are coming). Mr. asked that we all hop into his car and wait. Three guys walked past on the bridge divider. They looked at us but continued on their journey. We were about to come out of the car when we saw another guy jogging towards us. Mrs. grew hysterical. “Kò sí n kan tó ma selè” (Nothing will happen). Mr. assured Mrs. I also needed that assurance as I had never been in such a situation before. The area boy got to us and asked, “S’ëfé tow motor yín ni?” (Do you want to tow your car?) “Béèni a fé tow è ni”. (Yes, we want to tow it). “Sé ki n lö mú okùn màálù wá fun yín?” (Should I get you a cow’s rope?) “Ibo lo ti ma rí okùn màálù?” (Where would you get a cow’s rope?) Mrs. asked. “S’efé àbí ë ò fé. Abí, è wo ni queshon tí ë wá n bèrè lówó mi?” (Do you want it or not? Or why are you asking me questions?) Area boy gesticulated. “Má á bínú, a fé” . (Don’t be upset. We want it). Mr. answered. “Sèbí àwa ní à n sun abé biriji ní bè yën” (Ain’t we the ones sleeping under the bridge). He continued pointing to the bottom of the bridge. “Two thousand ní ma gbà l’ówö yín” (You would pay me two thousand naira for it) “Two thousand ti pòjù nau. Jé ka san one”. (Two thousand is too much, let us pay one). “Sé ki n ma lö, ó dàbi pé ë ò ní n kan se” (Can I leave? I don’t think you have stuffs to do). “Óyá lö mu wá”. (Okay, go get it) Mr. concluded. While we sat in the car waiting for area boy, Mr. told us that he stopped to help because he had heard so many stories about the particularspot we were. His mother-in-law and a friend of his had been robbed there. He said the place was called “Márosè” (meaning – Do not waste time). Seeing two ladies standing by a broken down vehicle, he sensed we would be in danger and decided to help out. After a long wait; in which Mrs. had insinuated that area boy had gone to regroup to cause us harm, he eventually came with the cow rope. Mr. asked that all ladies stay in the car while he attended to the guy alone. “If anything happens and I tap the car, just drive off”. He said to Mrs. “What?” There was no way I wanted a family to be in danger just because they desired to help me. The only thing I could do at that point was pray. I prayed that the strange Mr. risking his life for me and my colleague would be safe. I prayed that area boy would not harm Mr. in any way. I prayed that my current ordeal on the third mainland bridge would be over. Mr. asked area boy to get down on his knees and tie the rope to both cars while he watched. That done, Mr. told area boy he would pay him one thousand naira. Area boy flipped and cursed. I pushed two thousand naira into Mrs. hands and begged her to give it to Mr. so we could leave. I had had enough for the night. She refused to collect the money but called Mr. and asked him to pay off the guy. He listened to the voice of reason and the guy left. Whew!!! Now we needed to tow my car. Mr. asked that I sit in his car with Mrs. and son while he would maneuver mine with my colleague seated beside him. Mrs. got behind the steering and started the car. One move of the car and I realized Mrs. was a learner. This was going to be a very long journey. I tried to encourage her during the drive and admonish her on stepping on the brakes. Finally, we get to Anthony after a few stops and starts. Thankfully, my friends lived just off the expressway and Mrs. did not have to do a test of driving skills. I had called my friends earlier and also my hubby and they kept tabs on us all through the journey. The car was parked in front of my friends’ house and Mr. decides to start the ignition. Voila! It started. He asked if I would drive it home. “No way! To Iyana-Ipaja at this time of the night?” I said shaking my head. By then, it was about 9.30pm. I was not willing to take the risk. “Okay, hop in then. We will drop you off where you can get a cab or bus”. My friends thanked Mr. and Mrs. for their kind gesture and we proceeded on the journey home. About 30 minutes into the journey home, Mr. and Mrs. see a neighbour of theirs stranded. His car had issues as well. Mr. and Mrs. stop to talk to him regretting they had left the rope still tied to my car and promised to come back with a tow rope from home. “Who are these couple?” I wondered. My colleague and I are dropped at a convenient bus stop and they insist on giving us fare home. I adamantly refuse to collect it but they insist all the same. My colleague and I board a bus and I pay the fare with the money received from the couple and hand over the balance to my colleague. She needs it more than I do. She works as a security guard. I arrive home at almost 11.00pm into the waiting arms of my hubby. We call Mr. and Mrs. to show our appreciation and to inform them that I am safely home. Mr. and Mrs. had gotten home but were on their way back to the neighbour with a tow rope. Do such people really exist or had I just had an encounter with angels? I still wonder till date. The End!
  20. BY NOBLE Last night was lit. That simple phrase was all she needed to utter and my attention was seized. I was fully distracted. I was busy but the way she started the gist got me. No, she wasn’t talking to me in particular but she was loud enough. ”I haven’t had the kind of fun I had last night. It was massive. Even the places we visited, especially our final destination of the night. If I was told I would be visiting them anytime soon. The neighborhood is highbrow, every edifice was tastefully built. They are some kind of statement. I counted nothing less than twenty girls already positioned in different angles of the posh compound. Some dancing, some simply sitting down and gulping some drinks and some ‘pinned’ to the wall. They were all clad in some familiar outfits, those killer outfits that leave nothing for your imagination. The guy who took me there and whom I was meeting for the first time appeared to be popular in that circle. His arrival disrupted activity albeit shortly. All eyes were on him and me as we strut the garden to the corner that had more number of guests. I love everything my eyes fell on. This is the kind of environment I need to be associated with and the caliber of men I need to be associated with not the one Naira boys that will come with truck load of promises. Mehn, I ate, drank and danced as if I had known this guy and his guys forever. I was totally sold to the moment. I think I overheard our host mention something in the line that should there be need to make use of a room, that he had prepared about 3 of them for our convenience. I didn’t pay attention and it didn’t cross my mind that I might find myself in the room either. However, I noticed some of the guys disappearing from the garden their ladies and reappearing 30 minutes later, looking exhausted and uninterested in the music and other activity. Soon it was my turn, ”my guy” whispered that he would like to gist with me in private, he didn’t allow room for questioning as he put my palm in his and led me towards the building everyone seemed to be visiting. We came out two hours later to see the place half empty. I did not know I had bruises until this morning when the quantity of alcohol in my system had gone down.” I didn’t want listen to the rest of the gist once I understood what she meant by her ”night was lit.” I pushed open the door and walked past the two ladies discussing their sexual adventures with total strangers. When I turned to look at their faces, I could tell they were wondering how much of their gist I had listen to. THE END
  21. WRITTEN BY PRAISE OLUWARINU It had been a long day; my back ached from all the bending and stretching I had done today. I really just wanted to sleep but he just wouldn’t allow me; you know how they are. Oh, I love him dearly! With everything in me, I love my baby but what was I to do in such a state? Tired, haggard and smelly, I would have preferred to take a soothing bath first but well he didn’t let me. But his crying increased and I had no choice but to carry him. He started tugging at my blouse; oh this son of mine! I knew what he wanted but couldn’t he wait a little while? Did you say I’m his mother? Of course I am. I know I’m his mother! But a mother was tired and at the point of fainting, couldn’t I have gotten a bit of rest? Reluctantly, I pulled down my blouse, gently let out my milk-heavy breast and placed a nipple in his mouth. Oh, did he lap at it! I laughed as I watched him suck so eagerly, as the milk continued to flow freely into his mouth. I decided to rest my back against the bed and cuddled him closer, giving him better access to my breast. He put his tiny hands on it as if to clutch it and drag it more into his mouth. Oh, my little darling. Such a bundle of joy and laughter, I thought. It must have been an hour before I knew what had happened, perhaps less or more. I was walking down this lush garden, the scent of roses dominating my nose and filling my heart and mind with thoughts of love. I had never felt so relaxed in a long while and I skipped around the gardens, stopping to touch this tree or admire that flower. The ambience was peaceful and the atmosphere was inviting. I loved it here. I started to walk over to a quaint little seat that had glasses of what appeared to be warm milk on the tables around the seat. I think there were little muffins as well, I’m not sure though. I sat down and sighed heavily, this is what peace really is, I thought. Reaching for a sip of the glass content, I suddenly heard a loud cry, sounded like a baby to me. My first instinct was to stand up but it was too peaceful to get stressed over a baby; moreover, it was not my baby, was it? I tuned out the second bout of cry, this time sharper, and forced myself to have a drink of the warm milk. As it reached my throat, I began to choke! How could I choke on warm milk? Was this possible? As I dropped the glass to try to calm myself, I felt like the milk was being poured into my mouth at an alarming fast rate and I couldn’t get it to stop. What is this? I struggled to stand up again but I felt glued to the seat. It seemed like hours before I eventually calmed down and by the time I did, I woke up to shouts around me. Was this still in the garden or had that been a dream? It wasn’t up to a minute when I finally came back to consciousness. “My baby! Where is Jola? He was sucking at my breast just now but…” I looked up to find my husband cuddling my baby and reached for him but the others around would not let me. “I want to hold my baby! Who is his mother, is it me or you?” I was shaking from the dream I had just had and I wanted to hold my Jola but they wouldn’t let me. Why? “Why won’t you let me hold Jola? Give him to me!” My husband looked up to me and for the first time, I saw pain in his eyes, Somehow, I found myself at his side and finally got a chance to carry my baby. His eyes were closed and he looked so peaceful. “Did you rock him to sleep?” I gently asked but his eyes seemed adamant to hold on to the pain in it. I looked around the room and was greeted with cold stares, sobs and shaking of heads. I managed to look back at my baby and shook him, tickled him and even slapped him. His body was getting cool as were his eyes void of any emotion. “Jola?” I called to him. Now that I recount, perhaps I called to his soul and not the body for his body was gone but I still believe his soul lives on. My baby boy had died at the suck of my breast, milk overflowing into his tiny mouth and me, his mother, asleep and dreaming of the horrors that he went through. My only conviction is that I experienced the horror as well, but oh that I could have embarked on that last journey with him. THE END ***********Based on a real life story**********.
  22. Last week, Kweku, my Ghanaian friend dragged me to his country. The Lagos to Accra flight was short and interesting. We touched down at Kotoka international airport and underwent all the formalities. “What is that bag you are holding?” The immigration official asked me. “It is my Ghana must go bag” “What did you say?” he raised his eyebrow and his gun. “Ghana must grow bag sir!” “Chaley, Akwaba! Welcome to Ghana!” He said with a smile. “Thank you!” …where is the gold? Where is the nkara, where is the kente? What can I bring back home for Accra?… The sights and sounds of Accra were breathtaking. We drove to Elmina castle, Labadi pleasure beach, Kwama Nkrumah mausoleum and Makola market. We went window shopping at Marina mall. Time to eat! A nice eatery located at No. 4, Mango tree avenue, Accra. “Mama Efua, give this my naija friend a delicious Ghana meal so that he would taste and see that Ghana has the best dishes ever! “Naija man, there is Kenkey and Banku here, do you want it?” “Bring it!” “There is ground nut soup with fufu if you are interested…” “Bring it!” “There is waakaye here o” “Bring it!” “There is Shito here too” “Bring…wait! Does it taste like shit? “Don’t insult my food you this anago man!” “Sorry madam” “There is jollof rice here o” “Don’t bring it! Nigerian jollof tastes better!” “Who said so? Do you know Michael Essien is better than Mikel Obi?” “Blasphemy! Mercy Johnson is better than Yvonne Nelson” “Majid Michael is better than Ramsey Noah” “You people paaa, stop arguing and eat now” My stomach almost burst with the different varieties of food on the table. Kweku managed to drag me to the five star Movenpick Ambassador hotel where I would be spending the night. “Let’s go and see Sarkodie” “Sarkodie is at this hotel?” “Yes boss” We met the rapper sitting on a reclining chair beside the swimming pool. “Good day sir, are you Sarkodie?” I asked. “Obideponbede! What else?” “Its nice to meet you. I listen to your songs. Can you rap one for me?” “You know what time it is?” He asked. “Yes bro” Kweku interjected and continued, “I want to take this my Naija friend to a club tonight but the small wahala be say money no too dey” “You know say money no be problem!” Sarkodie exclaimed and tossed a stack of fresh Cedi notes at us. “Thank you sah!” “No wahala, aboki be my guy!” 12 midnight at the night club. A colourful, crowded place filled with boisterous revelers and night crawlers drinking and dancing. Alomo bitters, Orijin and akpeteshie guzzling down parched throats. Fine boys and sexy girls everywhere. …Are you Ghana dance o, if I show you my money?… The wicked Dj was spinning the latest hits on his turn table. I was content with just sitting and watching until when Mansa by Bisa Kdei was cued in. I stood up and joined the fray. See groove! ” Agro yi m3di adi adiaa Mansa me nansi Kwan so a me ba eee ee S3 agro no adu soa k)sh3 wo nika ee ee Y3 b3 gye y3 ani eee a Y3b3 nom adidi eee a Yensaa y3nsa ooo” Azonto, etighi, shoki, atilogwu, ekombi… My waist bone was threatening to Brexit my body if I don’t call it a day. Kweku walked towards me with two beautiful ladies. “Leroi, meet Akosua and Denise, they would keep you company tonight. You are gonna enjoy tonight kuraa, two fine and fresh girls for you” *wink wink* “I don’t understand, you brought them to me for what?” “You know say bodi no be firewood naw” “Kweku, I can’t…I am born again and I am going to be ordained a deacon in church in few years time so I cannot…” “You paaaaaa, flex jor and leave that thing” One of the girls leaned over to me and whispered.. “…the spirit is indeed willing but the flesh is weak…” I nodded my head and took up their arms. Let’s go… …But who is that white man in spectacles seated a few metres away and staring hard at me? “Oh, that is Ambassador James Entwistle, the American Ambassador to your centry, Nigeria. He is here in Ghana for a conference and…” I swiftly dropped their arms and fled the scene. The End
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