Osun State has the ‘highest rate’ of circumcised women in Nigeria – UNICEF

Nearly eight in 10 women have undergone circumcision in Osun, according to UNICEF and the United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA).


The statistics of Ebonyi was also rated next to Osun, with Ekiti coming third, Imo, fourth, and Oyo, 5th.


“FGM comprises all procedures that involve partial or total removal of the external female genitalia, or other cutting of or injury to the female genital organs for non-medical reasons. It is recognised internationally as a violation of the human rights of girls and women,” UNICEF said.


The organisation called on governments at all levels, civil society organisations, and traditional and religious leaders to come together to end the scourge of female genital mutilation in Nigeria.


Mohammed Fall, UNICEF representative in Nigeria, said there is no benefit to mutilating or cutting any girl as it causes severe physical and psychological harm.


The organisation said it is working with federal and state governments in southern states where the practice is most prevalent, training partners, creating awareness at all levels and working with communities to convince practitioners and community members to promote an end to the practice.


“We applaud the progress that has been made in Nigeria, but there is still a long way to go. Even though this practice has persisted for over a thousand years, our evidence tells us that with collective action, it can end in one generation,”said Mohamed Fall.


“It violates a woman’s rights to health, security and physical integrity, the right to be free from torture and cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment, and even – in some cases – the right to life.”

“We’re African champions, bring on Nigeria”, Indomitable Lions defender boasts.

Ahead of their Russia 2018 World Cup qualifiers against Nigeria, Cameroun defender, Ambrose Oyongo, says they will approach the back to back games with the mentality of champions of Africa.


Cameroun will face group leaders Nigeria in back to back World Cup qualifiers, with Nigeria four points ahead of them in the race to be in Russia following two straight victories. Cameroun have drawn their opening two games.


However, Oyongo believes there’s a change of mentality in the squad, which will make them approach their remaining World Cup qualifiers as the number one team in Africa after winning the Cup of Nations.


“The Confederations Cup in Russia will help us perfect our strategy before the games against Nigeria. We will be up against some of the best team in the World. We are champions of Africa, we are not scared of Nigeria,” he said.


Source: Guardian

EFCC is making life hard for me – Patience Jonathan

Former first lady Patience Jonathan has denied being the owner of additional $25m traced to her accounts by the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC). Vanguard reports that Patience popularly known as ‘Mama Peace’ when her husband Goodluck Jonathan was president issued the denial through a statement from her media aide Chima Osuji at the weekend.

Patience described the fresh allegations by the EFCC as ‘falsehood aimed at hoodwinking the public’ and tainting the ex-first lady’s image, thereby making life tough for her because people talk about her in unfriendly terms everywhere she goes.

The statement read: “The allegation that Mrs Jonathan is laying claim to ownership of the sum of $31.7 million fund recovered by EFCC is a complete fallacy. Mrs. Jonathan does not own and has never owned such amount of money. The reason for this lie is best known to EFCC. “That another sum of $20 million had been traced to Mrs. Jonathan is, again, another falsehood aimed at hoodwinking the public against her person. That a further sum of $5 million has again been traced to another account of hers is also a fallacy. That Mrs. Jonathan opened accounts in the names of cooks, drivers and artisans is perhaps the biggest falsehood to the knowledge of EFCC.”

It continued: “We have a lot of respect for the sanctity and integrity of the judiciary where this matter, particularly the trial, is currently pending but we are surprised to observe that EFCC, the prosecutor of this matter, does not have the same measure of respect for the judiciary, the bastion of hope for every citizen of this country. EFCC boss Magu and Patience Jonathan EFCC boss Magu and Patience Jonathan.

Patience Jonathan scandal EFCC boss Magu “We have been inundated with calls, text messages and news items including radio/TV commentaries against the person of Mrs Jonathan regarding false and malicious statements issued daily by EFCC in the court of public opinion so as to malign the person of Mrs. Jonathan. “We are constrained, to respond to the tissues of lies being churned out by the EFCC in respect of the matter.


The purpose for these tales by moonlight is to malign Mrs. Jonathan in the eyes of the misinformed and unsuspecting members of the Nigerian Public and beyond and give a semblance of a picture of a hardworking agency bent on fighting corruption and indeed winning the war.

“It is unfortunate that the EFCC, which belongs to all Nigerians, will rather than conduct a painstaking and thorough investigation of cases brought to it, resort to a greater disposition and propensity to engage in media trials, built on outright falsehood and give to innocent persons, including Mrs. Jonathan, the toga of a “thief” or “corrupt” person even before any proper trial.

“There is absolute injustice and unfairness in this case relating to Mrs Jonathan and we would like to remind Nigerians that ‘injustice to one, is injustice to all’ for on whom next the bell would toll. It is important to emphasize that EFCC needs to desist from media trials of innocent citizens before trial in a court of law as provided under the Constitution.”

Japheth J. Omojuwa: Burning Bright, by Maryam Awaisu #BookReview

Nadia Habeeb exists. Maryam Awaisu created an inspiring character in Nadia Habeeb but reading through the book, one would not fail to see that there was nothing fictional about the realities created by the words of Maryam as she took us through the journey of a young lady, who had to battle sickle cell anemia even as she had all of life’s conventional challenges along the way too. Reading the book, you’d find yourself rooting for Nadia’s character but on a second thought you are taken by guilt; how much have you rooted for the Nadias that are battling the disease in real life?

If for nothing, the book brought one closer to the pains and agony of those who suffer from sickle cell anemia get to go through everyday. You also get a feeling that closeness to the pain would never convey the reality in the way that those who live the life have to.

But Nadia showed us that in tribulation, there can be triumph. She offers herself as the symbol of light for those who every now and then must pass through the seeming darkness that is the disease. This is a book that must be read by everyone who suffers from sickle cell anemia, it is their book of hope in the midst of chaos and crisis; it is their template of victory over the shadow of death.

Burning Bright focused on victory over some of life’s greatest challenges and in this book, sickle cell anemia represented the greatest one as a girl had to battle for life, through a polygamous home, through heartbreaks and through getting an education that saw her leave home, away from her parents, across the ocean, to find herself, to be herself, to be the woman who in the midst of her troubles knew she had to stay ahead, burning bright through her moments of darkness and always making sure she had enough light within, for herself and the world around.

Nadia was easily the star of the story but in Nadia’s mum, we saw how much of a mother’s love makes the difference in the life of a child. It was not a perfect relationship but it was great enough for them to feed off each other’s strength, for them to battle life together and for them to win together. Even Nadia needed a heroine.

Then there was the love story, the one that failed and the one that showed us at the end of the book, that Nadia could love again, even when love had failed her, first with her dad, then with her serial relationships. This could pass for a story of love and of course friendship, as represented by Ayman, who always got Nadia being nothing but herself and saying things she would even keep away from her mum.

For me, more than anything else, this is a book about the power of faith, the power of belief in that powerful force that keeps our spirit going when we are at our dead end and cannot go alone anymore. Nadia went through her ordeals and thrived through them because she lived in faith and the belief that she was not alone; that there was God watching and rooting for her. It helped her cause, it gave her strength and belief and it kept her going, when going forward seemed impossible.


Sickle cell anemia is not a death sentence and it is certainly not an excuse to live through life excusing doom and agony. The book, Burning Bright by Maryam Awaisu showed us another side, in my opinion, a better side to what carrying the sickle cell could mean. Education is everything and this book educated us about the disease and about those carrying it. It took us to their minds, their thoughts, their daily questions and their quests for answers, from God and from those of us they call friends and family. That Abubakar Habeed, Nadia’s father went ahead to marry Nadia’s mother despite knowing she carried the AS genotype was irresponsible on his part seeing as he carried the AS himself. That he lied about this was a betrayal and that he sought an escape from it all by marrying another wife was another level of betrayal. But the one person who ought to live excusing her predicament on other people instead chose to live by taking responsibility for herself. That is the lesson here; that in the end, each one of us must look to thrive, to run, to fly, to soar, blaming no one, excusing no failures, rising when we fall and making sure to live life to the fullest.

We have Maryam Awaisu to thank for this gift of a book and we’d all do well to have everyone we love read it. It is easy to read, entertaining, fun and enlightening. It is a page-turner, you want to see what’s next out of excitement but you also want to take in every moment. I cannot wait for Maryam’s next book and a part of me wants to see what Nadia is up to after her sojourn in Burning Bright.

© Japheth J. Omojuwa

Follow the author Maryam Awaisu on Twitter via @Ice131Queen

Available on:

iUniverse: Burning Bright – Maryam Awaisu

Amazon: Burning Bright – Maryam Awaisu

Barnes and Noble: Burning Bright – Maryam Awaisu and on the Google Play App.


AMLMTitle: A MAN LIKE ME:Noteography of A Father To His Son)

Author: ‘Debayo Coker

Pages: 153 pages

Published: April, 2014

Reviewer: Olutayo Irantiola
There comes a time in the life of a young man when he ascertains his manliness when he gives birth to a child after marriage. As Africans, a man is extremely proud when he has a son. This led to the foray of ‘Debayo’s writing as a father to his son. The 153 page-book is about an expectant father who went on an “adrenaline flight”. His desire was to write a short note on social media pages but the flow culminated into a collection of notes.

Although, ‘Debayo calls it a note, I see it as a letter. Each of the note ends in a sign off. As he wrote in the book, Debayo’s first son was born in 2014 and he wrote this book in a futuristic manner; this book has all the desires of a father to his son.

There are many instructional advices that are essential for living which include continuity of family traditions. ‘Debayo wants his son to teach his children what he has been taught by previous generations. He states that, “My mother was a very positive influence on me, I wish you had met her but don’t worry I will teach you all she taught me” page 9.

Unfortunately, his wife too had lost her father but from her account written by ‘Debayo,“MyPD could not stop telling the story of how her father would come pick her from school, bare her on his shoulders and talked with her as they walked back to his office… I love that act and since your maternal granddad is no more around to do that for you I will be helping him out” page 12.

Another advice for the son is putting God ahead in all things. This he mentioned using Biblical allusion in the book, there were 4 Bible verses mentioned, the parable of the talents, wealth that develops wings, story of Joseph, Pharaoh, Saul, Nebuchadnezzar, Joshua-like courage.

‘Debayo encouraged his son to volunteer for the collective good of the community. This was through his involvement in Environmental sanitation in their locality which comes up on the last Saturday of the month in some states in Nigeria. This is mentoring by examples.

Respect for everyone is also an advice for his son. Everyone has the trait of getting so full of one another but with such advice, the son has been taught humility. This was illustrated in the story of Aunty Kore and Uncle Charles.

Every child must be taught about responsibility. ‘Debayo made his son know some area that he needs to be responsible: in his dressing, in his academic pursuit, in handling properties, to adults and to humanity.

Parental discipline is crucial in the life of a child. ‘Debayo was able to portray that discipline goes beyond caning a child; he checked his son’s school bag to find an x-rated magazine there. He advised him against taking things from classmates. Similarly, he warned his son against unauthorized borrowing out of books from his study, this will be sanctioned by purchasing the missing books from his pocket money.

Realities of life was shown in the book through wrong exposure, loss of jobs, disaster, sickness, drunkenness, suffering, psychiatric challenges, teenage pregnancies, premarital sex, rape of a daughter by her father, gays in boarding schools and stealing of other’s items.

‘Debayo narrated a part of his growing up to his son, which shows the desire of a father that do not want his son to repeat the same mistakes that he committed while he was young. He, thus, laid bare his life before his son and got so close to him. The closeness helped his son to be free to tell his father everything about him. His father was able to detect his interest and helped him to pattern his life towards it.

The chapterization of the book deals with each topic per time, but it would have been expected that the chapters become longer because the young man has matured beyond short notes. It would have been expected that the chapters become longer from the time in which the young man got into Secondary school.

Although ‘Debayo attempted to answer questions that would have been asked by his readers.  The responses of the boy to his father’s notes. “In the meantime, I want to seek your permission to do a compendium of your responses to the notes I have written to you so far.”

‘Debayo knows that writing in another language in a book, the work must be italicized and also have the tonal marks. Yoruba language is tonal; a single word can have different meanings, for a reader of Yoruba language. The tonal mark is very essential. These are the proverbs in the book:

  1. Ile laa wo kato somo l’oruko-page 16.
  2. Ti omode bamo owo we oni lati ba agba jeun-page 103.

Likewise, there are a lot of Yoruba proverbs and sayings that would have embellished the book for global relationship.

Some of the missing gaps in the book also include, details of the siblings are very sketchy, and the detail of the son’s dating, when they met her parents and the eventual marriage. Every man feels greatly accomplished when his son is getting married, the age of the son at the time in which he got married, he is about 18 years old and name of the granddaughter. However, this is allowed for the reader to fill such gaps.

Despite all that has been said, this book is well crafted, direct and engaging. Every growing child should have this as a handbook to guide in the journey of life. As a father, are you true to your son as

‘Debayo made everything plan to his son? There are a lot of lessons to learn from this book which transcends ethnicity or gender.

(c) Olutayo IRANTIOLA

21st November, 2014.

He blogs at http://peodavies.blogspot.com/


#Wobbled Words: Straddled.- Adeyemi Adeojo

About The Author.

He writes under the alias HANNIBAL, was born in Lagos, Nigeria; a boisterous city that reflects the dashing picturesque in his iconoclastic stories. He holds a Bachelor degree from the prestigious OAU,Ile-Ife. He is a member of the legendary Orita Ritas. Among his numerous works, mostly unpublished, are his motley poems on Ifepoetryportal.

The Story.

Straddled is a story about the ongoing crises in the North-East of Nigeria but beyond the periphery, it reaches deep into the hypocritical stance of leadership and dearth of courage to question the unchecked propagation of calumny.

Safu is a young adolescent girl that was abducted amongst the many other girls and taken to a camp in the purported Sambisa forest that seems locked to rescue troops. Here, all the girls do is to recite the Quran and learn Arabic from the Sheikh. They girls watched as new recruits were brought into the camp and how young men and girls were brainwashed to the point of offering themselves as explosive rats all in the bid that they are fighting a religious course that frowns at Western education. Safu, a very intelligent and brave girl stood up to ask the Sheikh that was teaching her and other girls the Quran why he is enjoying the benefits of Western education if he is against Western education.


Among these girls was Safu, thirteen years of age, who had blossomed beyond her age, with Arabic beauty, unrefined as ore in its purest form and an exceptional knack for inquisitiveness. As she recites by rote the ‘Alif’, her eyes settle on the man before her, Sheik, the name he introduced himself by that first day of contact with them, and her mind took a dashing stroll to her world before her present predicament, only allowing her lips to perform the ritual of recitation intuitively. The sonorous sounds of the verses and its words, though not new to her, hold no meaning to her sensibility at the moment. She had been raised a moderate Muslim, with no particular emphasis on hatred or intolerance for others’ views on religion. She had heard quite number of times that the commando type raids conducted by the insurgents were mainly influenced pervasively but subtly by a bias, aimed at forcefully bringing converts to the mode of extreme Islam they practice. It first started like a rumour, orphaned with no concrete validity, then it grew with no restriction, that the Jihadists conquered one town after the other, slaughtering its inhabitants and forcefully abducting its youths for propagation of its evil intention. Christians and other religions were prime target, of course, but Muslims who share none of their putrid beliefs were not spared all the same…

The camp, sprawling makeshift Bedouin tents dotting the face of the Sambissa forest, was a quickly and shabbily assembled tentative empire in its wake. The supposed statehouse where the leader of the band of marauding Jihadists inhabits was not quite different in form or shape, but the distinction was only marked out by the Armoured Personnel Car, one of the numerous armoury looted from the Nigerian Army in their numerous guerrilla raids, parked right at the front ,and also, by the gun wielding Mujahideens who keep sentinel at this particular tent. Since, the arrival of the girls, Abubakar Sekau, has never taken the onus of seeing them. He had delegated Sheik Ibn Haruna, the Mallam, to facilitate their intensive grooming and had made all the Mujahideens aware that based on commitment, they would be entitled to have these girls whom he believed to be mostly virgins, as a reward for waging war against the Kafirs. Abubakar himself was relatively anonymous, his rise to prominence came after the death of the prime leader cum founder of the sect, Mohammed. The sect which was initially founded as a conscious pressure group, had spoken out, during most of its ‘Wasii’ conducted in various villages and towns in Borno, vociferously against bad governance and corrupt leaders. It was then enjoying the patronages of the power brokers, business moguls and politicians, who envisaged that it could ride on its public empathy to perpetuate themselves at the corridors of power. After the death of Mohammed, Abubakar, a reticent but radical Jihadist who was Mohammed’s lieutenant took the reins and assumed the role of a more De-facto leader of the sect. …

‘Howa you my yanriya? Aisalam ai-lekun. I hope you all take your lessons on the Hadith. If you do well and know that we fight for what is good in the eyes of Allah, and help us to fight, you make Al-Janat.’ he said in his gruffly voice laced with unrefined intonation as he prances up and down the length of the tent.

‘Book is a Haram! Do not go to school. Walahi! Yarinya, book teach you not to respect Allah. Book make you wear clothes that show your body’, with a grin on his face, he mischievously lifts the veil off the face of the girl by his side.

‘This’, he said while running his grumpy hands down the face of the trepid girl, ‘is very good for you to dress, my yarinya’.”Allah like it”, he continued,

” Television is no good for you. You see wicked, very wicked things of America. Internet not good for you, phone no good for you. Take your Arabic studies, fight for Boko Haram, fight for Islam”, he ranted for a while and suddenly stopped…

” Al-salam ailekun, my sisters, I come to you all in the name of Allah, the merciful, the benevolent. Islam, our religion is never a religion of violence but of peace. If these people are truly Muslims, how come they visit so much hardship on our people?”. She paused to look around. The girls countenances gave her the impetus.

She continued, “How come they slaughter the elderly and the children alike? Well, if Islam is truly a religion of liberation, how come we are in shackles, you all would ask?”. Without relenting she asks further.

“How come they forcefully took us from our loved ones, exposed us to such trauma and left an indelible feeling of seething hatred in our hearts?”.

” Now, I must tell you, daughters of my mother, is the time for us to seek our freedom. But we must first start with our minds. We must first liberate our minds, because the deadliest weapon in the hand of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed. As for me, I will never allow anyone to break me down. I will stay strong till the day I gain my freedom”.

As Safu finished her rallying speech she went round to lift the spirit of the girls. Some of them were too weak to be that gregarious but they managed a wry smile to reassure her she had their support….

It is an interesting read and I will implore you to get a copy of Wobbled Words, Stories Inspired by Real Life @ Visit http://www.konga.com, http://www.amazon.com,http://www.kdp.amazon.com,  http://www.smashwords.com,http://www.barnesandnoble.com,  http://www.alibris.com, http://www.waterstones.com,https://www.mightyape.co.nz, http://www.ebay.com, https://www.tanum.no,http://www.wowhd.ca, http://www.fishpond.com.hk,    OR order directly by calling 09096991619 to get a full grasp of this story and other interesting ones..

Thank you.

*For Publishing, Book Reviews, Ghost writing, Editing and Library Services contact  Beeni Global Resources at Ojogun House, 381 Borno Way, Yaba, Lagos, Nigeria. Call us on +2348033225953/ +2349096991619. Mail us at beeniglobalresources@gmail.com. Our titles: Societal Fragments, A Man Like Me: Noteography Of A Father To His Son, and Wobbled Words are available on aforementioned websites and in e-version.


#Wobbled Words, Stories Inspired By Real Life

Ladies and Gentlemen,

I recollect the events of that sunny Saturday morning. I had gone to register a new chip that I just bought in compliance with the new rule of the National Communication Commission that all telephone lines must be registered.

The young lady at the desk punched my information into the system meticulously.  “What is your occupation?” she asked. I looked a bit confused not knowing whether to tell her am a Business Communication Specialist or a writer. I chose the latter.

She looked at me right in the face, befuddled I believe, as it is rare for people in this clime to take up writing as a profession. She went back to punching in my details. Suddenly, she jerked back at me like someone that just got jolted out of her reverie, and she exclaimed, “Ah! You are a writer? I am so glad I am eventually meeting one writer in my lifetime. I will like to be a writer too’. My response was ‘really?’.

She told me she had a manuscript but she wasn’t confident to show it to anyone as she knew her writing isn’t at all good. I encouraged her to bring the script all the same, as we can polish it to an acceptable standard. She agreed.

Few days later she called me up to give me the manuscript which I happily collected, took home and made out time to read. Going through the first three pages of her piece; I could tell she was reeling out her life’s experience; I was touched by the story in there.

Truth be told, her words were wobbled but I decided to straighten them as much as I could. I also agreed to publish her piece in order to raise the needed fund to help her through school.

What she had was insufficient to make a reasonable publication, hence I decided that I will co-write with her , but on a second thought I felt it would make more sense to give the publication a humanitarian thrust  so I contacted few writer friends who saw it as a call to service and gladly took in the idea

We all tell our life experiences by unsheathing our deepest emotions through the words that we choose to let the world read or hear. Many a time, we wobble until we stumble on the right choice of words; hence, the title, WOBBLED WORDS, STORIES INSPIRED BY REAL LIFE.

It is either a writer ventilates the nonsense in the sense or the sense in the nonsense. Either way, there is usually something to say. Just write.

Different writers have come together to tell some of their real life experiences as stories of fact or fiction to serve as your entertainment and enlightenment, regarding different likely issues which one may face in this journey called life.

Find your favorite, there likely will be many.

In the coming days I will be showcasing real life experiences via this blog; excerpts taken from the book. I thank you, the reader, in advance, for finding a moment in busy life to explore the creativity of a breath of fine minds.

My pleasure.

Enjoy Wobbled Words.

For Publishing (and marketing/distribution international platforms like amazon, book depository and other notable bookstores and websites), Book Reviews, Ghost writing, and Library Services contact  Beeni Global Resources at Ojogun House, 381 Borno Way, Yaba, Lagos, Nigeria. Call us on +2348033225953/ +2349096991619. Mail us atbeeniglobalresources@gmail.com. Our titles: Societal Fragments, A Man Like Me: Noteography Of A Father To His Son and Wobbled Words are available on www.amazon.com,www.kdp.amazon.com, http://www.createspace.com, www.smashwords.com, OR visit Patabah Books, Adeniran Ogunsanya Shopping Mall, Surulere, Lagos  or directly by calling 09096991619. Distributors wanted nationwide.


“The Sex Life of a Lagos Mad Woman’ Is Not Erotica” – #SexLifeCollection Author, ‘Seun Salami, Speaks About New Book

Author of new short story collection, ‘The Sex Life of a Lagos Mad Woman’, ‘Seun Salami, has said that the collection of twelve largely ‘Sex Life’ stories is not erotica or literary porn as the title might suggest, but simply “vivid prose description of everyday realities of which sex happens to be of great interest.”

The new book which goes on sale tomorrow (Monday, October 13, 2014) is generally about the sex lives of several fictional characters like a Lagos mad woman, a celibate priest, a lesbian in need of a partner, a ritualist’s apprentice who falls in love with one of their captives, and a charismatic Pentecostal preacher, while also exploring themes like child witch-hunting and man’s inhumanity to man.

Speaking exclusively to Omojuwa.com, the author also known by his Twitter alias @SeunWrites said he never intended for the stories to be primarily about the sex lives of various characters, seeing as he wrote the stories at different times and about six of them have been published in various forms at different times online.

An abridged 1,300 words version of the title story, The Sex Life of a Lagos Mad Woman, for instance, was first published online in May of 2012, while the complete version in the book is well over 5,000 words.

“I came out of my comfort zone in this collection, to write about people, places and things that are totally based on my sometimes wild and dangerous imagination,” he said.

“Although the book is clearly not meant for children due to the vivid imagery I tried to create throughout, it is also clearly not porn or erotica or any of those things. Besides, there are quite a number of other stories where I tried to describe other things like goings-on in a ritualist’s den in a vivid way as well,” he concluded.

Our Pastor is Hooked on Porn and Me is the story of a celebrated charismatic preacher’s addiction to pornography and the resultant illicit affair with his secretary. In Pentecostal Sabina, Salami describes the dilemma of a born-again sister who is betrothed to the choir master of her church in a strictly monitored courtship while also being secretly in love with a supposed unbeliever.

In Flight Partner, a Nigerian lady is heading back to Houston after visiting her family in Nigeria for the first time since leaving for University in America. Amidst thinking about her mother’s request to find a husband before her next visit, she meets a lady on the check-in queue who is in a similar situation, however, she seems to be in need of a different kind of partner.

Other compelling stories in the collection include ‘The Merchant’s Dungeon’, ‘Witch-hunting Nights’, ‘Breadwinners’ and five other compelling stories written in a bold, direct and thought-provoking style.

‘The Sex Life of a Lagos Mad Woman’ will be available at major bookstores and on Amazon from tomorrow (Monday October 13), but the author’s autographed copies have been selling at great discounts from www.bookvineng.com and via telephone on 08055696965 since the book was first announced.

Unsung Hero: The Diary of A Nigerian Soldier – Femi Falodun

My name is John Martins and I was born to be a soldier.

It was all I had wanted to do from the first James Bond movie I saw on TV as an 8 year-old.

I love guns too. I love the uniform, the boots, the gear… I love the honour and respect that comes with being a soldier. I love that people fear us. I love the mystique. I love the life!

I was born on January 20, 1986 in Lagos. But my parents are from Adamawa.

Many people think I am Yoruba, because I speak the language fluently. I was raised in Yaba, Lagos.

I left the University of Lagos in my 200 level, studying Mechanical Engineering just so I could follow my childhood dream of becoming a professional soldier.

I joined the Nigerian Defence Academy where I studied Computer Science.

My friends call me “Jigga” or “The Eagle”.

Jigga because I never let a social night go to waste. I party hard!

I am The Eagle… because I am the best shot in my battalion. My eagle eyes have earned me several awards and accolades, and I am a 3-time champion of the Commander’s Shooting Contest.

I won’t dwell too much on my past and childhood and all that now. The story of my life will unveil itself in these short notes I will be writing weekly (hopefully). These notes will be a sort of diary about my current life, my life in the Nigerian army. I will try and send these short notes to my blogger friends weekly, even though I doubt if I can be consistent. The network out here is a ‘female dog’.

This story of mine is also the story of many others like me out here. From those of us currently serving in the heart of Borno to those abroad serving in foreign missions.

This story is not fiction. So, be prepared for some harsh truths and scary drama… and some boredom too. The life of a soldier could be boring at times. 90% of the time, a soldier is just waiting… Waiting on some action. That could be boring…and scary.

Also, sometimes I may ramble. Do pardon me. Loneliness and long cold nights can make one act funny. You hold so many thoughts to yourself with no one to share, and you finally get a platform to share and you can’t help but talk and talk and can’t stop talking.

Therapy. That is what these notes are for me.

So, bear with me.

I will try not to bore you.

I count myself lucky to be having a platform to share and express myself. To share my story and put a face/personality to the uniform that many of my countrymen see on TV.

Many Nigerians have hated this uniform for so long, and I can’t blame them. The army has made many errors, and it is hard to earn forgiveness. Many opinion-shapers in Nigeria today still blame the military for the country’s woes. However, the present-day politicians (many of whom are ex-military) are giving the military regimes a run for their money in terms of ineptitude, and failure to develop the nation.

Well, I am not going to defend the army, neither am I going to blame the generals either.

This is not a political blog and I am not partisan.

I am here to put a face to the ‘unknown soldier’ dying everyday for the peace of this country.

We are not mere uniforms. We are sons, daughters, brothers, fathers, husbands, lovers and nephews of somebody out there. Maybe even you.

We are real and not mere statistics.

I am not my gun. I am not my ‘khaki’. I am John Martins, Captain in the Nigerian Army, and I am proud of who I am.

This is not an entertainment blog, although I must warn you that my stories may look fictional every now and then. You wouldn’t believe what goes on in the battles that a 21st century soldier has to fight these days.

I am here to share that story.

Hopefully, I will have your attention.


Today, we managed to take back Bama town from the Boko Haram insurgents. They have become very powerful now, much more than they were when they attacked Chibok and took those girls away. Ansure, a terror group operating with AQIM is now heavily involved. This their new-found mission of “Caliphate” expansion is driven by these bloodthirsty monsters who came from the regions around Mali.

I once trained members of  Malian army special forces in anti-insurgent strategies, so I know these groups well. They are well equipped, well trained, and crazy enough to face a bullet for their sick beliefs.

Please pray for us.

I have to go now. So much to say, but I have to go and lead my men out for the nightly patrol we conduct around the edges of Sambisa.

  • This is an adaptation of real stories of Nigerian soldiers *

Femi Falodu blogs at http://mythoughonlots.blogspot.co.uk and this story was initially published here

 Hard Choices 2 – Olajide Akoni

The afternoon sun was just sinking when I dropped off an okada -motorcycle onto a tarred road in the highbrow area of Ikoyi, Lagos. The street, Johnsons’ avenue was in a close, with well spaced trees set on either side of the paved street, creating a cosy, welcoming feel. I glanced at the lovely houses, mostly very exotic looking duplexes on either side of the street with their solid looking gates and high tech security gadgets –  one in particular  had a device mounted on it that swept its lights in an audacious sweep whenever a car zoomed by; I suspected that  a siren would blare somewhere inside the residence and possibly a hidden camera had flashed a quick  indignant shot of  whatever intruder had  dared to agitate  the peace of the mechanical sentinel.

I was glancing at the numbers on the gates and glancing back at my little address book – no 8, 9 10……13.

Yes. 13, Johnson’s avenue. I looked in awe at  my destination – the last street at the end of the close – it was in the centre, not on the side, like the others. As if her father owned the street. Well, the house certainly looked even better than all the others on that street – incredible. The gates were a little higher and broader, and it was obvious that the compound was much bigger – I could see the green ivy that ran all along the walls and trees that sprang up inside.The other compounds didn’t have  trees springing up within their walls.

Obviously, there was a well kept lawn inside – that would take even more money to maintain. No doubt, this girl’s family was very rich.

Surely, there’d be less temptation for me in a house that was sure to be populated with various family and servants?

I swallowed timidly, walked up to the gate and pressed the on switch for the electronic bell on the wall.

The gates swung open almost immediately, startling me because I didn’t see anyone. There must have been a hidden camera monitoring  me.

‘Come in, sir,’ a voice boomed from the speakers. ‘You are expected!

‘Please turn to the right,sir.’Thank you!’

I glanced around and saw that the compound was even better organized and beautiful than I had anticipated. Looking like some UK home in Argos magazine!

There was a short drive on another paved road, leading up to the large sprawling duplex, about 20metres ahead. Near a very beautiful hedge –I couldn’t identify what type, but it was obviously not native to Africa- the road branched off into slanting curve, about 15m  long and culminated in a lovely garden with a variety of exotic flowers and a very beautiful cottage.

I stood staring.

It looked like the entrance to a little heaven.

‘Femi!’ Tomilola came out smiling dazzlingly and embraced me, then spun off ahead of me, cat walking as I stood there ,hesitating.

She laughed and called back over her shoulder, looking dangerously irresistible in a pink gear that looked like an aerobics workout   outfit, so confident in her felinity and social status. She didn’t even  bother to look back, sure that  I could not but be entranced by her  –  and her lovely home.

Was I under a spell? I was hesitant, but still couldn’t muster the strength of will to turn back.

To be honest, I felt overpowered.

I prayed I was not walking into a honey coated version of hell.

‘This is my lovely chalet! The whole place is my uncle’s home – Fortunately, at the moment, everybody’s outside Nigeria- except little old me – and the servants of cause. They keep things running.’

Musa’s my favorite – very smart. He’s the one who let you in through the gate. My loyal servant -he keeps all my little secrets.  Though, of course, I get to settle him a lot for his – ‘loyal services.’

I wanted what exactly she meant by ‘settle him’. She had been leering again when she said that. I began to squirm uncomfortably, wondering nervously if I shouldn’t start thinking of leaving.

I looked around the beautiful white sofas and round transparent glass centre table with lovely flowers on them. It certainly was an attractive place to be.

But the unease inside me increased, and I took a deep breath, standing shakily to my feet as I prepared to walk out of there.

She handed me a slip – I froze as I stared at it- a check for eighty thousand naira. What!

‘Just for starters, dearie.’

I opened my mouth soundlessly, and she waved imperiously, smiling as she walked across the room to where a CD player was lying.

‘Relax! You and I have a long way to go – we’ll undergo some lovely symbiosis together.’ She smiled wolfishly as she said that.

At that moment, Tomilola plugged a CD into her player – an old song of Madonna’s – La Isla Bonita.

That threw me off balance.

The song brought back some serious nostalgia – memories of a dreamy childhood. I hesitated, and she pranced towards me, eyes rolling with laughter. Before I could gather my wits together, she was pulling me across the smooth tiled floor and I was spinning without thinking, in my element, dancing energetically.  As we locked hands, turning slowly in a half circle, she suddenly pressed heavily on me, leaning forwards with her mouth angling towards my lips.

The tumultuous brew of steamy feelings were overpowering to my brain.

I felt intoxicated.

Then I was beginning to feel my body respond, when a scripture, like a warning signal, flashed across my mind- ‘Flee from every appearance of evil’.

 I drew back suddenly, as If jolted with a shock of electricity, and she fell backwards onto the ground.

Her eyes blazed with fury, and she sprang up angrily to her feet.

‘How dare you…………….! ’ She let out her breath with a hiss.

‘I’m sorry….but I have to go. I don’t do….I’m a man who believes in being chaste till I marry.’

She looked at me like I was a Neanderthal.

Her eyes were full of rage – and the sting of a rejected woman. A proud woman scorned. I was treading on dangerous waters now.

 I stood my ground -then dropped the check on the transparent glass table.

‘Thank you for the gesture. But I really can’t go on with this. Thank you for inviting me- your home is really lovely.’

I started walking towards the door, and she stood there watching; for a moment her eyes were soft, pleading, voice tremulous.

‘I had great plans for both of us. I was willing to drop all the others for you. Even get you in on some of Dad’s business deals. And Uncle’s.   They both dote over me you know. I can easily persuade them to do things for me. We could travel together. Don’t spoil it. Stop being so- so prudish!’

I hesitated, thinking of all the advantages of being Tomilola’s lover. For a moment, I stood, indecisive, and then took a deep breath, looked at her and said, with finality.

‘No. My values are different from yours. I can’t drop them for all the money in the world. They’re worth much more than money.’

I paused, then spoke again.

‘And my heart belongs to another. It just won’t work. Integrity matters to me.’

‘You……bastard.’ She said it in a whisper. That kind of scared me, since I knew Tomilola to be the shouting type, but I didn’t look back.

‘Don’t ever think you can run to me if you have financial problems! And…I’ll make you regret this!

Get out of my house!’

But I wasn’t really listening. Tomi’s voice seemed to echo into my ears from far away; I was already rushing out, thinking of what I would say to my girlfriend, Rachel. No, more than that – my fiancée, my wife to be. My heaven sent oasis of sweet calmness and substance.

In a sudden flash of insight, I realized what a rare ruby Rachel was in a world widespread with glittering gaudy gold!

It was already 6pm. On her birthday; she’d be wondering where I was, since I’d switched off my phone. We had agreed to rendezvous at that TFC outlet…yet I knew she would wait. For me.

I decided I would be totally open to her. Let her know the whole truth and nothing but the truth –

That I had been tempted,

That I’d almost fallen from the faith,

 That I’d been struggling with lust for a sensuous woman and inordinate desires for the finer things of life,

That I still loved her.

That I still had the courage to make hard choices.

The views expressed above are solely that of the author and not of Omojuwa.com or its associates.

Hard Choices – Olajide Akoni

We spun gracefully, two young men moving rhythmically, bodies twirling with energy as the other fellow jumped and twirled into the air in an effortless semi-circular leap, sleek muscled leg sweeping counterclockwise through the air as I simultaneously crouched and rolled, just as smoothly, on the ground.

We were surrounded by a circle of young men and ladies, the men wearing only loose fitting white pants of ankle length, similar to those worn by taekwando practitioners, their upper torsos glistening with the sweat of earlier exertions, trim looking ladies wearing form fitting white sleeveless tops and the same type of pants the men were wearing.


The combat between us intensified as the speed of our movements became accelerated, attacking movements by the one harmoniously blending with counter- attacks by the other, double displays of fluid agility and clever acrobatics, both moving with a smooth rhythm.


A distant passerby, assuming a typical martial arts class, would on drawing nearer, have been surprised to discover that we combatants were moving according to highly choreographed dance movements, and even more surprised to hear and see the use of peculiar stringed instruments and talking drums and clapping, done by the surrounding circle of people, the thrusts and parries of the seeming fighters in the circle flowing with the beat and music. Puzzled, such a person would wonder – a fusion of dance and self defense?


That was exactly what it was – a culture known as Capoeira, an Afro- Brazilian martial art that was disguised as a dance! ( An internationally practiced art, it evolved during the colonial period; it was created by Angolan slaves, who, barred by the authorities from arming themselves, had developed this art that allowed them to train physically while giving the slave masters the impression they were merely entertaining themselves. It has a peculiar contraption – the primary instrument used, known as the berimbau, an African derived bow which is struck with a small stick; attached to the bass of the bowl is a half gourd which acts as a resonator. The berimbau dictates the tempo and style of Capoeira games.)


I loved – and still do – Capoeira because it allowed me to develop coordination, speed, balance, agility and flexibility, all at once! Not to mention its sheer exoticness. (And the attendant six pack that comes from engaging in such intense physical routines without having to follow the normal, boring workout procedures.)


We had just rounded up the Capoeira games for the day. It was still early morning, about 6.45 am at the Sports Centre, University of Lagos campus. We had used the open field for our workouts and the morning dew was still fresh on the green grass.

We dispersed into our changing rooms and showered, where I changed into a black T-shirt, Bermuda shorts (old school brother!) and a pair of white TOMS shoes (I love their sheer comfort and simplicity, not to mention how much I admire a brand that is so adventurous and gives new meaning to Corporate Social Responsibility – for every TOMS pair of shoes that is purchased, another is given out somewhere in the world! Incredible!)


I noticed one of the ladies from the capoeira class, going by the name of Tomilola, staring , no, leering at me – again – with those cat eyes of hers. She had large, oval shaped seductive eyes which she used relentlessly to captivate the guys. Most guys loved- sorry, lusted for  her and she usually had most of them at her beck and call. Normally, at least two fellas from the class would be trailing her after workouts.  I’d heard stories about how she picked lovers at random.


Well, I wasn’t moved by her wiles. I was different. A role model Christian( Hey, all Christians should be role models, but this description of Christ’s followers has been bastardized, you know.)She seemed to be paying special attention to me because of my non-chalance to her.


You see, she had been taken aback, when after a few encounters with me, she had been unable to elicit any loose responses( She enjoyed teasing guys, often wearing blouses with plunging necklines to class, and would walk up to them, body language screaming, flaunting and preening in their fronts , while they squirmed, trying to remain composed, hormones going haywire – and she always seemed to notice, and quite obviously- enjoy their discomfort) I, on the other hand would seem like a stone cold gentleman and usually politely excused myself and walked off on her, whenever Miss Erotic( as the guys called her) would start shifting the gears of seduction. Unfortunately, that seemed to have made her all the more determined to get me.  


I noticed that she was headed towards the school exit gate, as was I, and deliberately slowed down, dropping several metres behind her, so I wouldn’t have to engage her in conversation.  Thankfully, she didn’t look back. (I wasn’t feeling very morally strong at the moment- Christian or not, I was a red blooded, virile male!)

And the masculine ego( how vain thou art!) always enjoys that alpha male feeling of hanging around a pretty woman who wants him badly. Always.


And this morning, in a form fitting bright red T-shirt and skimpy brown shorts, showing off those fantastic long legs, she was looking so very seductive – and glamorous – like a black version of Maria Sharapova!


She’d exited the gate and walked down towards the junction, turning off towards some shops. I was headed that way, too, but kept a respectable distance behind her – why on earth was she headed that way?  Then I saw that she had parked her  black, 4×4 wheel drive , a 2007 Toyota Rav 4 Limited V6 there( She was a Richie rich kind of girl – the spoilt, rich type.). Why had she parked it there, and not in school as she usually did? At that moment, I saw a man dressed in mechanic overalls walking out from under the shade of a rambling shack by the side of the road.

He opened the bonnet of the car and showed her several things, then she pulled out some naira notes from her purse and he hurried off  into a side street, I could see by his gestures that he was  indicating that he was in a hurry. Obviously, her mechanic – she’d woken the guy up that early in the morning?  Most likely he would have received some overpayment for his very responsive services! Money talks!

I was still hanging back,  hoping she would drive away without noticing me, when out of the blue, this wild looking guy jumped out of nowhere, snarling and rushing towards her; she shrieked and he snatched her purse and tore off the expensive necklace around her neck, then darted off – towards my direction. He didn’t see me at first( I was partly hidden by a tree)


I hesitated, and then charged at him. Startled, he backed off, then fished out a knife with one hand, clutching the stolen items in the other, snarling at me. (I had taken the risk, hoping he wasn’t armed!) He lunged, stabbing at my chest area as I moved in on him without slowing, sliding downwards as I smoothly transited into a crouching roundhouse kick. My forward momentum coupled with his own created a force that swept him completely off his feet by several inches; he landed so hard, that the knife, necklace and purse flew out of his hand. I ran over to kick the knife into a gutter and pick up the items as he shakily sprang to his feet, furious. As he lunged again- this time without a weapon- I spun in a standing roundhouse backheel kick.  Even in that situation, I had enough composure and self control ( and confidence; I surprised myself!) to  realize that I didn’t want to take his head off. But the blow from the glancing kick was enough –A tooth flew out, and his jaw was seriously rattled- and he immediately took to his heels, forgetting about his booty!

Tomilola rushed up, all emotional and crying – and hugged me tightly( I think that was genuine emotion and not a sham, even though I was so uncomfortable with it!)

Then she insisted that she had to give me a lift. Now she had a case and I reluctantly followed her into the beautiful automobile machine.

We began to talk and she opened up, seeming more natural and friendly than her usual man eater personality- letting down my guard, I started telling her personal details about myself( How I was an Ajegunle boy, but different from most of the others since I spent a lot of time studying on my own – being a rich Ikoyi chick, she found it very fascinating, how I was struggling financially , even about my girlfriend!)

Sometimes I can be so gullible – did I think rescuing her from danger was equal to a spiritual conversion? If anything, I think I must have stimulated her man eating appetites all the more and she changed tactics, becoming manipulative instead, coated by apparent concern.

Getting to my stop, she leaned over from the driver’s seat.

‘Femi, come over to my place on Friday. 5 pm.’’

I stared at her. My leaking mouth had mentioned that my girlfriend’s birthday was on Friday. 5pm.

‘Sorry, I can’t. And I’m sorry – I really shouldn’t be visiting you.’

She wasn’t deterred by my rebuff!

‘You know your Landlord will throw you out if you don’t pay in five days time. I’ll give you the cash. And some spending money. Look, you can use it to stabilize. Until a good job comes along.’

My jaws worked silently. I knew that she could and would give me that cash. It  was chicken change to her.

I swallowed. ‘But why…….I care about my girlfriend! She’s chaste, pretty, gifted…..’

She interrupted me. ‘……..And she can’t help you! I can. You’re a man, you need d cash…. .’She was getting bolder, more brazen as she saw me weaken, the doubt and worry showing in my face- she leaned over, caressing my thigh as she stared impudently into my eyes, with those eyes of hers…. ‘ Besides you’re not married, yet!

And she’s boring, you know……I can give you a little action that she can’t!’

Now she was leering again, a tiny voice inside of me was whispering, telling me to remember the immoral woman described in the biblical book of Proverbs, but the relief that the money promised was screaming inside my head, and my fleshly desires had become welled up, demanding satisfaction. I nodded dumbly as she caressed my thigh again. I squirmed but couldn’t really resist anymore.

She knew. It showed in the way she smiled – like a pussy cat that has just swallowed a mouse.

All throughout that week, I told myself I shouldn’t but the more I did, the more I wanted to go to her place.

On Friday, at 3 pm, I left Ajegunle with a borrowed TM Lewin shirt and some cologne I sample sprayed in a boutique, then headed towards Ikoyi. To Tomilola’s residence.


The views expressed above are solely that of the author and not of Omojuwa.com or its associates.





Dark Justice (Chapter two Episode one) – Dahiru Mohammed Lawal

Louis Don villa stormed the police station exuding an aura of importance as his presence takes on a heavy physical and environmental influence. The smell of his powerful cologne was oppressive enough to subject the policemen on duty over the counter to boy him around. He basked in the euphoria of reputation and narcissistic arrogance typical of a barrister at law as he introduced himself and stated his mission. He was allowed to sign in and was quickly led to the interrogation room where Kalman was detained. His figure towered above the policeman as he stood behind him with his right hand carefully tucked in his trousers hip pocket while his left hand remain flying, dangling the glints of the Rolex chain watch that clung faithfully to his wrist as he patiently watched the policeman making frantic efforts to fish out the right keys to unlock the room.

 He found himself dusting imaginary flecks off his suit, adjusting his tie like James Bond typically does after a successful scuffle. He glanced at his wristwatch apparently not for the need of time, but to make an impressive show off to the sea of invincible eyes around the station that might be stalking on him for whatever motive. His Lawyer instinct will not allow him to dismiss that possibility. Kalman’s eyes remain fixed on the policeman as he carefully ushered Louis in and shut the gate carefully behind him after he’d made sure Louis had taken considerable paces ahead.  His expression remained blank; his eyes remained empty and unperturbed. There was a click lock sound followed by chattering noises of the clashing bunch of keys as the cop locked the gate, hung the keys on his waist belt and walked away.

Louis sat himself on the only other available chair in the interrogation room. He folded his arms and placed it on the table in between them, mimicking Kalman’s exact sitting position. “I don’t remember sending out words, how did you know am here” Kalman demanded as soon as he took his eyes away from the vanishing police figure and fixed them on Louis who was sitting face to face with him. “I knew you’d ask.” Louis responded with a sigh, reaching out for his Mobile Galaxy Tab device in the inner flap pocket of his suit. He swiped the screen with his thumb to unlock it, and then navigated his way around the device into the saved pages of his device web browser. “Here” He said, showing Kalman the display on his tablet device right into his face. Kalman’s eyes bulged with an expression of shock as he saw the caption boldly written on the pages of premium times “BREAKING: Billionaire Business Man and CEO, Gambiza Corporation in Police Net for Murder.” He noticed the image of his most recent photo inset. “Your mind must be telling you it happened only few hours ago and you might be wondering how far it has gone so fast.” Louis said, taking away the device from his glare. “Forget about the time frame, It’s already all over man, print media, broadcast media, online media name them.” Louis explained as he closed the page, locked the screen and slides the device back into his inner flap pocket. “Oh my God!” Kalman exclaimed with a worried expression, unable to betray his emotions no more. “Now you didn’t think that you were going to as much as breath in this country without having the media gang hovering around it for relevance did you?” Louis wondered. “Louis I didn’t do it.” Kalman confided “I knew you wouldn’t. I just want to hear you say it, tell me you didn’t do it and I’d believe you, say it.” Louis implored “I didn’t do it!” Kalman expressed, shutting his eyes along as though he’d shut his problems outside it, while he ran his fingers across his head. “I believe you.” Louis assured “Thank you for believing me Louis.” Kalman heaved, slowly opening his eyes, appearing to be able to keep his emotions in check back again. “It’s my job and my pleasure.” Louis responded. “So, what are you doing here?” Kalman demanded authoritatively after he’d finished putting himself together, wiping his face with his palms to buttress his effort. Louis was taken aback by the sudden change in his reception. “Are you kidding me?” He demanded to know. “I mean it Louis, what are you doing here?” Kalman reiterated, adding reinforcement to his already harsh tune…..(To be continued)

Read previous episodes on: quapaya.blogspot.com

Follow me on Twitter: @kaptinmdlawal

The views expressed above are solely that of the author and not of Omojuwa.com or its associates.

#FictionFriday: I Was Accused Of Killing My Mother – Makanjuola Olanike

I wasn’t asleep when Dele rapped on the iron bars, I’d been awake since 5am, kneeling and praying accompanied by the voice of the imam from the mosque outside. I turned and smiled at the younger man, my cellmates were asleep, I was the only one in this cell to have found God in prison, “Ekaro sir” Dele said in Yoruba, “Morning my son” I responded, from the first day he had got this job as a prison guard I have lost count the number of times, my advice had helped him. “the warden says you will be released today” Dele’s handsome face broke into a smile, I wanted to smile too, if only to give him something to be happy about, but my facial bones weren’t co-operating, “I will come for you in the evening” he said joy suffusing his face. When he left I went back to my kneeling position, but I couldn’t continue the prayers, my mind wandered…..

The prison had been my home for thirty two years, I was used to everything, the bad meals, the bedbugs in my worn mattress, the hard labour which changed with the season, from grass cutting to block moulding or carpentry, the stinking toilet staring me in the face and the screams of those, who found themselves at the end of the rope in the dead of the night. Now I was being told to leave home, again. I thought back to the first time I had left home……

I was fourteen when I first left home. The only boy in a family of five, we lived down by the water edge in a shanty, a cobbling together of bamboo, raffia and tarpaulin, thirty or so homes like ours were scattered in a rough U along the shore of the water. This was Kereku community, a slum by every definition. I had taken my sisters to Madam Kofo’s daycare, and was on my way to Oga Sule’s shop, where I was under apprenticeship, my father was somewhere drinking away last night’s proceeds and mother was preparing for market, that was the natural order of things, but today I decided on a quick detour home more due to laziness, than any other reason. I was at Uche’s door, whose shanty was next to ours when I heard them shouting, I walked in to see my mother gripping tightly my father’s singlet, I stepped into my usual role as arbiter, but something went wrong, father slapped her, she staggered back, then lunged for the knife, she used in cutting the watermelons she sold, she attacked like a demented woman, and soon they were struggling, by now I was screaming. When mother went down, there was a red stain on her left breast that grew larger, father threw the knife down, and ran, I froze, then knelt down and tried vainly to hug some life into her, I held her to me, I could still hear my self, screaming. When they pulled me off her, I was too weak to stand, I fainted dead away. I awoke later in prison. I was accused of killing my mother.

The views expressed above are solely that of the writer and not of Omojuwa.com or its associates.


DARK JUSTICE (Chapter 1 Episode 2) – Dahiru Mohammed Lawal

After rudely zooming off especially when he had just been issued a warning on his reckless drive, Kalman knew that the police Pick up will come in pursuit. That’s not his problem, he would take care of them later; however they would want, but for now let him take advantage of his optimum speed Bentley to save his distressed wife. He peeked through his rear view mirror and he was sure he’d spotted them coming after him already, still far off, navigating their way through the haphazard chain of car’s behind. After driving some few miles ahead, without braking, Kalman veered instantly to his left, his tires upsetting the texture of the untarred path that leads to his residential estate. The sound of screeches couldn’t have been missed with that reckless turn. He cruised on impatiently, the imaginary straps on his chest aching hard as his vehicle ripped through the terrain of his posh neighborhood, unknown to him, he’s got a fetal date with destiny…..

He took the final turn towards his residence with the same roughness, braking right before his bonnet ensures a head on with his gate. Hopping out of the car he’d wanted to start shouting “Haulat! Haulat!” But a safer secure instinct prompted otherwise. He barged into his gate with fortitude, ignoring the gate man’s greeting “Oga! Oga!” The gate man called, but his mind was too pre occupied to even notice the gate man’s presence. Haulat was all that mattered now……

There was a magical halt of reality as Kalman rushed into his sitting room. There was Haulat, her back firmly glued to the North West end of the wall around the dining hall, her body quivering vividly, her eyes widely bulged as she stared in shock and disbelieve with her mouth agape in her both palms.

Kalman halted in his tracks when he laid his eyes on exactly what Haulat was reacting to. A stabbed dead body soaked in a pool of blood the knife stucked firmly in his stomach. “My God!  No! No!!” He exclaimed “This can’t be true.” He desperately hoped aloud. “Is it?” He asked, more to himself, clearing his eyes to be sure it wasn’t one of those horrible scenes that comes hitting at you in the middle of the night while your body drench in profuse sweat right on your bed, only for you to wake up an realize. – it wasn’t. “Haulat how come, what happened my love?” He asked in fright as his right knee buckled to the floor while his head ducked in a quick reflex, his right leg providing pillar support for his left hand as he attempted in vain to check for pulse on the obviously dead man, desperately hoping against hope there might be just one just one chance to make a stitch in time……just one! He shook his head in the negative as he realized there was non – the man is gone! He fixed his gaze on Haulat as she tried to explain in vain, her eyes still bulging with horror, her body still shaking as she made a gesture with her right hand, pointing at the laying dead, but her vocal tract seem to have failed her as nothing she was saying was audible, desperately as she would seem to want to, except for a wheezing sound that came out like an asthma victim under attack. Kalman saw the desperate effort she was making, he quickly reached to her and held her in his embrace in a bid to stop and comfort her. She grabbed him tightly; squeezing him into herself, wishing his body could just melt and fuse with hers. She laid her head on his shoulder as her tears flow down her chin, dripping on his back, as hot as the situation, penetrating his pores. Kalman suddenly felt an impulse, he suddenly eased himself off Haulat’s grip, walked across and peeped through the window, he was right, the police patrol team that were trailing him had three of their men is his compound already making for the entry. “Haulat, go! Go!! Go!!! Take the back door and leave now!” He said as he made to show Haulat out. She stared at him with a questioning gaze still unable to voice out as he dragged her out “The police are here, leave now! I’d take care of this!” He exclaimed softly, but Haulat refused, shaking her head in the negative as she cried profusely. “Haulat please, trust my judgment please.” He pleaded “I can’t, nooo….” She managed to say through a faint wheezing voice. “No, Haulat, go, go! No time please” he pleaded as her dragged and pushed her out through the back door, while quickly turning the lock on. Just then, he heard the doorbell ring, he quickly ran to the dead man, removed the knife that was used to stab him, cleaned the handle carefully on his shirt and wrapped his hand around it to create his fingerprint as the doorbell persisted. He knelt down, the knife cautiously in his grip as he placed his both hands behind his head. What’s eating him however is the million dollar question, what actually transpired, how?

Could Haulat had commit murder to defend herself? Her honor and dignity? Anybody would under helpless circumstances and that was the case with Haulat, she had to defend herself, whatever it was, she was his wife, he wouldn’t let her stand the psychological torture and probable injustice that might come with this. Murder was the case, he’d stand in for his wife, he’d go down for her……….(To be continued.

Incase you missed the previous episode, read here: http://quapaya.blogspot.com/2014/02/dark-justice-chapter-1-episode-1-by.html?m=1)

Blog:   quapaya.blogspot.com

Twitter: @kaptinmdlawal

The views expressed above are solely that of the writer and not of Omojuwa.com or its associates

#OmojuwaFiction: Preparing for Valentine’s Day (2) – Ayo Morakinyo

For some days after Valentine, we did not see Sule Taribo Olowolayemo a.k.a Baba More-money. So, all the boys on Voter’s street in Lekki Phase 1 thought he was attending to political campaign activities. However, news came to us a week after Valentine that Mr More-money had been captured by unknown persons. The link to a Youtube video showing how Mr More-money was confessing under unclear duress had been flying around the internet. So, we gathered at our favourite football viewing centre to see the video on someone’s laptop.
In the 35-minute video, More-money read out some notes containing all the ills that he has ever done. He read the notes loudly and behaved as if someone was forcing him to do so. Yet, he appeared alone on the screen, in a yellow boxer’s brief against the background of a hotel room. Then the words, “I will even record her nakedness in the hotel room and play it for you boys when I return” were scrolled as a footnote at the end of the video, just before fade-out. All the boys were amazed and confused. But after thinking for some time, I told them, “Ramota is not who we thought she was. There is something about this video that looks FBI or CIA-ish and there is something about Ramota that suggests too much confidence.” Yet, this part-fiction account of Ramota Arsenal-fan Alatasuesue and Sule Taribo Olowolayemo a.k.a Baba More-money should teach us something.
Now that INEC has published the elections timetable for 2015, it is clear that, if things go as planned, Nigerians will have a chance to vote for their preferred Presidential and National Assembly candidates on February 14, 2015 (St. Valentine’s Day next year). Therefore, it is important for every well-meaning Nigerian to prepare to exercise their right to vote and decide the future of our country again that day. Though there have been mixed reactions from various politicians regarding the composition of the timetable, the most important thing for the citizenry is to have an election that is absolutely free, obviously fair and without feuds.
As a people that have bravely survived the troubles of a fledgling democracy, Nigerians must accept the call to citizen responsibility and exhibit the highest level of patriotism. We must show that in the face of impossible odds, people who love this country more than St. Valentine’s Day can change it.
We, the Voter’s Street boys, later heard that Mr More-money had been under the watch of various international money-laundering control authorities for some years. But his Juju powers had been confusing the Oyinbo men. Therefore, they hired Ramota who had used ICT tools to capture and retransmit her dealings with Mr More-money and released him out of pity for his wife and children. Unfortunately, More-money was trying to escape to Australia via one of his private jets when international aviation authorities re-apprehended him in UK. He was eventually arraigned before a court outside the country and sent to a 21st century prison.
Perhaps, Nigerians should be reminded that no politician who is yet to prove himself is worthy of massive support. This is because many of them have multiple entry visas to foreign countries and acquired accommodation over there. For such leaders, our nation is simply a business centre or place of occupation.
As the Valentine’s Day of 2015 approaches, some unwarranted gifts and Naira-drunk Ghana-must-go bags will start moving around the country. If you are a business person, some notes may even fall into your hands through campaign incentives. Accept the fees of the service that you provide to campaigners and keep your head straight. If there are no strings attached, accept gifts from aspirants because all government money is actually meant for all the people. But in all of your dealings, let integrity shine through. If necessary, be teetotal because of the infectious drunkenness of looted funds that would entice you. Transfer none of your rights to corruption to salvage the future of Nigerians who are not as informed and privileged as you are. Do what your heart testifies to you as the right thing.
Don’t just sit at home and complain about our challenges –please, do your part. Don’t start wondering if your votes will count –please, have some faith. Don’t be the reason why we cannot choose leaders that can be held accountable –just believe that you are doing something for your country. Go and acquire your voter’s card, it was your money that was used to make it. If there is something you do not understand about your electoral rights, don’t be ashamed or shy; just ask somebody to tell you and confirm the information from someone else.
If you want direct voter’s information from the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) itself, visit www.inecnigeria.org/?page_id=68 on your device and read through.
When you know the truth, you are set free. God bless Nigeria.
Ayo Morakinyo is a commonwealth youth correspondent that coordinates thoughts atwww.detemplations.com and tweets and re-tweets through @detemplations.

#OmojuwaFiction: Preparing for Valentine’s Day – Ayo Morakinyo

Sule Taribo Olowolayemo a.k.a Baba More-Money asked me what to buy for his new girlfriend, Ramota Arsenal-fan Alatasuesue on Valentine’s Day. “Ayo, I love Ramota girl very much and I really want to express my love for her this valentine. What do you think I can buy for that babe to render her excessively grateful?” He said. I looked at him through a pair of Ray Ban spectacles, “Bros, Nawa for you o! When did you just meet that one? Was it not last week Thursday that you two met at Pa Kuruyejo’s funeral? Haba!

I know Sulaimon or Mr More-money as a sweet-mouth and an unrepentant Casanova that lives on Voter’s Street in Lekki Phase 1. The extravagant old guy has been hanging around the corridors of power for some decades and he was revealed as one of the richest people in Africa few years ago. We do not know much about him except that he is a politician that has a wife and children overseas and somehow owns enough money to go and club in Las Vegas every Friday night. We do not know the history of his businesses or where the start-up funds originally came from. But we see some untouchable co-politicians visit him every now and then. Mr More-money, as we call him, is addicted to sex, poker games and juju powers. We, his neighbours, also know that he can pay for an acre of land in Banana Island just to get a beautiful woman into his bed overnight. He has proven that to us many times. More-money also mistakes lust for love and he takes pride in his long record of sexual conquests. He holds no respect for women because he believes, and has indeed proven to us, that he can get any woman he wants –so far she is a human being.

But I had decided to make him have some respect for women by interfering in his affairs, at least once. So, I said to him, “Mr More-money, it is unfortunate that this valentine, you will not have the room to use and dump that Ramota girl. Your days of deceiving ladies are fast coming to an end.” He was shocked and instantly asked me to make a bet. I refused his offer and he already knew that I would refuse. So, he said mockingly, “Mr Patriotic Nigerian, you dey try me abi? I go show you say no lon thin dey for Ramota. Hehehehe!” He paused to check a new ping on his Z10 and returned his face to me. “You think any young lady will reject the gift of a Sports Range Rover and an invitation to a five-star hotel ehn? Young man, you better wake up and stop dulling yourself! You know what? I will even record her nakedness in the hotel room and play it for you boys when I return.” Then, he pulled at his moustache slowly and beckoned at his driver.

I felt like I had endangered Ramota’s dignity and wished that I could somehow see her again to warn her. When I ran into her at a super mall some days ago, she had asked after Mr More-money and I advised her like I would do to my sister saying, “Please avoid meeting with Mr More-money during valentine. But if you must be around him, make sure you are careful, wise, conscious, self-willed and absolutely priceless. That old man is quite dangerous. He would go to any length to do anything.” Ramota had asked to know why I was warning her about someone she saw with me at a party. I had told her that we were simply neighbours and the man whose burial we both attended actually lived in-between both of us in Lekki. I also told her that she would understand my reasons later on, if she exercised enough patience.

It is no secret to all the boys on our street in Lekki that during the days that would lead to February 14 of each year, Sulaimon’s yarn for sexual activity would grow towards its peak. He would become desperate and restless, eager to do anything to be the elect. As such, any lady that dare makes herself available during the hours of his highest desperation or the day of election must be careful, wise, conscious, self-willed and priceless.

To be continued in part 2 (the final part)

Ayo Morakinyo is a commonwealth youth correspondent that coordinates thoughts at www.detemplations.com and leads tweets and re-tweets through @detemplations.

Dark Justice (Chapter 1 Episode 1) ~ By Dahiru Mohammed Lawal

“Ba…ba..baby!” Haulat screamed from the other end of the receiver, breathing hard and panting ceaselessly, struggling to get a grasp of her own voice. This pierced through Kalman’s ear like a thunderbolt landing on his heart with a thud.  His throat suddenly went dry, his eyes bulging with panic and surprise “Haulat! Haulat!!” He called, in a desperate bid to fathom. “Help me!” She struggled to say, this time her voice seem to have filtered through a barrier blocking her mouth, whatever it was, she was struggling with something and it seem to be a hand blocking her mouth definitely not a choke.


“What is happening Haulat, talk to me baby!” He inquired. Perhaps she was under a rape attack, the thought of this made his head cringe, his left hand stiffened into a crunching fist on his steering wheel, his hand holding on carefully tightly on his cell phone while his mind did some quick mathematics, his burning temperature was already rising fast catalyzed by a desire to crush his wife’s possible assailant. All this happened in a flicker. “Haulat! Talk to me!” He cried out “Why don’t you come over and find out for yourself sucker!” A wicked deep baritone voice came across the line. “Who are you, what do you want with my wife?” Kalman yelled, confirming some part of his fears, he got more upset as his jugular strained. “I have told you to be brave and come find out for yourself.” The voice said calmly with a mocking chuckle apparently aware he’s got a lead over Kalman here. He knew Kalman won’t miss this trap, not with the undying love he has for his beautiful dazzling Haulat, she has always been that one button who at a fingers tap turns him into a wilted vegetable. He wouldn’t alert security either, knowing him from childhood, his ego has always got a better part of him even though he was a good guy. “If you dare lay your filthy hands on my wife, I swear I’d feed your corpse to the worms!” Kalman threatened under his breath. “That’s too late, my handprint is already all over her succulent body.” He hinted, this raged Kalman, he cannot imagine the feel of another cowards hands on his wife’s skin! “You coward! I’ll kill you, you’d rot with the worms.” “The problem with you, you talk too much. Why not come and find out who would actually rot between you and me instead of sitting there to bicker.” He said, hanging up rudely. “Hello! Hello!!” Kalman yelled, realizing he’s been hanged up on, he redialed the number, but it was already switched off. “Bastard!” He cursed, quickly applying his handbrakes, the car tires screeched, spinned and altered direction instantly in a skidding stunt not without tire marks on the neatly tarred road. He did it out of impulse without pre meditation. He sighed triumphantly as the car faced the direction he had hoped, swiftly he engaged the forward gear and accelerated heavily, he thanked his stars for always having an unflinching preference for manual gears. his heart kept pounding hitting hard against its cage, unsure of what actually was going on with his wife. Whatever it was, he’s sure it wasn’t nice and he doesn’t want to imagine.

His car, a sleek all white Bentley Continental Flying Spur sped through the cityscape, the glitz of its 22-inch alloyed wheel chrome spinners not unnoticed as the tires splashed through the pores that littered the road due to impact from sparse raindrops. In the darkness of the night, the spinners would have projected a perfect picture of a star sprawling into earth from solar space with a rotary precision. He honked his horn on as he breezed through Almaira bulloveared located some four kilometers from the turn that connects his residence. He gritted his teeth under a hot breath, tightening his jaws as his temper kept rising, his mode ready to lock horns with the world’s most mysterious situation. He applied his brakes with a desperate pressure as his eyes settled on the red traffic light a little too late and the car came to a screeching halt drawing the curious attention of road users. He sat there visibly shaking impatiently, damning the sea of eyes that gazed curiously at him. He didn’t apply his handbrakes thinking it would be a waste of time when he’s ready to move. He was so drenched in his own thought’s he didn’t notice the police patrol Hilux pickup that pulled up opposite his Bentley.

“You’ve got some troubles?” The Policeman in the front passenger seat asked curtly, this brought his attention to their presence as he immediately saw there were nine of them including the driver, six sat in trio opposing each other on the pickup bed while one stood in between them on the vehicles head with a ready to shoot at sight posture, neatly garbed in his bullet proof vest, unmindful of the raindrops. “Oh yea officer, I have issues with my brake, heading to my mechanic.” He lied. “That’s not the case!” The standing sniper rudely cut in “you where over speeding.” He noted. “Actually, I was running out of time for a critical meeting, I would watch it.” He explained, an invisible sweat precipitating through his skin pores. “You’d better do that.” The Policeman in the passenger seat warned “I will” he concurred with a wry smile. “And make sure to fix your brakes.” The driver chipped in, but his attention was drawn to vehicles by passing him already, the green light had come up. He engaged his gear “Sure!” He replied and zoomed off with an even daring speed…….. (to be continued)

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The views expressed above are solely that of the writer and not of Omojuwa.com or its associates.

BLAST! – Bomi Ehimony

It was just about two weeks to my Passing Out Parade. I was ecstatic, not just because I would be free from the shackles of the compulsory year of federal incarceration, otherwise known as NYSC, but also because I was now sure that I was not going to join the unlucky multitudes that wallowed in post-degree idleness. I had recently been granted employment with a reputable media house. Quite unfortunately, the pay was not as reputable as the name – I could not care less though, if I worked hard enough, I would be rewarded accordingly.

The beautiful morning sun that hung over the earth, like the coconut hung on its tree, was as comely as I’d ever seen it. It shone tepidly, prettifying its gaze and making my skin glow like the ones from those exotic body cream television commercials.

I was now counting the days until I would no longer have to wear this corper’s uniform, until I would bid the school where I taught a final farewell. For now however, I had to keep working. I walked briskly towards the junction where I would pick a bus that would take me to school, taking in the sanctification of the appealing sunlight and nodding my head to the tuneful melody of the now defunct ‘styl plus’ that emanated from my earphones. Life couldn’t be better.

When I got to the junction, I saw my friend and fellow corper – we taught at the same school. He taught Mathematics and Further mathematics – subjects that were definitely not invented with brains like mine in mind – while I taught English Literature and French. I was not really qualified to teach French as I only studied it till secondary school level myself, however, since there was no other teacher who knew what the word ‘French’ meant in French, and since the principal saw that I made a ‘D7’ in the subject in my WAEC, I was deemed fit enough to teach the whole school.

My friend and I stood there at the junction talking about ‘hot girls’ and waiting for the next bus to arrive.

‘One chance, one chance, one chance,’ the diminutive bus conductor said, most of his body was outside the white bus, only his right leg and his right hand – with which he held on to the interior of the vehicle – were inside. Since he got to the junction before me, it was only fair that I allowed my friend to go, as there was only space for one more passenger.

‘Later men,’ I said as I waved him away. I put my earphones back in my ear and started nodding again, this time, to Fela’s timeless classic – ‘Shakara’. I did not have to wait long for another bus to arrive. This one was yellow, the normal commercial vehicle colour. I waved it to a halt and told the conductor where I was headed. I entered, sitting on the front seat next to the driver who wore a white singlet. ‘Morning,’ I said referring to nobody in particular.

The conductor answered. ‘Bros, how far?’ then he stretched his hands towards me to collect his money. I brought out a rumpled fifty naira note and placed it in his outstretched palm. I had been inside for barely three minutes when it happened. First, there was a strange and infuriating screeching sound as if something metallic was scratching the tarred road below us and then the loud BOOM sound, I knew it was an explosion, explosions were relatively frequent in these parts, what I did not know was that it was our bus that had exploded, I had no time to think about where the sound emanated from. The last thing I remember was being plunged out of the vehicle through the windscreen, the sound of shattering glasses drowning everything else.

News revealed that a terrorist organization had taken responsibility for the explosion. It killed fourteen out of the seventeen of us.

 I am unlucky to be alive, maybe it would have been much better if I had died along with those fourteen people; death is much, much better than the situation I am in at this moment. I am paralyzed from neck down and blind. My dreams are over, every single one of them. So tell me, is death not better? My mum says I should have faith, that our God is a God of miracles. I believe her.

  Blog address: diaryofbomiehimony.blogspot.com

Twitter: @_ChampKing


The views  expressed above are that of the writer and not necessarily that of Omojuwa.com or its associates.

Finalists Emerge in @Afrinolly Short Film Competition, Online Public Voting Commences


After a rigorous exercise of screening and pruning by the panel of Judges, the organisers of the Afrinolly Short Film Competition are proud to announce a shortlist of ten (10) finalists each in the contest’s Short Film and Documentary categories.

With over 400 entries received from 16 countries (Rwanda, Kenya, Nigeria, UK, Namibia, Tanzania, Ghana, USA, South Africa, Zambia, Uganda, Burkina Faso, Ethiopia, Malaysia, Ukraine and Cameroon) over the 3 months submissions were open. Shorts exceeding the stated time-frame and other such entries that were not in compliance with the Competition rules were screened out.

An international jury comprising creative experts such as documentary filmmaker Femi Odugbemi (head of the jury), Tunde Kelani, Franklin Leonard, Komla Dumor, Steven Markovitz, Obi Emelonye, Mahen Bonetti, Tambay Obenson, Bongiwe Selane, Akin Omotosho and Nmachi Jidenma had the hard task of selecting 20 of the best shorts and documentaries out of the eligible entries.

The finalists – 10 each from the short film and documentary categories – were selected on the basis of the narrative’s imagination and originality, the plot’s ability to attract and retain the viewer’s attention, clarity of purpose and an overall professional impression. Other criteria for selection included having adept mastery of technical aspects i.e. sound quality, costume, acting, screenplay, editing, lighting and camera work.

These successful films are now online for the public to view and vote for their favourite. To vote for your favourite short film and documentary, log on to http://afrinollyshortfilmcompetition.com/vote.php. Voting commenced on Wednesday 8th January and ends on Sunday 19th January, 2014. Winners in the Afrinolly Short Film Competition will be announced online on Monday, 20th January, 2014.

A cash prize of $25,000 goes to the overall winners in both categories, while the first and second runners-up will receive $10,000 and $5,000 respectively. Winners will be awarded at an exclusive Afrinolly Awards event in Lagos on Saturday 22nd February, 2014.

The Afrinolly Short Film Competition is aimed at digitally showcasing African cinema talent and providing a platform to foster a new generation of African content and make same available online. It is supported by MTN, Cote Ouest Audiovisuel, IREP and Goethe Institut.



The Strangers – Ejim Fortune (Nigeria)

Everything Happens for a Reason – Florian Schott (Namibia)

10:10 – Gbenga Salu (Nigeria)

Blurred Lines – Benjamin Kent (Ghana)

Crimson – Your Cup Of Tea – Daniel Etim Effiong (Nigeria)

Busted – Frank Orji (South Africa)

Big Man – Julius Onah (USA)

In Iredu – Abiola Sobo (Nigeria)

Five – Akin Okunrinboye (USA)

Imodoye – Femi Omoluabi (Nigeria)


Umalume – Ndud Shandu (South Africa)

British Nigerian Me – Dayo Adeneye (UK)

BIJOU Death Of A Cinema Hall – Ashraf Nayan (South Africa)

The Quest – Howard Bland (Zambia)

Free Inside – Amit Makan (South Africa)

Yellow Fever – Ng’endo Mukii (Kenya)

Awele’s Diary – Ronke Ogunmakin (Uk)

Blind Aspiration – Dapo Osinaike (Nigeria)

Creative Minds – Victor Okoye (Ukraine)

Mount Ephrem – Martial arts pioneer in Ethiopia – Garmamie (Canada)

A Review of Ayo Sogunro’s Sorry Tales, a Collection of Short Stories by TJ O’Karo



Sorry Tales is a collection of fourteen short stories by Ayo Sogunro that deal with the Nigerian situation from the point of view of a young, socio-politically inclined mind, that emerges against the backdrop of what has been in our nation’s young history. Right from the preface we are implored by Ayo to first enjoy the stories for what they are – stories, before reading deep metaphors and meanings into them.  If you do fine, if you don’t, bravo for your pocket as you have proven your pseudo-intellect.

His preface continues along these lines as he ridicules the notion that to write a universally acclaimed novel about Africa (read: Nigeria) one must do so as an expatriate African having received the said qualification to write for and/or teach the non-African bout Africa. Having put that out there, he goes about defending Sorry Tales with a warning to the reader.

Indeed, his preface is in itself a warning akin to that contained in Dante’s Inferno but a lot less dire. Quite paradoxically, Ayo warns the reader not to see the stories as lectures but then he immediately launches into an academic diatribe on the difference between prose and poetry, which Sorry Tales is a combination of. In essence, he is either mocking us or being deliberately comedic/ironic. Like a good jester or the cripple who makes fun of himself first before others can, Mr. Sogunro, offers a critique of his work in his hyperbolic preface.

As you launch into each story, it is quite clear that Ayo Sogunro has learnt from the masters of Nigerian literature. His descriptive narrative in Sorry Tales is an imaginative delight but it is one that seems determined to walk in the footsteps of indigenous writers before him – Soyinka, Achebe and bits of Ekwensi. The painting of Lagos in Sorry Tales despite its contemporary setting is still very much that picture that a Soyinka or Ekwensi would have painted, circa 1960s, 1970s. Perhaps it is no fault of Ayo’s and the truth is that we as the oil-boom generation have come to romanticise that period in our national development after years of being told and reading what it was like growing up in the 60s and 70s by our forebears. But whether 1979 or 2013, Lagos is still a busy city, busy but still dangerous.

By the third story you realize that Ayo Sogunro is looking for someone to blame and vent upon, not so much with words but through the actions of his protagonists on the other characters…..from the Little Man’s action towards the corrupt speaker to the Manchester United football fan’s actions towards the taunting bystanders to Lawal’s actions towards the touts. But you get the distinct impression that Ayo Sogunro would gladly lay all blame on the church and the politicos….or maybe not, as upon deeper reflection (the exact thing Ayo warned us against!) you realise that perhaps we create our own monsters and are our own worst enemy.

All the protagonists, I daresay all the characters in Sorry Tales have aspirations. They aspire to be something bigger and better; if not for themselves, for someone else, or for the greater collective. It is how they go about it that presents a good read. Most of the stories revolve around politics and reflects the amorous feelings and attitudes the average Nigerian has towards her brand of politics and pseudo-democracy. That it is a popularity contest where the haves, be it wealth or influence by reason or might, are deemed worthy to lead by the have-nots.

At the end of each story, one will be tempted to re-read its introductory poem and whether or not you like poetry, you will be taken in by the words and their meanings.

Each tale in Sorry Tales is at the end a tale of loss. Ayo spins some sad stories involving loss and offers a philosophical look on death and loss: the fact that death must occur as a natural end or progression to life. His characters stare at it as it suddenly happens upon them, trying to figure it out, to accept it with some disbelief. Perhaps, Ayo is trying to define or describe death as seen from the different experiences of his characters. In the end, it is embraced with a sense of inevitability and acceptance, a way out. Existentialism? I think it is because he realizes that all the debate, suffering, struggle for wealth and meaning all ends in death.

 While reading Sorry Tales you get a sense of humour, but you cannot laugh because it is of the dark and wistful variety and your over-analysis of each tale again points out the fact that we create our own monsters and are our own worst enemy.

In summary, Sorry Tales is a book that everyone can enjoy, according to their different sagacity, the very thing that Ayo Sogunro wants. Sorry Tales is a great book but sometimes I think his wanting to pass on a message gets in the way of brilliant storytelling. With this book, Ayo paves the way while setting the bar for those of us who can write but are not armed with that expatriate endorsement that many of our celebrated contemporary young writers have. By all means do buy a copy and read it.

36 PLAYERS & MONKEY POST By Prince Laoye


At the street chair office, were Akpors & Sussygab with a bottle of local gin

Oga Joogoo (street chair): Boys I called you here to let you know why you must win the game for me but    ………

Sussygab: but what sir?

Oga Joogoo: That Mechis of a boy, he is the street team captain, but I’m suspecting he might not want to win the game for me

Sussygab:  You are right sir, I suspect that as much, I’ve been seeing him in Asoju & Baba integrity’s house. He also sneaked to Baba Maradona & Baba do or die’s farm

Oga Joogoo: You see , I said it, and these are people that are planning to either replace me or find someone to do it . Can you imagine that from a player?  he wants to be deputy street chair because you guys made him captain

Akpors: Bros!, oh sorry chair no mind am o, e just dey show himself sha, because all those baba dey support am, dem wan use am against  you, but I promise you say we go show am pepper…..

Oga Joogoo(cuts in again): Oh Akpors! You know you are in my office, please speak good English

Akpors: Yes sir, but bros ye!, you know say na pidgin we dey speak from where I come from and na the same street zone me & you dey nau!

Oga Joogoo(cuts in again): Oh Akpors! Shut up, don’t add to my headache#

Sussygab(to Akpors) : Guy, behave na, Oga don vex

Akpors: Sorry sir, I thought you don’t always give a damn

Oga Joogoo: Oh sussy, so you speak pidgin too, but you are not from our street zone

Sussygab: en-en-en, Yes sir, you know I’m from the pidgin speaking side of my zone.

Oga Joogoo: Oookay I see. Now back to the matter what do we do about this stubborn captain; mechis?And you know Baba Maradona, Turaks & Baba do or die are in my elders club, but they just don’t want me here again.

Akpors: Chair, Please relax, I have an idea, let’s break the team, Team A in particular

Oga Joogoo: But how?

Akpors: Simple as your name sir, since that stubborn Mechis guy is the General Captain, then we get a new captain for Team A. We’ll afterwards mobilise and force all team A players to play & win the game for you.

Sussygab: Nice one bro!

Oga Joogoo: Akpors ! Akpors! that’s why I like you, you don’t ever disappoint , please take more shots of gin (to sussy) but boy, how do we do about your zone captain Ally? he’s another stubborn player, I don’t even know how you players made those “two stubborn” boys zonal and general captains respectively.

Sussygab: hmmmm en en en yes sir! Ally is very stubborn  o !, but I’ll try my best since I’m his assistant, Jogang is an old player, he’ll support me.

Akpors: Nice one bro! Now Oga no time to delay, let’s get other Team A players and force them to support a captain for Team A

Oga Joogoo: Who’ll be Team A Captain?

Sussygab: I choose Akpors

Oga Joogoo: Okay Good, Akpors  you’ll lead since you have the “trick plan”

Akpors: (laughs) LWKMD o! but I’m not a trickster sir! No qualms na

Oga Joogoo: Forget that thing, na you go do am

Sussygab:  Sir! You’ve just spoken pidgin now

Oga Joogoo: Oh! My bad

(General laughter)


Street Chair Summon all team A players

Joogoo: My Team A players, I greet you all. I am delighted to have you here, as you are all aware of the next SET GAME coming among you guys, which may also have direct/indirect impact on my sitting here as the Street chair. I am using my authority to compel you that you all must play for me. In order to help to achieving this, I want you to choose a captain for team A among yourselves. Once again I thank you all

Ally (grumbling): But sir, we all already have a general captain in the person of Mechis

Sussygab(cuts in): Ally, get it straight , we need a captain for Team A henceforth

Oga Joogoo(ignores Ally): Now I want you to choose between Akpors & Shemmy

Other Team A players: hmmmm, okay we agree on Akpors

Oga Joogoo: Okay that’s very good of you all , please follow Akpors to address the  street announcers as the new Team A captain

Ally leaves, Midonovan absent

Akpors & others call upon the street announcers(amebos)

Akpors: This is to announce to all street residents that we, Team A members have decided to choose a captain and we’ve all agreed to give me(akpors)  the role. I thank you all, as I promise that I’ll help the team to win next SET GAME  and any “bad belle” player will be removed from the team.

Meeting at Akpors room, all the team A members except Ally , midonovan, yankov, Mechis

Akpors: My fellow teammates , we need to get some members from Team B to join us. Those that have always been on bench more or less without a team.  I mean miniky, petosky & rochisco.

Okiji:  Akpors abeg  forget rochisco, he won’t join, and he’s presently working for Asoju & Baba Integrity. I think they are promising him something big

Shemmy: Okay Akpors arrange for Miniky & Petosky then. They have no choice, they have to pay back to the street Chair. He helped them to remain in the street team

Akpors:  (make calls): Miniky Iroky! How far na? please join us (team A) later (order from Oga jogoo)

Another  Call by Akpors: Petosky the guy with the woman voice! How your side na? Please abeg show for my side later for a meeting with my team

Petosky: Which Team? Are you the captain now?

Akpors: Team A, we now have a captain and na your guy(me) den choose o! So show, message of order from Oga Joogoo

Petosky: Okay na, I’ll be there, God bless you my guy

Petosky & Miniky join the rest of Team A

Akpors: Now that we are all here, first of all let’s know that our meeting should be kept as a secret from Team B and General Captain Mechis. Oga Joogoo as the street chair want us to play and win the game for him. He can’t trust Mechis anymore, because he has been visiting Oga Joogoo’s opposition like Asoju and Baba Integrity. He even went to see Baba Do or die in his farmhouse. And we or know Baba Do or die & even Baba Maradona  no longer like the Street Chair and they want to use us (street players) to replace him, since they believe we are popular among the street residents.  Team B is already under the mentorship of Asoju and Baba Integrity. Our general captain ought to lead the street team for the street chair to succeed, but that is not the case now. They’ve promised him position as deputy chair of the street. So we must stop him. Sussy you self talk na, u know say oyinbo dey quick dey tire me, na pidgin I like abeg (general laughter).

Sussygab:    Okay guys, we need to plan for the game, we’ve been playing our games hitherto as 5-aside with a keeper on a standard net post. This time around, the captain has changed  it to “monkey post” since all of us are street guys , we’ll  sure play the monkey post but with lots of tricks.

                             We have like 4-5sets, we’ll play and agree that the team that wins most will be the one to choose the new general captain, and we are not going to support Mechis, we’ll make him loose, even though he’s a member of Team A, so he who score the highest for us‘ll be the new captain, since we have more players from my zone and we are better players too LOL!, so let’s choose from my zone

Akpors (cuts in): Shemmy we want you to lead the play, so that we can make you our new captain, Oga Joogoo will support you

Shemmy: Okay I’ll try my best, you guys know I’m a good dribbler, hahaha! But sussy you’ll need to convince our zone leader Ally and zone mates Yankov & Midonovan to support me, you know they are my big bros

Sussygab: no problem, we’ll use my own bigbro baba Jogang to woo them, if they’ll agree, but if not. We’ll summon them to Oga Joogoo


At the office of the street chair petosky & Miniky

Petosky: oga sir, I hail o!

Miniky: Morning sir

Joogoo: my players, I greet you both, I want you to support team A to win the match and change the general captain. For now I’m supporting shemmy to be the new captain.

Petosky: We’ve agreed to play “monkey post”, we’ll tell Mechis he’s no longer fit to be our captain.

Miniky: Oga don’t worry sir, you know you just helped me renew my team membership even when my zone mates ganged up against me. It is time to pay you back. Mechis is my friend, but I won’t support him against you

Petosky: But sir, why not call Mechis and tell him face to face, why he must either support you or leave the captain post.

Miniky: Yes o! I think so too sir

Oga Joogoo: Mechis you guys don’t know him, he’s very stubborn. We are from same zone, he has his selfish agenda.

Miniky: But let’s still call him

Oga Joogoo: Okay I’ll call him and my supporting elders.

At Mechis room, were rochisco, kay & Sully

Mechis: Guys I’m postponing the game’s day

Sully: why?

Mechis: I suspect they are planning against me; Oga Joogoo has made Akpors Team A captain, which we don’t need

Kay: So what’s your plan?

Mechis: I’ll figure it out & get back to you guys, you just stick with me

Rochisco: Mechis my guy, I dey with you no problem

At Joogo’s office were ( Mechis, Akpors, Petosky,Sussygab,Ally & Two Elders)

Elders: Mechis,  we want you to play the SET game and win for the street chair. If you are not ready to do that, then we think you should leave the captain position, don’t allow joogoo’s enemies use you. We’ve been seeing you with them.

Mechis:  No my Elders, I am not working for any enemies of Oga Joogoo. I’m the general captain of the street team, so I must play for the street and not for anyone. Though I’m in Team A, but team B also needs me as their overall captain. I’ll play to win for the street, but I can’t play for anyone and I’ll not leave the captainship, except the entire members of the team agrees on my exit

Petosky: Mechis ! relax na, abeg help Oga Joogoo na

Miniky: captain Mechis, please listen  to elders

Ally: Elders, please let’s allow Mechis to satisfy his conscience let him lead  the team to play and win for the street and not for anyone

Oga Joogoo: Ally, can you hear yourself ?

Ally: My Elders & all, I’ve spoken. Please allow me leave now (Mechis & Ally leaves)

Elders: These two boys are just too stubborn and they are captain and leader respectively. We must teach them lessons. Joogoo, don’t worry , you just mobilise us, we’ll help you control others.

Oga Joogoo: No problem my elders, mobilization are never a problem, just make sure Mechis lose the game and leave the captainship period.

Mechis  announce a date for the game: 24/05/2013

We are going to play “monkey post” and all kits ‘ll be provided from my room

Before the Match day At Ally’s room ( He calls for his zonal players meeting to plan ahead of the match day). Present were: shimmy, yankov, wadov, midonovan,yugov,gido,daks,shetty,yerry,yarry,garby,sussygab,jogang,wammy,kwankov,Dakwab,lameda , makotanko.

Ally: I welcome you all as you know a date has been fixed for the SET GAME, we are at a crossroad, and even in a dilemma as the street chair is soliciting for the TEAM to win for him, and hence some of us his supporters have bought the idea of picking from our zone. Thus the need to pick the lead players to win the game via his goals

Shemmy: I am in

Yugov: I am also in

Sussygab: Both of you can’t be in at the same time

Call from Akpors to sussygab (phone ring)

Akpors: Sussy, Joogoo has asked Yugov to replace shemmy, the old players from your zone said he (shemmy) is arrogant & disrespectful. So let’s go for Yugov (whom they like)

Sussygab: Shemmy, Oga Joogoo wants you to step down for Yugov

Shemmy: No, why  couldn’t he (Joogoo) tell me himself, if Yugov is in, I’m also in

Sussygab: Ok, both of you forget it, let’s play the game with Old player like Jogang. Other players even from Team b will respect him.

Ally: Ok let’s go for Old player Jogang

At Akpors room (with him are; Moky, Udugs, Dickie, Okiji, Sully,Lechys)

(Petosky & Miniky later joins)

Akpors: Now we are waiting for Ally and his other zonal players. Since Mechis has decided the game to be “Monkey Post”. We are going to go immediately now and train. We are going to train behind my house. We must win and we must get another wining captain from our Team

(Ally & his  zone mates arrive)

Ally: Akpors and my other team mates, my zone have agreed to play with Jogang as leading player to win the game

Akpors: Nice, well-done, Old player Jogang we are rooting for you,  we want you  to score  as many  goals as possible. You are a veteran that is needed to win the game for our street  chair.  I’ll lead you guys now to train behind my house. Let’s go get our balls & kits ready

At the room of Tunfash with him are; Raph, kay, Jumobs, Amos, Oshiosky, Rochisco joined later were Gido,Yarry & Shetty) all from Ally’s zone.

Tunfash: Guys, we the Team B have a role to play in the upcoming SET game. We are fewer than team A, hence they always take us for granted. The street as a whole need to feel our skills this time around. We must play with techniques and tactics. We’ll show a lot of game tricks. Mechis as our general captain must remain there since he has been helping us (team B) without discriminating against us. He sees us all as one. So my mates, lets plan before we go for training.

Kay: Yes bro! You’ve said it all, I’ve been moving around with Mechis, he wants us to play and win for the street. Team A is ganging up with Petosky from Rochisco zone and Miniky from our zone. We can win the game once we push Mechis forward he’ll score more through our support and he’ll remain our captain for the benefit of all.

Amos: Good talk, how do we go about it?

Jumobs: it’s simple, Raph also told me about his mini game plan. Tell us Raph!

Raph: Yes guys! I want us to win the game before and after the contest. Talking from experience, Team A players are very cunning, Oshiosky & kay will bear me witness that they can decide to disrupt the game, forge scores and goals. They can even destroy or move the monkey goal post away.

Kay:  Raph guy! You are right, they showed me last time I played “free penalty kicks” with them.

Oshiosky: Yes, they also frustrated me with their tricks, until I decide to teach them lesson. Thanks to “Oga Referee” though, he was impartial.

Tunfash: Raph go on, tell us more

Shetty: Yes Raph teach us please, with your experience with them

Raph: Okay guys, I’ll not play very active, just ball passing. I’ll record the game since we are playing indoors. I’ll use my smartphone smartly lol! After passing the ball on successfully, I’ll record the goal scoring moments, so that we can know highest scorers and who wins the game.

Tunfash: great one Raph! I’m proud of you bro!

Amos: Raph! ever smart, even Joogoo himself fear and respect you.

Jumobs: Okay guys let us go train, where are our balls & kits. Let’s use behind Tunfash’s room

Gido: Mates please hold on, I want to plead with you guys to please help me out.

Amos: What’s the problem?

Gido: Em-em-em, I won’t play the game, I’ve  a problem with Oga Joogoo! He wants the street to take over my room space & entire house because of the “fighting boys”. He had forced me to sign that I’ll play against you guys and Mechis, and that I’ll make Old Jogang score to win for him. He even asked Akpors & sussygab to monitor me. Please I don’t want to lose my room and team membership.

Tunfash:  Okay Gido no problem, just don’t appear

Gido: Yes I won’t appear and my kidbro won’t represent me

Shetty: But Gido bro!, you are a coward, I think we both have similar problem, “fighting boys” are also threatening my house and besides you know Joogoo wants to take over my house, but that wouldn’t make me support him. I’ve decently promised him though, he thinks he’s smarter.

Gido: Shetty please, let me be coward o! you have more elders to support you, I’ve got none

Jumobs: Okay guys let’s allow Gido

Kay: hmmm well! Okay even though that’ll be “short one” against us. We’ll miss you at the left wing

Amos: Yea! I’ll take care of that. I’ll cover him up

Jumobs: Tunfash, please tell guys to lets go train, we must win that game. We are the kings of “monkey post” (General laughter).

At the Street Chair’s office (Chair Joogoo meets with the street general captain and his officers)

(on his desk is a piece of white paper and a pen, written on it, are all names of Team members, some players boycotted the meeting)

Oga Joogoo: The great team of our noble street, I greet you all, I am happy to have many of you here (if not all), I want to appreciate your loyalty, patriotism and commitment to our street, you have consistently played for success, both intra and inter streets contest. As you all know you are going for a SET game contest among yourselves. I wish you well and implore you to play the game to win for the greatness and continuous administration of the street under my care. Let no one betrays the administration and office of the street chair. I thank you all

Some players grumbling: hummm, hummmm, hummm

(Joogoo waiting for response from the players, Mechis leaves, while other players remain dumb. Akpors decide to speak on their behalf).

Akpors: Chair sir, we thank you for your advice & good wishes. We promise to play for the street and your honour as we engage ourselves in the SET GAME. Thank you sir

(players try to move out one after another as Akpors tries to push them towards the Oga Joogoo)

Oga Joogoo:  Hey! Sully come here and sign, Gido! you too, all of you should sign here. (The signatures totalling 14 in nos, while some players escaped).



(The Monkey goal post set with balls and kits at the pitch behind Mechis house)

The Referee is the Senior Assistant to the General Street Team; Asish

TEAM A  files out to the pitch, spotting Green Red Colour while awaiting Team B

TEAM B joins spotting Blue Green colour.

Game Start

Shemmy passes ball to Jogang, he scores, another goal from Jogang via Yugov

Shemmy: Old Jogang, well-done, 2 up!

Akpors: hey Dickie pass the ball to Jogang

Dickie: Yes mate!

(Dickie makes the pass and it’s another goal from Jogang)

Akpors: Weldone

Kay: Raph bring on the ball, we are on course

Raph: Yea take it, I’ve started recording

Akpors: Kai, Raph stop that thing, why the video recording  na?

Raph: Please shift, or back the camera if you like (Raph continues while he juggles the ball to Mechis, but petosky takes it back as he passes to Jogang. He scores again 4.0, Jogang keep scoring for Team A; 5,6,7,8,9,10 & 11

Akpors: Wow! We are winning, Jogang ‘ll be our new captain, let me call Oga Joogoo (He steps aside to make the call)

Akpors: (On Phone) Oga! Oga! (no clear response) Chai no network here again, I can’t even make the call, ok now, no wahala lets go on (before he gets back to the game, sussygab passed to Ally)

Sussy: Give it to Old Jogang

Ally: Ehnehn! (He passes to Mechis)

Mechis score his 1st goal against Team A

Akpors: Haa! Ally

(another pass from kay to Mechis, he scores  again 2, from numerous passes from Team B players goal 3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10)

Miniky: Oh no! (takes the ball and jabs it to Midonovan) Old Mido take and give to Old Jogang

Midonovan: haba! I’m too old to be fooled by one small boy Joogoo, cos he’s street chair (he gives the ball to Mechis, another Goal! By Mechis against team A)

Tunfash: Mechis go on and score more

Akpors: Na lie, Jogang abeg snatch ball (Jogang gets the ball, he scores 12,13,14,15,16 from team A(passes from Dickie, Okiji, Garry & Yugov)

Ref Asish: Gido is absent on the field

Akpors: Nawao! So he ran away

(Amos takes the ball, cross it to Mechis, he scores again from other numerous passes 12,13,14,15,and 16 all against Team A)

Jumobs: Well-done our captain

Akpors (gives ball to Daks): oya Daks go give to Old Jogang

Daks(surprisingly pass to Mechis again) Mechis scores goal 17

Sussy: What’s happening? Sully & lameda you guys have been on the flanks, combine and get the ball for Old Jogang, he’s becoming tired, and you know he’s old, we fixed him to play the scorer.

Lameda & Sully (respond simultaneously): Okay bro! (to Team A’s utter dismay, Sully sneaks the ball to Mechis, as he scores 18, Lameda pretended to miss the ball to Mechis, he scores 19 again!).

All Team B Members: GOAL!!!!!

Ref. Asishi: (Blows the final whistle and Declares Team B Collabo, winner against Team A, Mechis scored the Highest 19 as against Jogang 16. (Raph records all)

Akpors enraged: Fafa fowl! Na lie! we no go gree, No any Set game, we no play any game at all

Miniky: Yes, win or no win, Jogang has 18 of us for him

(Both run to meet the street announcers)

Kay: Guys let’s go announce and celebrate our victory with the announcers. This Akpors guy & his gang are dubious.

(Akpors, Miniky & others address the street announcers waiting outdoors)

Akpors: There was no game and we have Jogang as our new general captain with 18 of us.

Miniky: Win or lose, there was Ojoro, Mechis organise the game himself, without dropping the captain band. We have therefore chosen Old Jogang as our new general captain with 18 of us behind him & Miniky. Who is ordinary ought to be in Team B as his assistant. We have this paper to show you our agreement & signatures

Akpors: (displays the signed document) this is it for you all to see. We are going to Old Jogang’s place for the meeting.

Mechis: (Celebrates & Speaks): My street people, we have played the game for you and won in your honour. I thank the entire team & promised that our football team remains one. I thank the Street Chair Oga Joogoo and promised to co-operate with him as the street chair. I thank you all

Outrage from outside, Akpors carries the “Monkey Post” along with him to Old Jogang. They decide to form a new “general team” for the Street.

Jogang: We are all street players, who know how to play “monkey post” game, so Mechis can’t cheat us with it. We are moving on guys. I’ll settle myself with other team players.

Akpors: Yes Old Jogang! we support you. Oga Joogoo hasn’t returned from his journey, let us all go report to Oga Samby and our Elders (they all leave the scene).

E-mail: princelaoye1@gmail.com, Twitter: @princelaoye  Facebook: Prince ‘laoye

AMERICANAH by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.

Americanah Cover

Farafina is proud to announce the Nigerian edition of AMERICANAH, the highly anticipated novel by award-winning author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.

Release date is April 21, 2013 in Lagos. In the months following the release, the author will go on a national book tour with stops in major cities across Nigeria.

AMERICANAH is a fearless novel set in Nigeria, England and America. It boldly takes on issues both big and small: love, race, home, hair, Obama, immigration, and self-invention. In the early 1990s, under Abacha’s government, Ifemelu and Obinze fall in love. People are leaving the country if they can and Ifemelu leaves for America, where alongside defeats and triumphs, she confronts the inevitable question of race. Obinze, unable to join her in America, goes on to live as an illegal immigrant in London. After several years they have both achieved success — Ifemelu as a popular blogger about race, and Obinze as a wealthy man in the now democratic Nigeria. When Ifemelu decides to return to Nigeria, she and Obinze must both make the biggest decision of their lives.

From Binyavanga Wainaina, Caine Prize winner and author of ONE DAY I WILL WRITE ABOUT THIS PLACE:
“Fearless. A towering achievement…From the place of Africans in the race politics in America, to love across continents, AMERICANAH dares to bring us a world of a confident and self-made woman making her way in these complicated times. This is the Africa of our future. Sublime,
powerful and the most political of Chimamanda’s novels. She continues to blaze the way forward.”

From Booklist, a publication of the American Library Association:
“Adichie is a word-by-word virtuoso with a sure grasp of social conundrums in Nigeria, East Coast America, and England; an omnivorous eye for resonant detail; a gift for authentic characters; pyrotechnic wit; and deep humanitarianism. AMERICANAH is a courageous, world-class novel about independence, integrity, community, and love—and what it takes to become a ‘full human being.’”

From Dave Eggers, Pulitzer prize finalist, and author of WHAT IS THE WHAT:

“As she did so masterfully with Half of a Yellow Sun, Adichie paints on a grand canvas, boldly and confidently…This is a very funny, very warm and moving intergenerational epic that confirms Adiche’s virtuosity, boundless empathy and searing social acuity.”

From Colum McCann, IMPAC award winner and author of LET THE GREAT WORLD SPIN:
“Adichie’s great gift is that she has always brought us into the territory of the previously unexplored. She writes about that which others have kept silent. AMERICANAH is no exception. This is not just a story that unfolds across three different continents, it is also a keenly observed examination of race, identity and belonging in the global landscapes of Africans and Americans.”

AMERICANAH can be pre-ordered by emailing orders@kachifo.com, calling +2348077364217 or tweeting at us: @farafinabooks
Price: Hardback N5000, Paperback N2500.
Upon release, AMERICANAH will be available in all major bookstores across the country.
Details of national book tour will be announced later.

#Fiction: WHAT IF……. – by @JayCax and six others

#Fiction: WHAT IF…….


Now I do not know if I should pick the call… Maybe I should pick the call. That’s the only way my “treachery”, if it can be called that, would not be discovered. However, how do I pick a call on a phone that is not mine? The thoughts were swimming around in my head. I stood there looking at the phone, transfixed. Look what this Power Holding Company of Nigeria has caused!


I woke up this morning a very happy individual. I set my alarm for 4:30am. I needed to make breakfast and pack Valerie’s things for her first day at the crèche. I got out of bed and rushed to the kitchen to boil bathing water with the electric kettle. Clifford was still asleep with our Valerie on his chest. They looked beautiful together. He slept in his boxers. The cover I’d thrown across his body sometime in the middle of the night had been pushed off with gentle kicks. His chest was a sight to behold: a blend of soft muscles and sparse soft curly hairs. The curly hairs were doing a tango with Valerie’s matching hair. I would have paid to be allowed to stand beside them staring for a bit longer. Unfortunately, wishes are not horses. Beggars always walk with outstretched arms; led or alone.


It was supposed to be my first day at work. I woke up pretty early to ensure that I wouldn’t be late. I already felt guilty that I had been at home for all of three months, being paid my full salary in exchange for the chore of staring into Valerie’s almond eyes. Call it a warped perception of my right to maternity leave. I think it is a dividend of being a workaholic. Being “idle” had never appealed to me. Valerie was a handful but with Cliff’s assistance, I always had more time on my hands than I could handle. I was sorely tempted to even pick up tatting.


I rushed out of the room and made corned beef and mayonnaise sandwiches for Cliff and me. Before I get crucified for not eating healthy, it was on brown wheat bread; zero fat. It was when I was putting back the remains of the bread, corned beef and mayonnaise that PHCN struck. The blackout was greeted by a hiss from me, which was an understatement of my ire. Groping around like a blind man in the pitch blackness of our two-bedroom flat, I had to find my way back to our bedroom to look for Cliff’s Nokia X2, in order to engage the assistance of the torch for the continuation of my activities.


I am sure you are wondering why I didn’t just go to put on the generator. I can’t put it on. The kick is spoilt. I don’t know how to pull it, to run the manual starter. Well, it is either that or I am too lazy or totally lacking in the requisite energy to make it come on. Anyway, after extensive groping and a few run-ins with pieces of furniture that I could have sworn were out to get me, I finally found the phone tucked under the bed, right at the edge where Cliff usually puts it. Thanking God for creatures of habit, I made my way back to the kitchen to fetch my boiled water. I didn’t think it made much sense rousing Cliff to put on the generator. He was the one I passed Valerie to after feeding her less than two hours before because I didn’t want to go to the office with bags under my eyes. He had worked hard and they did paint a pretty picture together…


In a few minutes, I was in the bathroom. Considering the fact that I wasn’t due to resume till 9am, I decided to treat myself to some beauty routines. Of course, it was foolhardy, given the source of my lighting, which could not be hanged. I however still managed to do some cleansing, scrubbing and tweezing. Having done all these, and needing to do the “water” part of my ablution, innovation descended upon me and I propped the phone on the window sill.


As soon as I dried off the water, since I didn’t want to finish off the phone by getting it wet, I picked it from the window sill. That was when I noticed that in all my meanderings, I had pressed the keypad of the phone and somehow opened a text message.


“Happy New Year, honeystick”


I was confused. I kissed Cliff into the New Year. I didn’t send him a message wishing him a happy new year. Why would anyone call him honeystick? Stick has sexual connotations, doesn’t it? I was reeling. I decided to check the sender. The number was strange and there was no name anywhere in the text. I went to dry off my body.


As I reached for my body cream, it occurred to me that I just had to know the sender. So, I went back under the bed to fetch Cliff’s BlackBerry. I dialed the number expecting DSTV or Plumber; which I heard are the tricks men use to hide lovers’ numbers. Trust a Bold 5 any day. Just as I pressed the call button, the phone hung. The number wasn’t stored on the phone and all my frantic pressing of the end button didn’t yield the desired results. The call was finally ended but guess what? The I-know-your-stick-has-got-honey person called back! Why did I get curious?


I am @JayCax on twitter.


Below are writers who have taken the story from where I stopped.





What if he is cheating on me?


I trembled and the now-you-are-in-trouble feeling coursed through my body. I had been so curious I didn’t think about the repercussions of being proved right or wrong, I forgot about the I-know-your-stick-has-got-honey person for a while. I had to invent something to tell Cliff while staring at the missed call notification.


While this dilemma shattered my sanity, the I-know-your-stick-has-got-honey number called back, Cliff moved and snored gently, I hurriedly silenced the phone and tiptoed to the kitchen.


“Hello?” asked a sweet lady’s voice at the other end. My heart skipped a few beats as I pressed the end button. I was angry and sad. I felt miserable, and betrayed by Cliff. So I had been right all along! The soothing and calm voice added to my desperation.


I was still contemplating my next move when SHE called again. I had a plan to shout it out when I picked up, but caution appealed to my better side as she started speaking.


“Are you there?” – after a brief silence – “Anyway, I saw your missed call. I’m calling back as your number is unknown to …..” I didn’t wait for her to conclude the sentence before pressing the red button again. I’d ruined my morning with careless suspicion.


“What have I done?!” I exclaimed without thinking.


Cliff stood by the kitchen door looking disappointingly at me; the phone was glued to my hand and my whole marriage flashed before my eyes in a flurry of images.


How long had he been standing there?



I am still @deboadejugbe, get on twitter, follow me and feel the love.






“Lord have mercy” I exclaimed softly under my breath. I read it again and no, I’m not imagining things. It did say honeystick. A million and one meanings flashed in my brain but only one stuck. Some girl calling MY Cliff honeystick!!! No wonder he laughs to himself while looking through his phone. When I ask him why, he says, “Oh it’s twitter”.

He’s always going on about how interesting and fun twitter is; encouraging me to join. I bet this is one of the dividends of his being so active on twitter. A rational part of me is saying but he doesn’t lock his phone. If he has anything to hide he would have a password on it. Hmmm!!! My friend warned me that I’m too trusting; all men are the same including my Dad jare.

What shall I do? Shall I confront him about it? Shall I just pretend I know nothing and keep a tab on him? Or shall I ask my friend for advice? Ha Ronke!!! She will definitely say I told you so. I jumped in fright as I heard Valerie whimper…….


I am @TopeOlowu on twitter.






I didn’t know whether to pick the call or not. Thousands of conspiracy theories raced through my mind. What if it was a wrong number, Cliff was bound to find out and that will mean trouble. What if it was one of his buddies?


“Honeystick” doesn’t sound like something friends used on each other except it was some sort of nickname or Cliff is gay. What if Cliff was cheating on me? I tried to shudder off the thought but it stuck to my mind anyway. The call ended and I had mixed feelings. Didn’t know whether to be happy or be sad. Happy that I may just save myself the embarrassment of going on a wild goose chase. Sad because I didn’t know if Cliff was cheating on me.

Just when I was about resigning myself to fate, The I-know-your-stick-has-got-honey person called again. Now I didn’t care. I just acted on impulse and picked the call and glued my ears to the phone waiting for the caller to say something incriminating or anything at all. I heard a female voice and I felt blood rush into my face.


She said; “Hello Oyin, Sewa Adetutu here. Compliments of the season, I just got flew in for the holidays and got your number from Lafe”


The phone dropped out of my hands. It was a wrong number and now I have to explain to Cliff.


I am @DOlusegun on twitter






Earlier, a few minutes to midnight, in another part of geographical space, a thickset man wearing a heavy scowl and an even heavier jacket, stood carefully by the window of a building in the gloomier parts of Ikoyi. He was waiting to carry out a mission.  The said mission had begun earlier in the year as a series of calculated events and these events were now set to enter another, deadlier phase.


His mission was simple in theory: send a specified text message to a specified number at 12am.The task, however, was subject to a series of technical obstacles and human error. Murphy’s Law. Anything could go wrong: network disturbances, battery failure, even a wrong number and the mission could fall apart. The message, drafted and defined, had to be sent precisely midnight.


The clock struck the midnight hour. In the distance, fireworks and the distinct din of celebration confirmed the arrival of the New Year. The man depressed the send confirmation button: “Happy New Year, honeystick” and the deed was done.


But as he slipped the phone into his pocket, a strange worry tugged at his instincts. Murphy’s Law. Anxious dread caused by the possibility of a wrong number—a “1” instead of “7”, or maybe the wrong phone prefix. He had to confirm. Quickly. Midnight sweat sprang through to his forehead as he reached to retrieve the phone. And then, the man stopped suddenly, as the brand new phone number began to ring out in the night. The phone was never meant to ring…


Get even with @ayosogunro on twitter






Steve loved his wife. A lot. He was also bisexual and not proud about it. Once, after hours of awesome sex, he told his wife about his life at the all-boys secondary school he attended. Being gay was the in-thing. He would never understand why he told her and she could never forget the fact that her husband’s stick, her own treasured stick, had once been stuck somewhere inside another being whose own stick hung useless between his thighs. She had become very suspicious of his male buddies after that day. The only person she trusted was Cliff, his married friend.


Steve had always admired his friend Cliff. Not because Cliff had more money, a happy family or a better job. Cliff was a man totally at ease with himself. He knew who he was and what he wanted. Cliff was telling him about the plans he had made to celebrate the new year with his family. Sometimes man makes decisions that are neither premeditated, reasonable, nor even defendable. Steve took one of such decisions – He decided to spend new year eve with his family instead of the partner he usually hooked up with at the gay club he frequented. He definitely couldn’t risk calling the dude with his number so he requested for Cliff’s phone. Cliff obliged him. 8 minutes later, the initial date had been cancelled. Steve deleted the number from Cliff’s phone.


Ade was flying in the air. Okay, not him, his emotions. Steve had called! When he gave Steve his number to call in case of emergencies, it was an invitation; to up the ante of their relationship. Their routine was to meet at the club twice in a week and enjoy each other. No promises, no commitments, no communication outside the club. He had wanted more for some time but Steve wasn’t interested. Now he had Steve’s number. Though he was angry that Steve had cancelled their date, the number was worth the disappointment. He picked his phone and typed


“Happy New Year, honeystick”


He sent it to Steve’s no.

I am @tlatifah on twitter






About 10 years ago at Unilag, Cliff was having a side-talk with Deji, his closest friend in the class, when Prof. Adegboro noticed him. They were discussing a candy named Honeystick, which Deji’s uncle brought from Ghana.


“You nincompoop! You have the audacity to distract my class? Come out here!” The Prof. ordered Cliif.


“Tell me the last thing I said before you rudely distracted my class”


Cliff started to say something but the whole class was in hysterics; laughing uncontrollably. He was confused. Prof. was more confused. He was brought out of his mystery by the eyes of Amaka who was seated in the front rows. Amaka’s eyes were on his groin, the zipper was down. That was when Cliff remembered he wasn’t wearing his boxers!


It was the most embarrassing moment of his life. The only good thing was that Amaka, being a “collector” of endowed organs, had a feel of it by the end of that week. Deji eventually coined a nickname for Cliff – ‘Mr. Honeystick’ – because their discussion about the candy actually got Amaka laid.


Deji sent Cliff a message from a new line on New Year day, waiting for Cliff’s response but none came. The last time he referred to him as Mr. Honeystick was at their graduation.


I am @SagaySagay on twitter

FICTION: East of Eden

The parks were getting busier these days. There had been a time when the only ones here aside himself and Dare were the stray lunatics and few homeless people who came for shade beneath the trees, rode the swings and dreamt away their reality


Isaac sat quietly watching the droves of people who walked about the park – most of them were smiling, some holding hands and chatting animatedly they all seemed happy, even the occasional lizards skating after one another in mating runs and birds cooing on the staves of electric wires travelling above, seemed happy. The night before, it had rained heavily and the earth still felt mildly damp – the grass, luxuriantly shimmering in the half-way sun. The sun was mild and the clear skies pastelled blue against the dark green underbelly of the shade trees. The air smelt of lavender and damp earth – a faintly sweet smell that rose and fell with the winds whistling through the trees above. Nature, humans, animals all appeared to be at peace. Yet, deep in Isaac’s heart, as he soaked in the ambient serenity there was confusion, fear, love and a myriad of emotions that failed to agree but conspired to make him unsure of what he believed in anymore.


His long legs dangled freely from the dead log he had been sitting on swinging an inch shy of the bald patches in the damp earth beneath. Bugs crawled across the bald patches in the earth leaving windy trails and here and there sods turned where human feet and animal claws had been. Isaac wore a pair of converse shoes, tight jeans trousers and one of his favourite T-shirts that bore the imprints of an American football club he knew nothing about. The right pocket of his tight trousers bulged obscenely taking the shape of something he carried in them. The jeans and sport shirts were all a ploy to blend in with the crowd at the park as being discovered by one of the teachers in school without proof of having collected a visit exeat from the staff room was tantamount to being pencilled for expulsion from school. It had taken Isaac immense effort on the first time to sneak out but thereafter he had grown bolder every time he did. Yet, his hands still felt wet and he still looked around him for any familiar face that may give him up as a sinner.


“Every unrighteousness is sin …” the chaplain’s words came back, reverberating in his mind and his fingers twitched unconsciously.


Isaac closed his eyes and blocked out the image of the corpulent priest, who wore a cotton cassock of white and a stole of brilliant red and directed mass in their school alongside teaching the senior classes Geography. Father Benedict’s fiery eyes flickered in their sockets any time he was angry or praying. Isaac could not imagine what the chaplain was like as a teacher and he was not looking forward to being in Geography class when he got to his penultimate year at St. Saviour’s for boys. It was about mid-day and he could just imagine what was going on in school. The boys in school would be about proceeding on the short break, pouring out on the corridors in noisy cloves slapping each other on the back of the head and running. Isaac had snuck out of school after the first class – feigning nausea to get permission to leave the class, had detoured past the broken fence behind the infirmary and taken a bus down to the park waiting for the only person that mattered to him in the whole wide world. Isaac felt for the bulge in his pockets and patted the denim entombed casing with his fingers drumming on it lightly. He scanned the park again squinting his eyes at a low angle reflection of the sun’s rays looking for that familiar face until somewhere on the other side of the park, a good distance from where he was sitting, he saw the approaching young man. Isaac’s heart stopped! Just like it did the first time and every other time he had the opportunity of seeing Dare. His hands began to go moist again as he wiped them hurriedly on the faded patch of the thighs of his blue jeans trousers, embarrassed by his own thoughts.


The chaplain’s words diffused into his memory again, this time with plangent throbbing in his subconscious.

“To be carnally minded is death …”



Dare wove his way through the mid-day crowd, his hands in his pocket. He had seen Isaac too and he couldn’t help but betray his thoughts by wearing his most endearing smile. Dare loved the taller boy in a strange way and even though their schools were many miles apart, within the same city, they still managed to steal an hour or two to see each other time and time again. Unlike Isaac, Dare was wearing his school uniform – a bright blue shirt with the characteristic double striped insignia of the Archduke Academy and a neatly pressed pair of black trousers perching lightly on polished shoes. Taped to his breast pocket was a small tag that read:

Dare Olutimehin – Health Prefect.

And he looked every detail the part.

His hair was brushed to a polished turf glistening in the glancing sun with a shimmer and sheen that rode the waves on the flat of his head. To some he might have looked too vain but to others he was perfect. Dare was in his last year and was a prefect too. He never needed an exeat to leave the school premises; the rules were more lax at Archduke than they were at St. Saviour’s.


Dare’s eyes failed to leave the other boy seating on a rotting log of wood that had once been a huge tree in the park but had been felled because it was believed evil spirits lived inside the boughs of the huge tree. Dare wondered how evil spirits could live in trees when there were many houses around. It wasn’t like the spirits would be seen by the humans anyway.


“Watch where you’re going idiot!” a big bellied man who had brushed past him yelled at him after Dare had almost collided with his female companion – a young girl in short skirts.

“It is you who is the idiot.”

Dare paused and shouted back at him, careful not to raise his voice to carry far enough as to reach Isaac where he sat watching him from a good distance away. Since they had locked eyes, Dare noticed Isaac had not taken his off him.

“Who are you calling idiot?” the man stopped, turned and began to advance but Dare stood his ground unmoving, his fingers gradually curling into a fist.

“Jerry … leave him. He is a small boy …. Less go jare” the young girl whose voice sounded like an irritating chirp, said to the fat bellied man who appeared hell bent on proving himself.

“Jerry … I say less go…” the girl dragged him by one meaty arm until he agreed to walk away.


Dare’s fingers uncurled.


He shifted his gaze from the annoying duo, his thoughts back on Isaac. Two years of meeting on and off had brought them close. Closer to each other than some of their siblings with whom they had lived all their lives. Dare’s father was a civil servant who managed his earnings between himself and four other siblings – his mother had died a while back. Their separate lives notwithstanding, there was no distance between himself and the awkwardly attractive friend he had come to know so well. Dare knew of Isaac’s vulnerability and the many secrets they had shared in their quiet moments. Secret things only few people knew – like the instance between Isaac and one of the boys in his dormitory at St. Saviour’s and the scars on Isaac’s back. Anytime Dare remembered those scars, he felt angry at his inability to hurt Father Benedict back for what he had done to his friend. In his world, pain was traded for pain and he still strove to inflict on the Chaplain of St. Saviour’s the same wounds the man of God had inflicted on a 14 year old boy. Dare had a plan and he wouldn’t let Isaac know – not until he had executed it. Isaac was too weak, he needed someone to protect him from people like Father Benedict.


Isaac, still sitting on the log, noticed the fat bellied man turn around attempting to pick a fight with Dare. They said something to each other and the girl appeared to coax the man into walking away. What thrilled Isaac was how still his friend stood – waiting as the man was approaching. He admired Dare because the young man feared nobody unlike him who had snuck about all his life hiding from other people. He had hidden in cupboards from his brothers who made fun of him and called him “Sisi” saying he always talked and acted like a girl; hidden from seniors in school who wouldn’t let him be; hidden from Father Benedict …

His back began to itch again as he unconsciously tugged at the neckline of his sports tee shirt pulling it across the skin to ease the itching sensation. When this appeared not to ease the itching, he ran his palm over the flat of his back feeling the welts of riddled skin like ridges beneath his tee shirt. He had forgotten the pain but the memories were indelible.


“Put your hands up” Father Benedict had ordered. His eyes glaring as if possessed and his jowls quivering as he pranced about in the sanctuary where candles burned eternally both day and night.


“Turn and face the wall … your shirt off and your pants down”

“What were you doing in the bathroom today?”

“You like boys?”

“Do you know it is a sin to like boys?”

“Do you know God hates boys who like other boys?”


And the first whip had cracked sowing its unrelenting sting on the ridges it harrowed on his back, over his arms and across his face as he turned around to flee the possessed chaplain. Isaac ran about the sanctuary screaming and finding no resting place from the whipping. The punctuating words of Father Benedict as he delivered each stroke that day were:


“Every unrighteousness is sin…” and “To be carnally minded is death…”


Again, Isaac drew his palm over the part of his back his hands could reach. He had hidden the scars carefully from his family and he had lied to most of his classmates at St.Saviour’s claiming that the scars had come by as a result of a strange illness he had over one of the holidays. Even though they still called him Mr. Tortoise in the mornings when all the boys took their baths. The only thing that kept him strong through the ordeal, the only thing he rested upon through the pain was the loving words of a friend who now stood only a few metres away now; a friend who made him complete.


Isaac stood up from the log, his feet hitting the earth with a soft thud. A full 6 feet with gangly arms and a pimple freckled fair face that bore a dimple, he began to walk towards Dare. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed that the fat bellied man was now lying on the grass underneath a shade tree with large broad leaves arranged in layers. His female companion who appeared young enough to be his daughter now rested her head on the mound formed by the man’s belly, rubbing it gently and pressing her ears to it as if listening for something. The mild sun had dimmed in its glare again. Isaac put his hands in his pocket just like Dare, futher squeezing the bulging content of his right pockets. On second thought, he took his hands out of his pocket, leaving them dangling like alien appendages by his sides as he walked clumsily towards Dare, unsure of what to do with the arms. They were always a nuisance at times like this. He walked awkwardly on, self-conscious and equally aware of the gift in his trouser pocket – a belt he had bought for Dare and had kept since the school’s resumption.


Dare – sticking out like an albino, was oblivious of his conspicuousness as the only person in the park wearing school uniforms at that time of the day. Two years of such trips to quiet places to meet Isaac had made him grow accustomed to anonymity, which often disguises as conspicuousness because one thinks himself more important that he truly is and imagines everyone is watching them. In reality, nobody cares. The man he had almost collided with earlier was now cuddled up with his girlfriend towards the left side of the park; a woman, standing nearby holding a folded umbrella was chasing two younger children around one of the free swings trying to get them under control – they appeared to find her seriousness rather amusing; two middle-aged men were engaged in a serious conversation that made one intermittently pull his hair and shake his head vigorously as the other held him by both shoulders; some picknickers, much farther away sat on napkins laughing. Nobody cared about the other person, they only cared about themselves.


By now Isaac was so near Dare could smell him. His long arms were extended in front of him, offering a weak handshake. Dare ignored the hands, opened his arms wide and squashed the much taller boy in a tight embrace as Isaac’s face contorted into a happy but self-conscious sweeping glance across the park wondering who was watching them, his heart beating much faster now. As Dare’s hands caressed Isaac’s back, he eased up on the embrace unconsciously not wanting to hurt Isaac any further though on second thought he could rationalize that old scars barely hurt – except in memories. As he eased up, both of them still locked in knitted embrace, Isaac had shut his eyes soaking in the moment. For a fleeting second, he allowed himself to get lost in his lover’s embrace. That moment of caring less about any other thing. That moment when nothing else matters.


Osundolire Oladapo Ifelanwa

#BlognessWednesday: The End of Mr. Warrior – by @SagaySagay

#BlognessWednesday: The End of Mr. Warrior – by @SagaySagay

A hot slap landed on Amarachi’s cheek and her eyes saw stars. She was still trying to make out the stars that seemed to be dropping from the sky, when an uppercut blow caught her jaw. What she didn’t realize was that the man who delivered the blow had watched his childhood hero, Iron Mike Tyson, give dirty, nasty and horrible uppercuts to Frank Bruno in their March 1996 fight that came to an end at Round 3.

What Adigun didn’t realize was that Bruno nevertheless earned 3.5 Million Pounds for receiving those terrible blows that took him to a psychiatric home. Amarachi had nothing to gain but pain.

Amarachi’s pain was mixed with shock as it was the first time Adigun would beat her – since they got married. There were few incidents when they were dating but nothing more than a slap here, a punch there or a pull at her hair to get a confession from her. She believed Adigun’s violent tendencies would come to an end after wedding but she had been proved wrong only after 3 month into their marriage.

On this particular night, Amarachi had had the guts and effrontery to change channels on TV while he was watching a Premiership game of Manchester United.

“Honey, please there’s this movie on Africa Magic that I want to watch. I watched Part 1 yesterday and they ended with suspense. Jim Iyke was about to slap Genevieve when it ended. I need to know if he will indeed slap her.”

“What’s my business if someone wants to slap somebody? Abeg commot make I see match.

Amarachi picked the remote control and went ahead to change the channel. The movie had already started and as Amarachi mentioned, Jim Iyke had raised his hand to land his trademark slap. The slap was to be delivered in (Nollywood) slow motion and Jim Iyke’s hand was just coming down when Adigun struck.

His slap shook Amarachi’s head and her neck turned with a snap. The tremor sent through her body threw away the remote control in her right hand.

“Yeeeeeeee!” She cried out in pain. Her cry must have invited the uppercut blows that came after.

“You will kill me today o. You must kill me today” She cried as she held on to his new white Man U jersey.

When the beating was getting too much, she changed her mind by running for her life as the door was luckily opened.

Adigun picked the remote to change the TV back to SuperSport to check the Man U game.

“Oooooooooooo, this is a contender for the goal of the season” the commentator screamed as a goal was scored against Manchester United.

“Amara, you are dead!!!” He shouted as he ran out of the house to find her.


Amara was lucky to have escaped alive, and refused to return home. Her family members came to pack her belongings some weeks after.

Zainab moved in instead.

Their courtship was not for too long but Adigun was the most romantic man she had ever met. Their marriage, a low-key one, was about seven months after Amara left.  Adigun vowed never to beat a woman again but he also prayed not to come across a woman that would make him lose his temper again.

Two months into the wedding, Adigun found out that his prayer was not answered. Zainab returned from a dinner she attended in the company of colleagues at work and her outfit would make any man turn his head – a gown which stopped at a point not anywhere close to her knees. What Adigun found provocative was her bosom as it appeared her boobs were going to escape from their restraints with each step she took. Adigun had not been home when she left.

“Zainab, why on earth would a married woman leave her matrimonial home like this?” He shouted angrily as she walked in.

“Darling, I’m coming from the dinner I told you about”

“What yeye dinner? You are nothing but a slut! A whore! Asewo oshi! Just look at yourself”

“But what exactly is wrong with my outfit. Can you just be reasonable? And why do I deserve this insult from you Adigun?” She stated, walking up to him.

“What I do not get is why you are coming home after some idiots must have fucked your brains off.”

“I will not take that insult from you, Adigun. What do you mean by that nonsense?”

At this point, Adigun was sure he was going to beat her up if he didn’t calm down. He walked out and returned only after tempers had dropped.

Zainab, who was yet to undress, bent to pick something on the floor as Adigun entered.

Her bum-bum was a sight to behold.

“This is just so beautiful” he muttered to himself and he moved close to her.

She was picking some CD’s on the floor when she was suddenly grabbed from behind. His belt had already been unfastened and he was hard as rock.

“Let go of me, Adigun! I’m not in the mood” She warned.

“Shey you are still angry ni? Ma binu sweetie”

“See, I’m not in the mood”

She shoved him away and Adigun lost his temper.

“How will you turn me on and tell me that you are not in the mood?”

Konji was already in control. Konji is indeed a bastard.

A slap to her face opened proceedings and his trademark uppercut blows followed. She tried to bite him but a blow caught her mouth; 3 teeth lost their position in her mouth in the process.

She started screaming and it took the intervention of the neighbours to rescue her from Adigun who had totally lost control of his senses.

She was hospitalized.

She felt so much shame as she must have been almost naked when neighbours came in. Her gown was in tatters before then. The only reason she was crying was that no man would have molested or beaten her if her dad was alive.

Itu Baba Ita’s escapades were so legendary that the Late Gbenga Adeboye had to make a series from them – that was her dad.

He once whipped a school principal and a teacher on the Assembly ground because Zainab’s brother was beaten in school. He had so many thugs and jazz with which he terrorized their part of Lagos.

The defunct Operation Sweep of Lagos will never forget the day some officers attacked his petrol station. Itu Baba had them do what they were meant to do. They swept his premises all day. Jazz at work.

The thoughts of how Itu Baba could have dealt with Adigun made tears to rush down her cheeks.


Adigun could still not understand why women find it hard to be submissive to their husbands. When his own father talked, his mom dared not talk with him let alone argue with him.

Her mom once received beating because his dad called her twice before she responded. He even had a horse-whip specially acquired to beat their mom. It was different from the one used to beat Adigun and his younger ones.

Some months after Zainab, he met Patience at a cousin’s wedding. It couldn’t have been anything but love at first sight because she moved into his house two months after.

Adigun eventually discovered all women were the same two weeks after. Patience went out without informing him.

He returned from work to discover she wasn’t home. When he called her number, she didn’t pick. When she eventually returned, he demanded why she would leave home without telling him about her movement.

“I’m sorry dear. I didn’t know I’d be going out. I had to meet a friend who came into Lagos from Abuja this morning”

“Why then did you decide not to pick my calls?”

“My phone was on silent na. I didn’t even know you were calling.”

“Do you know you are a fool? You slut!”

“Adigun, never, I repeat, never in your life call me a fool, a slut or any such word”

Adigun was shocked.

“Does this babe know that I went through the Short-Service course of Nigerian Army?” He said in his mind.

His story with the Nigerian Army was very short. He had the dream of becoming a Soldier but couldn’t withstand the rigorous drills. Two months into the six-month program, he ran away from the parade ground.

But almost a Soldier, is always a Soldier.

Here he was with a woman who had the guts to even confront him. He slapped her across the face. It was hot.

His Mike-Tyson trademark uppercut was coming but Patience blocked it.

Adigun never knew that Patience actually won Gold medal for Edo State at the National Sports Festival in Karate. She only relocated to Lagos State after she was given a life ban in the sport as a result of a doping offence.

Adigun never believed it when Steven Seagal broke people’s hands in movies. He always argued it was impossible for humans to move their hands so fast while fighting whenever he watched Jet Li. Bruce Lee was nothing but an exaggeration. Patience showed him all these actors were real. She landed  him several kicks on very dangerous spots and he was on the ground within minutes.

When the argument started, he had locked the door. That was the mistake of his life.

He was already covered in blood and it didn’t appear Patience was going to be patient with the kicks and blows.

Adigun swallowed his pride, though doing so was very sour. He called for help.

E gba mi o ara adugbo! Please help me!”

“You dey mad? Who you think say I be?” Patience asked as she continued beating him.

“Patience will kill me o! She has killed me o! Help! Somebody help!” he kept crying out loud.

All the neighbours in the compound were already at the door but they couldn’t gain entrance.

After a lot of effort, they were able to break down the door. It took four men to take Adigun from Patience’s grab. So much blood was already lost. Not so many teeth – only 4.

As soon as help arrived, there was no longer the need to cry for help. He dozed off.

LUTH brought him back to life.

He left his disdain for women in that long dream because that was the last time he ever shouted at, argued with, abused or beat a woman.


I am @SagaySagay on twitter. I blog on www.SagaySagay.com

This piece was inspired by @Seunfakze ‘s article titled MARITAL BLISS OR BS?

FICTION: You must cry to laugh – by Segun Durowaiye

FICTION: You must cry to laugh – by  Segun Durowaiye

Please, I beg you in God’s name; don’t let them pack my properties inside the rain,” Matthew begged his landlord that rainy afternoon in the month of July. Matthew Bilewu prostrated on the wet ground, in tears, and continued pleading for mercy and pity from Chief Alani who was as rigid and adamant as death itself.

By all standards, Matthew wallowed in abject poverty, having lost his job five years ago and owing three years’ rent. To be poor is a sin! This was all Matthew could do, because he was totally in a desperate and hopeless situation. His landlord had snatched his wife of 11 years from him illegally, and to cap it all, he forcefully ejected him from his one-room apartment on Ayilara Street, Surulere, Lagos. It was like adding insult to injury. As the tragic drama unfolded, Matthew’s wife, Joko, who was a mother of three kids, laughed and mocked her frustrated husband as he rolled on the ground, begging the landlord to temper justice with mercy.

Truly, Matthew knew he loved his wife from the bottom of his heart and was shocked when he first heard the rumour that the landlord was dating her. He was lost for words when he caught his wife red-handed on the lap of the landlord. He went wild with anger and threatened fire and brimstone! He regretted ever protesting that very day he saw them making love. Since that day, the landlord made life hellish for him. He remembered saying, “But Baba, you already have two wives! Why my only wife for God’s sake?” he asked. Matthew’s wife was already pregnant for the landlord!

The day after Matthew protested on seeing his wife and Chief Alani, some hired thugs were sent after him, who beat him black and blue and he landed at the hospital. He spent one whole week at the hospital while receiving treatment for internal injuries he’d sustained. He would never forget that day in a hurry.

Chief Alani was a very crafty, virulent and wicked man, with no sympathy for the suffering of fellow human being.

That rainy month of July remained etched on Matthew’s mind as the task force men of the local council forcefully threw him out of the house, with his poverty-stricken properties. It could be tagged, ‘operation no-mercy,’ as the doom’s day prophet would say. His belongings were drenched with the rain water that unforgettable day. His three children cried and cried, but there was nothing their tears could do. About four hours later after rejection from many transporters, one driver finally took pity on him and accepted to transport him to his hometown with the little money in his hand.

Three months after Matthew unwillingly packed to his hometown in Okitipupa, he would never forget the love he had for Joko, the mother of his three children. Despite the fact that his wife was pregnant for the landlord, he still had an inner craving for her, not minding her confession that the landlord was responsible. He didn’t even mind the heartless betrayal. Love, they say, is blind.

Even in poverty, love knows no limitation or bounds. Joko was the only love of his life; so, while reeking of penury and lack, Matthew still remembered his estranged wife on a daily basis in that distant town situated in Ondo State. So, on three different occasions, Matthew travelled to Lagos on a ‘peace mission’ to beg his wife to forgive him, no matter what and come back home. But really, his wife had made up her mind to leave him for good.

Our people would say, ‘a hunter’s dog heading for doom would never hear the whistle or the call of the hunter.’ Joko was, all the while, basking in wealth and comfort to listen to the love sermon of a man suffering in every sense of the word.

On one of Matthew’s trips to Lagos to beg his former wife, Chief Alani bribed the police and got him arrested under a false accusation of theft. Matthew was unjustly detained in police custody for two weeks. He was subjected to harsh treatment and battering by the cell inmates. He cried and shed painful tears of sorrow. He would never forget that agonising experience in his life. He sustained injury and left the police station with scars on his body. Before he regained his freedom two weeks later, he wrote a statement under duress that he would never visit Chief Alani’s house again. His children implored him not to go to Lagos again, that instead, he should focus his thoughts and energy on building a better future for himself and his immediate family.

About seven years later, Matthew had really weathered the storm. Things had changed for the better in his life. A family friend had loaned him a huge capital with which he started a farming business. He had become a successful farmer, with two acres of land in his possession. In the eighth year, he went into partnership with an agricultural bank and God was merciful to him. Before the mention of ‘Matthew,’ he had become a millionaire, with shares in oil and gas.

Somehow, Cupid’s arrow had struck Matthew’s heart again, as he’d found love in the hands of a lovely young lady by name Seki. The hardworking and lucky young lady was delivered of twins – two bouncing baby boys on the very day he was formally opening his ultra-modern soap factory. It was double joy for him!

Matthew, who had been gaunt and lean in those turbulent years of his life, was now handsome, radiant, chubby and fresh like a flower planted by the riverside.

Meanwhile, within 10 years, things had taken a bad shape for Chief Alani, Matthew’s former landlord. His business had suffered terribly from the global economic crunch. He was now as poor as a church rat. He put up his only house for sale to pay the huge debts that had crumbled his business empire. Matthew came to Lagos for a business deal around that time and saw the advertisement in the newspaper. He bided for the property and won. As luck would have it, he bought the only property of a man who snatched his wife from him many years ago.

Chief Alani was lost for words when he saw Matthew stepping down from a chauffeur-driven Mercedes Benz jeep and approaching him in a regal style. He gnashed his teeth in shock and astonishment. Thinking his problems and agonies were over, another sad development reared its ugly head again. Dubious men played a fast one on him as he was duped of the proceeds from the sale of his property. That was the last straw for the merciless and ruthless chief. He went blind four months later in his poverty-stricken condition.

Chief Alani’s three wives left him to his fate and went their separate ways. The once formerly rich chief led a life of lack and penury in his last days, as he squatted with destitute persons in a dilapidated building. About six months later, he died in a terrible situation like an abandoned and wrecked ship.

Joko, the estranged wife of Matthew had heard about the sweet and rosy development in the life of her former husband. On a particular Thursday, she journeyed to the palatial home of Matthew Bilewu. On sighting him as he was about driving inside his mansion, she moved in his front, thus blocking the way. Matthew got down and a mild drama unfolded. Joko was clad in rags and she smelt like a mad woman. Matthew was dumbfounded and surprised.

“Forgive me Matthew,” she begged in tears, “even if you won’t take me back, let me be one of your housemaids… I know what I did is bad…please, pity me for God’ sake… don’t throw me out…” she was kneeling before him and shedding bitter tears.

“Joko, you have sinned…and you know that very well,” he replied with deep emotion. “A woman who could stab her husband in the heart when he needed her most is worse than Jezebel. I have no power to forgive you…only God and your children whom you rejected for 11 years could forgive you. I’ve taken a new wife. My children and the whole family are happy.”

Then he turned and brought out his briefcase with these words, “Take, this is N1m. Start a business with it, and God will help you. This is the least I can do. You are a poison for my heart and soul and I don’t want to die an early death. Seek the face of God, confess your sins and do what is right always. I believe only God can forgive our sins. Good day and take care of yourself.”

Matthew gave his briefcase to his chauffeur and entered his Lexus Convertible jeep. The gateman opened the gate instantly and they drove in. Joko’s eyes were heavy with tears as she turned and left the sprawling mansion of her former husband. She shook her head for the umpteenth time while admiring the house which was an architectural masterpiece. The whole experience could be aptly described as, “Once bitten, twice shy.” May God help us.


 Segun Durowaiye

Patience Jonathan PS appointment: United Nigerian Twitter Voltrons (UNTV) express shock in statements

In an unprecedented show of uncommon unanimity, the various Voltron camps on Twitter have come together to issue a joint statement condemning what they referred to as “an ingenious show of uncommon insensitivity,” as a result of the shocking appointment of the First Lady as a Permanent Secretary in Bayelsa. The group urged the Governor to re-order his steps and reward the First Lady the conventional way. Read the excerpts below:

“It has come to our notice that the Governor of Bayelsa State has appointed our First Lady Patience Jonathan as a Permanent Secretary in his state. Upon receipt of the news, the first thing we did was to consult the calendar and lo! It was not yet April 1st. it is either by this appointment the Governor wants to re-invent the calendar for the people of calendar and make any day of his liking and preference the Fool’s Day or this is an attempt to call us all fools.

“Bayelsa may be the least populous state in Nigeria but the fact that it is responsible for producing the worst president in Nigeria’s history does not mean it lacks at least one woman who can do a better job. Are we in fact saying the First Lady all this while earned salaries as a staff of the government? Would that not essentially mean that she is one of the millions of ghost workers we have across the country? What was the rationale behind her appointment? Even the “Jonathan is never wrong Voltrons” amongst us agree this is the height of communal madness. We give the Governor and his thinking team credit for being able to think out of the box but on this count, we’d even prefer they think within the box. Lest we doubt, in thinking within the box to reward the god-mother who makes you Governor, you let her choose at least a quarter of your cabinet, you let her decide what part of the state capital she wants for herself and you ensure the account she used in running your campaign never runs lower than the balance it was before your campaign funding started at any point in time. We cannot say the fact that madam owns half the properties in central area Abuja and has single-handedly helped to appoint many a ministers we would re-invent the wheel of “how to pay the god father.” We cannot and we should not. If madam is not okay with being rewarded the old naija way, please vacate your seat and pronounce her Governor. That way we know the madness is beyond curable.”

The Union of Goodluck Jonathan Voltrons (UGJV) have themselves expressed shock that one of their own could dare to break the record of what their boss is known for. To them, Governor Dickson’s act amounts to an attempt to outshine the boss. They are shocked and disappointed in the Governor for taking Twitter spotlight from the President. They also added their voice to the call for Governor Dickson to temper common sense with civility and do the right thing. “When we said transformation, we meant in the manner of making worse the things that were bad, not for some over excited governor to come and create something out of the box. The responsibility for doing and saying the unthinkable and unimaginable still lies with our benefactor. We call on him to apologise to the President for such wily act of trying to outshine the boss.”
The “National Distraction Commission Monitors (NDCM)” do not agree with the UGJV. As far the former is concerned, this is another attempt to distract Nigerians from they call “a collection of nonsensical charlatans hell bent on doing anything and everything to keep Nigerians looking the other way, while their ogas steal the nation dry. This is just the latest single release in that quest to keep deceiving and fooling Nigerians. Nigerians must not be distracted by this act to again get Nigerians discombobulated,” as the group tweeted in a not so subtle attempt at grandiloquence. The chairman of the group having read the statement to our correspondents then went on a series of tweets all connected to the incredible appointment. As at the last time we checked, the single is being listened to by all and sundry. The Twitter trends have been dominated by all the various Voltron camps. They may not always agree but they all agree on one thing today; this is madness!

PS: There are reports the Union of Twitter Overlords (UTO) have called for an emergency meeting to outline the next line of action but this was discarded by a Chief Overlord who prefers t be anonymous. He said “we will not spend our time discussing the actions of mad men who have chose madness as their modus operandi. You don’t send a man to jail for acting his madness.”

Omojuwa.com disclaimer: None of these statements have been confirmed to have been expressed 🙂

Thinking Aloud Is Allowed: Intelligence or Dumbness? – by Osowe Oluwagbenga

Intelligence or Dumbness?







A young chap got 0% in his examination. Please look at his answers to the exam questions and decide if his score was justified or not.

1. In which battle did Napoleon die?

Ans: In his last battle.

2. Where was the declaration of independence signed?

Ans: At the bottom of the page.

3. River Niger flows in which state?

Ans: The liquid state.

4. What can you never eat for breakfast?

Ans: Lunch and Dinner

5. How can a man go eight days without sleeping?

Ans: He sleeps only at night.

6. If you throw a red stone into a blue sea, what will become of the stone?

Ans: It will get wet.

7. How can you lift an elephant with one with one hand?

Ans: There is no elephant with one hand.

8. What is the main reason for failure?

Ans: Examinations

9. If you had three apples and four oranges in one hand and four apples and five oranges in the other hand, what would you have?

Ans: Very large hands

10: If it took eight men ten hours to build a wall, how long will it take four men to build it?

Ans: No time at all, the wall is already built.

Now tell me, did the boy get the answers wrong?


Proverbs made in Naija

The following proverbs have been altered at the concluding parts; do you think you know the real conclusions?

  1. All  work and no play; makes “Abu Qaqa a Boko Haram terrorist”
  2. Those who live in glass house; must be very rich.
  3. A rolling stone; will destroy many things.
  4. A stitch in time; must be done by a good tailor.
  5. To make an omelette, you must be a good cook.
  6. A bird in the hand; essential ingredient for correct peppersoup.
  7. A hunter who has only one arrow; definitely needs to get a machinegun?
  8. Wise people use their tongues; to taste soup.
  9. When elephants fight; Lagosians will stay to watch and record it on their camera phones.
  10. Journey of a thousand miles; the transport will be expensive oh!


Osowe Oluwagbenga

Follow me on twitter: @gbengaosowe


500 words #EndtheStory , win a BlackBerry Playbook, be a champion!

Win a BlackBerry Playbook in the first SeunWrites End the Story Competition

Short story writer, editor and author of The Son of your Father’s concubine, ‘Seun Salami, is proud to announce his first writing competition – End the Story.

The competition which is proudly supported by Bookvine, publishers of ‘Seun’s book, is basically aimed at challenging the creativity of young Writers of African origin in order to improve their art.

Participants are expected to provide a conclusion (of not more than 500 words) to one of Seun’s most popular stories first published on YNaija.com, titled, The Sex life of a Lagos mad woman. It must be a creative and logical conclusion to the story.

The original story of 1,347 words is available at SeunWrites.com http://seunwrites.com/2012/06/04/the-sex-life-of-a-lagos-mad-woman/ or on YNaija.com http://ynaija.com/short-story-the-sex-life-of-a-lagos-mad-woman/

The competition opens on July 2, 2012 and entries close on July 15. It is open to all writers of African origin regardless of age and current location.

One winner and two runners-up will emerge based on votes from readers and the decision of three judges whose identities will be revealed when winners are announced on July 31, 2012.

The winner of the competition wins a BlackBerry Playbook, 3 books from Bookvine, an autographed copy of The Son of your Father’s concubine, an evening with ‘Seun Salami and another Bookvine author as well as first consideration for a Bookvine publishing deal.

The first runner-up wins an exquisite Bookvine Writers’ (Tools) pack, two books from Bookvine and an autographed copy of The son of your Father’s concubine while the second runner-up also gets a Bookvine Writers’ (Tools) pack, one book from Bookvine and an autographed copy of The son of your Father’s concubine.

All entries must be sent via email to endthestory@seunwrites.com before midnight on July 15, 2012. Please send your entry as a Microsoft Word attachment, typed in Times New Roman, font size 14, double line spacing. Please include your name, telephone number and a brief profile of not more than 50 words in the body of the mail. Multiple entries are not allowed. Entries that do not follow these guidelines may be disqualified.

All entries will be published on www.seunwrites.com in the order in which they are received.

Let me confess: My unknown Rio meeting with Dr. Jona ~ JJ (@omojuwa)

Dr. Jona: Ehen, you are the boy that Rewben said wants to interview me eh? What is your newspaper’s name
Omojuwa: Transformation Daily Lies sir.
Dr. Jona: *Laughs hard* You people are corrupt o. So you have stolen my transformation brand eh. Later, they will say only PDP steals, see journalist stealing my transformation o *laughs again* Rewben see better person here o, later all those things on twitter will start shouting “the transformation agenda is not working” and ranting like jobless Nigerians.
Omojuwa: Sir, whoever said the Transformation Agenda is not working must be either ignorant or a big liar…
Dr. Jona: *shouts* Yayyyyy, that is my boy. Rewben, tell Reano to get this boy sapele water, mixed with Rays of Aids
Rewben: Ace of Space sir?
Dr. Jona: Does it matter what I call it now Rewben?
Omojuwa: Ace of Spades Mr. Rewben. The President was indeed correct. *rme
Ruben: *looks shocked* erm yes, Rays of Aids
Dr. Jona: Just go and get the gentleman the drink and stop wasting our time.
Omojuwa: Kind of you Mr. President
Dr. Jona: You see, some of these people you think are smart only get to Aso Rock to be exposed. Imagine him calling “Rays of Aid” “Space of Ace.” That is why I never allow my wife go near him, he will just abuse her English the more.
Omojuwa: Talking about madam, her eloquence continues to dazzle Nigerians. Sir, you must have spent a fortune on her education way back.
Dr. Jona: *smiles* I did not spend a fortune, I spent money.
Omojuwa: It is the same sir.
Dr. Jona: This boy, you just went from Mr. Smart to Clueless in one sentence. When did people start spending fortune? You spend money. Ok?
Omojuwa: *smiles* Yes sir. You spend money. I was beginning to equate Fortune with Goodluck
Dr. Jona: *cuts in* shatap there. There is nothing in this world you can compare to Goodluck. Money can fail, ask Atiku money failed him, intelligence and grammar can fail, ask Kris Okotie it failed him three times in political elections and twice in marital selections, popularity and influence can fail, ask Buhari, Genius can fail, ask Evil Genius himself. kidney can fail, ask…never mind; but Goodluck, Goodluck, Goodluck never fails. So, my friend, never compare anything to Goodluck ok?
Omojuwa: Yes sir. Is there anything Goodluck cannot do?
Dr. Jona: *drops his cap* well, Goodluck cannot be shared. It is personal. It can do everything else.
Omojuwa: Wow! Sir, that’s the shizzle right there. We can stop those guys that want to bomb us all out with your good luck.
Dr. Jona: Which chisel? You are stupid. I just told you Goodluck cannot be shared. It means, I will never get bombed because I am Goodluck but good luck to the rest of you.
Omojuwa: I was wondering sir, if you will never get bombed, why do you travel with 10,000 security men anytime you go to the north?
Dr. Jona: *laughs* It appears your level of intelligence is decreasing the longer you talk. I am the president, when I enter any state, people must know Aso Rock has been moved to the state. See, it is hawa turn, and we must show them we are the one in charge. Oyel money must flow. You hia?
Omojuwa: I get your drift sir. I guess, it is also in line with the Transformation Agenda of your history making government.
Dr. Jona: : Okay, now you are showing you are not that stupid. You see, the Transformation Agenda is our ingenerous way of doling out fresh air dividends of democracy. It is government unusual. There are many aspects I cannot bother explaining but Ngo my prime minister will explain to you. She has gone to Rio Centro. We will do everything the way it has never been done before. Everything will increase.
Omojuwa: I see corruption and poverty have taken a cue sir. Excellent! Meanwhile, Oga, why are you not at Rio Centro?
Dr. Jona: Yes, corruption in by queue now but this boy, does your brain work like NEPA? One minute there is light and you talk with sense, the other second they take light and you talk like Maku. What will I be doing at Rio Centro if Ngo is dia? Do you think I came to Brazil to attend sustainable development and green economy? We already have green economy in Nigeria. All Nigerians have farms, they produce green gas that help to orchestrate an attending confluence of conflagration devicing a reduction in the stratosphere which causes a deletion of the orgasmic ozone layer which will be controlled by gas turbines.
Omojuwa: Jesus!!! Okotie o!!! Sir, my head don scatter. Wow! Wow! Wow! Nigerians have never seen this side of you. Look at all the grammar and exotic show of grandiloquence. Did you attend the presidents’ briefing this morning?
Dr. Jona: I attended. I made sure I never missed all the important words the facilitator used. With my sharp brain, that is what I just said in a simple jiffy. I am more than Grandiloquence. By the time, I tell you the other ones of our green economy plans, you will see beyond the low, my high loquence is there too. What do Nigerians know, you tell them one million things, they only hold on to what Rewben told me some of them even call National Distraction Album.
Omojuwa: I know National Distraction Album. Your trip to Rio is number on the charts as we speak.
Dr. Jona: Yes, that is what I am saying. Their friends and families got bombed but they left the fact that people died and focused on me traveling to Rio. I will shock them when I return.
Omojuwa: You don’t mean it.
Dr. Jona: Wait and see. Open those dishes first
Omojuwa: *takes a walk to the table, opens dishes* yekpa, what are these?
Dr. Jona: Liver. Brazilian Rio liver! I have been told about its potency but Nigerians only know about Brazilian hair. *laughs*
Omojuwa: Potency sir? Are you very much inactive in that area?
Dr. Jona: You are a fool. I am not talking about that *smiles* it gives you liver. You can slap your father, sack your uncle and say anything to anybody after eating it.
Omojuwa: Wow! You will need to eat more of it o. you need to be potent. You need results.
Dr. Jona: Oh boy eh, are we still staying the same thing?
Omojuwa: Oga you sabi na, Aliyaro things. *general laughter*
Dr. Jona: On a serious note, what do you personally consider the high point of my first year in office?
Omojuwa: Tit for tat. That was da bomb!
Dr. Jona: *laughs* South Africa eh. It is true. The whole world stood and watched as we beat South Africa to submission.
Omojuwa: The expert way you guys were suddenly discovering all the South African sex workers was condemnable
Dr. Jona: Condemnable or commendable? If I don’t know every word, I know “condemnable” is used after bomb blasts *looks pissed*
Omojuwa: Oga Jona sorry, I meant commendable. Reason I am shocked when people say our intelligence system has failed. We discovered all the major South African sex workers in Abuja in one night. If we apply that level of intelligence gathering on these bombers, Nigerians will be happy o.
Dr. Jona: That will be hard. Those South Africans spend nights with us after cabinet meetings, the bombers are more complex.
Omojuwa: I understand sir. Zone 4 things. Oga Azaz already explained it when he said they were your party members.
Dr. Jona: Forget my uncle, I will sack him.
Omojuwa: I dare you!
Dr. Jona: *laughs* see this boy, let me finish the Brazilian Rio liver on that table, I will apologise to him, tell him to keep his security budget, we both smile and then I sack him in public.
Omojuwa: Wow! *hails* Baba o! Baba o. OBJ has nothing on you o. And people say you are clueless?
Dr. Jona: *laughs* clueless? I am a PhD holder o. I was not the smartest student but I had one of the best projects in Port then. By the way, my supervisor that time has since been rewarded with a ministerial job despite the reward he got then. I am Clueless, Alams go London, trap catch am, I become Governor. I am Clueless, Odili wan do Vice President, documents rope am, Baba compensated him with perpetual injunction, enjoy your loot till Jesus come, I turn Veepee. I am Clueless, Yar Adua go Saudi, I become President. I am Clueless, Farouk wey be James Bond last month, don turn to Shina Rambo today. I say all the most stupid things in a national broadcast but all they remember is MAULAG. Good, please tell me, who is clueless?
Omojuwa: *spontaneously* You sir!
Dr. Jona: *sharply* Your grandfather!
Omojuwa: He is dead sir
Dr. Jona: *looks sad* Awwww. I am sorry. I am sorry about that. By the way, did I condemn his death?
Omojuwa: huh?
Dr. Jona: Did Rewben release a statement condemning his death and promise to bring Death to book for the dastardly act?
Omojuwa: Oga, come to think of it, Rewben and Reano have not brought my sapele water mix o.
Dr. Jona: Don’t worry. I am sure he is monitoring tweets as we speak.
Omojuwa: He monitors tweets?
Dr. Jona: See this boy o, so you don’t know that is where all the anger against my government have domicilary account eh? Abeg, let him monitor. Reno will look out for one of those El-Rufai tweets, then create a story on our naija porn tits.
Omojuwa: You have a porn site sir?
Dr. Jona: *laughs* Of course. We have many, not for fun o. They are websites we budgeted N300 million for. Look, the transformation agenda is leaving no stone unturned and web sites will ensure we counter the negative news reports.
Omojuwa: Awwww. That’s ingenious. By the way, Tinubu and Buhari have been having too many meetings o
Dr. Jona: *cuts* Is that the first time? Is that the second time? They will met one million times, Nigerians may not vote PDP, they will still vote…
Omojuwa: G E J!
Dr. Jona: 2015 things! This boy you are smart. I will set up a committee to see whether you can benefit from amnesty programme.
Omojuwa: Oga, I am not an ex-militant sir.
Dr. Jona: You see clueless boy now. Who told you amnesty is for ex-militants? Ex-militants are big property owners in Abuja, they have permanent suites in Transcorp, collect contracts like Aso Rock Protocol and ocean ways protection. Amnesty is not for ex-militants, it is for their small boys and boys we see are useful for us in future but are needed to be kept in and of course to keep our party donors busy with money till the next election. Some of our voltrons on twitter and Facebook were promised amnesty money.
*Rewben, Reano and Marku walk in , looking really angry*
Dr. Jona: Ehen, what is the problem? Who did what this time? what is trending in Nigeria?
Rewben: Another bomb blast sir
Dr. Jona: Ehen, so what? Is that a new thing? Have you issued a statement? Go ahead and condemn it. Wait for all of them to tweet their rubbish first o, condemn when the airwaves are clear. We need to send a clear message. Remember the Governor to announce a scuffle.
Omojuwa: *cuts in* Remind and curfew sir
Dr. Jona: This boy, next time you talk you are BLOCKED! I am warning you now o. Ehen, you Marku why are you still frowning?
Marku: Reano just told me you are trending again on twitter because of Rio. El-Rufai, Ogundamisi, Tolu Ogunlesi and all the twitter Overlords are on your case again.
Dr. Jona: Marku you remain as dumb as you were when I brought you from that village of yours. Because I came to Brazil? That Omojuwa boy started it I know
Rewben: He has been silent o. Omojuwa is supposed to be in Brazil but from what we gather from the boys at the airport, no Omojuwa has left Nigeria.
Dr. Jona: Rewben, you mean you people added that mad, foolish idiot to our Nigerian delegation? You people are really clueless.
Rewben: No. he is not part of our delegation. He has joined forces with the EU and they are sponsoring his plans.
Dr. Jona: : EU? That means I must go to Europe next week o. Come, how do we get them talking about something else? I am tired of this Brazil mixed with bomb blasts tweets.
Reano: erm…
Jona: Shut up you! You are here to tweet and Facebook not to talk. You better do something about those curses I receive daily on that your Facebook! It was your stupid idea, now it has backfired. Rewben, tell Orontus to think up something fast about a distraction and release a statement
Rewben: We already have a plan sir. You need to do something drastic, something unusual, something novel and out of the extraordinary, something no one would expect you to do, but something all Nigerians will celebrate.
Dr. Jona: Something this, something that… You talk too much and that is not to say you know too much. Something like what? Just say your mind.
Rewben: Sack the Petroleum Minister!
Dr. Jona: Are you out of your head? If you are out of your own heads, I don’t want to lose my own heads. Sack who? Why not tell me to sack myself instead?
Rewben: We are sorry sir.
Dr. Jona: Not to worry, I know what to do. I will sack someone and then introduce the birth control distraction now. I have my game plan already. You all can go. I have an interview.
Rewben: Oga, should I not stay to guide you?
Dr. Jona: *laughs hard* R32ben, you really over value yourself. Do you really think you have been the one guiding me all this while? My friend, waka far.
*the three sad men leave*
Dr. Jona: Thank you for your patience.
Omojuwa: Please mention sir. Talking of Patience, how is madam doing with her classes?
Dr. Jona: *looks sad* Classes? She never attends. I have sacked seven English lesson teachers, na lie, nothing. We still kill the microphone before she talks anywhere, to save the children mostly. Wo, I have given up.
Omojuwa: It’s a matter of time sir. She just needs a little good luck.
Dr. Jona: That’s the saddest part, goodluck no dey affect English. If you gbaguan, goodluck cannot save you. Look at it now, she has gone to Sau Paulo to buy Brazilian hair.
Omojuwa: it is true but I believe eventually she will also be transformed the way you are transforming Nigeria. Gbagaun by the way.
Dr. Jona: *does not look pleased* Let’s be clear, are you cursing my wife?
Omojuwa: Are you not transforming Nigeria?
Dr. Jona: well, in our little way. I don’t give a damn what people say. Look, gentle man, time is not on my side, can we start the interview?
Omojuwa: *Looks very confused* Yes sir, let me log off twitter.
Dr. Jona: *shocked* Twitter? You have been on twitter? You are a Tweet too? No interview for you. What is your name sef?
Omojuwa: Jay Jay sir.
Dr. Jona: Jay Jay? No wonder you look like Johnny. Oya, get out of here. No interview for you, no amnesty either. Oya, run!!! Get out! You want to interview me, you think I have time for stupid Tweets.
LATER: *Rewben rushes in, meets Jona alone*
Rewben: They said Omojuwa is with you. Is that true?
Dr. Jona: How many litres of that thing did you drink? You are abusing it again Rewben. Omojuwa with me? Who born him papa?!
Rewben: *grumbling* Oga, that is what I just read on twitter, that you are together in Rio.
Dr. Jona: *shakes head slowly* Kai, this cannot be the Rewben of Guardian and Patito. See, just go and continue reading tweets and tell Reano to delete those Facebook curses. Nonsense! See my kitchen canbinet o

Diss claim am: *Obviously, any semblance of the characters with persons known or imagined is a figment of your imagination. The same way the interview did not take place is the same reason the above characters are strictly fictional*

Crookluck Jonathan sings Psalms unto the Cabal – by Ogunyemi Bukola

Crookluck Jonathan sings Psalms unto the Cabal – by Ogunyemi Bukola

(1) Behold after all these things, that Crookluck Jonathan called untohimself all the crooks in the land, and said unto them: Rejoice O crooks and behappy, for our nemesis the fuel subsidy report is dead and buried.

(2) So they ate and drank, even from evening till the morning of thefollowing day. And Crookluck opened his mouth and sang a psalm unto the cabalwhich had delivered them from the doom:

(3) The bribe is the cabals’ and the kickbacks thereof; the loot and theythat share therein. For he hath founded it upon the subsidy allocation, andexpended it upon election campaigns.

(4) Who shall ascend into the house of the cabal? Or who shall sit inhis Maitama mansion? He that hath wide pockets, and a big cap; who hath notlifted up his hand to collect mere Naira.

(5) He shall receive the dollars from the cabal, and protection from theumbrella of his party of allegiance. These are the politicians that seek thyface O dollars.

(6) Lift up your caps, O ye crooks, and be ye opened wide ye ever yieldingpockets, that the wads of dollars may come in. Who is this ‘donor’ of dollars?The cabal strong and mighty; the cabal mighty in bribery.

(7) Lo, bribes are a heritage of the crook, and the kickbacks from thecabal are his reward. As N20s are in the hands of a policeman, so are dollarsin the hands of a good crook.

(8) Happy is the crook that hath his cap full of them; he shall not bearrested, but shall speak with the police in a merry-go-round.

(9) He that dwelleth in the subsidy loot of the cabal shall abide underthe shadow of corruption. I will say of the cabal, he is my refuge and myfortress; my loot in it will I trust.

(10) Surely he shall deliver me from the probe of the legislooters, andfrom the indictment of the subsidy panel.

(11) If it had not been for the cabal who was on our side, now may thecrooks say: if it had not been the cabal who was on our side, when the subsidypanel rose up against us; then had they indicted us gravely, when the people’swrath was kindled against us.

(12) Blessed be the cabal who hath not given us a prey unto their anger.Our loot is escaped as a bird out of the snare of the probe; the report iscompromised and we are escaped.

(13) Our help is in the bribe of the cabal, who made the crooks and thethieves.

(14) Except the cabal forsakes a crook, they labour in vain thatprosecute him, except the cabal exposes a scam; the EFCC searcheth but in vain.

(15) They that trust in the cabal shall be as Crookluck, which cannotbe impeached,but abideth forever. As the looters are round about Aso Rock, sothe cabal is round about his crooks from henceforth, even forever.

(16) For the indictment of the subsidy panel shall not rest upon theloot of the crooks, lest the crooks put forth their hands into the foreignreserve.

(17) Give bribes O cabal unto those that they trust, and to them thatprobe us in their committees.

When the cabal turned out the report of the subsidy panel, we were likethem that dream.

(18) The was our mouth filled with beer, and our teeth with suya; thensaid they among the masses, the cabal hath done great things for them. Thecabal hath done great things for us; whereof we are glad.

(19) Turn out the Malabu scam report O cabal, as you did the subsidyreport, that they that loot in fear shall enjoy it with courage.

(20) O cabal in thee do I put my trust, save me from all them thatprosecute me, and deliver me; for in your scams do I rejoice, and in my lootsdo I prosper.

(21) So the crooks and the cabal continued to rejoice in theirassembly, and the people were without hope, and said unto themselves; who shalldeliver us from their hands?

Ogunyemi Bukola

Follow @zebbook on twitter

Via BB: I’d like to get screwed

A man knocks on the door of what is supposed to be an ‘exclusive’ brothel.
Through a small window in the door, the madam says,”What can I do for you, sir?”
“I’d like to get screwed,” he answered.
“Shh, this is an exclusive club,”she explains.”To join, you must slip a thousand dollars under the door.”
The man does so, but the door doesn’t open.
So he knocks again and the madam re-appears
The man says,”Hey, I’d like to get screwed.”
The madam : “Again???”

Sex With My Father (Fiction) by @Kaycee

I didn’t cry. It was painful what he did, but I didn’t cry. He said it was ok.

I didn’t cry the second time either. I liked it. He was gentler. He told me it was our secret, our special thing, and no one should know about it.

I went to him the third time it happened, it was raining and the thunders scared me. We did it again, I enjoyed it. We began to do it more often, and each time I enjoyed it more.

I was twelve that first time, and a happy child, happier than any other child I knew. I doubt if any other child had so much love. I was my father’s lover and he was mine. Everything was perfect.

And then, on my twentieth birthday, the unthinkable happened.

My father broke up with me. Just like that. He said it wasn’t right, what we do, and that we must stop. End of matter. It felt like a full stop at the end of an epitaph. It was too sudden.

I had no warning, no premonition. The break up was like death. I had taken the week off from school just to be with the only man in my life, the best man I ever knew, or so I thought. I thought my birthday would have ended sensually, like all the others. It was usually the best birthday present he gave me, a passionate night of love making right out of a romance novel.

It had been a while. My higher education had taken me away. And I sorely missed my beloved father. I went home that day with thoughts of my father obscuring all other thoughts. I arrived late in the evening. He wasn’t home yet. I made myself as adorable as he liked. It was not hard. My allure had never needed much artificial furnishings; a touch here and a touch there, and I would be set to win any beauty contest. That evening I was at my best.

All my preparations and quivering anticipation was to have ended in bliss, the kind only my father could give me.

Instead, I got the shock of my life. That terrible day, I knew exactly how the Deer must feel when the hunter’s bullet crashes through its heart. I learnt how it must feel to be shot out of the sky.

I had hoped he didn’t mean it, that this was just another punishment, but the way he said it convinced me it was final. I knew my father; I knew the look on his face. It was the same look he had when he shot Dragon our Alsatian. This was not like before when he would refuse to touch me because I misbehaved. My father had never hit me or scolded me; his punishments were usually more severe and silent. He would simply refuse to touch me for days on end. Such days were hell for me. I could barely survive without him. When he was pleased with me, he really would take his time and give me much pleasure that I never knew was possible.

I was a very well behaved child; I had all the proper manners for a proper lady. Thanks to my father.

But this was no punishment. This was a cessation. This was my death. I tried to make him see reason, to convince him that we were to be forever. I told him of our joys, our laughs and how love couldn’t be any better. I begged him not to kill his beloved and only child.


The man was like a stone.

It is true what they say. Men are beasts; unfeeling beasts.

How could he end something so wonderful, something so perfect? He said he still loved me, but I didn’t believe him, I couldn’t believe that. He couldn’t even look me in the eye when he said it. There must have been a reason, but I didn’t care for whatever it was. I knew it wasn’t about right or wrong, there is no love that can be wrong, especially the kind we had. It was beautiful; we were one, my father and I. Our love transcended that of a father and his daughter. It was the stuff of heaven. No, His reason wasn’t religious, not at all, my father wasn’t that sentimental. I was his sole religion, he worshiped me.

There was no one else either, I knew that much. My mother died while birthing me. Ever since, I had been my father’s heartbeat. And he was my breath. I never missed my mother. I never knew her, never would meet her. I would, perhaps, have liked to know her, but somehow I thank God she wasn’t with us. It would have been awkward. I don’t think I could have shared my father with anyone.

My father gave no reason for killing me. He couldn’t explain why we could no longer have what we had. There was nothing I didn’t think, there was no thought I didn’t wish to explain his decision by. Something, perhaps, must have happened to his hormones. I couldn’t believe this was my perfect father. I couldn’t believe my day could ever become so dark.

He only said he was doing it for me, that it was for the best, my best. How could I have ever believed the man loved me? He even looked sad that day, so sorrowful and tired. In better times and in our previous world, I would have taken him in my arms as I was wont, and work my magic on him. Over the years I had learnt his special recipe. I was the only one who knew his mix. I had never asked him, but I sensed that even my mother didn’t take him to the heights I took him.

But his words belied the sorrow on his features. He had said the break up words so casually, so matter of factly, as if he had thought it through and found it a simple matter. There should be a special kind of voice and words for pronouncements of that nature, something equal and suitably terrible. The normalcy and casualness of his words were a negation. It was like mockery. I didn’t know I could ever stop being what I was to him; I had never thought our relationship would end. But end it did, and in so shocking a manner. Good things shouldn’t end that abruptly. Relationships don’t die at once. Death is not a casual occurrence.

The most painful part of it was that I didn’t die. I felt like dying. I wanted to die. But I didn’t know how to go about it. I should have killed him too; I should have hurt him too. He looked like he was hurting, but I should have made sure. It is too painful to feel the pain of death and yet be alive. There is no pain worse than the pain of death.

And then, the man wanted us to be Father and Daughter, just father and daughter. I couldn’t understand why he would want to reduce our love to something merely biological and normal. Why on earth couldn’t he see that I could never be happy as just his daughter, and that I could never be remotely happy with any other arrangement? We were happy, I made him happy. Why do some people reject their own happiness?

For a long time I had believed my father loved me. On my twentiethbirthday, I knew the truth. That day was my awakening to the heartlessness of men, and the absurdity of love. That day, I grew up, I grew old and I died.

It was the last day I spoke or saw my father. He killed me, so I made sure I remained dead to him. I became a living dead, dead inside and alive only in looks.

As I left him that evening, I looked back a lot of times. He didn’t recant, he didn’t rethink. He watched me leave. The tears were streaming from both our eyelids. I could feel his sorrow; it was thick enough to touch. The feeling was apt; death had occurred.

The man came for me twice, later. But he came as a father coming for his daughter. He should have come for me as a soul for its soul mate, like breath for air, like the dying for life. That was what we were; romance and its love.

He came, just that twice. I waited for him too, but he never came again. I gave up.

I made a new resolve. Men would learn from me, the very hard way. I have what they want. My beauty is the glaring kind that everybody agrees with. But my heart would be a different matter. I knew most men wouldn’t resist me; they can’t be as tough as my father, my looks were not enough for that man to change his mind and do the right thing, the best thing.

It wasn’t easy. It took a while before I could stand the touch of any other man, but vengeance helped me detach my body from myself.

I would forever be grateful for my looks; it was my ultimate shield. It helped me survive and helped my resolve. I set off on a mission, to hurt as I had been hurt. I soon became very successful. I brought both boys and men to their knees. I killed them and still left them alive. I remember the families that fought themselves over me, the brothers that would never forgive each other, the scandalized churches and governments, the suicides, the bankruptcies. There is a lot a body can do when it is rightly motivated.


My father didn’t know what he unleashed.

Payback is a beautiful side of nature. There is no payback as sweet and profound as when it’s total and final, like death. No man recovered that encountered me.

But vengeance was not so much fun. I didn’t feel any lasting relief. Hurting men didn’t make me feel much better; it was a constant reminder to my own heartbreak. But I couldn’t stop. Sometimes I wondered what the whole point was. I could never lose the pangs I had for my father’s touch. Payback did not completely fill the chasm that my father dug in me. I doubt if anything ever would.

I would have easily given everything up for things to get back to what it was.

I lived like someone on a mission, and I wanted to be free from the service, but I just couldn’t. In moments of weakness, I would always think about what my father and I had. Thinking about our perfect love brought me tears and gave me joy. At such moments, I would really try to feel and have fun, I would let my guard down to see if I would be alive again. It was no use. No other man was like my father. No one even came close. No one was able to get me right, something was always missing. With my dad it was perfect, he knew just what I wanted, and how. No two people were ever in sync as my father and I was. No other man could bring me alive.

The last time I had pleasure was with my father.

This many years have past, since I lost my beloved father. And more recently the world lost him too. I just left his grave side. I have never been able to understand why I keep visiting his grave, despite the distance, despite all. And each time, I always leave with an exhausting longing, a fiery desire, and an intense craving.

I would do anything; anything, just to have sex with my father again.




The Day I MetYour Daughter (Fiction) by @damikuks

Dear Sir,
I am not sure if I should call you daddy since I am not married to your daughter yet. I would address you as sir till…gawd knows.
Sir, I know you have been searching for me. I am sure you know I have been avoiding you too. Your daughter tells me how ‘kind’ you are to all the men that have ever dated her. Well, as much as I love an act of kindness, I think it would be best if you extend the kindness through your daughter to me.
However, I think you need to know that meeting your daughter was a complete accident.
Sir, you see, that day, I was on my way to Halima’s house. By the way, Halima is the girl I dated before your daughter, to be honest, we were more like friends with benefits. I know this doesn’t help my reputation with you but I just wanted to be open with you sir. Since, your daughter has been very open to me…no pun intended.

So. I am on my way out when Deji, my friend pays me an unplanned visit. He invites me to chill with him, and the girl he likes who lives on the street opposite mine. I agree, and it turns out your daugther is my next door neighbour…
Sir, I did not realise you were the man that everyone called ‘the dictator.’ How come you never let your daughters out? They are so wonderfully made yet you hide them. Well, as your future son in-law, I plan to parade your daughter everywhere. My friends must get ‘lust’ just looking at her. Anyway, so Deji takes me to the next street, and an angel opens the gate.
The rest is history because I never looked back since then, so, unless you plan to take oxygen away from me, I am not leaving your daughter.
I am not sure I will end up marrying her because I am not God. However, I hope we spend the rest our lives together. I am in love with your daughter, and I am willing to be friends with you sir.

I usually drink beer at the sports bar down the street on thursdays. Your daughter says you don’t drink but I know better. I am asking you out on a date sir. Would you drink with me next week thursday? I would have invited you this week but I am taking your daughter instead. I am trying to teach her the difference between “small stout” and “big stout.” It is a tutorial she must attend with me, so our relationship can flourish.

Sir, I hope you will be available next week?
I am awaiting your response. If you will be available, please leave a cap at the gate of my house. If you won’t be available, please leave a cutlass at your gate.
Thank you for reading.
Yours sincerely,
Your future son-in-law? aka the boy you want to kill….


Damilola Kuku

Follow @damikuks on twitter


Behind The Fiction: A Review of ‘Seun Salami’s ‘The Son of Your Father’s Concubine’

Behind The Fiction: A Review of ‘Seun Salami’s ‘The Son of Your Father’s Concubine’

For those of you who haven’t read the book, “The Son of Your Father’s Concubine” by ‘Seun Salami, I would suggest you go and read the book before you continue reading this piece. (I don’t have to tell you that I have read the book a couple of times myself). For information on how to get the book, visit www.vinemediang.com. Now, that’s said.

Back to the matter at hand. After reading a couple of reviews of the book, I was unsatisfied. I felt something had been left out. This was slightly unusual because the reviewers were professionals and I expected that they should leave no stone unturned, shedding lights on all the techniques and tricks the writer may have employed in fabricating the story, revealing hidden messages in the work (just like Da Vinci’s code embedded in the Mona Lisa). And mind you, I do have high regards for professional opinions. But I felt this was rather too obvious to be missed since it pertains to us as Nigerians. Guess, all they had to do was look behind the fiction!

I had this feeling that the author had subliminally directed the spotlight on the title story “Son of Your Father’s Concubine” – which likely might have been his favourite. Don’t get me wrong, I believe the “Son of Your Father’s Concubine” is a great piece, packed with twists and turns that climaxed in the most shocking ending I have seen in recent times. But I don’t think that alone makes it deserving of all the attention.

For me, there are two stories that should have attracted more attention. I see these stories as two sides of the same coin. The coin in this case being Nigeria; while the tail represents the worst of what we are, and the head represents the best of what we can become.

Passport Office captures the realities of the Nigeria of today. It mirrored our society exactly as it is, showing to us in vivid description all that is wrong, and can be wrong with our present state. From the nonchalant disposition to duty by civil servant, the bribery and corruption that runs deep into the fabric or government organization, the mutual distrust existing between citizens, to the readiness to exploit each other if given the slightest opportunity. The worst of what we are!

The year is 2033, and it’s hard to believe that the country in focus is still Nigeria. Greenland Reverie blew my mind away; homemade electric cars, subway systems, immediate employment upon graduation, digitized modern markets, a mega business resort (TINAPA) that rivals Dubai, and list goes on like that. Everything we ever wanted in the present day Nigeria, and more. The best of what we can be!

From Passport Office to Greenland Reverie, ‘Seun Salami did not just take us on a journey through time, but rather he offered us a glimpse into the Nigeria we crave. A destination we so much desire. A destination that can only be reached when we all believe in this project called Nigeria, and readily contribute our individual quota to make the project a success, regardless of what the next person is saying or doing. Then, that frustrating trip to the passport office may not be necessary, because the greenland reverie would be our greenland reality. We will be living the dream.

So when next you pick up ‘Seun Salami’s The Son of your Father’s Concubine, you know which stories to look out for. Take a minute or two to close your eyes, and look behind the fiction.


Book:  The Son of your Father’s Concubine

Author: ‘Seun Salami

Follow him on twitter: @seunwrites


Reviewer: Ayomidotun Freeborn

Follow me on twitter: @IamAyomiDotun
Blog: www.1pageweekly.wordpress.com

The enemy in a friend

The enemy in a friend

You are sentenced to 14 years imprisonment, with hard labour for raping your uncle’s daughter!” These final words from the elderly and bespectacled judge echoed in the heart of Ojo as he gripped the iron bars of his cell in Kirikiri Maximum Prisons, and a painful tear dropped from the corner of his eye. He fought back the gush of tears that was about streaming down his face. ‘I must be a man,’ he thought. He knew he didn’t rape the young girl. How could he have done such a heinous crime? Why did Banji frame up such a blatant and murderous lie against him? His benefactor, Uncle Boye actually thought he did it. There was nothing he didn’t say to convince Uncle Boye that day as he was about calling the police; but like a cobra baring its poisonous fangs Banji lied against him insisting that he raped Sewa the last daughter of his big uncle, who was only 13.

Banji intentionally did this so as to get the favour of Uncle Boye and be in his good books. Why must it get to this stage? What crime did he commit against Banji that he had to paint him black in the presence of a man who had helped him right from his teenage till he became a 30-year-old man.

Ojo never knew that Banji had a sinister and deadly motive in his mind while he helped him to be the personal assistant to his uncle during his (Banji’s) trying period. Uncle Boye was a very jovial and straightforward man. He was always ready and willing to assist anybody in need. That was the main reason he employed Banji as his personal assistant and even gave him accommodation in his expansive mansion because the young man was also having accommodation problems. Banji was a friend to Ojo and they were mutual friends. It remained a mystery to Ojo why a friend he helped so much could turn around and stab him in the back.

Uncle Boye was a successful businessman with chains of companies in Nigeria and abroad. He was short and rotund. He was stupendously rich. Earlier on Banji had lied against Ojo that he had the evil intention of poisoning Uncle Boye so that he ((Ojo) could inherit part of his properties and estate. But Uncle Boye didn’t believe such accusation and waived it aside. When this didn’t work he came up with another evil antics; he lied that Ojo raped the young girl.

It was an experience very bitter to pass through. In actual fact, Banji was the person who raped the 13- year-old girl. Uncle Boye was out of town when the incident happened. Banji had sneaked into the room of Sewa around 11.20pm that Sunday and forcefully blindfolded the teenager with a black piece of cloth while he did the ungodly and unwholesome act. The young girl cried in pain but she was gagged and muffled with the pillow. So it wasn’t clear to her who actually raped her that evening.

After this incident Ojo was tortured and sentenced to 14 years in prison at the dreaded Kirikiri Maximum Prisons. Uncled Boye later entrusted a huge part of his business empire to Banji. He was promoted to the post of Personnel Manager to oversee four of his companies.

Ojo was serving his prison terms with pain and endurance. He couldn’t believe the fact that his uncle doubted his honesty and sincerity. He wondered how he could have deflowered such a young girl when he had the fear of God in his heart. Ojo was a conscientious young man. He was a graduate of Lagos State Polytechnic where he studied Business Administration. Uncle Boye financed his education from secondary school to the tertiary level. He couldn’t have raped his young daughter; to him that was sacrilegious and a taboo. Uncle Boye had been helpful to him in all ways. He knew Banji had engineered this wicked and diabolic act to spoil and destroy his career.

Ojo knew that only God was his witness to this crime he was unjustly imprisoned for. He could recall that he was already asleep around the time the young Sewa was raped. Prison experience wasn’t an easy thing for Ojo. The old inmates had no pity for him and showed no mercy. They beat him black and blue the very first month of his imprisonment. It was two months later that they reduced the torture and beatings. Ojo wasn’t so strong and hard-hearted. He cried continuously when the inmates meted out punishments to him. He that was formerly handsome, robust and good-looking now looked gaunt and depressed. The young lady he was dating before his incarceration was always by his side every week. Her name was Funke.

Despite the odds and turbulence they were facing she was courageous and hopeful. She knew her lover would not condescend to commit such atrocity and crime; her resilience and optimism was enviable. She would take food, clothes and water to Ojo every three days. At times she would buy medicine prescribed from a pharmacist and take them to him so that he could be in good health. Funke was a part time student of Lagos State University when he met and fell in love with Ojo. She studied Sociology. After she graduated, her love for Ojo was still intact, deep and unshakeable. She spent a huge chunk of her salary in taken care of her fiancé. Theirs was a relationship based on love and honesty. It is said that most ladies can’t endure and persevere when their men are in crisis or problem; but for Funke this further solidify and emboldened her heart to love her man the more.

The warders at the Kirikiri Maximum Prisons often wondered at the love and courage shown by Funke. They took pity on her and gave her access to her fiancé whenever she came. She was a tall and beautiful young lady. Ojo had no parents living. They died when he was very small, about eight years old. Before his mum died she had entrusted the care and well-being of the then young boy in the hand of Uncle Boye who was her younger brother.

Days rolled into weeks and weeks into months, then months into years. Ojo continued to serve his prison term painfully and stoically. Depression was his main problem. Depression came as a result of loneliness. This was a man who had all the freedom and joy in the world but later restricted to the walls of the prisons. A philosopher once said that birds are not happy even in cages no matter how beautiful a cage may be. The song a bird sings in a cage is the song of sorrow, of sadness, like a dirge. It is no lullaby or song of joy. So like a caged bird Ojo wallowed in self-pity, in tears, hoping that one day he would leave the prison confines. He prayed to Almighty God that He should not let him die in prison. Funke was his only comforter. None of his friends who knew his problem bothered to pay him a visit. Such is life.

However, exactly 14 years later the bells of freedom rang, and Ojo once again became a free man. By this time he was already 44. Funke was around to take him home. She was very happy when the news came to her. Ojo himself was the happiest man on earth. But he wondered where he would start. “Destiny hasn’t been fair to me.” he said.

“Don’t worry Ojo,” Funke said excitedly, “We’ll defeat the shackles of poverty and lack. God will take us to the Promised Land…Don’t cry again…you’ve endured so much since all these years. There’s nothing God can not do … stop crying … It’s not late for us to raise a family with God on our side…”

That very month of August Funke took a loan and gave his sweetheart to start a business of his own. Ojo was very glad. He thought about what to do with the loan. He bought a printing machine and began a printing business. Two years later he was very rich. He veered into other sectors of business like manufacturing and property business. Funke gave birth to a bouncing baby boy on the 45th birthday of her husband. Ojo had now become the Chairman of Ojfun Group of Companies with headquarters in Apapa, Lagos.

On a particular Monday morning after he (Ojo) had finished meeting with his board of directors and was settling down for the day’s work a man was ushered into his cozy office by his receptionist.

“This is the man applying for the post of a messenger sir.” The receptionist said and turned back.

“What’s your name gentleman?” Ojo asked the disheveled, thin and gaunt-looking man in his front.

“Banji sir, Banji Aromire.” The man replied with deep reverence and obeisance. At the mention of that name Ojo looked up very well, scrutinising the face of the applicant with curiosity. It dawned on him instantly that the poorly dressed man in his front was his old friend he helped many years ago to get a personal assistant job with his big uncle, fondly called Uncle Boye.

“Banji! Banji!! Banji!!!” he repeated with unmitigated surprise. “What’s the matter Sir?” Banji said wondering what was happening. Instantly it came to the knowledge of Banji that the ebullient, successful and rich business executive in his front was his old friend he betrayed about 16 years ago. He shook his head remorsefully and burst into tears.

“Ha, Ojo!” he exclaimed, and said: “I’m so sorry for what I did to you. I was the one who raped that young girl 16 years ago. I was over ambitious and wanted to enjoy life quickly, wishing I could reap where I didn’t sow. Please, forgive me I beg you … As you can see. God has dealt with me in a way that is hurting and painful but I deserve it…” Banji was in heartfelt tears.

“Don’t you worry Banji, Almighty God is merciful and kind.” Ojo replied, and brought out a card from the breast pocket of his blue suit, he scribbled a note on it.

“I’ll employ you as a Supervisor in one of my factories at Ikeja. I won’t pay evil with evil. Take this card to my secretary.”

“Thank you Ojo! I’ve suffered too much after I was sacked by uncle Boye,” Banji said, mopping the tears off his face.

“By the way, how are Uncle Boye and his family?” Ojo asked.

“He has relocated to Abuja after his business in Lagos suffered huge financial losses by bad management. But I heard he is doing fine now.” Banji replied.

“Anyway,” Ojo said adjusting his tie, “Uncle Boye is the grand patron of Great Minds Club of Nigeria. I’ll get his contact address when next I visit Abuja. I need to see him. Have a good day Banji.”


Segun Durowaiye


GAME CODE: #OPERATION BLIND EYE by Eniolamide Ogunyemi

Rolex stared mouth wide as the man took his seat. Angrily, he watched him lean towards the other two men to whisper something to them. Seeking their approval? No! It wasn’t that. This was a Game. The wolves were in the mood to play and they were enjoying it.  The Trio laughed out mirthlessly. This is no laughing matter! 25 men were to be murdered ruthlessly and it’s funny to them! Rolex’s anger only kept mounting. The men either oblivious of this or were plainly ignoring it, kept laughing at their discreet jokes.

In the midst of these cacophony was a fourth man seated across Rolex, an empty seat away from the Trio. He was engrossed in the open file on his front desk. Rolex wasn’t fooled. He had seen that habit enough to know its meaning. Silent disapproval! He did not like what was on ground. Sensing his prying eyes, the man looked up. Their eyes locked and held in mute communication. “It’s not good. But your hands are tied” he said to him, lips unmoved. The message was understood.

The Trio, finally sensing the presiding man’s reluctance had stopped laughing and were adjusting their seats, preparing for what was brewing. Rolex was an ex-military man and well respected. But this was an order from his superiors which he had to respect.

“What must be done must be done.” one of them cajoled.
“Do you even understand my position in all these? You want me to sacrifice 25 men who went out there for the love of their country. The men who risked their lives to go into the camp of the most dreaded group ever because I….I ordered it.” the wolves were tensed now.
“The order was to sign peace treaty with these people. What changed?”
“Nothing. This is a new order. We can’t do a thing about it than turn a blind eye”
How does one turn a blind eye to mass murder of its own people?
“So now they are to be blown off with the coup while signing the treaty?”
“Think of who they’d be saving. Their beloved country. It will be a heroic death” the first man said with a twisted mouth. The look Rolex gave him silenced his laughter.

Next day; NEWS FLASH: 25 men died a heroic death in the camp of ‘the dreaded coup’ while signing a peace treaty with….

If only it had been a successful mission. When the explosion had died down, 25 bodies had been recovered. Their own men! The coup had escaped unscratched. Rolex’s scream was heard all over the street.


Eniolamide Ogunyemi

@hernyolarmeday on twitter

True Life Story: Everyday for the thief by @Lanre_Olagunju


Please note that this story actually happened a couple of days back, but names used aren’t of the individuals involved.

Though the year is barely five months old, Sandra has been robbed of three blackberries already. The second was stolen in what is popularly referred to as ‘one chance’ in Lagos, then the small voice in her head started interrogating; “Is it only you?”

A couple of weeks after, she attended an ‘owambe’ party and again she discovered that her less than two months old blackberry has ruptured from her hand bag. Sandra got more worried and her thought started tending spiritual rather than logical. “Probably I need to be delivered of something I don’t know” she quietly said in a dramatic monologue. After several attempt at calling the stolen line failed, she decided to replace her stolen blackberry then look for intelligent lies to dish out to anyone who wants to know why she’s changing her pin for the third time in five months.

Amidst trailer loads of settled anger in her lungs and veins, she said to herself that anyone who will steal the next one from her will have to do a lot. Sandra chose to add her former pin on her new phone just out of sheer curiosity, surprisingly; there was this new user who was apparently available to chat. So she decided on venturing into an intelligent and counter-intelligence exercise despite not being a CIA agent.

Here is the BBM chat conversation between Sandra and the new user of her stolen phone.

Sandra: Watsup?
Becky: Am cool & you?
Sandra: I’m good!
Sandra: So what are you up to tonight?
Becky: Your make up is cool

Becky: So may I know you?
Sandra: I’m Tunde Smart and you?

Becky: I’m Becky; may I see your face, pls?
Sandra: Sure.
Becky: Am waiting
Sandra: ?moi.jpg ?(26.87 KB)?

Sandra: So is this your picture in the dp?
Sandra: What do you do for a living dear?

Becky: Yeah! Please how did you get ma pin, sir?
Sandra: Leave that to me!
Becky: A student and a worker!
Sandra: I want to know you.
Sandra: That’s good; it shows you are hard working.
Becky: Yeah
Sandra: I’m always lonely. Maybe you could visit me once in a while.
Sandra: Is this your picture? You have natural beauty.
Sandra: I like simple but classy babes
Sandra: So what’s up?
Sandra: Do you stay in Nigeria? I’m always in and out of London.
Becky: May I know you sir?
Sandra: I am Tunde Smart, I have my businesses in Nigeria and London, my brother runs Sahara oil in Nigeria
Sandra: I’m in Nigeria for a while are you the outgoing type? I’m so lonely; maybe we could go out and see if we like each other
Becky: I stay in Nigeria oooooooo!
Sandra: Ok.
Sandra: If you are the outgoing type, tell me where and when we can have lunch or dinner.
Sandra: Thank God I made friend with you.
Sandra: So where do you work?
Sandra: What is your educational background? I need someone I can trust to be my assistant here.
Sandra: Do you know anyone?
Becky: doing my HND here in Lagos!
Sandra: That’s ok! I can see you have made an effort in life
Sandra: So when can we meet
Becky: Still don’t know you!
Sandra: Come on! Why are you acting like a child?
Sandra: I’ve even given you details I usually don’t give girls.
Sandra: I’ve told you my name, told you what I do?
Becky: I’m in Ikoyi where are you?
Sandra: I stay in Parkview
Sandra: Do you wanna come and say hello?
Sandra: Or we meet at a restaurant so that I don’t scare you with my status!
Becky: Wanna have my bath now, when am through, I’ll ping you.
Sandra: You just holla when you are free.
Sandra: Maybe we would watch a movie and have a boat ride. What do you think?
Sandra: You may bring your friends to join us for lunch or dinner which ever day but note that I’m leaving on Sunday
Becky: I may not see you if you don’t tell me how you got ma pin ‘cos I don’t feel save wit you
Sandra: Ok never mind then!
Sandra: I had this pin before on my contacts.
Sandra: I just reloaded and that’s how your name popped up
Sandra: Just don’t bother I’m not in for childish play, I can’t manufacture pin in my head!
Sandra: I’m sorry to have wasted your time! I don’t have time for this either
Sandra: Forget we ever met!
Becky: You are getting angry with me?
Becky: Ok so sorry!
Sandra: Look I’m not a child and I’m not in for nonsense
Sandra: I have told you enough about myself, if you don’t want to meet me that is fine.
I would go out and meet other people
Sandra: I definitely had this pin on my phone, I sent a broadcast and I saw that I had to re-invite you.
Becky: Your conversation with me was fun! So just a question can get you this angry?
Becky: Ok sorry as soon as I close I’ll try and meet U!
Sandra: I was hoping to see you today but you Nigerian girls annoy me a lot when you start posing
Sandra: I’m not game for any of that
Sandra: See me when you feel like. I’m not forcing you!
Sandra: I’ve told you to even bring your friends if you wish
Sandra: I’m off to the boat club. I want to meet my friends
Becky: Ooooooooooooo I said sorry & you’re still insulting me. Why are you making me feel this bad? It’s just unfair.
Sandra: I’m not insulting you
Sandra: It’s ok. You girls put guys though a lot of hell

Becky: Am through now.
Becky: PING!!!
Becky: Hello are you there?
Becky: are you still angry with me? Or don’t you wanna see me again?
Sandra: Nope I was @ my beach house
Sandra: See you soon!
Sandra: Where are you?

Becky: Am ready now how can I see you?
Sandra: meet me @ golden gate
Becky: Am not that familiar with the Island!
Sandra: It’s in Ikoyi
Becky: Talk 2 mi oooooooooooooooooo
Sandra: It’s in Ikoyi! Tell any taxi to take you there.
Sandra: I’m stuck in traffic
Sandra: From Falomo ask for golden gate.
Becky: Will soon be there
Sandra: I’m there!
Sandra: I’m waiting!
Sandra: What’s your number!
Sandra: Where are you now?
Sandra: Send your number
Becky: Am sorry dear my manager called me for something!
Sandra: I would leave here oh!
Becky: Am on my way now
Sandra: I am almost done eating.
Becky: am on a bike oooooooo
Since Becky wasn’t expecting a female it was easier for Sandra who gave her phone to a male friend who doubles as a police officer to confirm Becky’s arrival and movement around the premises of golden gate hotel. Becky who was beautifully dressed, hoping to have a nice time ‘choping’ the Lagos Londoner’s money was dragged to the nearest police station around Falomo.

Sandra couldn’t help but keep calling her names. At the police station, Sandra explained the case as it were and presented the receipt and paper pack in which she bought the phone with. Becky later confessed that her boyfriend bought her the phone. She was then asked to stylishly call her boyfriend to come see her urgently at Golden Gate. When he appeared, he was arrested and the police found twelve allegedly stolen phones on him. He was immediately locked up with his girlfriend. Becky out of cross shame had to call her mum to come bail her out the following day.

Bottom line: “awoof dey run belle”

Lanre Olagunju is a regular contributor on www.omojuwa.com
He blogs @www.larigold.blogspot.com
He tweets @Lanre_Olagunju on Twitter

THE POWER OF MONEY #SuperBloggers by @cherybola













Andrew and Anne were an item in school! Anne was an embodiment of all he admired in a girl; she had curves in the right places, intelligent, interesting to be around, good in the bed department, and ultimately a prudent spender so much he put her in charge of his finances six months into the relationship referred to her as his wife.

Three years into their relationship, a shaking that will eventually end their relationship happened. Anne went home on a weekend, she went to her mum’ supermarket to assist her mum. There a young man, apparently a regular customer of her mum came in to buy provisions but his eyes caught more than the provisions. Anne attended to the man calculating his bill and offered to help carry some of his stuffs to the car. On the way outside, the man introduced himself as Mike, a civil engineer with one of the multinationals; on getting to his car, he gave her his business card and N1000 for helping him carry his bags to the car, telling her to call him. Anne took the card without the intention of ever using and tucked the money into her waistband.

Anne returned back to school the following Monday, armed with food stuffs, provisions that would sustain Andrew and her for a while. Andrew was happy to see his babe and he showed her how much he missed her. On Thursday, on her way to lectures, Anne received a call from an unfamiliar number, she picked it and it was Mike, he got her number from her mum and asked why she didn’t call like he told her to, Anne said she forgot and took an excuse that she had a class to get him off the phone.

On getting back to her hostel later in the evening, Mike called again, and he made his intention known. He wanted her to be his wife! She laughed and asked how that was possible, he told her he had asked her mum for permission before asking her. She slammed the phone down and called her mum!

Anne’s mum confirmed and said she had given her blessings as Mike was rich, had a stable job, a bright future etc. Anne rushed to Andrew’s hostel crying and told him what her mum had done. He consoled her and told her she should go home and talk it over with her mum.

Anne went home and her mum remained adamant and when Anne said she had a guy, Andrew who she loved, her mum asked for Andrew’s number. Mrs. Ogbuefe called Andrew and told him to back down and leave her daughter right in Anne’s presence. She then proceeded to tell Anne that she had to stick with what she told her; reminding her how she had been the one there for the kids since her husband passed away ten years back.

After much blackmail, Anne had no choice than go with her mother’s command. Within nine months she was married to Mike, she thinks back on the good times she shared with Andrew with fond memories but clears her thoughts when she remembers what her family had started enjoying.

The heartbreak caused Andrew to go back to his playing the field ways and resolved never to get serious with a girl till he becomes rich enough to get a girl without the fear of having a rich man snatch her away, and he’s well on his way to achieving his goal… Now he’s a lawyer working with a reputable chamber and getting six figures salary.



Omobolanle Savage

Ibadan, Nigeria

@cherybola on twitter




Our warrior?
Yes, he is a conqueror
Riding as a victor to war
His glory will never fade like the memories of the dinosaur
His strength, I adore
His love, I wish for
His pride, I ignore
For pride leads to a fall
My father?
Yes, he is my provider
The roof I live under
Working tirelessly, day and night
Sweat fall like raindrops from his body
Brought me upright, showed me the light
Carried me around like a little girl plays with her kite
His love for us is an endless journey
Although questioned by his love for vanity
His friend?
Yes, the world can’t comprehend
So we don’t want to see them unite
Entertained when they fight
Secretly laugh at their foolishness
Stealing from their greatness
Exposing their wickedness
Hoping they waste away
No love, No knowledge
Yes, he will bring change
Hope he takes us on the path to our destiny
Will he give us a new identity?
Show us the true meaning of freedom and equality?
Let’s wait and see
By Wale Okunrinboye @Destinygodchild

YEMOJA by @destinygodchild


Balogun Ogundiran, the great,
The fearless warrior of Osogbo,
A man with a stone- heart, tall, strong with a fist that played with fire,
His name was known from the depth of the sea to the heart of the desert,
Brave as a lion, never backing down from a challenge.
We had seen him grow from a little boy who was only a spearman under the old empire, Walking his way up the ranks, he challenged the Army warlord from  Oyo empire, A step no soldier at the time was brave enough to take.
In front of the whole village including the Oba, Balogun defeated the warlord,
Slicing his head off with a machete,
The crowd cheered with a cry of Freedom,
All the foreign soldiers were slaughtered,
Balogun’s victory gave us hope,
He established a new army,
Given the permission by the Oba to go ahead and fight for our independence.
News got back to the village that Balogun and his men were victorious,
For with a gladdened heart, we rejoiced at his return,
He was given a hero’s welcome-back parade,
Awarded the title of the ‘The Land’s Watchman’ whose role was to protect the village from invasion.
The Land’s watchman needed to stay at the outskirt of the village to perform his role.
But Balogun was unhappy with this role, angered by the treatment of the Oba,
Balogun overthrew the Oba and his ministers.
He banished them from the village, never to return.
With the support of the people, he was declared Oba, having absolute power over everything.
Seven years down the line, Balogun had become a beast of a man
Enslaving his own people for his quest for more power and glory.
Proclaimed by his admirers as god
Marrying thirty-six women, some were forcfully taken from their husbands.
Our village couldn’t contain him, he fought unnecessary battles.
Never speaking of peace and love but of war and violence
Any man standing on his path to battle was crushed.
A protest was led by seven  Orunmila women,
Unfortunately, they were all hung to death
In despair, we sought the merciful face of the gods.
We prayed day and night, begging for a saviour.
A saviour who would redeem us from the Balogun’s tight grip.
His army  stopped us from giving any sacrifice to the gods.
Every sacrifice and offering was to go to Balogun
On a faithful evening, at the eve of what was supposed to be the Parade of virgins, on my way home from a day’s fishing at the river,
I heard the cries of a little girl
I followed the sound of the cry,
She appeared to be a young lady.
As beautiful as the lily at the river banks
Protected with eyes that will strike a man’s heart with lust
Her hair was banded in red ribbon, wet and curly
Gently touched her smooth and refined body
She couldn’t speak my lauguage
On our way to my house, her beauty caught the eyes of every human being
Knowing she was from a foreign land, a soldier took her from me
A slave befitting for the eyes of Balogun himself
She was taken from me not knowing what was to become of her.
During the main Parade, Balogun was nowhere to be found, this was his favourite festival.
Rumours surfaced that he was sick and couldn’t attend
Later that day, news got out that Balogun the great warrior………… was dead
He was stabbed seven times in his chest overnight
That rang a bell, overnight?
Who could have done such a wicked thing?
Who was brave enough to have killed Balogun?
The whole village was amused but nobody knew who Balogun’s killer was
The priest, the army, the royal family, nobody knew what happened that night.
On getting to the river the next day, I saw a young lady descending into the underworld
She sang her way down into the river,
Bewildered by fear, I stood quietly behind the fig tree
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, this is Yemoja, I said to myself
I ran back to my mother and my wife to tell them
But they didn’t believe me
The foreign girl cannot be Yemoja, they said.
We argued till dawn,
For great men die on the laps of a beautiful woman
Years later, It was confirmed that Balogun was infected killed by an unknown  woman
But I was the only one who knew who the woman was.
url – olawale.tumblr.com
twitter – @destinygodchild



Today, I was conceived, funny but my parents don’t even know about this.
My hands and limbs are growing; I noticed that mum has a sonorous voice,
I think I would love to look like her, because dad constantly tells her “you are beautiful”
Today I noticed lashes in my eyelids, my ears are also growing, and strands of little curly hair on my head…
But I still can’t open my eyes yet…
I can hear dad talking about his favorite football club… while mum tells him about improving in her singing because she hopes to sing professionally… I don’t think I would love football, or singing, I think instead that I would love writing, yes writing about everything… I know I want to be a WRITER
I wonder why mum and dad don’t talk about me… don’t they understand the fact that I also deserve attention… all they do is talk about each other
I can hear mum say her body no longer feels like her body again, that she noticed her breast is fuller… while saying this mum throws up… after which she decided not to attend classes for the day
Mum throws up again today, it’s been going on for five days now…
Dad comes around, and suggests mum sees a doctor, and stop self medication… I think mum should see a doctor too; I hate the fact that she is constantly weak…. Yet I also wonder why dad and mum don’t live together.
Dad takes mum to the hospital, and the doctor tells them about me. Am shocked and excited…
Shocked because both my parents never knew of my existence up until now…
Excited because now I know they would both shower me with attention…
Today my sex is formed, I wonder if mum and dad know I am a girl. I can hear the doctor tell them I am 16 weeks old and they should expect me in the next 24 weeks, I can’t wait to see them, I hope they can’t wait to see me too.
Mum has been sad for days now, she sobs constantly. She keeps saying she has to go to school and wants no distraction.
I noticed she keeps saying she doesn’t want ‘it’, that ‘it’ was a distraction and it wanted to ruin her future.
She says she wants to do away with the ‘it’.
I wonder what the ‘it’ is, and why won’t ‘it’ leave mum alone, instead of constantly making her sad…
If only I can give the ‘it’ a piece of my mind.
Mum and dad had an argument today over the ‘it’… mum keeps saying she doesn’t want ‘it’, and she has no plans for ‘it’, while dad says he wants ‘it’ and would make plans for ‘it.’
If only I can give the ‘it’ a piece of my mind. Just like my parents are doing.
Today my mother killed me…..
Never knew I was the ‘it’ she didn’t want all this while….
#superbloggers2 by @Ayoweke



He walks by and sees her sitting quietly at the entrance to a house.
He stares and wonders why he cannot seem to stop staring,
He walks on and wonders if he will ever see her again.
She barely raises her head to acknowledge him.
There is music in the air ……………………
Now at a friend’s party he is all jived up and wants to have fun,
And right at the bar with friends, there she is merry making! He sees her laugh and he is mesmerized,
He must meet her this time, he tells himself. He walks straight to her and says ‘hi’
She guilelessly looks at him, smiles and says hello. And asked, ‘do I know you’?
No he says, but you are about to.
Stunned, her interest is piqued.
There is a rhythm here……………….
Can I have this dance, he asks.
Hmmmm, she says, why not .lets see how well you can dance, she challenges him.
Off to the dance floor they went.
They danced to the music, flowing with rhythm, so tuned to each other, there seems but an inch between them as they moved.
The tango begins……………
Suddenly, someone taps him, he looks back and realizes, all he had done so far is stare and smile at the lady in his thoughts……
And she is smiling back …
Let the real Tango begin…….



If you have it, the feeling of unworthiness is a feeling that others can see when they look at you unlike some other feelings like, say, love, that you can hide and can even fake for one purpose or another. You reek of it; this feeling of unworthiness. Like a chronic body odour, it fills the air around you and might even choke you if you let it get pass the limit that your miserable soul can take. They all have it. Aside from chronic malnutrition which is their main problem, their leaders tell them every day at dawn after the morning prayers that they must strive for the worthiness of their souls. They must be ready to sacrifice this ephemeral life for the everlasting one that only the worthy will be stakeholders.

They are all illiterate teenagers, homeless and completely hopeless about their future. These are the hallmarks of an unworthy person. Nobody sees you; you can only be smelt.

“I am hungry…” Farouk said to the youngster beside him in their native language. There are about two hundred teenagers holed up in the large room. They are all males. The females are fewer and are usually at the beck and call of their leaders when they are not preparing food for their male counterparts. They all wear loose clothes and their faces are covered all the time. And of course, they are kept in a different building. The last time Farouk tried to count, he thought he counted more than two hundred males. They are fewer now. That means some of them are already in the company of the worthy. These are usually the bolder ones; the more desperate teenagers. The ones that believe everything their leaders say and are not afraid to carry out their instructions. These instructions are usually acts of violence that only the heartless will not flinch at. These ‘worthy’ teenagers are carefully separated from the ‘unworthy’. They are then given proper care akin to the ones their leaders get. They are taught the basics of formal education and religions, the emphasis being on Islam and Christianity and the reasons why Islam is the only accepted form of worship. Now that they are well fed and clothed, these youngsters will pledge their loyalty and their lives as an extension to the cause of their leaders and never for the cause of Allah, who they are told they are fighting for. But by then it really doesn’t matter anymore what or who they are fighting for. These leaders gave them life, so to speak. It will amount to nothing if their lives are taken by these same leaders. They are even given wives among their female counterparts when they are old enough to be married. And their violent acts of devotion to their leaders continue. And because they are now robots in the hands of their merciful benefactors, these brainwashed teenagers can go as far as strapping remotely controlled bombs to their now ‘worthy’ bodies… after all this life is nothing compared to the everlasting paradise in which they are stakeholders.

Farouk repeated his statement to his equally hungry counterpart and silently made up his mind to leave the company of the ‘unworthy’. It is the right thing to do. It is the only thing to do.

MUYIS ADEPOJU writes for www.omojuwa.com


@abdulmuizzx on Twitter.



I saw this on a friend’s wall on Facebook. Thought you’d like it.
15. If you have worked in a company for 10years
without promotion
14. when you fail maths and english in WAEC….
13. If you slap a military man
12. if your Car spends more time at the mechanic
than on the road
11. If you are sweating under heavy rainfall
10. When you are posted to work under suicide bomber after NYSC camp
9. You are under cover in the midst of boko
haram and your phone starts ringing “LET SOMEBODY
8. When you mistake super glue for vaseline
7. Even after photo-shopping you still look damn
6. When you vomit pounded yam and egusi in church
during a 3 day fasting and prayer service .
5. If Lionel Messi catches you on the field of play
4. When you rape a military man’s only child.
3. When a Rat eats your name out of all your original
2. When your only child joins d Nigerian police force
1. When you get stuck in an elevator with a boko
haram suicide bomber.
Via Seye Adejuwon on Facebook

You know it’s a joke right?



Where do I start to tell the story of Showgirl? Is it the day she was born, the first daughter of her mother or the day when she first danced and earned that nickname Showgirl that was to be her moniker for the rest of her short life? Is it the years of toil and grime? Or endless days in the farm outside of Benin, where her father planted yams, melon, cassava and plantain to feed their ever increasing family? Or that shade in the market where her mother sold yards of clothes that showgirl sometimes had to watch so her mother could run the various errands life sent her on?

Do I tell Showgirl’s story from the times she attempted to write the SSCE? Did she fail because she had no head for books or because she spent too many hours in the farm or the market store so that she came home too tired for anything other than her bed? Still she attempted to make something of herself. She signed up for computer classes.

However, she soon was disillusioned with this. She saw no way out of the abiding poverty except an escape to Europe. After all, everyday all around her she saw young men and women return from Europe with great wealth. They built houses for their families, bought cars and set up businesses. All they said was required was handwork and a determination to succeed and did Showgirl not have all of these in abundance?

So she sat her parents down and sold them the idea, her mother cried and begged but her plea fell on deaf ears. Showgirl’s mind was made up. Her parents went out and borrowed some money. It was an investment so that their future might be better.

Showgirl left on a fine day, she told her mother the trip would only take three days but it was to take her a lifetime. She never even saw Europe, only the lights of Italy and Spain as she stood on the Libyan shore.

For three years, she suffered through the Libyan experience as she searched for a sponsor to take her across the sea to the life she had sacrificed so much for. Her mother begged her to return home but she wouldn’t or couldn’t. The desert spirit had completely taken her over. It was Europe or bust.

Back home, her poor mother had not heard from her in six months and was almost frantic with worry until one day when a car pulled up outside their house. Out of it came a woman who said she knew Showgirl. She said she has moved to Morocco and that her son was willing to sponsor her. However, her mother had to go swear in a shrine that her daughter would definitely pay back the outrageous sum charged for ferrying her to Europe.

Swear in a shrine? It went against everything her mother believed, no, she wasn’t a Christian at the time, she served the gods of her forebears but an oath was not a dimension she had strode before. They wouldn’t let this woman speak to her daughter without this oath and what would a mother not do for her child?

So she swore and she did speak to Showgirl but it was one of the last times. Not too long after she was called away from her farm to say her daughter was sick. She ran to the phone booth and heard the dying voice of her first daughter. Mummy she said, I should have come home and now I die in a strange land.

Eseosa Joie



His spirit quailed at the ordeal ahead as he bade his friends final farewell, knowing fully well that they might not see each other again. The NYSC scheme was originally set up in 1972 by the then military administrator of the country. The primary aim was for young graduates to go away from their geopolitical zones to other part of the country and work there for a year in a bid to reduce if not eradicate the cold war between the numerous tribes in the country. The serving individual was to have broadened his horizon about his country’s diverse cultural backgrounds and hence cultivate a not-so-wary attitude towards people from other tribes other than his own. The serving corps members are usually deployed to government establishments, mostly government owned schools, where these young graduates impart knowledge on the unassuming pupils. Abubakar, a young graduate from the western part of the country, had been deployed to serve in Ebonyi state. He had packed his belongings earlier in the day, said his final goodbyes to his interim friends, natives of the Igbo, in Ikwo, the village where he had taught in one of the schools. He was leaving the next morning for Ogun state, his state of origin. He must, however, say his goodbye to Ogechi, a female pupil in the secondary school he had taught Fine Art. She was living with HIV. Now that was the ordeal. He got up and promised his friends he would see them at the corpers’ lodge later in the night. Ogechi’s family house was a stone throw from the NYSC secretariat. Ogechi’s otherwise bright future was given a fatal twist when she was tested positive to HIV in a random test conducted by serving medical doctors in her local government area,Ikwo. She was a virgin and had never had a blood transfusion before, she announced to Abubakar, two days after the discovery. She had naturally taken to Abubakar when he got to the school. He had taken the otherwise serious overtures of affection towards him from her as a crush, to be transferred to another serving graduate after he had left. But he had played along, winning her trust. She, in turn, had taken him as a true confidant, divulging secrets, dreams, hopes and passions to him. She was barely seventeen.

The elder daughter in a family of six, the mother had died while giving birth to the fourth and last child of the family, a girl. The two boys before her had moved to Lagos, a more lucrative state, in search of greener pastures. She had, since the demise of her mother, attained the position of mother to her sister and sometimes as she would jokingly enthused, a wife to her now deceased father.

Abubakar had explained to her with a heavy heart that it was possible she contracted it by cutting herself with any sharp object which another carrier had cut himself or herself with. He urged her though, that the cause didn’t matter as much as how she was going to cope with living with the disease. She went on to confess that she usually use her father’s shaving blade to shave her private parts and armpits. Abubakar had decided to be matter – of – fact about the issue but she had took the reins, suggesting maybe that was the cause, as she had cut herself once or twice with the blade. She had decided to confront her father and Abubakar had acquiesced. Her father, an illiterate, like most of the men in his village, was a driver of a commercial vehicle, a job that had taken him miles away from home. Ogechi’s father had grudgingly agreed to follow his daughter to Abakaliki, the state capital, to take the test. He was a carrier. A naturally quiet man, he had explained to his daughter all his escapades; having unprotected sex with prostitutes while he was away from home on duty. He apologized to her profusely after she had told him she contracted it from him. He solemnly promised to find a solution to it. He did. A week later, he was found dead on his farm, hanging by the neck from a mango tree. It was a taboo to commit suicide in this village, hence his corpse was taken far away from home and dumped in the ‘Evil forest’, a thick forest where corpses of people who had died in a manner otherwise considered normal in the village were dumped. His sons had no reason to come home for his burial.

Ogechi and her baby sister had since moved in with their uncle, still in the same village. Her brothers couldn’t come home to see them, at least not now. As far as the villagers were concerned, their father had put a curse on the family, a situation usually to be remedied by performing some sacrifices – something the young boys were not financially capable of. So they had stayed back in Lagos. Ogechi had fallen ill three times in quick succession within a month. In villages like this one scattered across Nigeria, medical facilities was a phantom, known of, but seldom experienced. It was difficult to ascertain the cause of her illness as there was no means to take her to the hospital for treatment because of the nature of illness. Malaria was a common enough illness, but HIV/AIDS must as well be a curse among these villagers as the patient must die – a rationale stemming from their belief that all illnesses are curable except curses.

The extraordinary element in this account, mused Abubakar, as he got to the door of Ogechi’s room, was the inert nature of the government towards the plight of their citizens, mostly those unfortunate enough to be villagers. All they do is promise. However, their character speaks so loud, the people could hardly hear what they are saying anymore. He braced himself and knocked on her door.

“Come in.” a faint voice answered. He stepped into the darkened room.
The room had, as a companion a thin mattress lying at the corner on the bare floor, its occupant, Ogechi, in it. She was wearing a T-shirt long enough to cover her knees. She managed a wan smile when she saw him and shifted her frail body to the end of the mattress, making room for him to sit. He sat down at the edge of the mattress where she had made space for him close to where her head was resting on an equally thin pillow. He reached out and touched her forehead, then played with her hair. She was convalescing.

The moon was shinning brightly that night; the only source of light the room had. She was looking directly at it through the small window by the corner of the room where she was facing. The moon, too, equally looked back at her and her face shone. She had a pretty face and an equally shapely body. Puberty beauty was evident on her breasts, fully grown, and her hips, wide, from which long tapered legs reached out. Save for the rhythmic chiming of the wall clock, the room had an eerie silence.

“How are you, Oge?” Abu broke the silence.
She nodded a “fine, thank you” at him. She was avoiding eye contact with him. She knew he had come to say goodbye. Goodbye that he was leaving or goodbye that she was going to die soon, she pondered. She liked him; wished he were her brother.

“Do you know Van Gogh?” Abu tried his never – fail teaching method where he would ask a question he knew the class wouldn’t know the answer to. It was meant to get their attention. The class would chorus a ‘No Sir’ and he would delve into explaining to them; then skillfully start the day’s topic.
“Who is he?” Ogechi asked, a smile finding its way, all the way, across her face. She knew the trick, she was his pupil, but couldn’t help falling for it. He however didn’t see her smile as her face was turned away from him.
“Who was he, you mean?”
“Oh, sorry, didn’t know he was dead.”
“So who was he?”
“Well, he was one of the greatest artists that lived on the surface of the earth. Like most artists, his works were not worth much while he was alive. Now they are worth millions. His painting of his personal physician, Mr. Gatchet, is now worth $82.5 million.”
“Well, Han…..”
“Vincent Van Gough. That’s his full name. Vincent Van Gough.”
“Oh, well, I mean he sounds like every other great impressionist. You know, starting poor, people not really appreciating what you do, I mean financially, of course. And suddenly you die and bang! Wealthy collectors make a mad rush in a bid to get your lifeless paintings for millions of dollars. “
“Vincent’s was different.”
“Oh yeah.”
“He started hallucinating… I’m not sure when and he personally asked to be taken to a mental home.”
“Now he’s beginning to be different.”
“Yeah, devoid of love except for that of his only brother, Theo, and desperate for a lover, his condition worsened
“All artists are lovers.”
“Yeah, sincere lovers.”
“Hmm.” Ogechi was getting warmed up, finally interested.
“To show his sincere love for a prostitute, he cut off his left ear and gave it to her.”
That was when she looked hard at him. Very hard.

During one of their numerous conversations, she had told him about her desire to be an artist. He had in his usual calm demeanor, encouraged her, promising to find books on the subject for her. She had given him her own parting gift, a painting of him in his NYSC uniform and it was evident from her powerful strokes that she was a prodigy.
“I can’t stay any longer.” she bit back the sob, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Yes you can. I would prove my love for you by coming back here every month to see how you are faring. Please Ogechi, your sister needs you.”
”Have you ever worn a pair of shoes without soles?”Ogechi asked, slowly.
“Shoes don’t come without soles, Oge.” Abubakar answered in a low tone, sensing defeat at his own game for the first time.
“Mine did, sir, and I can’t stand the pain anymore.”
“Have you taken your drugs?” He asked not because the drugs did matter-they were common pain-reliever readily available in the village – but because he was not sure about what to say anymore.
“Yes sir.” She replied jokingly, shifting her frail body into a more comfortable position, preparing to go to sleep. He tucked her in properly, both enjoying the little drama he made of the act. She fell asleep not quite long after that, peacefully, like a baby. He waited until he was sure she was deep in slumber, said his goodbye to her, and then went out of the room with a heavy heart. As he stepped into the night, he heard the distant hooting of an owl. Ogechi was found dead the next morning; she had poisoned herself. She left a note for Abubakar which read “Please forgive me, but I can’t see any help coming.”

Written by Muyis Adepoju

“@abdulmuizzx on twitter



The face didn’t come out clearly before she screamed in her dream, in the process waking up the man that was half-awake by her side. They both echoed a soft ‘sorry’, at the same time.
‘Am sorry, please’ she repeated certain that she was to blame.
The man nodded an acceptance of apology, now certain that the lady sitting by his side was to blame for the disruption in his slumber and not he for hers. He shifted more comfortably in his not-too-comfortable seat of the tightly packed luxurious bus that was travelling night-time from Port-Harcourt to Lagos. They were half-way through the journey and the time was half-way to dawn.
“Where are we now?” she asked, turning her pretty face towards her travelling neighbor. They had not said anything to each other before the soft jointly-echoed sorry. And in that split second before he answered and before she turned away after saying a thank you, the dream flashed through her mind at a dizzying speed, again. But she didn’t scream this time. Because she was staring at a set of the most tranquil eyes she had ever seen in her entire teenage years. Not even in her dreams. They were a pair of eyes that were the exact opposite of what she had just seen in her dream. So instead, she lingered after he told her that they were at Ore. She decided to make conversation with her neighbor to prevent her from falling asleep again. She wanted an escape from the dream. Or so she told herself. So she asked another question.
‘When do you think we will get to Lagos?”
But the voice didn’t come out right again when the young man replied that it would be just before dawn. His voice sounded croaky and he appeared to have a mouthful of saliva. He excused himself and leaned over her towards the window. When he had relieved himself of the saliva in his mouth, he took out his handkerchief and dabbed at his mouth. He cleared his throat and even she could almost feel the pain that racked through his body as he did. And he tried again at talking.
‘We should get there just before dawn.”
‘Are you okay?’
‘Throat cancer.’ And he said it so quietly like saying it out loud would bring the pain back and harder. He lowered his head, perhaps in shame, perhaps in pain. But it was shock that made him raise it again and turned it at his neighbor when she said and loudly too…
‘Breast cancer.’ And she lowered her head, neither in shame nor in pain but she couldn’t meet the stare of the young man no more. With her head still lowered, she continued.
‘I was just fooling around three days ago in front of my mirror… just playing, that’s all. I had just gotten out of the showers and I was taking my time with my cream on my breasts when I felt a lump… here.’ She touched her left breast with her right hand. ‘I was just playing…’ And the tears came.
‘Doctor says I am lucky… early detection is the key or something like that was the last thing I heard before I fainted. It was his face that I saw in my dream that made me scream.’
Because he didn’t know how to console a young pretty lady that had just been told she has breast cancer, he narrated his own story instead, hoping that would console her.
‘It started harmlessly with a sore throat that wouldn’t heal… doctor says it’s throat cancer after test. I will have to go under the knife.’
The big luxurious bus paused; the driver made some friendly banter with the absent-minded police officers at the checkpoint and picked up speed.
They would tell their children sometimes later in life how cancer had brought them together. How they had fought it together with the help of their family and friends. How, trying to be of help to other unfortunate victims of this killer, they had started a non-governmental organization, EARLY DETECTION FOUNDATION. The road had been dogged with both human and non-human obstacles as they would say to their children, but it had been worth the trouble as the main vision of the organization-awareness- is being realised.
But for now, they will just hold hands and cry.

By Muyis Adepoju


And it came to pass on the sixteenth day, in the sixth month and in the first year of Jubilee, the day the new army of jobless youths was to be unleashed to join one of the earth’s biggest army Naijaria’s teeming jobless youths, a mighty blast like the coming of the host of heaven was heard in Naijaria, in the city it should not be heard, at the house of the head of the King’s guards. The heard of the King’s guards Hafiz escaped death but the King could not escape what hit him. At the sound of the blast, in a bid to escape death, the King ran from his garden where he was presiding over the contents of an Ogogoro bottle and ran into a transparent door. Just as the King was landing on the floor, Queen Gbags who was running after him tripped over and landed on his head. The King could not see a thing for hours as the contour blocked his eyes. The men who tended to the King’s swollen face did all they could to restore it to its original shape because by now the people of Naijaria were calling for the king to “show face na.”

By now the Haramites had claimed responsibility for the blast, the great King Barak had released a statement, the body of the world’s kings and tyrants had released a statement and indeed all the kings of the world whose statements were worth reading released statements condemning the act of war by the Haramites. The Clueless King finally came to six hours later. “Are we at war? Are we at war? Where is my Queen? You Humoki, pack my boxes I am going back to my village.” The man before him answered “Oh mighty Clueless King, your servant is not Humoki, Humoki has escaped to the basement after the blast. I am Robben Abat.” By now the king was beginning to see forms and he could recognise Abat who helped with the king’s public statements. “Your royal Cluelessness sir, I have come to collect your statement concerning the blasts in the city.” The king was very furious “statement! Statement! Abat you are a fool! I knew you were when I brought you to the palace but you did not know because the people thought you wise, so I brought you here to show you your true foolish self.” Abat was bitter in his heart but he could not show it, “but Oh Clueness and now discombobulated One, what would you have me do?” the king was even more furious now “you called me a word now, disbombnated. Are you mad Abat?” Abat smiled but was still bitter in his heart, “Oh Clueless one, I called you Clueless before my days in the palace but you hated it until I told you it was a word for great kings just above Majesty. What if I told you the Discombobulated Clueless one is greater than just a clueless one? It means you are the bravest of all kings.” The king was pleased at this revelation. He was not pleased that Abat had discovered he did not know discombobulated meant bravery. By now Hafiz the head of the guards had come into the palace, “Oh Clueless King!…” The king retorted “shut them there you fool! Call me the Disbombnated Clueless one.” Abat corrected him, “discombobulated sir.” The king made to correct himself but he still could not get the word so he said to Hafiz, “always call me what Abat calls me. Now Abat tell him my new title.” Abat looked Hafiz in the eyes and said “Our king for his bravely and wisdom would prefer to now be called The Discombobulated Clueless One.” Hafiz though confused complied immediately “Oh Discombobulated Clueless one, would you like to see the site of the blasts?” the king was gripped with fear. He could not fathom how his own guard would want him to go and see a war zone. “Hafiz, you mean you left the war zone to invite me to the forefront?” Hafiz realised the king was still at sea with realities. “Oh Clueless One…” the King shouted, “Oh foolish man, add my Discon title.” “sorry your discombobulated cluelessness. Oh Discombobulated Clueless One, my men have quelled the war. It was the children of the Haramites who waged war against us. We killed them all but they bombed the arsenal and killed two of our men.” The king was really pleased to hear the war had ended as quickly as it had started. “Hafiz, you are a great guard. Remind me to decorate you with a royal honour when I the discombonated one honours the men of the kingdom.”

Queen Gbags who had locked up herself in the inner chambers of the palace had been listening to the conversation. She realised there was nothing to fear after all. She joined the trio. “If you are the Discarbonated Clueless One, what is my transformation of my title?” Abat it was who spoke, “Oh Concentrated Queen of Gbags or CQG.” The queen was pleased, “I was listen to you three and I was convinced that nevertheless the king is alive and now I will not be orphan and my children will not be widows.” Hafiz because of this new title of Confiscated of mine, I want to donate to your guards.” Hafiz straightened up and smiled at the queen. “Hafiz, on behalf of 20 million naira, I donate my husband and indeed my entire family.”

By now Twitteria Lane was a city of noise and anger. Everyone apart from the voltrons of the Discombobulated Clueless One was wondering whether the King had been abducted as he had not spoken for hours after the blasts. Humoki had not resumed his duties on twitteria so the people of twitteria the twittarites argued amongst themselves.

And so it came to pass on the night of the blast, the Discombobulated Clueless One ordered Dougas to compile a list of names to form a committee on why he had not been referred to as “discombobulated” all along. Dougas was discombobulated himself that the king had not instead set up a mega and high powered committee to look into the blasts but he was quiet. As he made to speak the king spoke, “and don’t forget to form a high powered committee on why you should not be sacked. You were nowhere to be found when the Haramites came. Form another committee to honour brave men of my kingdom. Hafiz should be honoured for his bravery.” Dougas was about to add his voice but the king spoke again, “King Barak called to say my government was too big to fight the Haramites with effectively, so form a committee to look into the effective of our government.”

And the fame of the Clueless King spread abroad as his cluelessness became the new art of leadership weakness and the failure of governance. By now, those who voted the Discombobulated Clueless One and not his cabal had become heartbroken. The kingdom was in dire straits, the economy on the brink and then the Queen of Gbags appeared on national TV.

PS: This is not a real story or is it? Part 3 on the way



In the first year of the jubilee of Naijaria in the year the great King Barak killed Osaman the Alquaedite, there rose a King from the West of Africa in Naijaria. At the beginning of his reign an Angel appeared to me and I was caught up in this vision. This book is the book of the records as the angel showed me through the land of Naijaria.

I saw the Clueless King in all his glory as the people shouted in celebration of his rise to power. In matters of leadership the Clueless one was a failure and would at best be a ball boy in another world but this was a dream not a sane world. My dreams looked like I was also part of the happenings but here I could see everything and this was not to be possible in a real world.

On the first day of the reign of the King who had been born a slave without cloths or shoes, he liked the inner chambers of the palace so much he wanted to stay there forever. He spent most of his time in the palace bar but none of the exotic wines would satisfy his quest to always get drunk. So he declared to his guards to get him a locally distilled spirit and then came Ogogoro whom the king delighted in. It was one of the days he was drinking ogogoro the idea of staying longer in power crept on him so he called the men of his inner kitchen and put the question to them, “can we all live here forever?” and the people hailed “Oh foolish King, may you reign forever!” “Stupid fools, I asked a question and I need an answer. Can we all live here forever?” Humoki one of the servants then spoke up, “Oh Clueless One, we will have to read the constitution.” To Humoki, the constitution solves every problem. The Clueless King liked the sound of the advice so he called his closest staff Okonto Dougas and said “Okonto, form a committee to read the constitution and get another committee to find out from the readers of the constitution what they have learned from the constitution.” Okonto was amazed at the wisdom of his King and was forced to speak in admiration “Oh Clueless One, your wisdom is of the ages. May your cluelessness reign forever.” The King was delighted and sought to revel in the praise of his servants, “call me Queen Gbags and let’s splurge on more Ogogoro.” They partied into the next month of June.

By the end of June, the treasury of the Kingdom had been expended so Humoki advised the King wisely, “Oh great King, we need a shadow king to manage the Kingdom so that we mortals will never have to disturb you and your bottles of Ogogoro.” “Humoki, that is a great idea. Since we got into power we haven’t done a single thing. This people will find us out sooner or later. I’ll ask Dangote.” Humoki was on his way out when Mary the Oga dashed into the room, And Mary the Oga ran to the King “Oh foolish king, there arose in your kingdom another kingdom of rebels called Twitarites. They are the greatest threat to your Royal Cluelessness. Something has to be done sir.” The King pressed the bell as Humoki came into the room. “What do you know about Twitarites?” “Your Royal Cluenessness, I have assessed the problem and I’ll deal with it. Please do not set up a committee for this one. We will order for 200 ipads, 500 BlackBerries, and 1000 laptops to wage the war on Twitteria Lane. They are a bunch of middle class kids and overfed fathers who can be crippled with my presence.” The King set up a committee to purchase the materials requested by Humoki and another committee to monitor the delivery. Humoki was glad. He had achieved one of his ambitions of relevance in the Kingdom. He looked forward to his return to Twitteria.

The Angel called me aside and said I had to return to Twitteria as that was where the battle had to be won before the land battle. By this time Humoki had returned to Twitteria and was having a good run as Mallama Elrufar paid attention as Humoki smartly tweeted at the Mallama and got responses. The people followed Humoki in droves.

Meanwhile the King had made a request to the Bank in Amerika for the return of madam Hugozia to the Kingdom. She was reluctant to return until she was told her role was not to return as just a minister in the King’s cabinet but as the absolute Queen of the Kingdom as the prime minister. Madam Hugozia was wary of the appointment as she could not believe the legend of the King’s Cluelessness was enough to warrant him appointing a prime minister, so she sought an appointment with the Emperor King of Naijaria.

On the morning of the day the great King Barak killed Osaman, madam Hugozia was meeting with the Clueless King.
And it came to pass as madam Hugozia was meeting with the Clueless One, the King confessed, “Hugozia let me confess to you. People call me the clueless one but they have no idea. I am the epitome of dumbness. I know nothing except you regard the ability to down bottles of ogogoro a kind of knowledge. I want you to be the king of the kingdom between us but the people will still see me as their King.” Because the people trusted a man’s luck instead of God’s favour and their reason, the Clueless King became even more dumb and his dumbness became the metaphor of human stupidity so much so when you use the word “clueless” in his Kingdom the people bow or frown in deference to the King.

And the angel said to me to look away from the caves and pay attention to Twitteria for here is the beginning of the battles and then I saw Humokiri and I saw a reflection of myself Humajuwa. And it was morning and it was night and I was called off to the inner chamber of the Clueless One and here I saw the Damn Queen Gbags for the first time…

In the 42nd year of the reign of the great King of Libiya, the great King Barak had him killed by his own people but there were other battles on Twitteria another kingdom in Naijaria. By this time, Haramites had taken hold of Naijaria and the Clueless King feared for his life…

the story continues as the King reigns… This is a satire, if it makes you sad…well get a life

MTN 3997 9311 7629


Sunday the 20th November, 2011 is the official launch/book reading for my friend’s book, ‘The Son of your Father’s Concubine’ .

Time: 3pm
Venue: (822 Integrated Advertising) 12B, Talabi Street, off Adeniyi Jones, Ikeja.

We’ll be hosting the Managing Director of The Guardian Newspapers, the Director-General of NECA amongst other dignitaries. Chude Jideonwo of the RED Group and The Future Awards and Toyosi Akerele of RISE will also be at the event.

The event will be anchored by Bankole Williams. He is the author of ‘Engaged to a Job I hate’ and a fantastic speaker/compere.

Meanwhile, ‘Seun Salami (the author) , SteveHARRIS and female gospel singer, Nikki Laoye will be reading sections of the book to you. I bet you’ve never experienced it done this way before.

As you prepare to go to bed or…, please read an interesting interview I had with Myne Whitman. It begins with a scary mail http://bit.ly/rXUrEO

Contact ‘SeunWrites
(Your favourite writer’s favourite writer)

BB Pin: 27961385
twitter: @SeunWrites
email: seunsalami@vinemediang.com

STATE OF THE NATION by Muyis Adepoju

Through a blockade of shoulders, Timi gently props herself up on her toes and calls out to the vendor in a tiny voice that cuts through the cacophony of voices. The vendor hears, looks up and smiles at his only female customer; one of the few that actually buys and hurries to give her the usual. While at it, he takes a friendly swipe at the men that are feverishly glancing at the different headlines on the dailies; jokingly threatening them that if they touch any one of the newspapers, they will pay for it. Each one returns his threat with an equally friendly banter as best he can and the place gets louder.

It is eight on a Monday morning. She looks around after folding the newspaper neatly and walks to the kiosk that is directly opposite the newsstand in a leisurely manner. She sits down at the far end of the kiosk after mingling through a hoard of bodies that are already having breakfast. The kiosk is stuffy with thick smell of boiling liquids and solids. She proceeds to fan herself with the newspaper.

This has been her Monday routine for two months now after her suspension from work. The suspension was supposed to last for three weeks according to the bank’s disciplinary committee but it’s the third month now. A senior colleague told her to look for another job while on her suspension and she had laughed. That was two weeks into her suspension. This is the third month and they are still at it.

Events in the country mirror her own. In all aspects of the country’s endeavors, total chaos is the order of the day. It is a perfect example of motion without action. Citizens that have taken solace in sport achievements rather than the government’s achievements were given another shocker of their life when the national soccer team failed to qualify for the African Cup of Nation (AFCON) football tournament over the weekend. The Academic Staff Union of the universities (ASUU) just announced that they will be going on an indefinite strike action to show the students and their parents, never the government, their grievances. The economy is in shambles as the apex bank tries to redeem the old glory by axing the licenses of some banks that are not healthy enough to continue the race to Utopia. Power Holding Company of Nigeria (PHCN) is still trying to wake up from an apparent slumber that was passed on to them by their predecessors, thereby being unable to generate power for themselves and the country. Unemployment index is at an all time high and the federal government has just been christened ‘Clueless’ as they keep embarking on white elephant projects that are in the real sense needless and unprofitable to a nation with a rapidly depleting local and foreign reserves. And corruption continues to flow in the veins of the politicians as they are becoming more daring in their bid to run the country aground. Above all, insecurity reigns as armed militia with various names trail these politicians up and down the country while innocent citizens are rewarded with stray bullets for being at the right place at the wrong time. Taking a cue from the government’s cluelessness in not being able to apprehend them but sometimes reward them for their notoriety, these groups of armed militia are getting bolder in their mode of operation. Recently, the United Nation (UN) office in the capital city was bombed. Before that, bombs had been detonated in some other parts of the country. The fear of these notorious groups is gradually becoming the beginning of wisdom. And the federal government recently proved this prognosis correct by declaring that the nation’s fifty-one year anniversary would be an in-door activity, citing insecurity as the main reason. The latest burden the hapless citizens will have to carry is the removal of fuel subsidy. What this means to the average Nigerian is simple. The already high price of a litre of fuel is about to be increased by a hundred fold. It is their new year gift from the government.

In response to all these anomalies, the citizens are imploding. Left at the mercy of private corporations who incessantly rape them without any form of protection from the consumer protection agencies and the price regulatory bodies, the average Nigerian is a walking zombie; a dried-up husks of hopelessness.

Timi glances at her wrist-watch absentmindedly and looks up to find her friend entering. She smiles despite herself. About two weeks ago at the vendor’s, she had been surprised by a young man who begged her to let him make a photocopy of the classified section of the newspaper she had just bought. She was taken aback at first by the request. But after the illegal duplication at a nearby business center, she finally found her voice and told the young jobless graduate that he could come to her place and read the newspaper. But he had politely declined explaining to her that he was taking the photocopies to a group of friends who are as jobless as he is. Each weekday, one of the jobless friends will wait at the vendor’s and look for a buyer who is approachable, usually but not always a female. He will then make his harmless demand. He was on duty that day. He has been on duty since that day. It was not hard to convince his friends to let him do them the honor of getting them the daily newspaper. In return, he gets to see his love every morning.

But there will not be a photocopying session today. He is taking her to the ‘official residence’ of the group. Two of the friends just got employed. The others are celebrating their first day at work this morning. Today, she will be officially inducted as a member. And perhaps, she will get a new job soon. Perhaps.


During the crisp days of his youth, Joseph had all the adventures life offered and even took the ones it didn’t with so great a passion that even he admitted later in life that there must have been an invincible force that was prompting him to just get more and more out of life without giving any consideration for the aftermath effects. Those were the glorious days when raw youthfulness dared where the most fearless would not. And although, most of these adventures were purely for the thrills and recognition that usually comes with it from his peers, he had one or two misadventures that were purely for the money he needed at that time to settle one or two hitches he found himself in while servicing his other adventures- drugs and women.

Ounce upon a sunny afternoon, about twenty years ago, two of his friends brought news about a new adventure.

‘This is too good to be true. We just walk in and out like that?’ Joseph had heard tales that were told with so much correctness of situation only to find out that one or two obstacles needed to be removed before the adventure could begin. His two friends succeeded in convincing him to take the deal because, according to them, that would be the only time they would be doing something for themselves that was going to last a lifetime. Their future was there right in front of them to secure. That was what was too good to be true. The possibility that with one harmless act their whole world could change for the better forever in a country where planning for your future usually take the whole of a lifetime was just too much a temptation for anybody to resist.

Now, on a cool, windy morning, on a train bound for somewhere close to his destination, Joseph inhaled deeply the cool air that always heralded a downpour and whished simultaneously for a cigarette. His mind was in a whirlpool alright. But there was clarity in the midst of confusion even as he pondered what his next move would be after that morning. The orphanage didn’t say much. They just asked to see him as soon as he could make the trip. That should have been the destination of his thoughts. But instead they circled around him for a while and then travelled back to that night about twenty years ago. And he submitted to the time travel.

It was really too good to be true. They walked into the uncompleted building and carted away the loot some dare-devils armed robbers had taken from a bank the night before. According to police reports, it was estimated that the robbers made away with three hundred million naira. But the police were seriously on their trail thanks to an anonymous tip. So instead of returning to base the following morning to share the loot, they fled town.

But on their way out of the building, they heard the inaudible sharp sounds of a woman that were evenly spaced. Shocked and unsure of what to do, they nonetheless went deeper inside the building in search of the only witness of the adventure. A middle-aged woman was sprawling on the bare ground stark naked and in labor pains. Her legs were wide open. It was a gory sight for the men because none of them had seen a woman in labor before. And it was also obvious from her unkempt hair and long dirty fingernails that she was mad. And she got madder when she found out that she had company. She screamed louder and it was hard for the men to decipher whether the louder screams were directed at them or at the tiny head that was slowly pushing its way out of her.

‘We have to help her…’ Joseph brought the men out of their reverie.

But the other two would not hear of it. Time was of the essence. They didn’t come here to help. Besides how do you help a mad woman in labor?

‘I don’t know. Let us at least wait till the baby comes out and then we…’

Joseph was under a spell. It was evident by the way he stood transfixed, staring at the scene. There were three bags and three men each with a car. The plan was to drive away individually after the heist to their respective homes. Joseph’s sudden desire to be a mid-wife would not put a spanner in their wheels. And so the two friends left Joseph to his new found adventure. And the night got chiller. He would later find out that they ran into the waiting arms of the police that were swarming the whole town that night, still hot on the trail of the bank robbers. They thereafter died in prison two days later, mysteriously, according to the police spokesperson. The police claimed nothing was found on them.

Death could be a pacifier sometimes, Joseph thought for the hundredth time as the train inched closer to his destination. What would he have done that night when the air just got thicker with the scent of a new baby wrapped in blood and dirt? It took about five minutes and the unbearable shrieks of the baby before he realized that the mother was dead. He thought she was resting after that long bout for survival. That spirit that made him wait now pushed him forward and like a man in a dream, he removed his pocket-knife and cut the umbilical cord. He picked up the baby and instinct just whispered to him to feed the baby. He did by putting his forefinger in her little mouth and she sucked with a feisty passion. That was when Joseph realized that he was crying in the middle of an uncompleted building that happened to be a crime scene with a dead woman, a minute old baby and a bag full of money that was the evidence of a bank robbery and his legs gave him reason. He drove straight to the nearest orphanage in town which just happened to be the only one and dropped the baby at a block from it with a hurriedly written note on the brief history of the baby and a phone number where he could be reached.

The train stopped and his thoughts stopped too. He got down and took a long look at the orphanage before walking through the open gates. His exact instructions had been adhered too. When the orphanage called the next day, twenty years ago, he had told them to take care of the baby like she was the daughter of a rich man. All he needed do was foot her monthly bills. The orphanage had been pleased with such a kind gesture. They were already biting more than they could chew and the government that couldn’t take care of children with parents would rather an orphanage didn’t exist. They asked him for a name and he cried again. They named her Grace but he secretly called her Witness. He had told them not to tell her anything about her mysterious benefactor unless she asked. And she had been asking for him for two years now.

Joseph heaved a sigh of relief as a nun walked up to him… he was more than ready to give Grace a detailed account of how he had managed her own share of the loot that she was the only witness to.

(c) Muyis Adepoju

Debut Under Sunday Night Lights – Rashid Johnson

…I understand that this is his first game in the NFL but you should really see this kid play. He is something Phil. I tell you, from what I’ve seen him do during practice this might just be his lucky break. He has grown and matured from the sloppy Brian we all are used to and he seemed to have learned a lot in his few months with the Cowboys. For those of you just joining us, I am James Richardson coming to you live alongside my commentary partner; Phil Stevens from the Cowboys’ stadium here in Arlington and you can get choked by the abundant tension in the atmosphere here. Eagles’ fans are loving every minute of this, they are up by 1point with 4seconds to go and all they have to do is prevent the Cowboys from scoring and they are in the playoffs. I must mention that the Cowboys’ starting QB (Quarterback), Jimmy Danzelforth is out with a broken wrist and the backup QB, a rookie from University of Texas, Brian McAustin is getting ready to make his first NFL appearance and what a time to do so, its 4th down here in the 4th quarter and it’s all or nothing for the Cowboys. Can they make this a memorable day for their fans? All eyes are on Brian as the teams line up for scrimmage.

The noise in the stadium is deafening, all I can hear are the loud chants of the Eagles fans. The noise isn’t helping to cool my nerves, it’s my first time on the job and I don’t want to screw things up. It’s my chance to either make it or make it. I can’t afford a break it option. With everything ready, I take one look at my coach; his gentle and barely noticeable nod was supposed to mean trust but I know why I’m here, it has absolutely nothing to do with trust. One mistake and I’m gone. I know I shouldn’t be scared but I can’t help it. The coordination techniques my coach had taught me are near impossible to put to use as the only thing my brain can focus on is what will happen if I hit my target or if I miss. I make up a coordination technique for myself “Think of the action and think of it ending positively” now I feel a whole lot better. I smile, clench my fists and unclench them and slowly I say to myself “It is time”

Wherever you are watching this from, you have to pity the Cowboys. Yes they put themselves in this situation by not winning games at the beginning of the season but they have fought back as a team and it’ll be painful if they lose this game now. It’s their final attempt of this game and their final shot at the playoffs. And it all lies in the hands of Brian McAustin their QB. Can he make a play? Everyone is on their feet as Brian gets ready for the fourth down. If the noise in the stadium was deafening before I don’t know what you want to call it now. Brian takes the snap…

At this very moment the noise suddenly disappears, everything seems to quiet down as the moment I’ve been waiting for arrives. The people around me seem to move slowly and I can swear this came right out of a movie.

He had better release the ball before they hit him. He’s taking too much time; he needs to throw the ball

I know it’s hardest when the target is moving but clear that thought out of my head, narrow my eyes and up my determination level. And I just let it go.


Bull’s eye!!!

The Cowboys have done it and they are going to the playoffs and their fans are rightfully delirious. What a shocker!!! Hold on! Hold on! There’s pandemonium in an area of the stadium. We can’t tell exactly what’s going on but there seems to be trouble in the crowd. It doesn’t look like their celebrating. It actually looks like… they are running. Oh my God, a report just reaching us from the field tells us the QB Brian McAustin has been shot; he’s dead! How on earth…

I’m 30seconds away from completing my escape, 2minutes ahead of schedule. My first day as an assassin and I’m feeling like a pro. Not bad, Jason, not bad!

USUAL VICTIMS written by Muyis Adepoju

At twenty-five, Princess still believes in the Nigerian dream. She hurries through her morning chores as she plays in her mind a thousand different ways about how to tell her students that the planned excursion to the national zoo had been postponed for the fifth time in a single term. The heated discussion she had with her principal a day before kept interrupting her thoughts as she brushed her long hair in front of the equally long standing mirror. She had been furious when the principal, a dark stoic man, had told her that she could spend her whole life trying to get an appointment with the commissioner of education and that she might die in the process.
‘There is no better way to go!’ She thundered at the principal with arms akimbo. The eerie silence that followed cut through the tension in the stuffy office like a hot knife gliding through butter. The relationship between them had blossomed when she was still a Corps member, observing the mandatory one year compulsory service for her country after graduation from the higher institution. It had been easy for her to be liked because she had given more than was required of her in a scheme that was slowly biting the dust. She was so dedicated to her temporary job that the school board with the support of the N.Y.S.C. lobbied for her to stay behind after the service year as a permanent staff. She stayed not because it was better than leaving but because there was nothing out there. In her family alone, there are three university graduates that are still roaming the streets. Some families have more. Early on in her school days, she had promised herself not to be a victim of circumstances. So when she was posted to a remote area in the western region of the country to teach in a government owned secondary institution, she decided to stay on if asked. She had consoled herself with the theory that things would eventually get better and she would get a better job. Albeit the theory still remains so with the stark reality that it just might get worse, Princess remains undaunted in her noble quest of imparting knowledge on her unassuming students. Now three years on the staff of the school, she finds herself pitching her tent with the school children rather than with the school staff. Everything she does for the benefit of the children in particular and the school in general has always come with a price. She fights all the time to get things done. So this confrontation was normal.
The short ride to school is uneventful. She has now in her mind a convincing story to tell her students as she alights from the motorcycle in front of the school gate. She walks straight to the staffroom to sign the attendance register with mixed feelings. She exchanges greetings with her colleagues and one of them informs her that the principal wants to see her.
In the principal’s office, she sits down in one of the rickety arm-chairs facing him and makes to apologize for her outburst the day before. But he waves his hand, signaling her to forget it as he launches into his speech.
‘I used to be like you when I was your age, Princess. I tried to make things work. I questioned authority. Because you want to know, I will tell you. These children will be victims all their lives. They will be at the mercy of corrupt government officials who will use the money meant for their education to send their own children abroad. Who cares about them? They are the usual victims.’
‘I do.’
Princess would go out on a limp and get her students their much anticipated excursion. It would be her baptism into the world of activism as she would lose her job in the process. But later on in life, she would tell her children that nothing compared to the looks on the faces of her students that day when she finally told them that they would make the excursion. And she gave everything she could to get a replay of that undiluted show of gratitude that only selfless service deserves all her life. Her N.G.O (USUAL VICTIMS) had put smiles on the faces of thousands of children in the country and she had twice rejected the call to serve as the commissioner of education in her state. She would coyly reply that she had done that once during her N.Y.S.C year.
‘Whatever you do that puts a smile on your face in the morning and makes you sleep peacefully like a baby at night is a job worth keeping.’She would later tell her children.
But for now, she will just leave the principal’s office, go to her classroom and serve the usual victims their pack of lies.

Follow the blog on twitter @omojuwa


When you get posted to Oyo state for your NYSC, your wish is to be posted to the largest city in West Africa, the city of red roofs: IBADAN, a city of the perverted, a city where being a celibate deems you sane and where promiscuity denotes normalcy. From the dirty canals and the pot-holed roads comes the finest women the west of Nigeria has to offer dressed in the brightest of colours God has to offer, colours that are a risk to combine and the tightly clad jeans encompassing the very (and I insist…very) heavy behind and like our brothers in America would say “lotta junk in tha trunk”.
Against the stereotype that Ibadan girls are cheap and easy to lay, I found out that was concluded based on the fact that Ibadan people (not just the girls) live for the moment and go for what they want irrespective of the cost or risk involved. They might not be the best project managers but they make the best entrepreneurs. Ibadan people are rich on the extreme and contented on the average, they might not be as “do or die” enterprising as their Lagos counterparts but make do with what they have and has a way of giving back to the society!
You can’t attempt to talk Ibadan and not make remarks to their loud mouth, from the small boys I see running in panties around my house yelling “iya baba e” to the students I teach in class saying “corper fiyen le, mawo oju e….ooloogun gan o”(corper, leave it be, don’t interrogate…..he’s fetish) to the bike man cursing everybody on the way to the park touts popularly coined “agbero” taunting themselves all day (and they would never fight, but at the tones of their voice, you’d think they would devour each other) to the women at gbagi market (who are either making passes at you cos you are a handsome young man or cursing you for negotiations) to the pot bellied men at bars in company of a much younger girl making promises and yelling how much they made that day or how much they bought their latest cars or how much tuition in their sons’ private university has soared in recent years.
In the one year I used, I became a celibate, alcohol addict, a playboy, a better lover, a DJ, a project manager, salesman, teacher, poet, and so many things I dare not try to describe. I learnt from my friends in Ibadan that “Reality is an illusion created by lack of alcohol.”a lot can happen when you have a little alcohol in the system and to make it more fun, most people around you are just as alcohol imbibed as you are. Even girls offer you drinks as a gesture of good faith (faith that you’d make them a happier person) and a party in Ibadan is like a beer fest, unlike lagosians that opt out for spirits and beers like star lager beer, Ibadan has a thing for beers I never knew existed till I got to Ibadan(turns out their ex Governor was also a fan), beers like “33”, “Trophy”, “Wilfort”, “Kronenburg”, “Satzenbraun” became names I quickly reckoned with as they were always out of the regular brands I was used to
After I suffered a severe heartbreak, I thought I would never get on my feet again, it turns out in Ibadan, I never needed my legs because I was taught to fly and soar in heights never imagines before, out of these heights I have a lot of memoirs worth sharing, lots of tales worth telling, lots of pictures worth showing and lots of gals worth….
Till I write again, till u read again…enjoy life!


Omojuwa: Once again congratulations on your anointing as president of the republic…

Jona: (cuts in) and commander in chief of the armed forces…

Omojuwa: (cuts in) armed robbers…

Jona: What?!

Omojuwa: nothing Mr. President, that’s part of what we will be discussing.

Jona: Let’s be positive please.

Omojuwa: Yes please. Talking about positive sir…congratulations now you have more shoes than you’d ever need.

Jona: Awww. Thank you. That’s the spirit.

Omojuwa: Sir, what are your concrete plans for Nigeria?

Jona: I already ordered Dangote and the rest of the cement people to make cement cheaper. That way Gods willing Nigeria’s concrete plans will be stonger. No more falling houses. God’s willing.

Omojuwa: I see. Sir a lot of people are of the opinion you are losing your patience with…(Madam Patience bursts in like a bull)

Patience: Joe you called my name now!

Jona: Argh! (looks sad) Nooo. We are having a lunch and the gentleman was talking to me about my patience…

Patience: (cuts in) oh. I am fine. And why didn’t you invite me?

Omojuwa: Ma’am it’s not a lunch, it’s an interview

Patience: Dame! Call me Dame! It is not a lunch but you have food in front of you? What is that called?

: Damn! It is a meal and more appropriately breakfast as this is just 10 am.

Patience: I said Dame not Damn!

Omojuwa: Damn is the higher version of Dame ma. Okay Dame.

Patience: In that case Damn me. I like you. What is your name?

(Jona cuts in)

Jona: (with a gentle voice) Damn, we are having an interview please.

Patience: Fine. Let’s do a threesome then. Was that not what you called it when that petrol woman joined us?

Jona: okay, gentleman let’s make it a threesome.

Omojuwa: (confused) Sir, I don’t do orgies!

Jona: (raises voice) Forget your urges. It’s an order my friend, a presidential order!

Patience: oya, start with me!

(Omojuwa stands up tries to move )

Patience: No no no, shoot from there boy.

Omojuwa: How do you want it Damn? (a rueful smile)

Patience: Just come direct but don’t come hard.

(Omojuwa gets even more confused)

Omojuwa: (thinking: how do you come direct without hitting hard?) Damn what is your best position?

Patience: Being behind the president. As a first lady that is the best position.

Omojuwa: Being behind? Who’s in charge and how can that be effective considering…
(Cuts in)
Patience: Grammer boy, I support him all the time. That is my position!

Omojuwa: (Now relaxed) Talking about support. Mr. President how is the support from your god fathers coming up?

Jona: Support? The only support I get from them is sending me names of their boys for positions and granting stupid interviews to condemn our transformation efforts.

Omojuwa: Sir, can you tell me some of your early achievements on Transformation?

Jona: A lot of them really. It was this tenure that produced two BET Award winners for Nigeria, Tuface and D’banj my home boy. D’banj also signed with GOOD Music, we won the under 20 nations’ cup and without making mouth I helped to increase Elrufai’s twitter followers.

Omojuwa: (Looking very serious) Great achievements really. How does the transformation theme reflect in your choice of ministers?

Patience: I can answer that. It is a good team already. Dezia is back where I want her. Me and her are two great woman that will move the petroleum business forward.

Omojuwa: Mr. President what do you have to say?

Jona: Look at that list and everywhere you look is transformation. Instead of taking a husband I transform my choice to the wife, instead of taking a father, I transform to the daughter, instead of taking Ota’s choice, I transform to Minna’s instead.

Omojuwa: And one transformation you must be credited for is the Damn First Lady. Like yourself, she had no shoes but now she is a fashion celebrity…apart from a few over application of pan cakes and foundation.

Patience: I use Mary Kay not pan cake.

Omojuwa: Noted Damn! ( I saw a flicker of Lightening in the sky from where I sat and suddenly…)


(Mr. President runs for cover)

Jona: (shouting) Yay! Yay! Boko Haram don land. (From his hiding under the table) Damn call Hafiz! Call Hafiz!

Patience: (Looking lost) The same Hafiz that got bombed?!

Omojuwa: Mr. President please come out from your hiding, that was Lightening not Boko Haram.

Jona: Damn is that right?

Patience: is lightening that blow and you are hiding what if Boko Haram blow? Sometimes you act like a children Joe.

(President looks embarassed as he made to crawl out)

Jona: (Smiling) Don’t mind me… Sometimes we carry out Bomb drills. You know how it is. Gods willing we won’t experience Bombs here o. If those people have the chance they will bomb me.

Omojuwa: sir they won’t bomb you. You are the president.

Jona: Those boys will go to hell for these troubles.

Omojuwa: Talking about hell…it appears Elrufai is making you go through some hell…
(Cuts in)

Jona: Never! Never! That’s not possible!

Omojuwa: But why would you arrest him twice in a week or so…?

(Cuts in)

Jona: No no. He was not arrested, he was picked. He is my brother but he talks too much. Do you know that he tweeted every move of the arrest? That twitter should be banned.

(Cuts in)
Patience: Don’t ban Teachers, ban English!

Jona: Huh!

Omojuwa: You can sir. Just appoint another bad minister for that ministry and the teachers will be endangered species.

Jona: but I meant twitter. I don’t know how to use it sef like Facebook.

: that reminds me, you forgot to mention your success on successfully running a Facebook account. Unlike your twitter handle where someone tried to pose as you but got caught.

Jona: huh! Has he been caught?

Omojuwa: yes sir. Apart from the fact that D’banj was one of the first people he followed which is understandable considering your obsession with his Jona Jona song, every other thing showed it was not your account.

Jona: argh! That is bad. So you people know eh? Can you handle a new twitter account for me?

Omojuwa: they will catch me too sir when I follow Elrufai and I keep tweeting sensible things. They will just know it’s not you. Why don’t you try the Damn.

Jona: (instantaneously) DISASTER!!!

Patience: What!!!

Jona: I mean you will be a target for disaster.

Patience: very true my dear. I hear everybody on twitter are making mischiefs

Omojuwa: You can organise another youth lunch and then pick one of them.

Jona: The last one divided them. They said I paid them bribes.

Omojuwa: No sir, they later in their usual style called it a better name, it’s per diem, but you paid some more than the others…

Jona: Youths are not equal…

Patience: No, my teacher said some things are equal and unequal

Omojuwa: Wow. Damn that’s some philosophical gangster there. Also they may be equal but some are more equal than the others. For instance, my own friend was able to get an Ipad with his per diem, another bought a Curve 2 while others had more money to invest into their booming businesses.

Jona: That is transformation…
Patience: And the power of the umblerra

Omojuwa: and of course Fresh air… and congratulations on your new media man. That was a good catch. No matter what he thinks now, he has to make you look good to the public now.

Jona: You are smart. Keep your friends close and your enemies closest

(Patience cuts in)

Patience: Closest Gbagaun! Gbolagaa!!! it’s Closer!

Jona: Sorry closer. I discovered that he was one of the most powerful voices out there and sometimes he attacked me. He even said I did not know how to talk imagine. That I was wrong to say four years was too short. Look at him now, he has to say what I tell him to say. Some people claim to be the Evil Genius but I am the Saint. No one suspects the Saint.

Omojuwa: Wow! That’s some political gangster sir. Wow! In that case get that Mallam that said you spend 2 billion per day on Defence to be Defence Minister now…

Jona: Why do you think those Yellow House boys took him? But he is too stubborn…too stubborn my brother.

Patience: You where do you stand?

Omojuwa: Damn I stand where God stands oh.

Patience: Good of you. The last man that said it stood where we stood so we are one and the same.

Omojuwa: Damn! You are right. We are brothers.

(A security detail whispers to the president:

Jona: Patience your English lesson teacher is here.

Patience: Shut up fool! Our English teacher!

Omojuwa: (cuts in) Oga I teach English too o.

Jona: No no. you write too much, you will write about it.

Omojuwa: Oga I won’t. There is a client confidential paper I’ll give…
(president cuts in)

Jona: Look can we have the interview now? I am quite busy.

Omojuwa: I can see that sir considering we have spent almost one hour sparring. It’s okay sir, I’ll just write about your achievements because I must meet with another client. I am busy. Look at how you are making Chatham house richer…

Jona: Hey! Let’s not go there…

Omojuwa: They are already there sir.

Jona: Who?

Omojuwa: Your favourite Mallam…next to Osun state’s president.

(President reaches for his phone)

Jona: Call me Ita quickly…

Omojuwa: Oga they arrested him but he was going to tweet again so they let him go.

Jona: How do you crash Twitter gentleman?

Omojuwa: Let Damn register a handle. When she tweets, her Gbagauns will be enough to destroy all of them. That is the DISASTER you need.

Jona: (nodding) Very good. Gods willing she will be on twitter from tonight. As for you who did you say you write for?

Omojuwa: FreshFarts dailies sir

Jona: Wonderful! Collect your per diem from that man (points) and please send me the interview when you finish creating it. Don’t forget, I had no shoes.

Omojuwa: And I am Good Luck Jona Than sir!

PS: Obviously, it is a joke!

Are you following us on twitter? @omojuwa if you like this, you will enjoy the Mallam Elrufai interview.


Lafter Konsept is receiving nominations for the Annual Employee Awards (Holding on the 20th of December, 2010 AD).


This particular CV was sent by the nominee himself for the award of the most competitive employee of the year in Nigeria (category A).








FONE NO: 0701-419-6419
























REMARKABLE EXPLOIT (Why the Nominee deserves this award)





We are tempted to dispose his entry through our dustbin but we hear complaints. And, since we intend to be as transparent and as unprejudiced as possible in our judgements, we will leave you to do this one. Please, should he be considered for the nominations?

If YES vote him in or vote otherwise via your comments. Thank You.

Olumoraks for MGS.

THE ENSLAVED VIRGIN GIRL by Modestus I Diko (Jnr.) – A Review

Modestus Diko’s new book The Enslaved Virgin Girl is not your everyday read. It is a book that is though much needed in these times of social ineptitude and juvenile delinquencies. The most curious thing about Modestus’ book is not what is written in the book but what was going through his mind when he decided to write the book.

We are at a point in human history where nothing is wrong. In fact, you are only wrong when convicted by a court of law –whether or not you are guilty. People choose virtues and vices and make of them what suits their present condition and situation. They say it is okay to steal if it is to cure your hunger. They agree honesty depends on whether it will hurt the other person. Virginity, the major theme of the book has lost its meaning and essence. This is why Modestus’ attempt at bringing such an issue to the fore strikes my curiousity. Frankly speaking, this one will not go down well with teenagers and young adults whose virginity have long been lost to strangers and vultures but it is a special gift for those whose virginity in its purest sense can still be vouched for.

Ironically starting with an introductory that seemed to be the foreplay of sex, it delves into the mind of a virgin girl. It portrays the battle of the mind against opposing forces even when that is one on the slate of purity. Written in simple language, Modestus ensured the content of the book would be read and understood by all and sundry. I particularly enjoyed the yo-yo thoughts of the Virgin. She goes from celebrating her piety to almost cursing herself for not being like the others. She then even experiments and discovered the futility of chasing shadows.

Almost a monologue, the book is entertaining yet didactic, it teaches yet allows one to think and decide answers by oneself. I read

“I say to her, my dear
There is nothing on earth
More than a pure spirit
In order for one to have
The whole earth
His thoughts, his words
His dreams
The secrets of his innermost
Heart all must be pure
And candid”

That reads like a part of the bible but it sure connects with our pursuit of joy and happiness. Lines like the above run through the length of the poem which in length does not compete with the Iliad but has to be one of the longest you have seen in a long time. Each word lead on to the next like a flow of river, moving over itself yet looking like it is stagnant. It is a beauty to a mind that loves the flow of words – especially in its everyday simplicity.

Amongst the sub-themes is the ever loving concept of Mother. Motherhood was celebrated in his ability to instill love and discipline from cradle even the point of crucial decisions like the – should I or should I not that comes with having sex for the first time. If I was a virgin, these would not have stopped me from experimenting but it would have prepared me for the consequences of heartbreaks and the many evils that go with pre-marital sex and all. See this from mother’s advice ;

“Listen to this, my daughter
Do you know why ritual killers
Use virgins for sacrifices?
It’s because they believe
Virgins are pure and
Without stain”

I don’t know of many writers who would have come out all ballistic on a tasty and controversial issue as virginity and pre-marital sex, hence I respect the bravely and intelligence of the writer of this book. I enjoyed reading it and had to read it over and again.

If there ever was a book that should get into your library whether or not you have your virginity, it is this. It is a guide for the upcoming generation. Besides HIV/AIDS, we can stop the menace of unwanted pregnancies and heart breaks. If you must break the cord, you ought to at least know the consequences that come with the action. This is what makes THE ENSLAVED VIRGIN GIRL BY M.I.D a must read for all and sundry.


‘You are quiet’ Sharma said as she laid her head on Mehans chest playing with the chest hair. He kissed her head and pulled her closer to him savouring the sweet smell of her.
They were laying on his bed of white clouds that sailed slowly around a large garden of exotic and rare flowers and trees that bloomed constantly below carefully tended by the watched eyes of the stars above, who also served as musicians ever time the clouds were laid.
‘I was just thinking’
‘About ?’
‘What I would give to have things be different for us’
‘I love you’
‘I know that, I just wish I could give you more than just a moment in secret’
‘You have given me more than I could ever ask for Mehan.’
‘Sharma, when all this is over, will you ascend with me?’
She looked up at him shocked at his question
‘You’ve always rejected ascension’
‘I am seriously considering it but I will not leave without you’ he replied stroking her dark hair.
‘But who will lead the lower heavens?’ she asked
‘Haven’t you considered anyone?’
‘Have you?’
‘Yes, Atripon’
‘What!’ she replied gathering herself in sheets as she tried to sit up.
‘I know what you are thinking Sharma’
‘I wish I could say the same’
‘Listen to me Sharma this has gone on long enough, I cannot bear to see you suffer another day on that throne. You cannot bear this burden anymore.’
‘And Atripon can, you would trust his judgement more than you do mine?’
‘I trust his intentions Sharma, I trust your unfailing love.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question.’
‘Your question doesn’t deserve an answer.’
They both looked at each other and suddenly burst out laughing in remembrance. He reached out to touch her face drawing her closer to him.
‘It makes me so happy to hear you laugh’
‘You are the only person who can’
‘Then come with me Sharma, I would rather die a mortal death than live in the upper heavens without you’
‘Do not speak of such things my love, don’t ever speak of dieing.’
‘Then come with me.’
‘What will I tell Dremon or the other gods? What do you think they will do?’
‘What can they do?’ Mehan said clearly irritated at her statement’
‘To us nothing, but to themselves? Mehan you know them, most of them are children at heart unable to make decisions for them without meeting on the great rock. And those are the people you wish to trust with the lives of mortals led by Atripon.’

‘I would rather lose the entire world than you’
‘You will never lose me Mehan’ she said kissing his fingers
‘Don’t be blind to the truth Sharma, with each day his powers grow, if he finds out who he really is, he will execute his right to challenge you for the throne and it will be a fight to the death.’
‘It will never come to that, the ravier…’
‘The ravier will what Sharma? Do you honestly think she can destroy him?’
‘Do you honestly want her to?’
‘He is our son Sharma, the living proof of my love for you, my love with you. I would give a thousand eternities to save you the pain of his death, which is why I want to take you out of this realm before that reality beckons upon you. This can end in so many ways Sharma but each one leaves you in sorrow.’
‘I saw him today Mehan’

Independence Bomb Blasts (IBBs) (A Short Story) written by Joshua Japheth Omojuwa

I had a lot of expectations for October 1st 2010, not least because it was Nigeria’s 50th Anniversary. I had done a job interview a day before and the result was expected on the morning of October 1st. The first thing I did that morning was to check my email. As expected the results had been sent. Three people of the lot of us were to be selected. As I went through the three names, my hope was suddenly dashed. My name was conspicuously missing. A bad day already and nothing was going to change that.

While I brooded over the implications of another missed opportunity, I heard someone shout from the sitting room. That had to be Henry, my friend – I call him HD – who has this knack for getting excited over non events like finally getting a mail sent. I summoned all the strength I could muster just to get off the bed to the sitting room. I had to see the pictures of the Golden Jubilee celebrations. As soon as Denton saw me enter the sitting room, he shouted ‘‘Joe I got it! I got the job!’’. That was some bright lining in my cloud. I asked him the details of his joy and he then explained to me. A man he met at Nu Metro had told him to just send his application letter for a plum job and the job was as good as his. Seeing HD’s joy, I realized I could get just about anything from him, so I asked, ‘‘Dude can I browse with your system? I’m tired of pressing my phone pads.’’ He granted a fast approval as I knew he would. The first thing I saw on the computer screen was the mail sent report. I decided to read HD’s application letter and these were some of his arguments.

Dear sir madman,

I am attacking my resume for you to refuse following a grief over few of my skills.

I have a keen eye for derail. I am well educate… I received my BSC Horns from a British university… No physical deficiencies but my left leg which was as a result of a fatal accident, where my first car was written-off but nobody died. I won’t pitch my tent with you if hired to help beat the competition.

Fatefully yours,

Henry Denton,

LLB Horns(Come-Loud)

I was torn between the pains of knowing HD would never get the job and the well of laughter building up within. I ran out into the toilet and gushed out an uncontrolled fit of laughter.

When I got back, HD told me about the reports of multiple bomb blasts in Abuja. I could not but align that with his letter. The recipient of that letter was certain to be blasted off his seat. By now mum had come into the room. ‘‘Joe, so Nigeria starts the next fifty years with bomb blasts?’’, she said in reference to the latest news, but I thought mum was referring to HD’s bomb blasts for a while. ‘‘Mum, the first fifty years started with celebrations and has just ended with bomb blasts – it’s a cycle that can only end better than bomb blasts.’’ She replied and said, ‘‘I just read your article on the CNN website, I am proud of you Joe.’’ What article? I thought, and then I remembered – Nigeria, Past, Present and The Future. Despite my missed job, the IBBs in Abuja and HD’s letter, it turned out a great day for me. A bad start bound to end well, like I know Nigeria’s would.

A night stand on the ninth planet written by Lanre Olagunju.

My invitation as a guest speaker at the 5th annual national undergraduate summit in Abuja took away sleep and tranquility away from me for days like it would to any speaker. In time past, my interest and social comments on issues like etiquette, morality, politics, economics and nation building has always been the basis for my speaking invitations and engagements. At a time like this, I’ve got no idea, or where on earth my host got the slightest hint that I could handle topics on sex and relationship. But since I know deeply that practice, practice and more practice is the bed rock for great speeches I dashed into my study with my creative hat on in tedious preparation to do perfect justice to the great task ahead.

With experience and flexibility, alongside my personal experience and research, I was able to deliver my speech with so much ease and expertise such that stimulated my audience to think that I must be a major or a sort of super male lead on issues such as sex, relationship and dating. Though, heaven knows that am yet to graduate from the school of hard knocks, which in my opinion is the best school to learn, especially where there is no teacher.

My experience with Omolara was quite unusual. And till date, I dreadfully prize what fuels her nerve to drop her telephone number in my breast pocket in such a harmless manner after leaving the lectern. Initially, I felt it was a burning question she wanted me to do private justice to, since we couldn’t take all questions during the sessions “but when did telephone numbers become question”?, I asked.

Mere looking at this good looking undergrad with such an innocent and graceful charisma, you don’t want to liken her to a Jezebel, even a vicar doesn’t want to think twice at the sight of her gorgeous, sweet and ravishing looks especially when considering the goodness of her hips and the grandeur of her brown eyes. In fact, the devil himself can’t but be tempted.

After the heat and fever of the event, I failed repeatedly at each attempt to cool from the euphoria and ecstasy that comes with achieving a task that has been responsible for sleep and appetite loss. I completely forgot about Omolara and her brave and smart advances as I relax in my hotel room to catch my undiluted rest. But to my utmost surprise my executive toy jingled. You want to hazard a guess? It was Omolara’s call. It’s nothing but crying over spilled milk if I respond to the nudge to ask where on earth she got my number from.

Despite being tired like a recently knocked out Samuel peters I got her message clearly despite that her moaning and rhythmic voice was a major distraction during our phonversation which revealed that she’s a student of business administration in one of the cracked up Nigerian institution of learning, whose name was rechristened years back to sound like one of the very ancient schools in south west Nigeria, with adequately proud students, despite that the citadel of learning is neither premier nor among the first, Great, top 6000 universities in the world.

Being in her penultimate year, and the sight of her structural endowment that I saw in the conference room, you can’t but agree with me that the issue of being unripe or under-age is out of it. So I wasn’t in the dark, not even in a world like ours where we suffer from grand morality melt down considering the fact that even sex has lost its virginity.

The only door with which I should flee from this unannounced invitation produced a sound as a result of Omolara’s knock. I was all alone in my hotel room and my body gave all the seemingly valid reasons why I should grab this once in a life time opportunity with both hands and feet as if I will be castrated thereafter. As the silent but well understood knock continued repeatedly, I could hear myself reproaching some folks during my undergraduate days in such a priest like manner saying to some during periods of sound, heart to heart intellectual recharge. “How did you fall for such, why did you yield to that…”? All because I have managed to maintain a less busy sexual log-book compared to folks who are great, retired generals already at 19. I doubt if I can ever catch up with the mind-blowing records of some. Over and over again, I dear not trust some folks with my toothless grand ma who says church as “shush” let alone my untutored maid who can’t even successfully count her fingers without foreign aid. And here am I battling with a mere invitation to dine from the forbidden cake.

All of a sudden, I became lost in thoughts, and my flesh wasn’t just willing it was ready. I didn’t just sense that I was as weak as a worn out “apere ajase”(a hand woven basket), I could practically feel me coming out of me. “Am in trouble”- so I murmured as I put myself together a little so I could dash for the door.

Her response was “larigold, permit me to reveal how much am obsessed by your articulate prowess and charming personality” in such a voice that even my ears couldn’t take note. I have followed some of your writings on the net and others on some national dallies and have always longed for the singular opportunity to be with you so I can intimate you about myself. The excellence of your address during the sessions made me desire you the more than I desire the air that powers my heart. All I wish is nothing but your warm masculine hug; beyond that honey, I want you as a package”.

At this point, all the scriptures in my big head were experiencing a traffic jam like the constant one you can’t but experience on Lagos roads-anyway that’s what makes Lagos. All of the Sunday school drugs, words of pastor wale and all the character series I heard recurrently from pastor Sam which on every occasion I hold in high esteem didn’t mean much to me anymore. I was congest with shock to realize that even the word of honor I took on the 15th of September under the teaching of Fela Durotoye in the rocky but dirty brown roofed city of Abeokuta couldn’t call me to order like it has always done. I just wanted to spit out my white seeds and I wanted to do it right away. It was as if my whole life was dependent on it.

I wasn’t thinking with my brain anymore, I was thinking with the stretch of my genitals.

And the best my church mind could do was to bring this very old but absolutely inappropriate song to my memory. Believe me, this is a song I haven’t placed my mind on in 7 years, but on a day like this it became my watch word “move on, move on, don’t be tired the savior understands… all shall be well” goes the old song. Some modern psychedelic Christians might not know such a song, so trying to remember it could just be as difficult as searching for a dinosaur in the newly equipped University of Ibadan’s zoo or wanting to study banking and finance in my Alma-Mata.

At the sight of ‘Lara’s super transparent gown which shelled her absolute nakedness I became fearfully contented. I was consumed by the cuteness of her chest organ as an identical whole. Through her hips I could intelligently and logically explain the unknown mystery of how water got into the coconut. I was practically on a planet science is yet to discover. She stylishly loosen the only piece of clothing on her, and that single handedly made the independent brain in my length subdue my ever intelligent mind. At this point we were both looking beautifully dressed in our birthday suits with my stretch searching northward as if something was out rightly missing. Now that Omolara’s eyes were closed from their sockets I stretched into her being in charge of the event. We went into each other in such a rush that made it look as if we were timed. Any way, It happened. And to worsen the case, we were in each other without any Elegance for her, or the Ethiopian coffee scent latex for me. I mean how can two educated adult do such without a Durian latex or even the cheap Gold circle? Well, what on earth will a certified monk be doing with a contraceptive in the first place? That I wasn’t protected didn’t matter to me, neither did the methodically placed incisions on her chest nor the ones round her waste scare me to sanity. My whole world has been simplified and all I could clearly think of is to fill up her vacuum to overflowing. After a hot non-romantic session of intense encounter, I was looking like an over detained bottle of coca- cola in the freezer.

We both lost our animalistic instinct in ten minutes, after an encounter that was hard, subtle and warlike all at the same time. But besides loosing the animalistic instinct I know so well that had lost the respect and gracefulness of a brilliant mentor, so called moralist who also doubles as a youth advocate.

All of a sudden, the fear that this young chap is suppose to be a mentee and that I’m to practice all that I preach and say fell on me like fire fell on the Pentecost Christian. I wasn’t the same guy who thought morality like say “I holy pass” anymore, neither was I the eloquent public speaker who flows like the pen of the ready writer. I was just lying on my bed like a helpless casualty who needs urgent attention.

I couldn’t but keep slapping myself repeatedly as if that was the medication to my self-cause distress

As I hit my body over and over again, I suddenly slapped myself back to life.

OMG! It’s all a dream and a wet one for that matter!!!

BATTLE OF IMMORTALS cHaPTer VI written by Halima Shadiyya Oluokun

‘No, I totally forbid it’
‘But father please listen’
‘I will here no more of this, you will not go to live amidst mortals, not at a time like this’
‘Comosi, she is only trying to help, to relieve you of the pressure caused by all the mayhem on earth.’
‘By choosing to live a mortal life! If I were still mortal that would be the surest way to send me through the very gates I guard. And I cannot believe that you would actually agree with her Nyka’
‘It is the only way father’
‘It is suicide!’
‘You speak as if what I do is wrong father’
‘I speak as a father should, as if I know that you do not know what you are doing’ replied Comosi standing from his throne exiting the room to his private chambers. Cearki tried to speak once more but was silenced by a hand motion from her mother who simply watched him walk away in anger.
‘Mother please, I need you to make him understand’
Nyka looked at her daughter saying softly, ‘how can I convince him of what I do not fully understand?’
‘Mother you have always told me that as an immortal, the wants of men must always come before my own, that is the only way our own immortality makes sense. Their world is ruined mother, and we stall to make amends because of our titles.’
‘No Salen, we stall because we have forgotten what it was like to be mortal, the fragility of life as it were.’
‘I don’t understand mother.’
‘You cannot, you have never lived a mortal life; which is why I want to encourage you to have one, only then will you fully understand the ideals that most of the other gods have forgotten now. What I need to know is what your mission is down there?’
‘Mother, have I ever disappointed you?’
Nyka looked at her daughter rather bemused before stroking her hair and saying softly, ‘You undergo a task in which even I, your mother, cannot be told.’
‘Mother, I fear that what I must do will cause factions amidst the gods that is why no one must know’
‘What have you gotten yourself into Imos?’
‘What I believe is right and must be done’
‘Do you realise that once you choose a mortal life, the heavens, the gods, immortality, all of that becomes history never to be yours again until your place is earned once more by only you. We will be forgotten by you and you will be a mortal, vulnerable to illness and death, even your father will not be able to prevent that.’
‘I know that if I succeed on earth, all this will come to an end’
‘Does this have anything to do with the deliverer?’
Cearki looked up at her mother unable to hide the truth in her eyes, who gasped at the revelation she was confronted with. Nyka placed her hand over her mouth.
‘Mother please, I have no choice; I have to do this’ Cearki said grasping her mothers hand in hers pleading for an understanding she knew only mothers had, an understanding placed on the foundation of faith.
‘’And when this is all over, if you succeed at whatever it is you choose to do, what becomes of you, have you thought o ask yourself that ?’
‘Whatever is meant to happen will mother, I am not afraid to face it after everything I have seen and heard.’
‘You are young Salen and your youth gives you hope but for all our sakes I hope you are right’ she said as she stood and walked staring down at her daughter. ‘Now you must leave, I need to speak to your father alone’ she said smiling. Cearki smiled back, hugging her mother fiercely before walking out of the hall.
Nyka watched her daughter go before she looked in the direction that Comosi had taken and followed to find him staring into his Charain searching for answers. She stood watching him from the distance slowly taking in the sight of him as he fixed his eyes upon the scenes appearing before him.
‘Comosi, her mind is set on her journey, let it be.’ She said as she walked towards him.
‘Only pain and death awaits her in the world of men’ he replied as the charain closed
‘There is also life somewhere in between, and where there is life there is hope, Comosi we must let her go.’ He sighed as he closed his eyes and held himself.
‘Do you remember our wedding night?’ she said as she wrapped her arms around him from behind. He smiled as he held her hands in his, ‘How can I forget? It is one of the best moments of my life.’ He said turning around to look at her. She was tall almost as tall as he, with pale skin that contrasted with his dark brown. She had a long nose that Cearki inherited with grey eyeballs that were dressed in long thick lashes. Her lips were thin but pink. How could he not remember their wedding night? They had decided to exchange vows immediately they ascended to the lower heavens making them the first and oldest pair. She looked so beautiful in the pinkest silk with her pale yellow hair held up with platinum pins. Every god in the lower heavens attended. When night came, he walked into her private chambers and found her awaiting his presence. He loved her that night and has loved only her ever since’
‘Yes’ he replied looking down at her
‘I said, do you remember what you said to me that night?’
‘Now that is low’ he said as he drew himself back
‘You said you would never refuse me anything, in four hundred years I have never questioned your decisions, never interfered with your duties even when I did not quite agree with them only because I trusted you. I now ask that you respect her decision and trust her judgement’
‘Nyka please do not do this’
‘Don’t you see Comosi, I have to do this.’ She said as she held his face in her soft hands staring into his large brown eyes.’ A war is brewing Comosi and we cannot afford to sit on the fence trying to patch things anymore. Cearki has taken a bold step to stir the battle in the favour of the gods, we as her parents must support that decision and protect her as much as we can.’
‘I do not want to involve her in this war Nyka! This is my only offspring, who will succeed me upon my ascension?’
‘So that is what this is all about? She said letting go of him, her anger clearly shown at his remark. ‘Do you realise how many people die and suffer just because of several gods like yourself who have chosen not to care about them any longer?’
‘They suffer because they fail to believe in their gods!’
‘And can you blame them, have we given them a reason to believe in us!’
‘We do not control their actions we cannot be held responsible for what they choose to do.’
‘Perhaps, but we must hold ourselves accountable for the release of the demon lord.’
‘You mean I should hold myself responsible’ said Dremon with disdain.
‘That was not what I meant, I simply meant…’
‘If I am to be held responsible for his release is my punishment to be placed upon my offspring, must she carry the burden of my mistake?’
‘This is not about you Comosi, and Cearki’s descent is not your punishment or mine, she made a choice and it is by far the bravest decision I have seen any immortal make in aeons, and no matter what happens, for whatever it is worth I will support her and protect her’ Nyka replied.
‘Do you realise that if we do decide to let her go, she will no longer be our daughter, she will be lost to us in the world below that is unsafe, I will not be in direct contact with her until she passes through the dead gates and that is if I recognise her in human skin. Nyka, no matter what happens I will not be able to protect her’
‘You will not need to, I will ride across the winds to find her and teach her what she needs to defend herself.’
‘I fear you do not see the true picture for what it is Nyka, do you think that she will simply be born and she will bear that girl and it is over and done. From the moment she is born to up to the moment she conceives and finally nurtures the girl to adulthood, she will be a fugitive, they both will be hunted by many who stop at nothing to harm her and the child, and you expect me to stand in the background and do nothing!’
‘Then prepare her Comosi, protect her as much as you can from harms way but do not try to stop her. This war must end one way or the other it must end.’
‘And if she fails?’
‘If she fails it is only because the gods failed her and we must see to it that it does not happen.’
Grey eyes squared in brown for several moments before Comosi finally let out a long sigh and said. ‘Very well Nyka, if Cearki believes she is ready to carry on such a responsibility I will not stand in her way’
Nyka rushed at him hugging him and he held her close to him closing his eyes. ‘I just hope it is the right decision for her’
‘Everything will be fine Comosi, we need only be prepared’
He pulled back and held her by the shoulders, ‘Then prepare we shall’

‘What ails you Clotho?’ asked Lachesis as she looked upon her sister who was clearly disturbed. Clotho looked upon the mirror before her to stare upon the image of her sister-in-duty Lachesis who was seated upon her stool preparing to weave. After nearly six hundred years, Clotho was the oldest serving sister of the fates, far older than even the old and wise Atropos but regardless Lachesis and Atropos watched over and protected her instinctively as the youngest of the three because physically she was a young blooming maiden of twenty years. However, with almond skin and soft brown eyes and hair, cut short to frame her face and a petit frame she looked like a fragile eighteen year old.
‘Why are we here Lachesis?’
Lachesis smiled as she dropped her shuttle and faced Clotho, ‘I asked you the same question the same day I was asked to assume this duty. Do you remember what you told me?’
‘To create a balance’
‘But have we done that Lachesis, have we succeeded in our duties?’
‘You doubt our competence?’ asked Atropos who on sensing the awakening of her colleagues must have risen from sleep.
‘Atropos you should be resting’ replied Clotho looking upon her second mirror.
‘You should be the one resting Clotho, do you think I do not sense your worries, I have simply decided to let you be until you are ready to talk and what better moment than now’ replied Lachesis.
‘I met with the ravier.’
‘The sorceress? Why?’
‘Sharma and the gods have ordered that she be released back to the world of men’
‘What?’ screamed Lachesis, ‘they cannot do that? That monster ripped and tangled my tapestry, I am yet to fully undo the wrong and they release her’
‘They have finally lost it; those over bearing pompous pricks’ snared Atropos.
‘I don’t know what to make of all this any more?’ said Clotho touching her temple.
‘What do you mean you don’t know what to make of it? It is a very simple case of a wicked black hearted girl who used her magic to enter the dead gates, only heaven knows why…’
‘I do’ stated Clotho ‘I do know why now’ she repeated as she looked upon Atropos.
‘Would you be so kind to share it then’ said Lachesis
‘I will do a better than to tell’ as she closed her eyes to merge her mind with those of her sisters that they would share her experience with Rahun who closed their eyes as well to merge with her. In this state they become one in mind and body sharing as much as each is willing to give, immune to matter and time and invincible even for the gods to challenge but unknown to everyone else except themselves vulnerable to death if their physical states were in anyway tampered with. Clotho shared with them her experience in the cocoon, careful to leave out details of her encounter in the mosses with Jei. Lachesis was the first to display a show of emotion but by the time, it was over Clotho realised Atropos was in tears.
‘That poor child, to have endured so much pain in life only to suffer even more in death’
‘It was a noble choice’ said Atropos ‘but that does not make it right. She should have accepted her destiny and lived on without him.’
‘Would you Atropos knowing you could change it? Would I, knowing all I do now?’ said Clotho looking at her older counterpart who could not find a reply.
‘What would the gods have us do?’ asked Lachesis as she stood from her stool.
‘We need to find a safe place for her to be born among mortals; it will have to be a place that is well guarded yet secluded but not totally inaccessible’ replied Clotho.
‘Like a temple’ said Atropos ‘she can be raised there away from prying eyes.’
‘They intend to send her back with some of her powers; her black magic will not allow her access’ Clotho answered again.
‘Then perhaps some territory on the highlands, she will be safe there amongst her own kind’ said Atropos
‘That is until they realise who she really is.’ Lachesis answered
‘They wont’ whispered Clotho standing from her stool ‘not if we can help it’
‘We cannot interfere directly in the lives of mortals; it will be considered an abuse of office’
‘I do not intend to do that Atropos; however I will need Lachesis to make a few cuts and stitches to benefit our cause.’
‘To what end Clotho’
‘Sharma intends to send Cearki Imos Salen…’
‘Comosi’s only child!’ both Atropos and Lachesis screamed together
Clotho could only nod
‘Why?’ asked Atropos
‘In these turbulent times, how could she do that? She has no right to punish him for what was not his fault’
‘Cearki volunteered of her own volition Lachesis’ answered Clotho
‘I doubt without persuasion’ replied the older woman
‘I cannot tell but I do know this for sure, she will bear the sorceress.’
‘The question now is who will bear her, am I correct?’ asked Lachesis
‘You need me to find her immortal thread, strip it of its husk and then attach it to a strand upon the fabric.’
‘I know it’s not as easy as it sounds but I trust that you are quite capable of handling it’
‘Clotho, you do realise that if we fail this may be the beginning of the end for us all, mortal and immortal alike’ said Lachesis
‘Then we must see to it that we do not’ Clotho replied
‘Yes, we will’ said Atropos standing ‘we will help the sorceress and bring an end to the darkness.’
‘Lachesis looked upon both women young and old and smiled ‘Sharma trusts you and so does this old nag, therefore I will trust you. Give me three moons to prepare and I will find the perfect mother for Cearki.’
‘I will inform Sharma’
‘After you have had your rest, now into the mirror’ scolded Atropos
‘Yes grandma’ replied Clotho before gracefully walking through the doorway to her domain to rest’

BATTLE OF IMMORTALS (CHAPTER V) writteb by Halima Shadiyya

Saphron’s realm was hidden in the largest of the earth’s volcanoes situated in the deepest part of the ocean. His domain was created from rocks heated to a crystalline state and then cooled, his throne was created from metals from the earth’s core wielded and adorned with bolts of bronze. On either side of his throne were two channels that served as passages for molten lava to travel in and out of the hall serving as both sources of light and insulation. He was rarely around to admire the ingenuity of his castle but on this occasion, he sat on his throne awaiting the presence of Perna.
He had always had a soft spot for her since they first met but she seemed not to notice. She was always preoccupied with her duties as the guardian of the seas. He always told himself he would tell her but his fear of rejection always outweighed his passion. It was an open secret that she had feelings for Mehan but he did not notice her either. Mehan- the most formidable god of all, never to love or find love until his ascension and yet he had rejected it on two separate occasions he had earned his place in the upper heavens. He chose to remain amongst them never socialising unless necessary. He carried out his duties meticulously saying that discord was a necessary evil required that humans would appreciate themselves in peace and death, yet he always claimed that war always appalled him, it was a waste of time and souls. Theirs was a frictional relationship and the only reason he could not challenge Mehan was that it would be suicidal. Even he as the god of war knew his limits. His role was appointed to him, Mehan was the offspring of two gods; the last male child of the children of the sun, Sharma was the very last of them. Yet the golden rule had forbidden their union long before their creation.
The old gods before their ascension had made it because they were tired of the constant rivalry between gods for the grand throne, therefore it was decreed that children of the sun ascend to the upper levels relinquishing their thrones to their half bred offspring or humans with character. It took a full century for all vacancies to be filled. He was the faithful servant of the god of war who repaid his loyalty with his appointment as the new god of war. Mehan refused to leave and he was allowed to stay only on the oath that he would protect Sharma and never battle for the grand throne, which he did. Now five hundred years later he wonders if their decision was the wisest, human nature had made the other gods weak, and Sharma’s feminine rule had made the gods lax in their duties. That is what you get for giving a woman a man’s job. If only there was a way he could acquire the powers of Mehan and add them with his, he would be invisible, he would force Sharma to abdicate the throne to him and he would bring the lower heavens back to its old glory.
‘My Lord, the goddess Perna has arrived’
‘Usher her in’
‘Yes my Lord’ replied the Memnon.
She walked into the room so silently she seemed to glide. She wore a blue derma created from the oceans pearls strung together. Her skirts were of the purest silk flowing to the floor showing only hints of her toes. She was of a petite frame but made up for it with her pretty face and long hair as white as the sands of the seashore, which she pinned up with clamshells, and gold pins that were gathered amidst treasures lost on the ocean floor. Her presence was arresting and he knew she did it on purpose. She was notorious for using her body in exchange for favours and now it seemed she was in need of his, but what would she need him to do.

She curtseyed deeply her face staring at her reflection on the polished crystal floor. She liked what she saw, she always knew she was beautiful and carefully pampered herself to make herself appear so at all times. She knew Saphron had a thing for her and had often ignored his often-awkward show of affection but now the time was right to use that affection to her advantage. All she had to do was slowly pull his strings to do her bidding. With everyone preoccupied with the ravier, she could finish what she started so long ago. She raised her eyes to look at him smiling innocently as she rose from the floor. He smiled back as he rose from his throne and walked down to receive her. ‘Perna’ he said in his gruff voice ‘To what or whom do I owe the honour of your beautiful presence in my humble home.’
‘Saphron, as always your home takes my breath away’ she said as she extended her hands to him.
‘You are welcome to share it with me.’ He replied taking her hands in his and led her to a gold chair with a soft recline which she immediately rest against with her side.
‘Just say the word and I’ll draft the guest list.’ He said laughing
She laughed back catching the joke.
‘Now I know you did not come here to listen to my jokes, so tell me why you are here?’
‘I am on a mission Saphron and I will need your help.’
‘Ask, and if it is within reason I will grant it.’
‘Very well, I need to know why Sharma and Mehan never get angry’
‘Never get angry or never get angry at each other’
‘It would be disastrous for everyone, you remember the last confrontation I had with Mehan and Sharma interceded.’
‘Yes, her anger made strong winds’
‘It wasn’t her anger, it was Mehan’s, and she simply stopped him before he even began’
‘I don’t understand’ Perna said, ‘He didn’t look at all angry’
‘With good reason, no one except Sharma would survive’
‘We are gods! Immortal guardians of the heavens, we are immune to death’ she replied
‘Do you really believe that? Tell me Perna how did you ascend to the lower heavens?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Just curious’
‘That is a story for another visit Saphron; today you are doing the story telling’
He simply smiled back at her.
‘We the gods as you say are immortal which is true, but for a reason, we are guardians, but you must understand that our immortality is not a right; it is rather an immunity as a result of our duties which can be stripped of anyone of us at any point in time with the right medium’
‘You are telling me that I can die at any point like any other human’
‘Oh no! Not in the human sense, to understand the process you will need to understand humanity, that is the reason for my question. All of the gods in the lower heavens were once either totally human or half-breed offspring’s of gods. Each of us has once faced the destiny of death. A destiny that has been extended but not totally erased.’
‘I still do not understand’ Perna said ‘Why is it that we are vulnerable to death while Sharma and Mehan are not?’
‘They are the true gods, we are simply extra hands.’
‘They were never human’
‘They closest they have been to mortality is touching a human, their ancestry can never be traced upon the fabric of the fates.’
‘You mean since they never experienced birth in the human sense through the Charain…’
‘They will always be immune to death’ he replied smiling
‘If Mehan is so powerful why does he not take the throne from Sharma?’
‘He cannot’
‘Cannot or will not?’
‘That is a story for another time and one only Mehan himself can tell’
She smiled at him knowing there was more to what he was telling. ‘Very well then tell me this, upon their ascension who takes over?’
‘Finally we get to the root of the issue’
‘Come on Saphron I am just curious’
‘Curious or eager?’
‘You are not going to tell me’
‘There is nothing to tell’
‘You are an old serving god Saphron, surely you must know something’
‘I may but first, you must answer this question, what’s it to you?’
She looked at him earnestly before finally saying ‘Alright I will tell you, but first I must know that I can trust you’
He sat up resting his back on his chair locking his fingers together looking back at her before he let out a long sigh, ‘I have lived long enough to know that I will not like what you are about to say but you have my word that no one else will find out.’
‘Luna and I are…’
‘My lord the god Atripon requests your audience’ announced another Memnon as he walked into the room
‘Perfect timing’ whispered Saphron
Perna simply chuckled sitting properly in preparation for Atripons entry, who walked in as always in the company of four of his feals. He had several of them in his castle and was found in the company of them except when in the lower heavens.

If he was surprised at Perna’s presence, he did not show it; he simply smiled at her as took her outstretched hand in his and kissed it. She felt a shiver run up her spine and snatched her hand away.
‘Oh come Perna I don’t bite’, said Atripon in his sultry voice
Saphron had a look to kill in his eyes as he watched the event that just transpired before him. ‘Atripon, stop it’ he said with a voice so low it sounded like a growl.
Atripon looked at Perna rather amused before looking back at Saphron, ‘Forgive me Saphron, old habits die hard. Are you sure you would not rather stop it yourself I do not think you will like my methods.’ They both looked at Perna who was holding her now pulsating head. Saphron got up, took her in his arms and kissed her draining as much as he could without hurting her while holding his own desire in check, she resisted at first but began to respond to him, raking his back with her nails and sinking her teeth into his shoulder. Atripon smiled looking at them as his feals who also witnessed the event began to surround him touching him in several erotic places urging him. ‘Behave’ he said amidst their moans and groans looking at Saphron who pulled Perna away from himself and said ‘Forgive me my lady’ before punching her. She blacked out immediately.
The feals screamed hiding behind Atripon who clearly looked shocked at Saphrons action; he called for his servants and asked them to take Perna back to her castle in his chariot. They did as they were told gently lifting the goddess as they took her out of the room.
‘That went well’ said Atripon
‘Get out!’ screamed Saphron
‘Oh come on Saphron don’t be such a bully, I just got here and I didn’t expect that she would be here, it was an honest mistake.’
‘You cast a spell on her!’
‘I am a god not a witch Saphron, witches cast spells, I simply create the stage for the scenario. And in her case it was simply a small dose of passion, nothing she could not handle I can assure you.’
‘I hit her because of you.’
‘No, you hit her because you wanted to, if I wanted her hit, trust me I would hit her way lower than you just did.’
‘You are impossible, just leave my house.’
‘Not yet, you have something that belongs to me and want it back.’ He replied touching two feals who walked towards Saphron their intent obvious in their looks and actions. ‘And may I suggest that you inform your servants not to disturb us unless of course you would like for them to watch.’ The feals were already beside him when he called to another servant ‘See to it that we are not disturbed until my guest leaves’
‘Yes my lord’ replied the servant exiting the hall
He looked at the feal smiling at him and grabbed her fiercely before flinging her to the ground and following her, Atripon simply smiled taking the other two who were by now almost raving mad. ‘Poor Saphron’ he thought to himself ‘Always falling for the same trick’ before losing himself completely to sounds of loud moans and grunts that filled the halls.

Dremon stood upon the balcony of his palace, situated within the whirlpool of space upon the island of Verisa. It was a gift from his father upon his creation; he treasured it and immediately decided to live upon it away from the other gods who thought him to be too much of a hand full. He loved the companionship of the stars who were his servants and the many stories they told him of the lives and ways of men. He often envied the gift of time that man was handed and would have given up his immortality for a few moments of it. What he would do knowing that the next moment may not be his, what he would say not sure he would never get the chance again, how he would love knowing that his celebration of it would bear witness of his existence no matter how short it may be. However, humans often forget how precious time is and so he took it upon himself to remind them by causing chaos amongst them that those who are truly wise would value their moments together in tribulation and that those with character would find courage, strength and nobility within themselves. He enjoyed it and was proud of his ability help them even if his ways were rather unorthodox. He remembers telling Sharma that the first time she came to him demanding that he undid a particular situation he had created between a prince and his would be bride who was not so eager to make her nuptial vows after Dremon had allowed her to find out that the prince was laying her cousin. That was their first encounter alone without the prying eyes of the gods looking at them; she had journeyed through space and time to find him upon the island. The stars had informed him of her arrival and he was worried she had already lost control of the heavens when he found out she was searching for him. He remembered how her eyes lit up in anger and how he was mesmerised by the sight of them. ‘Your recent activities upon the earth I fear will bring havoc to many Lord of chaos; you must end it before it escalates.’
‘Of what particular activity do you refer my lady?’ he replied clearly amused by her confidence
‘The prince of Axos and his bride, surely you must see that the turn of events if left unattended will surely lead to war which is what I do not want.’
‘You underestimate them, ’
‘And you manipulate them for your pleasure!’
‘My such aggression, I can tell Mehan certainly has his hands full, I am afraid we can come to no resolution with you been irrational’
‘I am not irrational; I am trying to prevent what would clearly turn into a massacre if the issue is not settled.’
‘Then settle it, you certainly do not need my approval to do anything, or are you afraid you may not be able to handle it yourself’
‘Its your mistake, you fix it’ she said turning round to take her leave
‘This particular situation of which we speak is a lot more complicated than you think the characters involved have entangled themselves in a web of lies. I simply helped them to untie the knots’
‘By causing a war’
‘By exposing the truth to all involved so each armed with the truth may make what may be the best decision for all.’
‘And if they fail to face the truth or accept it what then, you let them sort the mess out themselves.’
‘Yes, until I feel they are deserving of divine help I let them sort out their mistakes’
‘There is a girl involved in this case, an orphan with no one to protect her she has watched everyone she has ever loved die and just when she has found true love in…’
‘In the arms of her cousin’s husband to be’
‘It is an arranged marriage’
‘No more or less than yours, yet you have learned to accept it for all eternity, why can he not for a period of two or three score.’
‘Because he loves her’
‘Then let him prove it to us all, let the whole world see what he is willing to risk for her love. Already she has risked her life by loving him, if he can risk his in return then they truly are deserving of each other.’
‘Coming here was a mistake I should have known better than to come; I just hope you know you are making a mistake’
‘Come with me Sharma’ he said holding her by the shoulder and slowly guiding her towards the balcony on the other end of the castle facing the stars.
. She turned around at him clearly angered and was about uttering a word but was turned back to face the view ‘Close your eyes and listen to them, they are always talking’ he whispered into her ears as his hands softly held her shoulders. It felt like velvet beneath his touch and seemed to cause a current to run right through him. He should have let her go right then but he could not, it felt so right that moment and he wanted to enjoy it for as long as it lasted. She arched her neck slowly backwards closing her eyes as her lips slowly broke into a soft smile. Her ears were filled with what at first seemed like soft wind but listening a lot more closely she heard voices so soft it seemed to vanish almost immediately talking about events they had witnessed on earth.
It was like nothing she had ever experienced and she did not want to stop listening.
‘Is it always like this?’ she asked, ‘Not always but when they begin to tell their stories you will want nothing more than to listen to them, and if you listen long enough to realise that there is more to man than most of the gods think. They may be barbaric and sometimes even savage but in turmoil, they can be so noble. For those who understand the delicacy of life and the gift of time no moment is wasted’ he replied.
‘Do you feel your time is wasted Dremon?’ she said turning round to face him
‘I have no reason to complain’ he said letting go of her as she turned
‘Is this why you have refused ascension?
He looked at her with his countenance clearly changed ‘Queen of heavens or not, you will be wise to keep out of my personal affairs’
‘Coming from a being whose only job is to meddle that is quite ironic don’t you think?’
‘What I do …’
‘Is punish mortals for a joy you have prevented yourself from having, you think that you are helping them but in reality you are interfering in their lives for not appreciating what you cannot have in this realm’
‘I am sorry, are we talking about you or me?’
The sting in his words clearly showed in her eyes and she turned to walk away from him, when he grabbed her by her wrist and drew her back to him.
‘You will unhand me this instant Dremon’
‘You did not answer my question’
‘There is no point to giving you an answer’
‘Sharma you fail to understand why this must be done’
‘And you fail to see beyond your reason. This war must not occur’
‘You really believe that I do not want to love or that I don’t know how?’
‘If you did, you would help the lovers not try to separate them’
‘And you do?’ he said coming slowly towards her.
‘I certainly understand it a lot better than you’

‘Really’ he said smiling, ‘Then can you explain why you tremble every time I touch you’ he said stroking her shoulder
‘You have cold hands’ she looking defiantly at him
‘Still cold’ he asked as he came closer and dipped his fingers into her hair
‘Stop it Dremon’ she said trying to break free but he held her fast
‘Is there an explanation for your reaction to this’ he said as he nibbled her ear.
She cowered but his grip prevented her from falling
‘Can you understand why your heart panics at the thought of pleasure your body desires?’ he said as he planted soft kisses on her neck
‘Stop’ she whispered as his lips came close to the corner of her mouth
‘Is there a reason why you cannot push me away no matter how hard you try Sharma’ he whispered against her mouth as he looked in her now closed eyes, ‘Explain this Sharma’ he said as he kissed her softly and pulled her close to him savouring the sweet taste and smell of her, totally possessing her. He felt raw energy rise from deep within him and quickly released her.
‘Love is best experienced Sharma not understood and it takes a person truly in love to understand that’
‘I don’t understand you, she whispered blinking back tears as she walked backwards away from him gathering herself together, ‘and I don’t think I want to’
He simply watched her go and said nothing.
It was the beginning of his greatest mistake and yet despite the trouble it has caused he doubts he would have acted differently. He wanted to know how it would feel to have her and when he did, she felt so right and so good that for the first time heaven and earth meant nothing to him. All that mattered was her with him in his arms responding to him, he fell in love with her that day and has loved her ever since in secret and the safe sanctuary of his home.
Several centuries had passed since then but still he remembered that moment as strongly as if it were yesterday. He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh before he smiled and whispered in affirmation of his emotions ‘I love you’
‘I love you too’ said a female voice from behind as soft hands hugged him at the waist. He turned around and there she was in full splendour looking back at him, his love, his life, his queen and the mother of his child- Sharma.

BATTLE OF IMMORTALS CHAPTER IV written by Halima Shadiyya

What is this place? Cearki asked
‘It is called the void, it is the source of the yarns of life, only the fates are allowed in here, or just one aspect so it was decided that an exceptional case be brought here until the gods could undo her wrong’ replied Sharma.
‘No one envisaged that her desperation and rage would bring about such disaster’ said Clotho, ‘her thread held such promise and followed its path in the total fabric quite strongly, but…’
‘But what?’ Cearki asked again
‘Ssssh, someone is here’ whispered Clotho as she looked sternly at the surrounding area. The three figures were immersed waist high in a pool of rainbow colours, each colour signifying a mood or character of man, surrounding them was foliage of grey moss glittering against the reflection of the pool.

All seemed still but Clotho sensed a presence besides those of her fellow sisters and her guests, something sinister, something very evil. ‘Shield her’ Clotho mentally whispered to Sharma who immediately held unto Cearki and they both disappeared. Clotho held up her weaving staff, which emanated a bright light illuminating the world before them.
‘Do not move’ she said aloud seeming to speak to the intruder but Sharma knew better.
‘Clotho’ replied a male voice ‘I come in the name of the one that I love more than my own life’
‘Show yourself’ replied Clotho
‘Only if you give me your word that you will cause me no harm’
‘And why should I do that, you have no right to be here?’
‘I am looking for someone and this is the only place except from the heavens left to search’
‘Who are you? How did you gain access to this place?’
‘I am known by many names ’
Sharma gasped
‘Come out and no harm shall come to you, you have my word’ she said lowering her staff.
He slipped out from behind one of the larger lumps of grey foliage. He was tall and handsome, his piercing green eyes so much like his fathers looking straight at Clotho who stared back at him
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked
‘Where is she? He replied with a question
‘Please enough, I beg you. I have endured too much to come this far, only to have you lying to my face, just release her and I will gladly give myself to you to do with me as you wish, but let me see her.’
‘Do you know what she did; do you know what you are?’
‘What I am is …’
‘What you are is an abomination created out of desperation! That life which you seek is gone; your past life, all of that ended long ago. You cannot relive it no matter how hard you try’
‘I will be the judge of that not you, and whatever I have become is as a result of your incompetence with that of your sisters and the gods’
‘You dare to insult me, you …’
‘I dare to say what none of you has had the courage to say to yourselves!’
‘What you seek is not here so go look somewhere else’
‘Tell me where she is Clotho, you must understand why I have to see her, my torment will not end until she is found’
‘It can end now, you can end all of this’
‘Trust me …’
‘Trust you! I am what I am because of you, I am no more than a vessel occupied by a foul creature, allowed only thirty days of control in three hundred and sixty five, and for century’s, I have endured to get to see her again. She is not in the dead gates she is not in the heavens and she is not reincarnated- I know because she would have found me. Someone is holding her, I simply want to know who and where.’
‘And when you do find her what will you do, that is if you do, what do you think will occur? You will both live happily ever after?’
‘Where is she?’
‘I do not know, why not ask the gods, they have all the answers’
‘The gods are as dead to me as I am damned to them.’
‘We are all trying to help you Jei, but you have to tell us how.’
‘How do I know I trust can you?’
‘I know who you really are; I know how much your mother loves you and how much she longs for you and I wish to help you for her.’
‘My mother is dead; everyone I once knew and loved is dead.’
‘To you but not to me, I can help you find them but I need to know how to help you’
‘If I tell you what you need to know, will you tell me where Rahun is?’
‘I cannot say what I do not know, but I make this solemn oath that if she is found upon the threads, your threads will be woven to meet once again, the rest will be left to you and her.’

‘I am a vessel holding an entity; we share a body but are as oil and water, fluid but immiscible.’
‘He owns you?’
‘My body but not my mind, he takes pride in his evil and I have to take responsibility because to the world and the heavens we are the same.’
‘It is you that releases the souls upon the oceans?’
‘Slaves, whose souls he has stolen to feed upon, when he is done with them he tortures them in ways beyond imagination. I here them crying to your gods who are deaf to their cries. So I release them to sail the seas until they find the dead gates.’
‘Why do you not release yourself from him?’
‘To do that will be to give to him the very thing he wants, access to my soul and that must never happen.’
‘He keeps mentioning that his greatest treasures are body and my soul and that is why he guards my body himself. I have always known that there was something different about me but he thinks I know what it is but I do not and I am afraid that if he should find out things would be a lot worse.
‘So does he know you are here?’
‘He knows what I want him to know and he does the same, only he is more generous with his information of what he has done and in doing so I am able to learn certain skills to my advantage. One of which has led to my finding this place.’
‘He has been here’
‘Apparently several times, yes’
‘Do you know why?’
‘Only that he measures flax to know how much time he has’
‘Oh no he knows!’ whispered Clotho, ‘Where is he now?’
‘I do not know, I know only that it is a place where all demons must assemble for a period of thirty days. I do not know where or why?’
‘Why do you not seal your body from his entrance?’
‘It is as much his as it is mine.’
Clotho looked at him understanding clearly what until today no one else did. She was happy that she had detached herself from her sisters, which would have complicated this already complex web with this lad in the centre binding them all together. She had to inform Sharma. Sharma!
‘You must leave now’
‘You said you will help me’
‘And I shall but, this is not the place or the time, trust me that is all that I ask and speak of this to no one.’
He had a defeated look on his face much like his mothers only more manly before he finally said ‘Is there nothing you can do?’
‘Nothing that will help your quest at this moment, I am sorry’
‘Do not be sorry for me; be sorry for yourselves and the innocent who suffer because of me.’
He raised a finger of his and spun it anti clockwise until it opened a vortex, he looked at Clotho and says to her ‘when you find Rahun because I know you will, tell her to follow the sunset, there will she find me’, and he stepped into it. Clotho took over at this point raising her staff and lowering it quickly causing the vortex to rip into two separate halves and varnish.

Cearki re-appeared first then Sharma. Cearki looked startled while Sharma though try as she may to hold a bold face was clearly troubled. ‘Sharma are you alright?’
‘Yes Clotho I am fine.’
‘Things are definitely not what they seem anymore, I fear the worst if we do not thread softly’
Clotho I am so sorry for everything you have had to put up with to this point’ said Sharma.
‘There is nothing to be sorry for’ Clotho replied ‘I chose to help but we will need to talk when we are done’
‘Did you mean what you said about helping him because of his mother?’
‘Every word’
‘Was that the demon king?’ asked Cearki
‘I don’t know’ replied Clotho as she moved forward ‘But whoever he was his presence here spells trouble’
‘You talked to him as if you knew him and he certainly knew you well enough to know the existence of this place’
‘And you know just how to irritate by concerning yourself with issues you should not.’ Clotho spat out as she turned around to face Cearki who was surprised at the outburst.
‘Did his presence disturb the pool?’ asked Sharma
‘No, but I sensed you were clearly disturbed and that was the quickest thing I could think of to get him out.’
‘Thank you’ Sharma whispered
‘Quickly, this way’ Clotho ordered leading them through the marshes of colours until they came upon a mesh woven from silk in an intricate, impenetrable pattern. Clotho closed her eyes and focused, and then suddenly the mesh began to stir as the designs began to move themselves in form of silk sheets in both vertical and horizontal axis, until a doorway was created.
‘Quite impressive’ said Sharma
‘No time for compliments my queen’ replied Clotho entering the doorway.
‘She has quite a temper’ whispered Cearki.
‘Ssshhh’ whispered Sharma, ‘you should have seen what was like before’ following Clotho, then followed Cearki.

‘Make no sudden movements, whispered Clotho, ‘we don’t want to startle her. She has not come in contact with any living soul before today’.
‘How will we know the demon lord has not met her before now?’ asked Cearki.
‘I would have sensed him, but the real question is why he is desperate to come in contact with her or at least a part of him is?’ replied Clotho
‘Only one person can tell us the answer’ said Sharma
‘Then it is time to find out’ said Clotho raising her staff once more which rose higher illuminating the cavern.

The structure before them was a cage designed from silk threads projecting from the ceiling fifteen feet above stretching down to the ground below with adjacent strands projecting from the sides of the room interlocking and intersecting, creating a basket looking cocoon. It was a beautiful sight yet terrifying to behold. Cearki’s lower jaw dropped at the sight, even the queen of the heavens could not hide her amazement at the creation before her.
‘How did you accomplish such a feat Clotho?’ she asked
Clotho simply turned around smiling at both women, then transformed before them into a large spider and crawled upon the webbings. Immediately the entire cocoon shifted as if it had a life of its own. Clotho crept higher towards the centre of the cocoon and methodically crept in.
‘What do we do now my lady?’
‘We wait’ replied Sharma
‘Will what we find out change our plans?’
‘We cannot know for sure until we hear from Clotho’ she replied again staring at Cearki who looked so innocent with her brown hair tied in a ponytail with no embellishments and slight strands falling to her face, her skin shimmered like honey while her dark brown eyes stared earnestly back at Sharma.

‘Cearki’ Sharma called
‘Yes your grace’ the girl replied
‘You do not have to do this if you truly do not want to’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I say it because I know how a life ruled by obligation is Cearki and it is not a burden I would wish upon anyone. If your only driving force is your sense of duty or loyalty towards Dremon or myself then I beg you to think again and walk away while there is still time.’
‘I do not deny the fact that I am scared your highness because I never lived a totally human life before and I do not know what awaits me but I have asked myself the question why I am doing this and I found my answer. It is because I found something worth defending’
‘And what is that Cearki’
She walked towards one of the walls and placed her weight upon it.
‘I will not fail you your highness’
‘No Cearki, what is important is that you do not fail your self.’

The inner chamber of the cocoon seemed empty but Clotho knew what she was looking for and after a few more paces, she reached it. It was the centre of the cocoon, the heart of it where a lie would be detected when told by the vibrations of the webbings. The time had come.
She was about to summon the spirit when the cocoon vibrated.
‘Who’s there?’ a very soft voice asked, Clotho gasped with surprise.
‘I know you are there, speak’ she said again, ‘Please talk to me’
‘Rahun’ Clotho called
‘Who are you?’ she replied
‘Do you know where you are?’
She did not reply
‘Do you know why you are here?’
‘Judgement’ Rahun replied
‘Judgement’ snorted Clotho, ‘my girl your crime demands the total destruction of your soul. This is merely a sanctuary compared to what you should face.’
‘And what was my crime!’ spat Rahun, ‘why wont anyone understand that it had to be done, I did …’
‘What you did was upset the very balance of life, you opened a doorway to a world seen only to the very worst of all things created, ruined the tapestry to a point of almost shredding it. Even now four hundred years after your deed, we are yet to fully disengage the tangles, constantly working out emergency surgeries to keep the fabric of life from shredding!’ replied Clotho in the same tone. ‘Years of guarding, guiding, teaching lost; and for what, for you to achieve your selfish aim. The world of man suffers because of you and because…..’
‘Because I love him’ said Rahun in a voice that sounded like she was sobbing but instead of tears several strands snapped causing the cocoon to shift. Outside of the cocoon, Cearki moved at the sound of the snapping strands away from the wall that she stood towards Sharma.
‘What is happening?’ she asked
Sharma looked at the cocoon ‘What should happen’

Clotho’s mood changed from anger to remorse. She began to realise that the agony of these two lovers was not in death but their separation from each other. They were not evil by nature only foolishly and dangerously in love. Was it therefore wise to go ahead with this?
‘Why are you here?’ Rahun asked
‘To give you a second chance at life and undergo a task which you must perform’
‘Which is?’
‘Which is to be revealed to you in due time’, but first I need you to close your eyes’
‘I see nothing, I only sense your presence, and I cannot see you.’
‘Then I need you to dull your senses’
‘Because I said so’ snapped Clotho
‘Are you going to kill me?’
At that Clotho pierced her feet into the mesh shutting her eyes trying to concentrate, the cocoon rocked violently flinging Clotho to hit the wall and slide down, she quickly she shot a silk thread at an adjacent wall which broke her fall.
‘Next time simply ask politely’ said Rahun, ‘that was painful’. The cocoon stooped rocking and the mesh above relaxed. ‘I am ready’ she said. Clotho was torn between the emotions of anger and amusement. She knew the girl did not mean her any harm, yet she did not fathom that in this state she was vulnerable. She scampered up the thread and landed once more upon the central axis.
‘For the former intrusion, I apologise, said Clotho
‘Accepted’ replied Rahun
‘Are you ready?’ said Clotho
Once again, Clotho pierced her feet into the mesh but this time the cocoon only shifted slightly.
‘Show me’ Clotho said, ‘show me everything you have encountered’, and slowly shut her eyes. She found herself in her human form surrounded by mist, hearing footsteps behind her she turned around and beheld the most beautiful being she had ever seen. Black hair that fell to the lower back, her skin glowed spotlessly without a speck. She was tall an lean but fleshy in the right places and proportions with eyes like polished marbles stones and a nose and mouth well proportioned to her face. Even Sharma was a milkmaid compared to this. Would it be wrong to think of her as perfection personified.
‘Rahun’ she called
The girl smiled at her ‘You are the first person that I have seen in so long’
‘This can all come to an end Rahun’
‘Who are you?’
‘I am Clotho’
‘You are fate’
‘Only an aspect, we are three’
‘I came to you to beg for Jei’s life but was refused audience’
‘Humans do not understand how complex our jobs as guardians of life are Rahun. They see life as simple issues of love and hate, day and night, life and death but it is beyond that. An issue in need of final resolve required that Jei had to die Rahun. You may see it as callous but his death was simply a means to an end which would justify…’
Justify! What is the justification for the death of a good man?’
‘In Jei’s case there are two. The first may be revealed to you, the other will not.’
‘Will you take me to him?’ asked Rahun
‘No Rahun, you will find him.’
‘Alright, what do you want me to do?’ asked Rahun
‘Just hold my hand, I’ll do the rest’ replied Clotho.
Their fingers locked and light diffused through the mist. Clotho merged into Rahun, taking control of her mind. ‘Be still child this will not be pleasant for the both of us’ Clotho said as she began to probe the mind of the younger maiden. She began to see the events of Rahun’s life through her eyes, began to feel the same emotions of those moments both subconscious and conscious alike. The discomfort of her birth, the trials and frustrations of learning to crawl and walk, the security and love in her mothers embrace, the curiosity in her first magic, the pains of physical combat and discipline that comes after, the joy in her fathers story’s, the rare but excessive display of her anger. Clotho stirred forward towards her adolescence, she was thirteen. The sight of her first flow, her pride in her initiation into the ravier school of mages and naturals. Her first encounter with Jei, the embarrassment of seeing him staring at her nude and the rush of anger that followed. Her concern when she hit him with her staff and he blacked out, a concern that grew into fondness when he recuperated in her home. The fear she felt when Reinsted challenged him to a sword fight, her surprise at his skill and finally pride when he won. The confusion when the Royal guards came for him and the loneliness that followed his exit in her life.
The following year was filled with heart wrenching anguish. First, the death of her father in a hunting expedition. Followed by the mysterious passage of her mother. Too painful to bear Clotho stirred further ahead, she was sixteen lonely, depressed and a grand mistress of the dark arts. Jei returns, he is nineteen, tall and handsome. He stays with her and totally adores her. She falls in love and joy returns with his presence. She is seventeen and he teaches her the art of combat, she feels the aches in her joints and the pleasure of his embrace afterwards and at that moment, she feels the rapture of their first kiss and the many kisses that come after. Clotho steers further still, she is eighteen and feels concern at Jei’s constant nightmares and his refusal at her offer to help him. Their more frequent visits to the riverbed where they first met. Her elation at his proposal but fear at the discovery of his return. The agony that comes with the news of his death, an agony that paved way to rage, an uncontrollable rage that developed into a madness with one aim only- his return, a feat which lead her to the very gates of the dead.

Clotho in her six hundred years in office had never been there, and could not imagine how a mortal could stand the discomfort. With the pain she was undergoing came a greater determination to find him and free him, which she did, but at a price so great, she could not have imagined the cost. Her salvation and that of all humankind.
Suddenly she felt a sharp pain so wrenching it was almost unbearable and every moment she spent made it worse. Clotho knew this was the moment that Rahun was transformed into the cocoon. Unable to bear anymore she disengaged from the girl and pulled from her.
Clotho felt drained when she came out and stumbled slightly but Rahun caught her and set her to the floor gently. She looked up and saw Rahun staring back at her with tears falling down her face and a sad smile.
‘I may not understand the way of the gods Clotho but I know what we had was real and was worth fighting for and dieing for. I did not mean harm to anyone else.’
‘I know that now’
‘What will happen now?’
‘You will return to the world of men Rahun, if the sacrifice you made was worth the risk and the eventuality you will find in the new world, I leave to you to decide. I will leave you now’ Clotho said rising from the ground.
‘Will I see you again?’
‘Perhaps, but you must prepare for the tasks that lay ahead’
‘A ravier is always prepared’
‘For all our sakes I hope so’
Clotho opened her eyes and scrambled out of the cocoon, she pushed out until she was outside and she jumped attaching a silk thread to one end of the cocoon and fell to the ground with a loud thud. She immediately changed to her human form as she began walking towards the entrance where Cearki and Sharma stood awaiting her return.
‘We really need to talk’ she said to Sharma who only nodded her response.

A Life in Full and other stories as reviewed by Joseph Omotayo (see Bio below)

One thing about an anthology of different contributors is the flowing stream of experiences you are provided with. When it comes to a collection of literary materials, you cannot be disappointed by the spring of synergy of creative efforts that are always a feature of such collection. I thought cooperative writing skill has reached its highest peak after reading African Roar months ago. Little did I know that more is always to be expected from works that are made of different writing prowess. ‘A life in Full and other stories’ is an anthology of 17 short stories. Five of the stories are of the ones shortlisted for 2010 Caine Prize for Short Stories. The remaining stories were written by fifteen writers from six different countries at the CDC Caine Prize African Writers’ Workshop Stories 2010, held in Kenya.

A Life in Full – Jude Dibia (NIGERIA)
Mabel once loses it, but she has got children and family as her reward. In Jude Dibia’s A Life in Full, Mabel seeks to live a fulfilled life in the lives of her children. Victor isn’t ready to make the mistake his parents make by having them in stinking poverty. He wants to have a paradise of his own before settling down. Mabel, Victor’s mother, is impatient to have her back carry her grandchildren. Jude Dibia tells a story that is familiar with the African setting in a refreshing way.

Soul Safari – Alnoor Amlani (KENYA)
In Soul Safari by Alnoor Amlani, the bitterness an unremitting love leave in its trail is well portrayed. If Adam had known that the safari he plans will turn out the way it does, perhaps, it would have remained a thing of his thought alone. Adam’s safari never delivers on its purpose. His aim for the vacation is to have Zara accept his confession of love. Zara makes it clear without any pretence; she only wants them to stay as friends and nothing near lovers. Adam feels rejected but a little comforted when Zara finally observes that he is not delusional after all; he is just in love.

The Plantation – Ovo Adagha (NIGERIA)
The grim stories of the crisis of oil spillage and pipeline vandalism, most especially in the Niger Delta, are no more news to us. The headlines of our newspapers are mostly made of them, the breaking news of TVs’ reports have almost made us inured to them. You wouldn’t think of how horrific it would sound and how terrific they could be at times when they are narrated with utmost details. Ovo Adagha uses the life of a family as a prism to reflect the highest effect of a marginalised region. In The Plantation, Namidi’s pot of gold brings untold losses on many. His newly found riches become the graves of scores. He finds a leaking oil pipe in his farm and what follows are charred bodies caused by a greedy attempt to escape from poverty.

The Journey – Valerie Tagwire (ZIMBABWE)
Valerie Tagwire’s The Journey portrays the pains of womanhood and the minus of marital bereavement. Shingai is left to survive on her own and provide for the upkeep of her two children after the death of her husband. Amai, her mother-in-law won’t complement her effort because she has refused a share of her son’s pension by Shingai. Shingai accedes to her friend’s, Nellie, only option of survival – prostitution. On Fife Avenue is the spot where she takes her first step to plying her new trade. It is on Fife Avenue she unwillingly presents her body to buy safety from the police officer who asks for it as a bribe. On Fife Avenue she gets initiated into a venture she never dreams of ever doing….
David Thuo Show – Samuel Munene (KENYA)
Samuel Munene mixes humour with reality in The David Thuo Show. The first wrangle in the lives of the family in this story turns their house into a playground for cats and mice game. Everyone tries to best and ridicule the other. The TV becomes the companion of everyone during the first family fight. When the second squabble breaks out, the TV, which is the uniting point for the family is not available. The family later reunites after a new TV is bought and brought home.

Set Me Free – Clifford Chianga Oluoch (KENYA)
Set Me Free is very gripping and philosophical but yet revealing. The story is a reminder of how we have become wont to turning deaf ears to the evil our leaders bring with their rule. It reports, through fiction, the recklessness with which our leaders mortgage our future with their unbridled corrupt tendencies. David “the monster” Mavitas Mingi, a minister, loses once in an election after 20 years of occupying a ministerial office. This allows the ICC to publish his names amongst names that are associated with corruption. Jackie, his daughter, becomes the administrator of his ill-gotten wealth. His sudden misfortune snaps the last strap of life out of him. His sons, wife and family leave him amidst the time he is consumed by irrational thirst for people’s wealth. Aside Jackie, he is left without no caring families and friends. Jerry and Joni, his two sons, feel cold towards him. The machine that sustains his breath is turned off and his soul is set free in ashes that he is cremated into.

Indigo – Molara Wood (NIGERIA)
Molara Wood’s Indigo is a story of marital battle for fruitfulness. It is a fight of traditional belief against modern acceptance. Idera and Kolapo are childless because of their ‘diplomatic lifestyle’ of not having children in the early days of their marriage in order for them to attain full intimacy. This later becomes the odd they are forced by external influences to confront headlong. Rescue comes their way as Idera explores the roads the gods show her to finding healing to her bareness. En route home from a failed adventure to Abeokuta, Idera receives her healing at the indigo river that thirst for water takes her to.

Happy Ending – Stanley Kenani (MALAWI)
Stanley Onjeeani Kenani’s Happy Ending is antithetical to the event it relays. One realises how pathetic it could be when mistrust is given a space to blossom in its fertility of irreversible ruin. Dama and Tithelepo are happy even though their relationship is without a child. They easily become the butts of people’s jokes and main themes of stories at every gathering. Unbeknownst to Dama, Tithelepo, his wife, seeks a better solution to her childlessness. She finds a way out of this at the disposal of Abisalomu, the younger brother of Dama. Dama sniffs a betrayal of marital trust when he discovers a written love correspondence between Tithelepo and her lover. Dama takes revenge. Before he knows what help Abisalomu, Tithelepo’s secret lover, is doing to their marriage by sleeping with Tithelepo to make her become a mother and Dama a father, the sword of vengeance has already been wielded. Abisalom dies atop Tithelepo rendering his ‘help’. Tithelepo later becomes pregnant.

Mr Oliver – Mamle Kabu (GHANA)
In Mr Oliver, life is never equal, status is in classes. Mamle Kabu’s story paints the horrible gap between the elites and the peasants, and how the least class are always at the mercy of the-have-alls. It is also how far covetousness can lead one to sometimes change personalities at unusual periods. The character whose life the story is narrated through remains unsatisfied in all material prosperity. She covets the kind of eyes Mr. Oliver, a mason who works for them, has. The abnormal attraction of Mr. Oliver’s eyes makes her condescends to him in the way her social lifestyle wouldn’t allow; she won’t allow him to be paid below what is due to him, she is not at rest when Mr. Oliver is not paid for his service, she won’t mind driving to the slummiest part of the town at the deadest time of the day to make sure Mr. Oliver is comforted. Not even Alex, her husband, will stop her from expressing her strange love for Mr. Oliver’s eyes.


The Life of Worm – Ken Barris (SOUTH AFRICA)
In Ken Barris’s The Life of Worm, a secured life is insecure in an over consciousness of security. The anatomy of a worm is a perfect imagery for the insecurity that the story’s theme emphasises. No matter how protected a worm is made to be, its body, which can’t withstand a lot of pressure is a threat to itself. Ken Barris’s story is the too-secured life of a man who is always hunting for ways to be more protected. Everything poses risk to him– his dog, his neighbour’s tree and storm.

Stickfighting Days – Olufemi Terry (SIERRA LEONE)
Stickfighting Days reveals the life of a scavenger – his struggle for relevance in the community of his kind, his fight for survival and food. The story repulses at the cruelty of power when it is without the provision for control and balances. Raul is a stick-fighter whose fury for vengeance leaves little room for him to reason well. The annulled fight he has with Markham fuels his thirst for blood the more. Nothing can stop him from becoming more fulfilling as a fighter than seeing that his new killing riposting skill is used against his arch opponent he wishes to take down – Markham. Salad, the judge, stops the fight between Raul and Markham again when the fight takes a turn away from the unwritten rules of the stick-fighting, and he becomes the victim of the anger that cannot be stopped.

One thing a collection of short story is known for is that it can be read from any part one decides to take the reading from; it can be from the middle to the front page, from the last story to the first or can be read in any order one deems comfortable. This allows one the opportunity to do away with story that leaves too much imperfection to be cordoned. Though I have always remained adamant to read an anthology of this kind of compilation in the way I’m used to reading novels, I was however forced and bored to read in this consistence by following the stories as they are in the content. Gill Schierhout’s ‘Invocations to the Dead’ misuses flashback in its plot to create unnecessary padding in the story. Flashback is one good technique that easily turns a story into trash when it is injected to form links and nexus without allowing some breathing spaces; this only interjects the whole structure of the story. Gill Schierhout should see to this. She really needs to look into this for other submissions.
‘Soulmates’ by Alex Smith is one wonderful piece that shows good narratives at play in the way the different matters the author wishes to make known are revealed from the effects of a single conflict. Where Alex misses it is in not providing enough translations to carry the reader along with the foreign religious words of Latin that are in her story.
‘Muzungu’ as one of the stories comes out just too ordinary for me. Namwali Serpell never does enough in using her creativity well. Whenever one is telling a story that is over told, what affixes a reader’s eyes to it is the manner through which it is narrated. Namwali Serpell should know that she is not the first writer to ever have written something on what the slavery blacks went through under the superiority of the racist whites, so many books are begging to be read on the internet and in the library which have corpus of resources along that line. What makes any story worth reading at all is not in its banality and dullness; creativity in narration and plotting does the task well.
It isn’t surprising to know that Olufemi Terry’s ‘Stickfighting Days’ stands amongst the other stories to cling the 2010 prize for Caine short stories. His attention to every minutia of narratives in his writing style is outstanding. The storyline of his short piece, Stickfighting Days, is not absorbing enough, but his fluid ability of bringing words to quickly form pictures in the imagination of the reader is sharp and quick.

• Despite all that has been said, ‘A Life in Full and other stories’ is a collection that is good picking up from the shelf to add to one’s titles on the reading desk. It offers one the rare means to access different writing skills by variously experienced writers across one’s boundary. Why not! Just pick it and read. It wouldn’t hurt, you know, but rather expands your words-bank.

About writer:

Joseph Omotayo is a writer and an analytical reviewer of the written works of art. He has reviewed some African contemporary works, out of which are Adunni Abimbola’s Under The Brown Rusted Roofs, Helon Habila’s Measuring Time, Igoni Barret’s From Caves Of Rotten Teeth, Myne Whitman’s A Heart to Mend and so much more. Some of his writings have been published on his blog www.josephomotayo.blogspot.com and in his country’s national Newspaper. He currently stays in Osogbo, Osun State, Nigeria; from where he views the world and lives his dreams. He is the Head of Department for short-story in ATE OGBON LITERARY CLUB, Osogbo; a club that promotes creative and performing art.

BATTLE OF THE IMMORTALS (CHAPTER III) written by Halima Shadiyya

‘Rahun, come on hurry!’
‘What is the hurry, Jei? Wait not so fast!’
‘Run, ravier or we will miss it’
‘Miss what?’
‘This moment’ he said turning around to grab her by the waist.
Their lips locked. She froze in that instant as her heart skipped a beat and then suddenly his fire consumed her very soul. His left hand held the small of her back while his right fiddled with her hair as his lips left hers and placed small kisses along the line of her jaw. He took short heavy breaths as he nibbled her ear and finally he whispered ‘I love you Rahun and I will always be with you no matter what’.
‘As long as you are with me I can stand anything’ she said hugging him.
‘Anything?’ he asked with a mischievous look on his face.
‘Anything’ she replied snuggling closer to him.
He began to tickle her and she wriggled trying to free herself of his grip but he held her fast and they wrestled each other to the ground amidst their own laughs, giggles and pleas. He rolled over her his tall frame totally covering hers using his hands to support most of his body weight, she tried pushing him off using her hands and he was amused at her futile attempt. They had played this game so many times before and her resilience amazed him each time ‘Don’t you ever give up ravier? You’re practically pinned’
‘It is not the ravier way to give in’ she replied still play fighting beneath him
He lowered himself placing his lips to her ear and whispered ‘Just say please’
‘No way’ she replied
His hand softly touched her belly and slowly moved up beneath her derma, startled she tried to snatch his hand away but he caught her and held her hands high above her, a move that raised her bosom closer to him. With his other hand, he caressed her back as he planted light kisses on her neck and chin. She giggled as she said ‘Jei, you’re not been fair, let go’
He smiled as he looked into her eyes and said ‘Not until you say please’
She smiled back and replied ‘Make me’.
He kissed her softly, she let it last as she raised her thigh to accommodate him. He raised his hand to her neck pulling her closer to him. She encircled her arms around his neck urging him to take all that he wanted from her. He left her face and planted kisses on her neck and collar bone as his fingers swiftly worked on the laces of her derma until his prize was revealed swollen and rigid with excitement. As he took her in his mouth she sighed and hung on to his now bare back, gripping the toned muscles, yearning for him as she parted herself to received him, inviting him to take however much he wanted , trusting to receive as much in kind. He wrapped his hand around her waist and rolled over kissing her until she lay on top of him not letting her go as his hands moved down her lower back and grabbed her soft bottom softly squeezing them. Instinctively she arched her back and sat on him placing her hands on his broad chest as he sat up and began to play with her hair. She could feel him hard and strong beneath her as she placed her head on his chest and he slowly undressed her. He was eager and she was ready planting kisses all over his face until she found his lips using her hands to pull the hair in his face he held her by the shoulders pulling her back to look at her. She looked at him with concern but relaxed when she saw him smiling at her. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘You’re beautiful, and I love you’ he replied
‘I love you too’ she answered back as she pulled him to her in a warm long embrace. She knew Jei would not take her, he had already given her his reasons but she felt like there was more to it than he really told but like the many secrets Jei kept from her he would not tell until he was ready and she had learnt long ago not to press him.

He lay down taking her with him and they lay like that listening to the evening sounds as their heartbeats steadied.
‘Yes Jei’
Do you remember this place?’
‘She looked at the surrounding area staring into the river as the rays of the setting sun created a spectacle of hues upon the white mineral rocks, the evening sky painted the river in colours of purple and orange creating an atmosphere of pure magic. She smiled ‘this is where we first met’
‘No’ she stared at him surprised but he continued ‘This is where I accidentally stumbled upon the most beautiful creature on earth bathing’
‘Stumbled! You were staring’ she cried
‘How could I not, you were ravishing’ he replied
She shook her head in disbelief laughing at his awkward confession.
‘I hope you learnt you lesson’ she said sitting up, ‘I nearly killed you in anger’ she said rolling off him and sitting up on his shirt with her arms encircling her knees.
‘I died long before Rahun’ he answered sitting besides her cradling her head to his chest.
‘You scare me when you talk like that’ she whispered against him.
‘I first saw you in the village dancing at the wedding of your cousin that was the night we arrived; you looked like a dream come alive. Everyone stared at you but you were so lost in your own world you did not notice. I thought to myself – She has to belong to a god.’ She laughed looking at him, ‘seriously’ he continued, ‘anyway the next day I took a stroll down to the river to meditate and there you were, in the river bathing in nothing but skin,’ he sighed ‘I fell in love with you that day, Rahun and that was why I couldn’t fight back. I could not dream of inflicting the slightest harm on you. When I went back to the capital I couldn’t stop thinking about you, I came to the mountains to find peace Rahun, I found you and you gave me so much more but I was afraid that you hated me because I had lied to you. But as days turned to weeks and then months I was drawn back to you, which is why I came back.’
‘When you left I thought I would never see you again, I didn’t know I was in love with you until you left and I didn’t know where to find you so I just had faith that if you were mine you would return to me, and you did’ she replied.

‘I always want to be with you Rahun’
‘And I with you’ she replied
‘Then marry me’
‘Jei!’ she gasped
‘Marry me Rahun, come home with me my love. I want to honour you as my queen, my woman, my life. I want to make love to you on a bed of the purest silk on a night that the moon, the stars and all the gods will bear witness that my kingdom is yours to rule, my palace yours to command and my life; yours to share and take.’
She got up putting on his shirt staring at the scenery before her thinking about the past and of the future. She turned around looking at him.
‘Jei, I am ravier, I belong here’
‘You belong with me Rahun, be with me’ he said turning her around to face him, tension clearly showing in his voice.
‘You are asking me to leave everything, everyone I know’ she replied her voice also rising.
‘I am asking you to start a life with me’
‘In a land you are familiar with, a land of your people’
‘I know that leaving the highlands will be difficult and believe me when I tell you that I would gladly give up the throne to spend the rest of my life with you here, but I cannot give up my people.’
‘I would never ask you to and you know it’
‘But I am, I am asking you to let the past go, start a life with me, and let our love bear witness of our existence in this world and the next.’
‘Rahun’ he whispered ‘do I ask for too much?’ raising her face to his.
She stared into his eyes for several moments as if certain that the answers to all her questions would be found there. She whispered finally ‘Take me home Jei’
‘Where is home?’ he asked
‘Wherever you are’ she replied smiling as she raised herself to kiss him. He responded with an urgency that clearly showed his excitement at her reply.

‘My ravier’ he said smiling as he combed through her hair with his fingers, ‘I can’t wait to take you the capital Rahun you’ll love it there. The palace halls, the city, the people’
‘But will they love me Jei, will they accept me?’ she replied as she looked up at him
‘My mother will love you, my father may be a bit of a problem but he knows that when my mind is made up there is no turning back, and for the people, they will if they don’t want to lose their heads’. She punched him playfully and he drew her closer laughing.
‘What can I offer you that you do not already have Jei?’
‘We can start with a few sons’ he said mischievously
She laughed ‘With your eyes, mischief and charm’
‘But your resilient and stubborn spirit’ he replied
‘I like that combination’
‘So it’s a yes’
They embraced and their bodies entwined to create a silhouette against the background of the river and the evening sky’

The Sina swirled mixing the colours into a colourless mess until it stilled and the light emanating from within it dimmed.
‘Their love was quite strong, a sad story indeed’ said Luna
‘Indeed’ replied Perna, ‘did you notice anything about him’
‘You mean apart from the perfectly chiselled face and form, his lusciously kissable lips and those gorgeously green eyes. No’
Perna smiled looking at Luna who looked back sheepishly. ‘Oh come on! I may be a goddess but I am female, I wonder why I never noticed him before the whole turn of events’
‘He was hidden from the eyes of the gods to mask his true identity’
‘Don’t be silly Perna, nothing is hidden by mortals from the gods we simply choose to ignore them. And what do you mean by his true identity?’
‘Can a god hide the secret of a child from another?’
‘Why would any god hide a mortal from his fellow gods, several bastards have been fathered by gods, I inclusive?’
‘How many have been mothered outside of the heavens?’
‘None that I know of, no immortal has ever borne a mortal child, and the few children that have been born at all were fathered by immortal gods’
‘What if both his parents were gods but they couldn’t have him born as an immortal’
‘Are you listening to yourself? To what end would anyone do such a thing Perna’
‘Did you see his eyes Luna, tell me they do not remind you of someone’
‘No they do not, Perna stop this you are been paranoid, he is simply a lad sadly caught between a war that has lasted for millennia, that is all.’
‘There is more to him than that Luna’
‘Like what’
‘I do not know but I intend to find out’
‘What are you implying Perna?’
‘Nothing, just a suspicion. A mystery is about to be unravelled Luna, one that may shake the foundations of heaven itself and I will need your help to find the truth’
‘There is nothing to find Perna, you really need to relax, I think the activities of the demon lord upon the seas are really getting to you.’
‘Time will tell wont it’


‘Are you sure?’ asked Dremon. ‘Yes my Lord, the gods have spoken’ replied the carrier.
‘What was the divination?’
A deliverer comes to end the sorrows of man, to break the chain and destroy the source that all things may start anew’.
‘Finally, an end to this’ whispered Dremon, ‘Anything else?’
‘That is all that was said my lord’
‘Leave me’ he ordered and the carrier stepped out of the hall. Dremon walked up the stairs headed in the direction of the grand throne. He stared upon the walls of the hall created form alabaster stone lined with marble slabs. Its floors dressed with the white sands of the shores of preyete picked clean to total purity. Its main source of light was from the balcony facing the morning sun. There he stood and closed his eyes as his thoughts drifted through the pages of his mind. He remembered how it was long before in the cave of dreams, the only place he found peace, silence …HER. He remembered her bravery at the sight of him, standing her ground as he moved closer. Her eyes fixed upon his, those black eyes that bore into his soul. Her hair – dark like the earth was braided in a style to identify the ravier sorceress, tied around her neck was a jade stone that fell between her twin mounds. Her lips were rather full for her face but her skin glowed like the sun. He remembered their first meeting and their many meetings after. She was calm and he was intrigued to find her there. No mortal had ever found the cave, it was a meditating spot for immortals and not even all of them knew of its location. She had come to find answers he could not give so he led her to fates who gave her all she needed to know and let her be on her way. He remembered how her tears fell as she returned and he comforted her, an act that led to many others. Their love blossomed in the eyes of all in heaven and on earth and he never found happiness like that again. He was summoned to the heavens by the gods to take Sharma as his bride. He should have refused there and then, but he did not. He was given a choice between love and duty and he chose duty, a choice he regrets to this day. He should not have left her, none of this would have happened. He could still remember the look she gave him when he told her he would have to leave her- utter disbelief. He tried to explain his reasons but she just stared at him shattered yet oddly silent. In the end, she only held his face in her hands with tears in her eyes and said ‘No matter how we try, we cannot undo our destinies. Go Dremon, I bid you a good life’.

‘Go Dremon, I bid you a good life’ said a feminine voice behind him. Turning around he saw her looking at him with that same look with those eyes. However, it was not her, the creature before him was sinister without a soul but still the sight of her moved him. ‘My dear lord, don’t tell me you don’t recognise me, your one true love’
‘What do you want you monster? Why won’t you leave me in peace?’
‘Peace- it is merely an illusion used to fool mortals to believe in the gods and make their existence seem with purpose’ said a masculine voice as the figure before him transformed into a young handsome man with the greenest eyes he had ever seen. His face was sculpted with a strong nose and soft feminine lips that would be irresistible to any woman. His dark coal hair, which fell to his broad shoulders, was braided and bonded by a gold band. He was of a strong build and a height that surpassed most. He was beautiful but not human, not anymore.
‘I would expect nothing less form you having spent most of your life in darkness and sorrow’
Not exactly, I spent a few years with your offspring which was quite an experience’.
‘Get out!’
‘My… such aggression’, said the man as he moved towards Dremon. ‘How does it feel to know that you granted life to the very creature you fought so hard to destroy?’
I saved my child, for me that is victory enough’
‘A child you will never set eyes upon again’
‘Do not say those words to me!’
‘I speak true don’t I?’
‘What do you know about truth you monster?’
The only truth I need to know is that the boy is mine and soon so will this world and the heavens’
‘Very soon you will lose hold on the lad’
The demon lord sat on one of the cushioned stools laughing, ‘you still do not understand that we are one, the boy and I, merged together body and soul the moment the girl released him from the dead gates.’
‘Your time is at hand, demon’
‘Yours will certainly come soon after if I go, so will the boy. Pity though we would have made the perfect triumvirate, your knowledge of the heavens, my stronghold in hell and the boys…’
‘Get out! Get out you fiend!’
‘You are weak Dremon, you have always been weak, too weak to fight for your true desires, I have to admit your daughter is very unlike you Dremon, even in the face of death she chose love. Not like her father who abandoned her with her mother just because he could not resist the throne of the heavens and the beautiful Sharma by his side.’

Dremon unable to hold back his anger drew his sword of stars looking at the boy who simply smiled and reclined on the stool. Dremon took the first attack and the lord sprang up from the stool into the air to land upon the sands below. Turning around, he stretched his arms as blades began to slowly pierce out of his palms. Dremon descended the steps slowly as this occurred holding his sword upright to his back. When he reached the final stair, the lord held a defensive stance giving Dremon the right to another attack. He exercised it immediately swinging the sword from behind him toward the face of the lord. Swords clashed as both immortals engaged for several minutes within the hall before the demon lord used magic to launch Dremon into the air, a move Dremon never anticipated as his feet clearly lifted off the ground. The demon lord trying to take the advantage followed, but was surprisingly flung to the wall as Dremon landed on his feet. Dremon ran towards the fallen lord to strike when he heard a female voice shout ‘Enough!’ and strong winds blew into the hall. Both lords looked in the direction and saw Sharma looking at them.

Sharma stood in the centre of the hall with her aura surrounding her in full splendour. Hair dark as coal, Turquoise blue eyes that shone like the stars, lips that shamed the red rose and a figure that left the minds of men mortal and immortal alike in a state of maddening desire. The demon Lord stood up gazing at her with a smirk on his face. She stared back at him defiantly and said to him ‘Leave this place at once’. He smiled looking in Dremon’s direction. ‘Thank you for the spar Dremon, however feel lucky that she arrived my dethroned Lord, because the next time you draw a sword at me I’ll ensure it will be the last.’
‘No demon, I will’ replied Dremon.
Looking back at Sharma, he said ‘It’s good to see you again your majesty, how do the heavens fare? I do hope the activities on earth are of no bother to you.’
She did not utter a word she only stared at him with a look that rendered all powerless to her will. He stared back the smile slowly fading from his face as he was drawn into her. ‘In time all this will come to an end and we shall all be free of this, who rules over the heavens will be determined by the victor but until then I remain the queen of the heavens’ she said as he drew closer ,‘and when I give an order it is carried out immediately, remember that.’ She released him unceremoniously and he landed to the floor.
‘For now Sharma, but soon all that will change’ he said as he opened a vortex and walked through.
Dremon dropped the sword and sat on a stair clearly still angered about the event just past. Sharma walked towards the stairs and sat besides him. He held his hands to his face and all she could do was stare for several moments. How could she comfort him knowing all she knew? How could she pacify him when her own heart had just been drained from agonising sorrow? A sorrow unknown to all but three including herself.
‘What did he want with you, Dremon?’
‘He wants to share the heavens with me, I am yet to untangle my mistakes from the first offer and yet he makes me another’ Dremon said with a tone of sarcasm
‘At least now I know why you were not at the council’ Sharma said
‘I did not see any reason to be there’
‘You realise you are still a god Dremon, you are still bound to your duties’
‘How can I be of aid to the world of men if I am useless to my own offspring?’
‘Do you think you can help her by destroying yourself?’
‘I could have prevented all this Sharma’
‘You tried Dremon, you cannot keep blaming yourself’
‘I abandoned her Sharma, she was carrying my child and I abandoned her when she needed me’
‘You didn’t know Dremon and nothing you do now changes that, we may be immortal but we are liable to err at certain periods but we must always remember that the wants and the needs of men must come before our own no matter how great the sacrifice is to create a balance’
‘What did you sacrifice to be married to me?’ asked Dremon ‘What has your heart had to bear Sharma to seat on that throne?, Finally Sharma ask yourself , if it is duty that still keeps you there or pride’ he snapped at her as he walked angrily up the stairs.

‘What do you know about sacrifice Dremon, what have you had to bear compared to the burden I carry? I have made more sacrifices than you will ever realise Dremon, more than you will ever understand’ she replied staring at him. ‘Do you know why I return to the throne, do you know what keeps me there Dremon? At first it was my sense of duty to you, to the gods, men; and then my duty turned to fear of loss, but now I stay on that throne for love Dremon, more love than I ever thought I could feel, more love than you could ever give me, than you could ever comprehend!’
‘Our union was a mistake Sharma; you did not need me to rule the heavens with you because you were capable on your own, and everyone trusted you and respected you. None would have denied it to you when the seat was vacant, your purity was the perfect character required to take the throne. I know you compromised a lot to marry me Sharma, I know that I am the biggest compromise of your eternal life.’
‘I am so sorry’ she said softly. He stopped and turned around to see her face down as tears fell freely upon the stairs. He felt sorry to have made her feel guilty for what was clearly not her fault. He hurried down to comfort her but she stood before he got there straightening her dress.
‘Forgive me Sharma, I spoke rather harshly, its just that I can’t help but blame myself for all of this and wish I could change it.’
‘There is nothing to forgive Dremon, we all played our part in the turn of events and will answer for our mistakes in due time.’
‘Why are you here Sharma?’
‘Are you not happy to see me?’
‘It is always a pleasure to have you, but I know you only come to me only when in dire need’
‘And never once have you denied me’
‘Only because I understand that our union is purely out of share need, I would be breaking my oaths if I did not fulfil my obligations to you. And you have never requested for anything beyond reason.’
‘I fear today may just be that day Dremon’
‘What is going on Sharma?’ asked Dremon
‘Today the gods have decided to send a warrior to end the reign of the demon lord upon the earth before his darkness spreads into the heavens.’
‘I know, I was informed by a carrier.’
‘Already the news spreads which is why I need to be cautious before I send her.’
‘You send a female to the very pits of hell’
‘Not just any girl, your daughter’ replied Sharma staring at Dremon who gasped at the news.
‘That is what I came here to tell you, it has been decided that she be released to stop the demon lord because only she can. I know the only person I can trust to have her true concern at heart is you. I need you to help me end this Dremon’
‘You remove her from eternal damnation unto the hands of death’
‘Would you prefer she stays within the abyss totally forgotten until her life force is utterly spent never to be revived again? We give her a new chance to redeem herself and her soul. She will have trials and test from guardian’s that will prepare her for her task to end this but all of that will be for naught if we abandon her with people who do not know and understand her. People that can reach her like you do to remind her of her purpose are what are required to protect her until she is prepared.’
‘Go on’ he said crossing his hands across his chest as he listened
‘I need to devise a plan for the birth of the girl Dremon, already she is been expected, everyone will be searching for her, but certain things must be placed in order before her arrival. ‘
‘What have the gods agreed to do?’
‘To send her back into the world of men but with all that is going on I do not know who to trust. I wish to send her through a thread that cannot be traced upon the fabric.’
‘Then you will need the help of the fates, if they are willing to risk such …’
‘The fates are the least of my problems Dremon, I do not want to release to girl to just anyone, I need to find guardians to know of her true mission. Parents to remind her of whom she is, everything must be done right so she can be ready to face the demon lord.’
‘Why carry the burden alone Sharma, you can delegate duties to the others’
‘I told you I do not trust them’
‘What reason have they given you not to?’
‘I would rather not get into that, will you help me or not Dremon I really do not have the time for this?’
‘We are gods, all we have is time’
‘Should I take that as a no?’
‘Take it as I know there is more to this than you choose to tell but for the sake of my daughter I will assist you?’
‘Thank you’ she said with a sigh of relief
‘Do not thank me yet, there is still much to be done, first we must …’
‘Excuse my lord but this is so important I….’
Both lord and goddess turned towards the entrance to look upon the maiden that walked in. She was clearly startled by Sharma’s presence as halted immediately retreating slowly as she said ‘Forgive me sire, I did not mean to intrude, I will return later. ‘My lady’ she said turning to Sharma as she made her courtesies and turned around.
‘It’s alright Cearki you can come in.’ replied Dremon
Sharma smiled staring at the girl as she walked up the stairs ‘Cearki Imos Salen, begotten daughter of the mistress of the winds and the guardian of the dead gates. Grand mistress of archery and spirit of sorcery.’
‘Have we met before my lady?’
‘Do you not recognise her Salen?’ asked Dremon.
‘No my Lord’
‘No matter, I am known to a selected few in this form, however I know you quite well, your mother says you are quite a handful but I see a lady standing before me, courteous and yet strong, but I wonder can you be trusted.’
‘I am whatever the situation requires me to be’
‘Well said, but what if the situation requires that you be a mother?’ asked Sharma.
‘What situation would require me to perform such a task?’
‘One in need of a decisive end’ replied Sharma

BATTLE OF IMMORTALS written by Halima Shadiyya

The divinities of the lower heavens gathered upon the great rock. The foundation of the sky holding the seven heavens in order, the pillars of destiny representing the attributes of life stood upon its far ends. Seven in number they were surrounding the great hall, surrounded by the mist of divine aura created from the innocence of newborn.

The throne of the arch goddess stood upon the dome of souls placed in the centre axis of the great rock. Its cushions woven by the threads of the fates where of a pale grey hue spotted in gold. Its frame carved from the tree of life by Arbelo himself. Smaller thrones filled the great hall, each seat created to depict the majesty of its owner. They are positioned to create a half moon before the great throne. While the Charain stood to east that, the light of the morning sun may cause the splendour of its silver bolts and gold rails to reflect upon the polished floors of the hall. The great rock this hall was named, its purpose for one such as this.

‘We play a dangerous game Perna, too much risk’, ‘Indeed it is, but it must be done Nyka’. ‘And if it fails’ said Nara- goddess of the woodlands ‘can you imagine the extent of terror that will be unleashed upon the earth. We cannot risk the opening of another portal Perna already the vortex wears thing and …’
‘I don’t intend to send her through a portal, I intend to use the charain’ replied Perna.
‘It seems you have stayed too long at sea Perna, all that seaweed seems to have clouded your judgement’ said Atripon- the god of love.
‘Do you have a better idea my lord of lust?’ replied Saphron- the god of war ‘like breeding her into one of your whores’ he continued
‘Now that is an idea I like’ responded Atripon with a boyish grin on his face

‘I will have order’ said Sharma in her usual tone of calm demeanour, ‘If you all had done your duties as expected and not tear at each other as you do now, it should never have come to this’. She stared at Perna ‘my question to you my woman of the waters is why this girl?’
‘She opened the gates Sharma, she is the source, and she can put a decisive end to this by destroying him’
‘You seem convinced that she will do as you say’
‘Not as I say Sharma but as should be done, despite her errs deep down inside she is really good’
‘She opened the gates of hell Perna’ said Comosi- Lord of the dead gates, ‘she…’
‘She acted foolishly out of desperation and despair; in that desperation she risked her own salvation. That is the spirit we need Comosi, a spirit willing to see this whole ordeal through despite the odds and irrespective of the end’ said Sera- Mistress of the arts.
‘But in the end she will have to face him, the very reason she is been punished, do you think that she will do what is right for the sake of good or for herself ?’ asked Tiran – Lord of the mountains.
‘That is a question only time can answer’ replied Perna, ‘which is why we must use the Charain, that she may remember the essence of life’.

‘So what you are saying is that we release a most formidable being into the world of men with her magical faculties intact based only on the hope that she will do what is right when the time comes, knowing fully well that that she risked all for the purpose we want her to destroy’ said Luna- goddess of the moon.
‘Do you have a better idea, does anyone in this hall?’ Perna spat out, her anger clearly shown in the tone of her voice as she stood from her throne of a large oyster shell cushioned with velvet covers draped with sea pearls, ‘do you think that I haven’t thought this through, that I do not sense loopholes in the plan! Because I do, but I can no longer bear the sounds of wailing souls upon my shores Luna, I cannot bear the sight of another wasted soul upon my seas. Will we just sit here and do nothing while countless souls are enslaved to a mere mortal whose powers grow even as we speak? Will we wait until he has grown powerful enough to challenge Sharma herself?’ She cried pointing her hand to the grand throne.
‘We all bear the burden of this calamity Perna, I also hear the cries of those souls as well as you do and I see them as well, which is why we must be cautious. We are not dealing with a mere mortal, not anymore’ replied Luna as she also stood from her throne constructed from blue marble shaped in a new moon. ‘I request the use of the Sina my lady’ she said looking at Sharma.
‘As you please, Luna’ Sharma replied.

Luna walked through the maze of various thrones and when she stood in front of the round large mirror she said ‘ I intend to show two images so you all will see what it is exactly we are facing. She stood with her back arched and her eyes closed, slowly the Sina began to swirl inwards like a whirlpool and filled the room with subtle glow as images began to show upon it.
It was an aerial view of the sea on a moonlit night. The tides dashed upon the rocks with ferocity so great it seemed to break them while the waves softly caressed the sands upon the shore. All seemed as it should be until a lone figure walked towards the shore cloaked from head to toe. He stood close to the shore and slowly pulled of his shoes. He stared at the sea for a while slowly taking in the beauty of the serene environment, the suddenly as if possessed he bellowed like a wild animal in a pitch so loud it vibrated the bedrocks. Green light illuminated into the sea and with it came several wails and agonizing cries as mist poured over the sea and spread across the ocean. This lasted for several minutes until the light as suddenly as it appeared vanished.
‘We all know that he deposits a number of souls at sea Luna that is not news anymore’ said Atripon.
‘Did you notice the direction the souls travelled’ asked Luna
‘They were scattered’
‘Exactly! Now noticed their direction this time’

After several minutes of concentration another image began to surface on the Sina similar to the last except the mist did not spread out to sea. It seemed like it travelled to a specific destination across the ocean. ‘What is he doing?’ whispered one of the gods. The images dissolved as the Sina took back its opaque glass look.
‘He is guiding them to the dead gates’ replied Luna as she opened her eyes ‘which means he knows his way there. If he can travel to the dead gates and return then it is only a matter of time before he gets in’
‘Impossible’ cried Comosi
‘Why? Did a mortal woman not open the gates before? All he requires is the knowledge. Knowledge lost to mortal men in four hundred years of chaos. A knowledge known to only one person as we know it’
‘The girl’ whispered Sharma
‘Exactly, if he finds her there is no stopping him. There must be another way’ replied Luna looking back at Perna as she sat down.
‘But why would he want to open the gates, his association with the demon lord gives him easy access into the underworld?’ asked Atripon
‘He wants to own an army of dead souls’ said the god of war, his voice slowly rising, ‘he wants to wield them for battle, IT IS WAR! He screamed standing up.

‘Sit down Saphron’ said a voice that had not been heard. Everyone including Sharma looked in his direction. It was Mehan- god of discord. Saphron looked at him and then at Sharma who was about to speak when Mehan said again ‘You would rather receive orders from a woman, Oh Saphron, you shame me’
‘Only because you are in danger of seeming stupid Mehan’ spat Saphron.
‘Say that again’ replied Mehan
‘Enough’ screamed Sharma as she stood from her throne. The skies darkened as strong winds blew into the hall. Several seconds passed before she spoke ‘God of war, I beseech you to take your seat’. He did.
She turned to the god of discord ‘If you have something to say lord of trouble then I will suggest you do it swiftly and without drama’
He smiled at her ‘Yes my lady’, he stood up and continued ‘Atripon made a point, the boy does have access to the underworld but Comosi has not sensed his presence there but yet he sends souls totally under his control to Comosi for judgement. Why?
‘Because without the judgement of the council, the souls will not be allowed into the halls of the dead’ replied Comosi
‘A right he was denied’
‘For good reasons, which is why he cannot gain entry through the gates, his evil only gives him access to the city of the damned- the foulest place meant for the worst of men for their deeds, men who sold their souls to the demon lord’
‘Which means that the demon lord has access to that city?’
Yes, they are his slaves; I cannot deny him access to them’
‘And of all the crimes committed on earth what is worse than opening the gates of that city’
‘What are you getting at Mehan?’
‘A girl was condemned for a crime so great that it almost unmade creation, she opened the gates of the city, so it was obvious that she couldn’t be kept there, because of that she was judged to be isolated and for centuries she was forgotten and now he sends emissaries to the gates to be judged. Do you think he is doing you a favour? He said staring at Comosi
‘He is searching for her’ whispered Sharma
‘And it is only a matter of time before he finds her, which is why she must be released to be in the last place he will think to look- amongst men’
Murmurs sprang up filling the hall with inaudible sound for several minutes. Sharma’s turquoise blue eyes locked with Mehan’s emerald green.
‘We have to do this my lady, the time is now’ he said.
‘Sharma you must not, to unleash that creature is to wreck havoc’ shouted Comosi.
‘I understand that she has caused you to lose face my grim friend but the time has come for indeed a change. She will be sent to the world but with her powers stripped from her save two, others she must earn from guardians, which we will choose for her. If in the course of her existence she is able to make her cause our own, then we will prepare her for the task. If she chooses to do otherwise, then we will have no other choice than to destroy her before she finds him’
‘I will personally take that pleasure when it comes to that’ replied Comosi
‘Very well’ said the goddess piercing the hall with her voice,’ send word, let all know that the gods have heard the cries of men will send a champion to release them from their bondage. Tell them that the chain will be broken that all things may start anew’
‘And the time is?’ asked Perna
‘When I decide it is’ replied Sharma, ‘anymore questions?’ she asked looking upon the gods who stared earnestly at her. ‘Very well then, I release you to your duties.’

The gods rose from their various thrones leaving the hall in mass as they left for their various homes, all except Nara who simply sat in her throne carved into a living sweet smelling fruit tree. It was a gift from Mehan when she assumed her duties and it each time she sat in it, the flowers blossomed releasing into the hall a fragrance unlike any other. She sat seeming to stare at her reflection upon the polished floor, but she was lost in her thoughts. How could she explain to Mehan, how would he understand that she meant no harm that she did not want any of this to happen. Sharma would be devastated by her betrayal. She had tried to make amends up to the point of his death, had tried and failed in the end to create a solution but had failed in her attempt to do so.
‘Nara, are you all right?’ she looked up and saw Perna by her side.
‘I did not hear your approach’ Nara replied smiling
‘I know, what ails you Nara?’
‘Nothing I cannot handle I assure you’
‘Are you sure? You look quite pale.’
‘I really am alright.’
‘He is looking at you again’ said Perna
‘Who?’ replied Nara looking in the direction Perna’s eyes were focused
‘Atripon’ Perna replied smiling
Nara saw him staring at her smiling in that irresistible boyish grin of his. It was notorious for working magic upon many women mortal and immortal alike. ‘He chases everything that moves, he is always in a constant state of orgy so if he is looking at me, I am not at all flattered’ she replied.
‘Besides Mehan he is the only other god to not have a mate.’
‘That is understandable, he has his feals, he needs no more company.’
‘You mistake love for physical satisfaction my dear and there is a big difference’
‘I would not know my lady; I am yet to experience either one of the two’
‘How do you do it Nara?’
‘How do I do what?’
‘Check your desires, almost three hundred years and you are yet to lose your maiden head.’
‘I asked Mehan the same question when I arrived here, do you know what he said?’
‘I cannot guess’ replied Perna
‘Focus more on what you can rather than what you cannot and in time you realise that you not inhibited by anyone except yourself, you begin to find a new definition to the word freedom and eventually, you realise the power of choice.’
‘I do not understand.’
‘I am still a virgin only because I choose to be.’
‘And in four hundred years you are yet to find a reason to choose stop being one’
‘You seem more eager for me to lose it than I am’ said Nara looking at Perna
‘I am only curious, that is all, what have I to gain from your decision to stay celibate or not?’
Nara was about to reply but was interrupted by a masculine voice behind her ‘Hello ladies’ both Nara and Perna turned in the direction of the voice to find Atripon leaning on the back frame of Nara’s throne.
‘Atripon, what a surprise, we were just talking about you’ said Perna
‘No we weren’t, you were talking, and I simply gave my reservations’ retorted Nara.
Atripon looked at Nara, bemused by her honesty and then at Perna who was clearly embarrassed by It. He smiled walking forward to stand before her, his looks totally arresting her gaze. Atripon was clearly the most endowed of all the male gods with smooth bronze skin and clean-shaven well-sculpted face adorned with honey brown eyes and red rose lips. He was tall but with muscular build that made him the perfect frame for clothes. He let his brown hair fall freely to his chin. This was his new look, in four hundred years he had worn his hair in several ways and had even initiated styles, which were followed by female gods. She was almost impressed by him had his reputation as a sexually aroused horse not presided him. He bedded almost half the female gods in the heavens and spirits on earth, but was never apologetic about it on the contrary he took great pride in his number of conquests. He crossed his hands over his chest and said to her ‘If your tongue was as soft as your eyes I would have found you a mate’, ‘if you were as competent with your role as you are with your body I would accept your decision’ she replied as she stood up from her throne. ‘Ha! So you do notice me’ he said pointing his finger at her. ‘It is impossible to miss your childish show for attention’ Nara said standing from her seat. ‘I would never have guessed that a frigid ice statue such as yourself would even look, but then again beneath even the coldest of mountains lies a volcano waiting to erupt, all it needs is time and the right amount of pressure to break and reveal itself.’ Perna instinctively covered her dropping jaw with her hands at Atripon’s words and Nara could not hide her pain of the insult in her eyes. She finally said ‘Just because you are the god of love does not give you the right to be obscene’, ‘just because you are self righteous does not mean you know how to love’ he replied
‘Come Nara, let me show you my new chariot’ said Perna pulling at her shoulder
‘Atripon, there you are’, everyone turned to look at Dremon who was walking towards them. Atripon smiled at his approach and Nara held herself in check while Perna simply stared at him. Before them was the oldest and most powerful of all the gods of the lower heavens. He is respected by all but feared by most. Son of Marduk and Nammu, creation began with him yet he chose to stay amongst them never to procreate until his ascension and yet he had refused on two occasions to do so. He was strange but trustworthy and just. He was of few words but plenty of wisdom. It is said that he has no need for ascension because of his ability to cross boundaries but no one knows if that is true. If he sensed tension amongst them, he said nothing of it. ‘Are you busy?’, ‘No Mehan, we are done here’ replied Atripon. ‘No, we are not’ said Nara rather cold, ‘But it can wait, let’s go Perna. By your leave my lord’ she said as she curtseyed and walked past Mehan rather hurriedly followed by Perna.
‘What was that about?’ asked Mehan
‘She is the rudest most obnoxious being I have ever encountered in my entire life’ replied Atripon as he walked with Mehan.
‘She is young Atripon’
‘She is three hundred years old not including the nineteen she spent as a human’
‘Perhaps she throws insults at you to hide her true intentions’
‘The intention to murder a god’
Mehan looked at him and they both laughed at the joke
‘You will be going to Verisa soon.’ Atripon said quietly
‘Yes, away from all of this and as always I…’
‘I know Mehan, you need not ask, you can count on me.’
‘Thank you’
‘Mehan, can I ask you something?’
‘You need a favour?’
‘No, just answers.’
‘I will be as honest as I can’
‘How do you know when the time is right?’
‘Are we talking about you or about me?’ smiling Atripon replied ‘about us both.’
Mehan replied ‘for me the time is always right because I have found what I seek, but for you that is still seeking, you will know your moment when it comes, just don’t search so hard or you just might miss it. Sometimes what we seek is right before our eyes but we look much farther ahead to notice just how close it really is. Think about that.’
‘I will’ Atripon replied
‘Where is Sharma?’ asked Mehan looking around the almost empty hall
‘I thought she was with you’

DEATH TO OUR FRIENDSHIP! Written by Josh Eagles

Anyone who has been in a conventional boy-girl relationship knows what this is. I do too because I have experienced it once and it was though not as dramatic as you’d see in the movies, it had its bit of drama.

It was my first day at school and somehow my only girlfriend was admitted into the same institution. Before resumption, she always saw that as an extremely great thing, while I secretly dreaded the impending adventure. We managed to last a day. Day one was full of drama. ‘‘how come you know all those girls?’’, ‘’why didn’t you introduce me as your girlfriend?’’ and funny questions like that were the order of the day. Besides that though, I could sense her reluctance to want to keep on with the relationship. This ‘‘sense’’ was purely intuitive. I get to know in advance when a really close friend or girlfriend is considering our relationship – sometimes even before the person is absolutely conscious of that.

On day 2 of resumption, I took my Love out. We were always going to do that, because she had helped with my registration the previous day and we needed to take our breather off all the stress of day one. As soon as we sat down, I opened up as I was and still used to in situations like that. ‘‘ Tobi, you want a break from this relationship don’t you?’’. She was silent for a long while, then eventually asked, ‘‘How can you ask that kind of question?’’. I gave the most sincere answer I knew. ‘Because, sub-consciously that’s what you want. May be you have not really accepted that… Have you put this relationship into some mental tests recently?’’. She finally admitted the fact that a lot was bothering her about ‘‘us’’, while I offered my understanding. She stated she did not want a break-up. She wanted something else which I helped to call a ‘‘break’’. I was smart enough to know no sane girl would leave her boyfriend in that situation under any guise whatsoever. I sold her the dummy of a break and she grabbed it. It was for me a break-up. We both managed to eat, while I crossed the road to my house to collect the stuffs I had bought for her from home. A few things happened that are not important to this text but the bottom line is this; we both sat to review ourselves and agreed we were better off separated for a while. We still kept our innermost thoughts to ourselves e.g. I considered us completely separated, while at this time she knew something I did not know.

Unfortunately for our plan, I was not the one to stay without a lady – to think that that is my default mode now eh? I was on to the next one by the next time we met and she did not like it at all. She invited me and I told her I was still open to her, also stating the fact that whoever she sees with me was only warming her space. This was said more from the position of respect than that of the truth. Every one from then was introduced as a friend not just to my Ex-Boo but to any amebo who bothered to ask. It was out of respect to her and that eventually formed the way I decided to deal with relationships from then. Everyone became just a friend and nothing more. No more exclusivity, a state this person was getting into had we not stopped. She refused to reason with my position. We broke-up! I wanted a peaceful thing but she wanted to spit and she did. I took it all in and we kept a weird arrangement until she changed schools the following semester.

I thought that was the end of us as it was until she finally admitted to me that what had happened had nothing to do with me. She later explained that she was getting distracted by a working class dude and she was lost in-between her supposed love for me and her security. That is what was left unsaid when we agreed on a break. I had to thank her for finally voicing the truth but I told her it would be absolutely impossible to get it on again – except it was going to be based on deception or just plain fun. She parried the deception but did not see anything wrong with the fun part.

This good friend of mine is now married and still complains about me – that I don’t call her. She is 24 but she always needs me to remind her that she is a married woman. Taken and consecrated unto another man. I will never consider taking a married woman to bed no matter the connection or excuse. Never! It has nothing to do with her husband or even herself; it has everything to do with me. I can’t. These things get to come around. I have been thinking seriously. Only one thing could result from Tobi’s insistence on keeping her doors open for me. It is not enough for me to delete her number from my phone because I know her numbers off-hand anyways. I can’t change my digits because of that because that would cost too much and by this I don’t mean cash. I’d never tell Tobi off. I can’t, but something has to give. What it is is what I can’t place my mind on right now. Why do women always want to have their way? I hear it’s a man’s world but the last time I checked, I only saw a woman on the driver’s seat.
I have a choice though – to get on and get driven to what would be my death or to pull the plug on my friendship with Tobi. Some people lead us only to one destination and sometimes it could be to destruction. The choice seems simple enough; death to our friendship or death to my values. Death is the last word on this. Death!

Gbangaun Unlimited written by Josh Eagles

I was reading my articles and i stumbled on this. A few folks saw it then but I’d love to share it especially as I already created a story out of it. The story is yet to be published. I hope to do so later this month. Have fun peeps.

Dear Sir or Madman,
I am attacking my resume for you to refuse.
following is a grief overview of my skills.
i have a keen eye for derail.
i am educate and very inlighting.
i have travelled far and wife spending two usefool years in Alaska,a Russian state near America. I’ll love to pitch my tent with your rivals so we can be the nations most notorious brand.
i will indeed be very greatfool if i am considered as your public relations thief.
yours fatefully
Miss Take Sojunu (ComeLoud HorseFord)

DESPISED UNTIL LOST written by ‘Seyi Olufemi

The trumpet blasted directly into my ears, I was tied, hands firmly behind me. I turned away, trying to escape the full blast of the sound as the decibel grew in intensity. I knew for sure then that I was going to leave this experience deaf, it was inevitable! The man continued to pummel me, he kicked me on the groin, thigh and stomach area. I tried curling over into the fetal position to minimize the impact of the blows but it was futile. The blows were relentless and there was nothing I could do about it. I tried shouting but a kick shut my mouth. I saw out of the corner of my eyes as he raised the object, I knew it was over.

My life flashed before me, in an unexplainable way as I saw the mistakes of my life and the things I wished I had done. It is at such times as these that we realize what is really important; honestly, it won’t be your car, house, job or other “important things”. What attains the vital status becomes; how good you are as a father, mother or wife, how faithful you are as a friend, your relationship with God and your contribution to life. As the hammer descended in a suspended stretched out manner, I screamed! Then I woke up.

My wife was snoring soundly beside me, my son Japheth, always active, was kicking me with all his strength. I viewed the entire expanse of the bed, a 6’ by 6’ bed and was amazed. In spite of the expansive bed; we were all located at my edge of the bed! Twisted in a single heap and intertwined like the weaving of the fat braid women often use.

I angrily rolled over and valiantly tried untangling myself from the bundle; I was a bit rough I must confess. I wanted to wake my wife. I was tired of her uncaring attitude, this crude, snoring trumpet beside me. Where was that refined babe I married?! Where was that always prim and proper lady I married?! I only wish she would not infect my son with that horrible snoring disease. I stood up and felt like hitting her on the head! I walked groggily to the sofa in the sitting room and plunked down still angry! Praying silently that she wouldn’t infect Japheth with that snoring virus! I deserved more! After a hectic day, I needed my rest! It was unfair that she would be so inconsiderate! Snoring like the revving of a truck!

They shouted and tugged at the window frame as I cowered fearfully behind the door. I prayed and hoped the police would get here on time. My mouth was dry with a fear induced constriction of my chest and the pounding in my head, could only be compared to a roman legion marching to war. I prayed fervently for divine intervention. I knew if they gained access to the house it was going to be fatal. Armed robbers were trying to gain access into our apartment! I wished I had rented a better apartment in a better area; I hid my laptop and prayed that my wife and Japheth would just keep quiet inside that store! I tried putting together all the cash we had in the house, a paltry six hundred and fifty naira! The only way out was God.

The sound of window frame giving way jolted me back to reality; I knelt down and averting my face as the “huge demons”, emerged. It was the worst nightmare. I screamed when the leading huge demon kicked me, then I heard Japheth crying! I knew it was over, briskly, they were dragged out at gun point and forced both of them to kneel down beside me. Where is the money?! Gold! Where is the dollar? I pointed to the table in supplication. Just this!? You fool! One of the demons replied. Then, all hell was let loose! Kicks and slaps descended on us as we knelt down praying for an end to this torture. Then, I heard gunshots and saw Japheth and his mum, my darling wife, slump down. I jumped and tried turning to check as if in a trance. I heard the word, shoot him! The sound of gunshot filled the air; I fell back and woke up. I had fallen off the couch and the sound I heard was my cousin’s, obviously trying to navigate in the dark, he had collided with the aluminum base wall hanging, hence the noise.

I rushed into the bed room, knelt beside my wife and embraced the two most important friends in my life, I squeezed myself between them and hugged as I settled down to sleep, the snore was still there but it had become a melodious tune, Japheth’s kick suddenly felt more like the a loving pat on the back. It dawned on me: We often allow the snores, kicks and other little things to separate us from fulfilling relationships; we are often consumed by the non essentials at the expense of the valuables. The wonderful wife whose only offence was snoring after a hard day’s work becomes the target of our irritation laced with anger. We fight our loved ones over trivial matters; we refuse to appreciate them because of minor offenses.
We often don’t know what we’ve got until it’s gone. WHAT ARE YOU DESPISING BECAUSE YOU HAVE IT?

MURDER, SUICIDE OR FATE? written by Japheth J Omojuwa

He seemed to make sense as he explained his reasons for leaving me but I could not place a thing he was saying. ‘‘You haven’t done anything wrong. I just feel differently from what I felt last year. I love you still but only as a sister.’’ That hurt more than a gunshot. As a sister! After all the energies expended doing beastly things in every available space in the house – as a sister. My emotions were running riot right then but I tried to curtail it. I had heard friends describe their heartbreaks but what I was experiencing was more than the several emotions they said they experienced. I was dying within while I looked on at David in shock.

Nothing prepared me for this. Even as he said the words, I still saw a glimpse of the eyes that loved me and made love to me like the existence of the world depended on both. ‘‘So what are you saying in essence?’’, I asked almost like nothing was hurting me. ‘‘There is someone else in my life and we are in love. I am getting married to her. I am sorry Sandra’’. If the talk of him leaving me was killing me inside, that he was leaving for someone else made me conclude the death feeling had to be catalysed. ‘‘I have to go now. I am sorry’’. I stood there, motionless and lost in the world.

I considered David sent from heaven and his leaving proves that because now I feel he is dead and I must go to heaven to meet the man I was in love with for two years. We met at an art gallery in Lagos. I had made a statement about a particular artwork not being beautiful enough, when I heard someone say behind me, ‘‘the beauty you see lies within your heart. If your heart is free enough to see all the beauty around it, then you’d see this artwork is probably the most beautiful thing you’ve seen all year’’. I was really pissed with the crap he was saying but I maintained my calm. I did not say a thing until he said ‘‘Hi’’ and I said a cold ‘‘Hi’’ and moved away from the spot.

I was looking at another piece of art when the pictures of the other one started forming within me. What I had seen as a riot of colours was actually an abstract representation of a rising sun in a virgin land. I turned my face towards the artwork again and there and then I saw the sprawling elegance of beauty the picture was sharing. I suddenly felt guilty and wanted to apologise. The man was no longer around. I slapped myself gently for being so rude. May be I should run outside. He might just be walking down the road.

When I stepped outside the doors of the gallery, what I saw made me feel stupid at first but then I could not stop laughing because the guy caught me running but that would not have mattered had I not stopped like I just saw a ghost when I saw him behind the wheel of one of these new Honda sedans. He sat there, smiling at me and then we both started laughing. We laughed for about two minutes then I regained my composure. ‘‘I saw everything I should have seen. I am sorry about my act in there’’. I thought he was going to go the way of ‘‘it’s okay, that happens all the time’’, but he didn’t. He just said, ‘‘I am sorry I made you laugh too hard’’. He said that like he was apologising for stealing my car or something. Then I could not stop laughing.

When I looked at him again, I prayed he’d invite me to come in his car. ‘‘Why don’t you come let’s find a place to continue the apologies.’’ My prayers were answered instantly but my laughter to the words would not let me answer, I just acted my wish. I walked closer, opened the door beside him and jumped into this stranger’s car. That was just the beginning. I prayed not to fall in love with him on our way to Whispering Palms in Lagos, but on our way back from there, my prayer was not to get hurt by him. I was in love already.

‘‘What are you thinking? Would you rather I stay with you and stay in love with someone else?’’. Those were the words that brought me back from my dream. I thought of what to say and the only words that formed in my mouth were ‘‘Sweetheart, you can take your leave now. Leave my house’’. He was shocked. He was probably expecting me to go down begging and all but dear, I’d lose everything but my dignity.

I needed him to leave so I could cry my life out. Alone in my room, alone with my tears. Alone with my doom, alone to face the years. I wanted to be alone. He walked out obviously disappointed I did not try hard enough to persuade him. You don’t persuade a man or woman who has confessed his/her love for someone else to stay with you. If they stay, you cease to be the love angel, you become the sex object and eventually they leave you worse than they would have left you earlier. Broken, dejected, worn out, useless and worst of all stripped of your dignity.

I swear by my life, my love of it, I swear by my heart and my mind, I swear by every quest I live for and every value I live by, I will never hold a man against his will to leave me. ‘‘Mr. David, you are welcome in my house at sane hours, just like every wanted guest. Just call before coming’’. When I gently closed the door, I ran upstairs to my room to let out my hurting heart. My mind had to take a back seat for my heart to cry. I cried and cried and cried.

My mum had told me about a bottle of poison she always kept ready for when my father would come back to claim me as his child. I prayed for the man never to come and he never did because the same bottle that he would have found pleasure in would have killed him. I needed to drink something. If David was heaven sent and the real David I knew had just died, then I needed to pay a visit to the residents of heaven. Either that bottle meant for dad or another bottle. I needed to drink my thoughts out of my mind. I craved blankness in my mental entity. I went straight into mummy’s wardrobe where she had told me she kept the killer bottle. I never really believed her until I saw the bottle there looking all new and elegant and full of something that looked more like a red wine than a death messenger. I gently took it and left for the sitting room. May be I’d need another drink to help it down my throat so I went for the bottle with the ace trade mark. Wrapped in gold and feeling really cold, I lifted it out of the cellar thinking I deserved a royal drink to gatecrash heaven. I dropped both bottles on the table. I opened mummy’s bottle and poured it…then I relaxed my back to take a final look at my life.

David left for his new girl’s house immediately. She stays right here on my street on Awolowo road in Ikoyi. Her house is almost directly in front of Keffi road, opposite the Mobil gas station while mine shared a fence with the Polo club. I didn’t know this in my previous life before David’s departure for wherever his soul left for. When he got to her house, he saw two glasses on the table and asked Shalila what she was doing pouring two glasses of wine. ‘‘I guess you are not used to a loved one waiting for you to arrive. The second glass is yours’’.

David saw another reason he’d fallen in love with Shalila. She knew just what to say and do at all times. She – according to his stupid thoughts – is just too perfect. She was dressed only in her pink rope-like underwear and this got David’s blood flowing and his head buzzing. He moved closer to her and moved to kiss her but she acted like she was not in the mood then remembered David had told her the day she turns down his kiss is the day he knows she has stopped loving him. She opened her mouth gently and when David kissed her, he thought he swallowed something like phlegm that had been in Shalila’s mouth but he couldn’t bother himself with that then.

He needed to calm his nerves and for him sex was the only way out. He could feel Shalila’s hesitation but he loved her like he had never loved anyone and felt complaining would be childish. She excused herself for the powder room – or toilet like most people know it – and David promptly understood her initial hesitation – she needed to spit something out of her mouth or through her legs who knows. When she was away, David suddenly realised how she’d love the idea of him coming to meet her right there in the ladies. He tiptoed so she would not know of his presence until he grabbed her. When he got close enough to the ladies, he heard the sound of her moans and thought Shalila was the sexiest woman in the world.

Moaning because she was passing urine, made David think Shalila must been thinking of him while she let go of the liquid waste. This made David strip himself of all his clothes as he continued to hear Shalila’s low, silent, gentle moans. He opened the door to get himself into the ladies even though he knew that was un-gentlemanly considering the sign –Ladies – on the door. He’d care about the rules later. He was going to get into her from behind.

He could not see her face nor his. David went pulp and weak in-between his legs and was even more shocked that Shalila did not notice the sound of the open door but the guy looked back and stopped. ‘‘Common boy, don’t stop. F..k me harder!’’, Shalila was begging him to keep coming in. He could not really place the full picture but his mind helped him – he had swallowed another man’s semen as he kissed Shalila earlier. He felt sick and thought he was really going to die right there and then.

When Shalila turned to see him, he did not see her go down on her knees, he did not hear her say ‘‘it is not what you think love, it’s the devil’’, he did not see the guy make his may by his side heading for the exit, he did not remember his own nakedness, all he saw was Sandra –myself- in an angel’s wing flying out of his grasp. He did not say a word; he dressed himself up as quickly as his hands would allow him and made his way to the sitting room, grabbed his car keys and made for the door, his car and sped towards my house.

He realised he still loved me and had actually been fooled by Shalila’s sodomistic skills on the bed. He needed to save himself, his life and his love. ‘‘Sandra is the one for me and I would even propose to her today.’’ He’d tell me he was joking about loving someone or admit part of the truth and apologise. He’d thought I’d kick him, shout and bark but after all said and done I’d eventually bow to love. He was right – partially right.

When he got to my house, he thought I was fast asleep. He came in, saw my pretty angelic face and cursed himself for being so stupid earlier. The problem now was how to first of all wake me, and then start his apology. He blessed his luck for the wine on the table. He thought if he needed more guts, the wine would do. He gulped the wine I poured for myself to drink. When I poured the wine earlier, I did not pour it to kill myself, I poured it to kill the part of me that had died with David’s betrayal. I slept off wondering how I’d kill that part of me without killing the whole of me. David took another cup from the same bottle I had poured from. David poured his wine from the bottle my mum had kept for the day my dad would come to die. He pretended to mistakenly drop the cup after gulping the content so I’d get woken by the sound of broken glass. He was smart enough because I was jolted by the sound and regained my consciousness immediately. I could not believe my eyes. My glass of wine was empty and here was David standing before me hale, healthy and looking stupid and ugly. ‘‘Hey, are my dead or alive?’’. I needed to know what was happening but David understood my question differently. ‘‘Sandra, I am sorry. You have to believe your eyes. I am back’’. ‘‘No. you are not back. You are dead David!’’. ‘‘Not if you forgive me Sandra’’. Then I realised he had no idea he had just committed a crime against himself. I needed to think of what to think or say. ‘‘David, I will forgive you only if you confess all that happened today without telling a single lie. I swear by my life and all that is me, to forgive you after you say the truth about today’’. He agreed to say everything as I expected he would. ‘‘Before then David, go into my room so I can show you my forgiveness after your tale’’. He could not believe his ears as his eyes shone brighter than the October 3rd constellation. He walked on like a lamb led to his slaughter as I made for my recorder. I was suddenly grateful to mum for having the tiny pocket recorder within reach in the hidden chair locker.

David said the whole story and some of what he said I have shared with you already. He ended it with his part of waking me. Then I told him he had been forgiven but I also needed him to forgive Shalila or whatever her name is. ‘‘I won’t believe you no longer love her until you spend the night at her place’’. ‘‘David, that is the only way I will allow you back into my life’’. He agreed to go back to her just for the night like I said. Need I tell you my recorder did not feature this part of our discussion? I wanted to kiss him one last time then realised the deadly risk and then decided to urge him on with a peck. ‘‘David love, you can take the unfinished bottle of wine with you. Don’t sleep with her, don’t share my drink with her, just accept her forgiveness and share the room with her peacefully’’. ‘‘If you last the night without sex, I’ll have you back in my arms tomorrow’’. David could not wait to leave my house and for that I am glad. I will be presenting the tape as evidence in court today as David died on Shalila’s bed the following morning. When David died, a part of me died with him because I never could tell a soul I was unknowingly responsible for David’s death. If I can get a soul to read this after my literal death, that part of me would resurrect to survive my dead body. Who killed David? That was the question the jury wanted an answer to. Shalila was convicted of murder but she had the ruling over turned on appeal as the evidence proved inconclusive. Who killed David? Is it murder, suicide or fate? I’d rather men answer this.

PS: My question is; should Sandra have owned up to the truth and what would she be guilty of?

CAUTION: Joshua .J. Omojuwa © 2010 no reproduction without acknowledging this website and the author who is the copyright owner.

ALMOST THE BEST SEX …ALMOST! written by Japheth J Omojuwa

This work was taken from GOLD IN THE GUTTER Series by Japheth J Omojuwa :

WARNING: This piece contains a message you can’t find through a prejudiced mind. It looks like a dirty work but there’s a jewel beneath the filth. I hope you look beyond your hatred of sex talk so you can truly discover the message. Suitable for anyone above 13 .

‘’Baby, why don’t you just tear the gown off, I am excited and expectant.’’ ‘’Shalewa, Noo, every move must count, every moment must go down in our memories to be treasured forever.’’ So I went about my business, leaving Shalewa still completely dressed in her wedding gown.

I had intentionally conserved my energy during the endless wedding ceremonies and rituals and I had advised her to do same, so we’d have more than enough energy to take us through the coming nights. This night happens to be the first of a series of match ups that’d take us through 3 continents, 7 hotels, with the last act culminating on one of the many beaches of the Dubai islands. You don’t rush a meal you will have for as long as time permits.
I started from her toes and told her to just rest her back on the chair. I slipped my fingers through each toe and stroked each fibre of nerves underneath her feet. I could see the fire in her eyes at this point even when I knew we hadn’t even started.

I ran my hands over the length of her leg and surprisingly, I could hear the sounds coming. ‘’Baby, just get this gown off me, please.’’ I turned her over, with her face on the cushion. I unzipped her gown and kissed every part of her back exposed by that act, and then I went about managing the locks of her inner wears. I thought to myself, ‘’ If you knew you’d be doing this, why put up this barricades?’’, but she was used to dressing that way for the better parts of the 18 months I had known her for. Moments later she was all naked but for her white panties. I loved her image right then, so I didn’t want to remove them panties. I intend to take her to heights she had never been and just when she’d be thinking nothing could best that, I’d strip her off the last item of defence and slip my length into her.

My two hands spread were spread over her full soft breasts, with my tongue fully immersed in her mouth. I was no longer breathing through my heart, I was breathing through hers.

We were almost one body at this point. All along, my hands would either be cupping her breasts, stroking her nipples or just playing around the upper part of her body. I had mentally marked the distance I’d take her to before lifting her to the Centre of Bliss. She had insisted we called our main bedroom a name and I told her to name it. She couldn’t come up with any names but said she’d call it Centre of Bliss for the night of our wedding, CoB for short. I could taste the smell of her blood now and it looked like I was eating into her. She wasn’t making any sounds; she was taking it all in. I gently withdrew my mouth from hers and went down on her navel. I sucked into them and mixed it up with a little tingling with my teeth. I thanked God for having the music on as her moans accelerated from zero to decibels in the regions of a night club with a loud single source of sound. I enjoyed getting my hands busy because I believe in multi-tasking. My hands were squeezing on her breasts at this point and her moans sounded more like she was crying now. I raised my head to look into her eyes but they were closed. They were closed like they didn’t want to see anything. Tight close.

After about 35 minutes of playing around, Shalewa started shaking and jerking. I knew what that meant even though it was unexpected because I felt I hadn’t even started with her. ‘’Baby, you have to do it now. I have waited all my life for this day and you are setting me off. Baby please, come into me.’’ I could feel Shalewa’s pain, she had kept herself for 26 years and had always looked forward to this night. I just wanted to honour her patience and dedication to her beliefs and values by ensuring she took in every moment and every move into her memory. She deserved the best sex ever because it was her very first time.

I lifted her off the chair for the final consummation of her womanhood. I had never done this before myself but I didn’t tell her that. I will only tell her after the first cycle of love making. What do you think a cycle is? That’s what you’d call a round.lol.

While I was moving Shalewa to the bedroom, I was playing around at the same time and took the time to remove the last object of defence. We had a new white sheet on and had our decorator design a theme of Blue Rose for the night. She had insisted on having Shade Adu on repeat even though I silently wished we had Corrine Bailley Rae. Corrine’s voice got me off reality into another world far from here. She gets me into a world that is though not the classic Heaven, but heavenly in its bliss. Shade Adu does same but I always imagined this night with CBR’s voice leading me.

We had Shade Adu on. The sound was very much underneath the atmosphere you could barely hear it but it was loud enough for our taste and spirit. I had the chocolate cream spread all over her body and sucked it all out doing something I had always considered dirty. I instinctively went in-between her thighs and planted my lips at the smallest most beautiful spot in the world I had ever seen. She spread her legs and could not stop moaning and name calling. I had never heard my name sound so supernaturally sexy. I didn’t know she’d call me my name again after months of answering all the sweetest adjectives in the world including Jaffa Cakes. Imagine? me a cake! Lol. I continued and was really enjoying the sounds she was making more than I was enjoying the act. My bad-boy Uncle once told me there was only one thing better than the Eldorado of sex itself and that according to him is what I was acting out now.

When I stopped, I quickly moved to turn Shalewa on top of me as she said she’d like to have me under. When I asked her for a reason, she said she wanted to feel she was the one coordinating the session. Of course she had forgotten that now, but I loved the idea of having her on top. I had my two hands on her bum while she had her lips on my chest. We had gotten to the point of Eldorado. This is the moment Shalewa had desired for years, the moment I secretly waited for myself, even when my friends thought I had slept with a thousand girls.

‘’Baby, won’t you answer my question?’’. I was looking at Shade on top of me. I didn’t understand anything she was saying. ‘’What question?’’.’’What question? So you kept quiet for that long acting like you were looking for the answer to my question?’’. By this time, I was hoping Shade would keep quiet may be I could see Shalewa again but she didn’t. ‘’I asked you to imagine the night of our wedding.’’ Oh oh, no wonder I was seeing all of that. My ideal wedding night had just been disrupted by the question and the person that led me into it. ‘’ Shade, there is nothing to imagine’’ ‘’ Can’t you imagine the sex on that night?’’. ‘’The sex? What is there to imagine about the sex? We have done it over and again sweetheart, there is nothing to look forward to!’’ By now I was already thinking of leaving Shade for someone else. May be not a Shalewa but someone I could look forward to having on my wedding night. Shade’s question had been a mind opener but ironically it killed every bit of feeling I had for her. ‘’ NOTHING to look forward to? If you have nothing to look forward to then I think you are a waste of space. I am wasting my time with you. I don’t even feel like continuing this thing anymore.’’ She paused and waited for a response but I did not oblige. ‘’ Won’t you say something? .‘’ The only thing I am looking forward to is when you finally act on your last but one sentence. I thought you’d never say that but sweety, it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said.’’ ‘’ My last but one statement? What was that again? Baby, please tell me, what was that? I want to say it again if it’s the sweetest thing I have ever said.’’

With the smile on her face, she apparently didn’t know that I was referring to her threat to leave me but gradually the colours started fading from her face and then I knew I was going to have a long day. THE END.

PS: A piece from my GOLD IN THE GUTTER SERIES, a collection of my thoughts and imagination. I hope you found the gold. All the characters and events are fictional but…

Japheth J Omojuwa copyright 2010 on behalf of AlphaREACH MEDIA.