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JUST A LITTLE PATIENCE

Once, I wondered what shortcut I could take to be rich because things are hard; I have no job, no money- nothing. At age thirty-one, I still live my mother and feed at her table. I am a graduate, brilliant, but poor and jobless. I established a very modest barber shop, but it brings nothing compared to what my friends earn. I wanted money; I needed to have it fast.

Since I cannot steal, or engage in fraud, I decided to visit a voodooist for rituals to wealth. I’ve heard it’s possible. I told my mom, but she advised me continue in my prayer and hard work, and things will be okay, but I refused.

When I got to voodooist, at the reception, I saw a young man in a straightjacket, a lunatic. I asked the receptionist if they now offer psychiatric treatment, and in her words, she said,

“This young man was here days ago for money ritual because he is poor and his work is not fulfilling. His wife left him, and he wanted to make life meaningful for his only female child- a four years old cutie. The voodooist requested a little virgin for a human sacrifice, and he arranged to pay some guys to help him kidnap a child.

“Three days later, he came back for his job, and the voodooist gave him a bathing soap made from the child’s flesh and blood. The soap will bring him good fortunes as he bathes with it daily. He also gave him a seed to plant; as the seed grows into a tree, his wealth will also grow. Lastly, he gave him a sack containing the head of the victim used for the rituals to bury in his backyard. When he got home and opened the sack, the head turned out to be his daughter who was in the boarding school! He became mad immediately”.

Well, “that was his destiny”, I said, determined to try my luck. But the lady said, “my friend, there is no free thing from the devil here. You will surely pay back you in other ways. I have been here long enough, and there’s no point having it all without peace". She further said, "exercise patience and pray, because there is more to life, than increasing its speed”.

That changed my mind completely; I stood up and left, and have never looked back.

Inspired by Mahatma Gandhi words, "there is more to life, than increasing its speed"

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THE 2016 COMMONWEALTH SHORT STORY PRIZE IS OUT: ENTER NOW FOR FREE

ENTER THE COMPETITION HERE

The Commonwealth Short Story Prize brings stories from new and emerging voices, often from countries with little or no publishing infrastructure, to the attention of an international audience.

The Prize is awarded for the best piece of unpublished short fiction (2,000-5,000 words) in English. Short stories translated into English from other languages are also eligible. Each year, we select five winning writers from five different Commonwealth regions. Regional winners receive £2,500 (US$3,835) and the overall winner will receive £5,000 (US$7,670). If the winning short story is a translation into English, the translator will receive equal prize money.

CLICK HERE TO ENTER

Entry is free.

*this post is copied directly from the website www.commonwealthwriters.org

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DOWNLOAD YOUR FREE FIVE CHAPTERS OF BLOOD ON THE ALTAR

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CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD FREE CHAPTER 1-5 OF BLOOD ON THE ALTAR. pdf format.

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**THE FULL COPY OF BLOOD ON THE ALTAR WILL BE AVAILABLE ON AMAZON, SMASHWORDS, KINDLE ETC SOON**

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BLOOD ON THE ALTAR (SYNOPSIS AND THE POEM)

     

    SYNOPSIS

Sister Mary, a church mother and a lover to Blessing, who was also a female choir member, decided to take her own life after a sex scandal. But before she took her own life, she made Blessing promise to assume the position of the Choir Mistress; a position she was totally due for before her suicide action.

The sex scandal, which also involved Blessing, forced her to flee both the Church and the town to Jos where she was to cool off for a while with her Aunt whom unknown to Blessing’s mom was also a lesbian. Happy to be with her kind, instead of staying for a while, Blessing stayed in Jos for years.

Years later, she returned to town and to her former Church to kick-start the mission of being the Choir Mistress just as she promised her dead lover. But it was no more an easy process as the Pastor in Charge was forced to ban that position and appoint a male Choir Coordinator instead.

Blessing, just a choir member, but armed with an angelic voice and an innocent face was able to hide her evil self even from the Pastor in Charge. One by one, she cut down her leaders, made them into a ladder and slowly climbed comfortable to the top. The Choir Coordinator was not spared in her holocaust.

That wasn’t all, unknown to all, including the Pastor, this position was cursed because everyone who occupied it never last in the seat. They either turn evil or are smeared with it because a dark entity controls the land such that anything or anyone in contact with it will know no peace.

Whether Blessing will be able to last in this new position, or she will also be brought down by a junior member of the Choir is left to be discovered.

BLOOD ON THE ALTAR (the poem)

The whole congregation waits in anticipation

Sister Blessing will soon mount the podium

She will render the special dedication

Her voice will intoxicate them like the opium

Oh, sister Blessing

She is just like watching the angels sing

Oh, what a Blessing

There is none other like her our eyes have seen

The Church’s microphone must feel no other hand

The speakers must convey no other voice

The podium must feel no other dance steps

Except our own sister Blessing’s

No other Sister will love to try

Because they will never be good enough

Once sister Blessing is ready to drag

They will be left without a scent of pride

She murders their character

She destroys their self-esteem

She cares not what happens after

She must remain the only fish in the stream

Even with their over bloated anointing

The Pastors have refused to see

Even with their vague holy life

The elders have refused to notice

Blood cries from the altar

From the podium where sister Blessing loves to sing

Dead ambitions, assassinated characters

All scream with their talents in her grip

All hail Sister Blessing

The Angel is ready to sing

And bloods cry from the altar

But no one is ready to listen

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BLOOD ON THE ALTAR (AN EXCERPT)

The full novel here for free

The transit to Jos was too silent for Blessing; all through the journey which she went alone, she held the picture of her dead lover in her hands, crying at every glitch of the cherished memories they shared. The last night they spent together, she could still remember her words:


“My dearest Blessing, this is all a plot; a plot to take you away from me. Those mothers were jealous of what we have achieved together- your lovely voice that I helped you train and your influence from the children’s Choir to the youth’s Choir. I want you to know that many of them have approached me to help them train their daughters in which I refused. Now, they wanted us out, and they wanted you out of their way too”.


That day, Blessing looked at her in admiration, hate and pity. She knew it was all an excuse and a lie; she truly abused all those children like she had abused her. Though, she got over it and loved it. She was glad it never worked out with those new entrants; she didn’t want to share Sister Mary- not even with God!


“Promise me, promise me my love that you will remember me always, and you will fight for me. Your mother will take you away tomorrow, but promise me I will remain in your heart”, she requested of Blessing, something she would have done even without her request.


She also made her promise that she will not allow anybody to attain that position of the Choir Mistress because in her words, “it is my right. They never wanted me to have it, but you must have it if I couldn’t. I used all my strength, might, time and resources to grow the Choir. I was the third Choir member when this branch started. Now, they wanted to reap where they did not sow and enjoy the fruit of my labour”.


She watched her lover stood up, pacing the room like a damsel in distress, unsure where turn for help. Blessing stood up and walked over to her, as small as she was in frame, she held her close and assured her that she will do everything to ensure that her cause was justified and duly fought for by her.


Sister Mary kissed her, and it was a great kiss shared between them. She couldn’t have explained why that kiss has always remained something to covet, but she believed, maybe the salty taste from the tears on their lips added more taste to the whole kissing process.


She hid the picture perfectly in her bag as she alighted from the bus into the waiting arms of her Sister who started treating her as a victim of rape and injustice, much to her disgust. Only God knows what her mother would have told her sister. Her lover was killed; she was murdered by the jealous mothers who pushed her to suicide. Her lover was denied justice; justice to fair hearing. Her lover was taken away from her when she was about to enjoy her more. And here they all are, treating her dead lover with such disrespect! She has promised her she will avenge her death, and revenge she must take, even if it takes the whole time of her life. In her mind, she knew was never a victim of rape, but of injustice. Yet, no one seemed to understand this.


Her aunt welcomed her to the dining the evening she landed in Jos, but she couldn’t even taste out of the food. That evening, her appetite was not only lost, it simply didn’t exist. Her Aunt wondered and asked her why she didn’t touch the food,

“I am not hungry”, that was her response.

But even so, her eyes couldn’t resist the neatly placed cucumbers in the bowl, out of the many fruits in the large bowl placed on the dining table. She was already salivating; not from her mouth, but between her legs. Her Aunt, having noticed her attraction to the cucumbers, had invited her to take one and eat; an invitation she couldn’t resist. She took one and excused herself to retreat inside.


That day, she couldn’t wait to get inside before she pulled up her skirt and pulled down her pants. She ran into the toilet and sat on the toilet seat with legs professionally spread. With a quick movement, she spit in her palms and bathed the cucumber with it. She rubbed it gently, more like caressing. But it wasn’t slippery enough for her; so, she forced out phlegm and rubbed it on the cucumber. That felt better.


She balanced herself nicely on the toilet seat with one hand and gently pushed in the improvised todger gently into the wet throbbing hole between her open legs with the other. She almost died of an unending sensation that rushed up and jumped down her spine. She moaned gently as the abyss between her legs almost swallowed up the whole big fruit.


She held it in place and clamped her thighs together. She raised her head gently, absorbing the pleasure with a sizzling sound between her clenched teeth. Then she started to thrust, gently at first, and faster, uncontrollably. When the sensation was too much, she held the fruit with both hands and smashed it in with ferocious strength. Her eyes wide shut, her voice got louder; something she tried to control but for reasons known to her, she couldn’t. She shook her head frantically like a reggae artist!
She rose to the skies and aimed to for the heavens. She smashed ferociously and without care. Her voice was louder and her moans were darker and deeper. Then, suddenly, almost when she was closer to the heavens, she reached orgasm and touched down from her flight to the skies. She was tired, and she felt dead. She finished whatever she was doing and opened her eyes to the horror of her life- her Aunt stood right at the entrance of the toilet, looking at her.

Slowly, she removed the cucumber and lowered her head in shame.

“Blessing, what are you doing?” Her Aunt asked, half smiling.

“I’m…I’m sorry”, she said, and slowly covered her shame.
“Are you?” Her aunt asked.

Blessing nodded, but her Aunt continued,

“I mean you are doing it wrong; you may hurt yourself with such fierce movements”.

“Aunt, I was trying to kill an insect that entered while I was…”

Her Aunt’s laughter cut into her excuse like a wildfire, and it burnt the excuse away from her mind almost immediately. She realized she has been very stupid to even try to say that, but she must reiterate her lie until it is being accepted as the truth; both by her and whoever who cared to listen. Sister Mary thought her to always stand by her lies even when threatened with a gun.

“It is true, Ma. I was trying to kill a fly”, she insisted.

“Of course I know”, the Aunt said, “it might interest you to know that it happens a lot to me too, but I don’t kill it like that way. I mean I have, but I landed in the hospital because I ended up hurting my precious pot. You see”, she continued, much to Blessing’s confusion, “I have to teach you how to do this, because there are lots of flies around here, and occasionally, they will definitely find their way back in”. She smiled to see Blessing’s reaction which was already lost in the wastelands.



….an excerpt from my new book: BLOOD ON THE ALTAR.

DOWNLOAD THE FULL COPY HERE FOR FREE.

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THE BETRAYER

Dipo and Diya have been friends since you could remember your first name. I mean, even if you were older than they are, then their friendship were forged in heaven. They lived in the same neighbourhood, went to the same Primary School, the same Secondary School, the same University, different States for their Youth service, and they worked in the same company after serving their fatherland.

People said they were inseparable, but they were very different. Apart from their Nicknames where Dipo was called D1, and Diya was known as D2, D1 was a very brilliant guy while D2 was average. That aside, D1 was a Christian based on his family religion, but D2 was an atheist- a love he found while in the University, yet, they went on fine. D1’s extravagant lifestyle didn’t deter D2 for once, neither was his early promotion which made D2 some sort of a junior officer to D1. They were fine, until….

One day, while, at their usual local pepper soup joint, Dipo told Diya about a plan to be actualized that will make them super rich- a fraud! Diya declined to be a part, and it dragged on for weeks.

“This is funny, you’re not even a Christian”, D1 said one day after work. He was sitting by the edge of D2’s table. “I have been trying to convince you just because you are my friend, and the other wouldn’t take part since you are the only one out. They thought you might rat out on them”.

“D1, you know me”, Diya began, “I won’t do this, and it is not in my style to go rat you out. You guys do whatever you want to do, and have a good rest of mind. You’re safe with me. No one will know”.

“You have always said that, but that wasn’t the problem here. We agreed on just one thing, and…”

“I told you I won’t do that, okay?” Diya reaffirmed. “How do you guys expect me to put in my signature into what I don’t want to be part of?”

“Then collect the money!” D1 insisted. “At least, that means…”

“It means I am part of it; but no, I am not interested”. D2 maintained, and there was a heavy fog of silence that spoke too loud between them. It lingered on from that moment and a long time to come. D2 tried talking to D1 many times, but he will only hum, grunt or grumble as a reply. Dipo believed Diya was nothing but a hypocrite because he believed as an atheist he shouldn’t be talking about morals.

Just six months later, Dipo was sacked after the fraud was traced back to his office. Everyone whose signature was found on the list was also shown the door. Diya was made the Head of Department where Dipo once held. This made Dipo convinced himself that it was a plan actuated by Diya. Diya has betrayed him, he thought to himself every day and every night until he got lonely, depressed, obsessed and dejected. These brewed hatred within him, and he hated Diya with all his heart. He refused to pick D2’s call or listen to his pleas through many text messages to hear him out.

Then one day, Dipo resolved to a fetish way to destroy his friend’s life and he did his. So, he picked a day to visit the witch doctor. But as fate will have it, the night prior to his day of visit, there was a preacher on the TV who talked about people who betrayed themselves but blamed it on others, or God to be easier. And somehow, this made sense to Dipo. He thought about how Diya had stood his ground and shunned evil while he betrayed himself by embracing it. He felt ashamed of himself and accepted his fault in this matter. He said to himself,

“Even if D2 sold me out, then I was the one who gave him what to sell. I betrayed myself”.

Just about time, Diya called again, and Dipo picked. He apologized before Diya could say ‘hello’. Diya was confused at first, but believed his friend’s intention was clear. He went to the point,

“Dipo, I’m glad that you finally heard me out, and I am glad that you realized I didn’t do this, but there is an issue that requires your urgency. Our boss has been sacked; he was sacked based on fraud. The headquarters wants me to find a consultant to act as a proxy in his place; one that could make the decisions for a long time. The CEO said he doesn’t care which company handles it, he just want it done. You still have the company you registered a few years back?”

“Yes, I do”. Dipo replied in anticipation, in whispers.

“Then mail a proposal to my desk asking to get the job of the consulting company. You got the job already, okay? I couldn’t think of a more brilliant guy to make the decision. You know, if you haven’t done the fraud, you would be made the boss by now. I wasn’t made the Boss because I had little experience in this office. The job has been on for months, I held it down for you; I knew you will come around. Nevertheless, my friend, I am glad you are back!”

Did Dipo cry?

He sure did and was really ashamed of himself.

You might not get a second chance as Dipo did, so, live a good life. It doesn’t hurt. Learn how not to betray yourself.

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MRS. PANE AND I

Mrs. Pane was our landlady- she owned a building that is more like a prison!
Imagine a building separated with a long passage with six rooms at both sides, and we all share a single toilet, bathroom, and kitchen!

Mrs. Pane, that old lady with a loud mouth was also a close pal to my mom, they gossip all evening. She likes to shout at me, and I can’t say why.

One Saturday, she said something in front of the prisoners, I mean the occupants. They were all sitting outside the building like there was a congress. Some were playing games; some were just basking in the sun. But they all laughed at me when she said I looked like a strand of spaghetti because of my straight and lean figure. I believed that was just out of jealousy because her sons were fat and ugly! Nevertheless, I decided to pay her back.

She has a brown towel by the lobby of the bathroom, so, I decided to use it as a medium for my revenge. Whenever I was so dirty after playing soccer with my friends, I bothered not to bath; I just went straight at her towel and wiped my whole dirty slimed body with it. I was super happy, and since I play the soccer every day, the towel was useful for wiping my dirty body- it’s payback time!

The best I did was when I spit on it and rubbed it in. I cleaned my tongue with it and so much more.
I and Mrs. Pane became friends. I no longer frown at her or grumble whenever she comes around and shout. She was surprised, but I was laughing at her though she didn’t realize. She doesn’t have to- revenge is an art, one that I believed I have mastered.

So, one day, it was going to be a long soccer match, so I took the towel with me and promised myself to return it. When I got home, my mom was too keen on reminding me not to leave our things at the passage or outside because anyone might steal it.

“Did someone steal anything, mom”? I asked.

“Of course”, she replied. “Mrs. Pane is back early today- she caught a stomach bug and she frequents the toilet. She couldn’t find her face towel”.

“Maybe some kids played with it”, I said. “They will return it”.

“Well, I just pray they don’t put it in their mouth or wipe their body with it”.

“Why did you say that”? I asked, getting worried.

“You know we all share the same toilet”, she started, “so, in her way of preventing infection, Mrs. Pane always lay the towel on the rim of the closet before sitting on it”.

I belched, but she hasn’t finished, so, she went on,

“She also uses it to wipe her butt because she cleans her butt with water after defecating”.

I didn’t allow her to finish before I fainted!

When I woke up, I vowed I will not give up. My struggle continues, but Mrs. Pane surely got this round!

*picture from dreamstime.com

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SETTING UP A SMALL SCALE GARRI PROCESSING PLANT

YOU CAN GET A FREE MANUAL ON HOW TO MANAGE YOUR GARRI PROCESSING FACTORY EFFECTIVELY WITHOUT A HITCH HERE

Kindly visit our garri dedicated blog for everything related to Garri processing.

www.garriprocessing.blogspot.com


***

Allow me to digress from the usual story telling or the likes that frequent my blog-line. This simple piece is complied because of the people who contact me for details on cassava cultivation and importantly, the minimum requirements of setting up a garri processing plant. I believe this will also help those who has interest in doing so.

Some of you might be wondering what Garri means, especially those who weren't from the western part of Africa and beyond. Not to worry, I will give a brief introduction before going to production by setting up a small scale processing factory.

a finished garri ready for consumption

looks yummy, isn't it? This is a typical African dish. Eba, from Garri, ready to be devoured with a very rich vegetable stew

Garri (also known as gari, garry, or tapioca) is a popular West African food made from cassava tubers. The spelling 'garri' is mainly used in Nigeria, Cameroon, Sierra Leone, Benin, Togo and in Ghana.

Actually, while in school, we call it - G2SO4 .... Garrium di-oxo sulphate six. Please, don't bother to check your chemistry books because it doesn't exist. It is a staple food widely consumed within some West African countries, and has recently etched it's name amongst the most exported African food products. The end product is packed in 50kg bags or less, and exported to other countries.




To make garri, cassava tubers are peeled, washed and grated or crushed to produce a mash. The mash is placed in a porous bag and weights are placed on the bag for one to two days or more to press excess water and starch out. It is then sieved (or sifted) and fried in an extra large clay frying pot with or without oil. The resulting dry granular garri can be stored for long periods. It may be pounded or ground to make a fine flour.

 

a local fryer.            www.ellist.com

 
If you are interested going into a well-planned and effective garri processing business, then there are some things you need to consider..

1. Land

You've got no choice but to have the land. An acre (6plots) is okay for a moderate processing company...
Of course it shouldn't be water logged, or the type that is not properly drained. The reason is very simple; so that you won't have yourself an unhealthy environment breeding flies and diseases due to the always wet environment.
This applies mainly to those who had no intention to screed the surrounding ground. But if u are ready to spend the money and screed the whole floor, then you're good to go.

www.ntoafrica.com

Some finished Product packed ready for export

www.nairaland.com

2. The processing building: this is built on the land

This will be classified into two compartments;

(a) the wet area

(b) the dry area

THE WET AREA

The wet area houses all necessary machinery see to the processes of washing the peeled cassava, fermenting and pressing. Most people prefer a very large trough where they wash thoroughly by hand. The grinder grinds into slurry, and the mash are packed in a porous sacks and placed on the fermentation racks to ferment. After this, the hydraulic pressers does its job of removing the waters.

The wet area should be kept clean always. I usually recommend cheap ceramic or rubber floor tiles to enable smooth and easy cleaning.

Kindly visit our garri dedicated blog for everything related to Garri processing.

www.garriprocessing.blogspot.com

THE DRY AREA

The dry area comprises of the simple machine that sieves the pressed cassava. It also contains the fryer, and the again the simple machine that sieves roasted cassava (now garri) into required grains as required.

The dry area also houses the store. The stores are usually 2, one for keeping the packing sacks, and the other for storing the already packed garri ready to go out into the market.

The latter store will comprise two doors. One from the inside for storing, and the other outside for loading finished products into into truck. This enables a well organized FIFO process.

The dry area also allows the scale to found a sitting place. The scale's use is well known to all in measuring into the required quantity.
Toilets, borehole or a clean well, and the truck for delivery will have to settle outside.

Some uses fence while some love the open space. Either way, there will be a shed where fresh cassava tuber are delivered and peeled hand or by a cassava peeling machine. The disadvantages are always with them. While hand peeling wastes time and consumes both energy and money, the peeler has it's own, mainly two:

1. When the body of the tuber is not regular, it doesn't peel off every skin. You will still have to pay peelers to peel the remaining.


2. If you have to adjust the peeling machine to peel deeper, be ready to loose most of your tubers o waste.

MACHINERY NEEDED:

1. Peeler

a peeler in action                      www.elaborbizonline.com

 

2. Grinder

a grinder in action  

3. Hydraulic presser

hydraulic pressers               www.flicker.com

4. Mechanical Sieve

www.wmintegrateddevelopment.org       mechanical sieves

 5. Fryer

mechanical fryer

After frying, you sieve to separate the coarse from the fine produce. Some people likes them as larger finished products while some prefer it to be fine finished.


Garri production is very lucrative, and widely consumed.

the popular Nigerian international musician, D'banj, advertising his own garri product.

A white lady enjoying her ration of African food produced from garri

* it is advisable to finish the floors of your small factory with ceramic or rubber tiles for easy cleaning.

 

if you wish to set up your garri processing plant in a small scale, or you wish to know more, please contact me via:

+2347035593128

garriguy007@gmail.com

Kindly visit our garri dedicated blog for everything related to Garri processing.

www.garriprocessing.blogspot.com

YOU CAN GET A FREE MANUAL ON HOW TO MANAGE YOUR GARRI PROCESSING FACTORY EFFECTIVELY WITHOUT A HITCH HERE

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BOOMERANG: the story of the foolish lady

I couldn’t bring myself to believe that my sister has brought this much shame upon us. Or let me say I did know she would, but I didn’t know it will be this quick. Now, for the first time in my life, the first son, the second born, I witnessed the whole family of four enveloped in a dark fog of darkness that may never leave again. I also needed to be blamed in all these; I should have talked when I had the chance, and I knew my dad would have taken a drastic measure. And probably, this wouldn’t have happened.

I remembered the day my dad asked me to go give my sister some urgent money in school. Her numbers weren’t going, and she said the deadline was going to be twelve noon that day. The first thing that went wrong was that she wasn’t staying in the school hostel as she claimed she was. I was directed to a friend, who directed me to another friend who said her friend will take me to her friend who knew her place off campus, where she was staying with her friends. Well, I got to the place, and I knocked without an answer. The door was left slightly opened, so I pushed my way in. The sight was a shame. My sister, including five of her friends was asleep and snoring like uncultured animals. My sister was sleeping in a vomit of another one who was naked, from waist to the top. I tapped her, and that was when I knew she was drunk.

Outside, she begged me not to tell our parents, and I agreed. Not that that didn’t have a price which she gladly paid. The dress she was wearing was not more than a handkerchief, and her nipples were pointing sideways. The skirt was a super micro mini like the ones I’ve only seen in movies involving prostitutes.  I wonder how she managed to appear at home during holidays like a responsible girl she was brought up to be. She should be a double agent. But I didn’t mind, she paid me good.

Then, just last week, a concerned friend of hers called my dad and told him that my sister was pregnant and was trying to self-abort it after the doctor said it might take her life. My parents flew to her school and carted her home. At home, my dad asked her to call the guy who was responsible for her pregnancy, but that proved to be the wrong move. The guy said he has already told my sister he can’t be responsible. This came about when the three different doctors said she can’t abort the pregnancy because she has aborted too many, and doing this will surely claim her life. He said my sister opened up to him that she has aborted eleven times for different guys! The guy even said he listened to her plea to abort the pregnancy after carefully considering he couldn’t marry a girl like her. He said they always have sex inside the toilet of the club where they met! He wasn’t even sure he was responsible. Guys at the club call her ‘el-Sarah’. The prefix before her name actually means ‘easy lay’, but she has always been told it meant ‘almighty’!

My dad, for the first time since I was born, cried like a baby, with his head on my mom’s bosom. My mom was trying to console my dad, but she was also crying. Everyone except me was. That day, our house was like a graveyard, silent, with a heavy air of darkness. El-Sarah cried throughout the night. Eventually, amidst her noise, I slept off.

The next day, I woke up to the usual silence and the unusual silence of El-Sarah. With curiosity, I headed to her room and found her dead with a note with two words, ‘I’m sorry’. I took the note and went straight to my parents’ room, I wasn’t feeling bad. My mom fell on the floor and started crying, but my dad, surprisingly, was calm. He held my arm and pulled me outside the room. I was scared; I thought he was going to accuse me because his countenance was stern and piercing. But as soon as he closed the door behind him, he looked into my eyes, raised the suicide note to my face and said,

“Son, I am sorry your sister had to take her life, we probably were too harsh on her, but this is not a solution, it never should be. If you are wondering why I wasn’t moved by this, it is because I am angry at her for hurting us, and then leaving us in mystery. Your mom might never overcome this shock. Suicide is never a way out; there is always a chance for redemption. Son, no matter what you did, what you will do, remember, we might get hurt, we might get harsh, but never take your life. That is never a way out.”

I nodded and went back inside, angry at my sister, the foolish one!

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BOOMERANG: the story of a foolish man

I managed to fool everyone but myself when I said I wanted to travel to another State just to see my girlfriend. Because it wasn’t just another State, I will have to go through four states just to get to her State of residence, people believed I was committed to the relationship. I wasn’t, at least, not anymore.

Just two months ago, Sade and I nearly parted due to a slight argument, but people managed to intercede, and they thought they have averted what they thought was a disaster. But they haven’t, not when my mind was off the relationship already.

After I have convinced myself that she has been keeping another man, just like I have also been involved with Liza, another lady from the State where I resided, I decided to visit Sade with the guise that I was coming to settle our rift, when in truth, I only wanted to gather evidence against her; evidence that will be indisputable.

So, after spending the night with Liza, I set out on the journey to Sade’s place. On my way, I bought an Android phone as a gift and installed a call-recording spy app on the phone. I am sure she will make a call to the mystery guy within the seven days I have planned to spend. There is no need for the spy app because I already knew she has been planning a break-up since the time she suddenly called and informed me that whenever I visit, there won’t be any sexual intercourse as usual! But the people who have chosen to stand up in her defense must know the truth, hence, the reason for the spy app.

On the first night, while she was asleep, I checked the apps and listened to her calls- there was nothing much, same as the second day. On the third day, she received a call that wanted her to come over immediately. I was sure it was the guy, the mystery man. I was happy. That night, I refused to check the spy app: I thought it would be better to let her sins accumulate. The next day, she called from the office and said she will be coming home late from work; I gladly sanctioned it with a smile at my end. She didn’t arrive until 8:00 pm. I gave her a warm reception and patted her to a deep sleep after dinner.

In the middle of the night, I opened the app and listened, but I was disappointed. She has been attending prayer sessions just to pray for our relationship. In one of the calls, I heard the Pastor warn her not to compromise her stand of no-sex until her prayers of 90 days were completed. To make it more shameful, she was praying for me. I have no job since I was done with the youth service. In another call was how she was telling a guy who was begging her for a date that she will never cheat on me despite my poor State. She was defending me like a mother would her child, and reminding them of how things will soon be okay for us. I was no doubt ashamed of myself.

The next day was a Saturday. I took some money and told her I wanted to get some bread. But the truth was, I went straight to the shopping mall and bought some things for her. I wanted to make it a surprise, she deserved it. I was ashamed of my evil thoughts towards her, and I realized I have been an idiot. I went to the store and got her the best my money could afford. But when I got back home to her, the story changed.

She has gone through my phone and had all the evidence about my affairs with Liza, the other girl. The stupid girl sent me sexts and naked pictures of herself and how she has missed me and to remember my promise of jilting Sade and marrying her. I met her in tears, with a friend of hers consoling her. Not to waste time, she ended it right there. After the futile attempts to ask for forgiveness failed, I set out back to Liza. Liza wasn’t a bad girl anyway, and settling with her instead of Sade wouldn’t be a bad idea.

I got to Liza’s place late into the night, around 11:00 pm, since Sade insisted I must leave that day. I knocked and the opening revealed a surprised Liza in her transparent nightgown. I knew she was surprised because of the time, so I simply pushed her inside and went in. I nearly fainted when I saw a snoring fat male sleeping naked on the bed. I looked at Liza with my mouth gaped, but she covered her own mouth and sank into her knees, pleading.

The next day, without much ado, I woke up right on the hospital bed!

*picture from www.lipstickalley.com

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HOPING FOR FREEDOM

A hope for freedom

Nothing but evil surrounding my thoughts

Fog of sadness visiting my gladness

Wishes of riches destroying my conscience

So why I wonder, will I ever be free?

Free from these thoughts of unsecured future

Free from the wonders of unfruitful efforts

Free from my struggles and unyielding upshots

So I wonder, should I even be free?

Since the dreams of my childhood laid buried in the ground

And the joy of adulthood is nowhere to be found

Since the chips only learned to be down

Now, I know, I must never be free

Cloud of darkness must envelope my soul

Thoughts of evil must frequent my mind

Corruption and crimes eat away my conscience

If only I want, and wish to be free

Free from poverty and financial wreckage

Free from the sins I suffered but never committed

Free from disappointments and frequent headaches

Yes, I know, I must never be free

But I wish to free, I will work to be free

Corruption and crimes must not take control

The light and darkness both fight for my soul

But I must stay in the light; I must want to be free

*as a Nigerian, in a country that is trying to heal herself from the corruptions that have eaten deep into her morals, I struggle every day not to indulge in the regular practice. As a graduate, I have no stable job, I only see the temptation of following the crowd to make myself free from financial fetters. I thought of engaging in many wrong practices just to be free, but I must fight with my soul and wrestle down every thought of corruption. Even though people has almost believed that you cannot be okay without indulging in those, but that is not the freedom that I craved, I must never be corrupt if I truly wanted to be free. so, I hope on hope, that one day, I will truly be free.

picture from 123RF

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THE FATE THAT NEVER WAS

He didn’t mind colliding into anything or anybody as he ran, all his thoughts fixated on how to stop the impending disaster. He used the speed dial feature on his phone once again, putting the phone in a speaker mode as it rang; the result was always the same- no answer!

    “No!” He shouted as he made efforts to run faster. “God, you need to help me”, he prayed and kept the cruise like a bull, avoiding obstacles in swiftness, and overcoming hurdles like a skilled athlete. He should have boarded a cab, but this is the time in Lagos where bus stops were stuffed up like a stadium hosting a derby, and a tortoise is faster than the traffic. Besides, his destination is just some few streets ahead.

    “Yes, thank God”, he said within himself as Nike’s house became visible. For the last time, he speed-dialed her number again and it was a dead end. He went right at the door and straight for the door latch- it was firmly shut. He shook it two more times before he flung it open with his foot. He slapped the wall for the switch and the horror in the darkness came into light. They fumbled for the duvet to cover their nakedness, but the surprise on their face was laid bared. “No wonder she wasn’t picking up”, he told himself and he went closer to the bed.

    “What is the meaning of this?” The female’s voice tried to bark. The male didn’t even talk; he concentrated on covering his todger with the sheet.

    “Kike, I’m so sorry; I thought it was Nike”, he stammered as he realized his goof. “I thought Nike was at home, I need to…"

    “You should be ashamed of yourself, Ike. Why are you still looking for her after what you asked her to do against her will? Threatening her throughout last night”, Kike, Nike’s roommate shouted at him.

    “I’m sorry”, he tried to explain, but she cut in and said, “Don’t be; she has been at the hospital down the street since morning, she should be through by now, so, I guess it is too late now, if you are even thinking of stopping her”! He didn’t bother to listen again; he dashed outside and started running towards the hospital. It is just a few houses down the street.

    She was just coming out of the hospital when he screeched right in front of her, with a smoke of dust everywhere. “How is my baby”? He asked her, gasping, holding her arms for support.

    “What baby?” She asked. “I just aborted it just like you instructed. You said you will never see me again if I didn’t”.

His hand slid slowly from her arm as he fell on his knees with both hands clamping his head. “Nooooooo”, he shouted, but she stood there, lost, but only he knows what just happened. The voice of the witch doctor rang in his ears again, “you need to stop her now before she aborts the pregnancy. If she did, you can never make it in life as a man, not in this world”!

picture copied from the internet

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BEFORE YOUR MOMENT OF MADNESS (A short play)

SPEAKER: [walks to the lectern and swipes over the screen of his notepad. Clears throat and faces audience]: Did you hear that Bimpe is dead?

AUDIENCE: [shocked]: Haaaa!

SPEAKER: [unfazed]: Relax. That is not the only news I have for you.

AUDIENCE: [looked at each other]

SPEAKER: [clears throat again] Judging by your first reaction, I could deduce that you didn’t know that Akin didn’t graduate.

[A man stands up from the audience]: That is impossible; he was the best student in his department.
[The audience murmurs, knocking their foreheads at each other, transmitting both disbelief and surprise]

SPEAKER: [smiling. He raises his hand as a sign for them to stop murmuring while he swipes with the other. There came silence]: And lastly, I bring you the news that Blessing is in the hospital, in a coma.

A LADY:  [stands abruptly from the audience]: Why all these?

SPEAKER: Good question! [His face lights up in excitement] That is the reason we are all here. For the fact that these three were once part of our team [he pauses], I have no pity to give them over their present state, or predicament.

Wickedness!! Bad leader!!! [The audience passes various unpleasant judgments].

SPEAKER: [laughing like a mad scientist who just invested a virus. He gestured for them to cool down or sit down] What happened to these three once-wise-people with great potentials and hopes hung around their neck, could, or should I say will, happen to more of you soon!
[He started laughing again; that mad scientist’s kind of laughter. His voice reverberates through the speakers].

[By this time, the audience has started to rustle from seat to seat, some asking for permission to start trouble with the speaker while some were asking for calm. The speaker kept smiling, shaking his head. He leaned on the lectern with his elbow, watching the events bore before him. Several minutes later, there was calmness, and he was reluctantly urged to continue]

SPEAKER: I will ask for you to listen carefully while I speak, and no matter how you get angry while I do this, you must allow me finish, then you can start your troubles with me for rejoicing at the fall of some of our important members
[He pauses for their reaction, and they urge him to be quick and be short. He thanked them] …
Three weeks ago, when Blessing visited me at my office, right before she was plunged into  a vegetative state of coma by her loving husband[short laugh], I tried to advise her to seek a legal separation in her union with her husband whom apparently, was in the wrong profession. The husband currently works as a banker, but he could have been a successful boxer. Who knows, he if was only using Blessing as a boxing practice [he chuckled]? I said, she could have gotten him a punching bag as a birthday present instead of using herself for his punching practice. But instead, Blessing talked to me about how she was the one making him angry, and how she could still make it work. I laughed as usual and told her to her face that it is impossible to change a man. You can only change what is not embedded in a gene, and not how a man was created. Apparently, she was angry, because she sent me a text later in the day [he raises his tablet] about how I wasn’t married, and I cannot understand what love means. So, I shut my mouth, only to be called by the same husband that our dear Sister lies in expectation in the hospital. And while our stupid Sister decided against protecting herself from the abusive marriage through legal separation, the husband was wise enough to protect his own image. He said our sister fell from the stairs!

AUDIENCE: Ha! [There were murmurs of anger, grieves and many more].

SPEAKER: [Urges them to calm down by slapping his palm on the wooden lectern] silence please…please… [The noise faded out] Like I said, that is not all [clears his throat]. Akin, our bright young man who joined us after the seminar we held at the University of Lagos, is now a school dropout.

A MAN: [stands up abruptly] That is impossible!
[He looked around at the other audiences for their reaction before he continues]
He has only one year left. He wanted our help, and we contributed for his tuition fees right here!
[He shouted the last two words and slams his hand on the backrest of the seat in his front. The 'seater' looked back at him with annoyance and hissed. The audience starts to murmur again, but the speaker was full of smiles].

A LADY: Surely, our leader [she points to the speaker], didn’t give him the money!

[There were shouts of ‘yes’, ‘maybe’ and several others]

SPEAKER: [Not moved by their accusations, he calmly opened his clutch bag, and brings out two pieces of papers. He hands it to the usher beside him to pass it around for the audience to see].

USHER: [collects it, walks to the audience, and gave the papers to the first audience, who will glance through and pass it on to the next]

SPEAKER: That is the duplicate of the bank deposit slip we used in paying into Akin’s account, and the letter of acknowledgment and appreciation he sent after he confirmed the receipt of the aid.
[He bites his lower lip, nods to an imaginary melody only he could hear, and taps his lectern playfully like beating a drum. The usher returns the papers to him].
Thank you [he collects the slips]. So, I later found out that Akin was sick, and that sickness affected his brain and could no more think properly, so, he squandered his money!

AUDIENCE: [shows pity. Most of them shake their heads, or bites their fingers]

A MAN: But why did you still say you felt no pity for him? At least, if we may conclude that Blessing allowed her own predicament, what about poor Akin, who was struck by a disease?

SPEAKER: Good question. [He gets down from the podium, and moves towards the audience]. Akin didn’t get struck by a disease that he couldn’t control. His girlfriend gained an admission but couldn’t pay her tuition fees. So, our own great Akin decided to give her his own money with the hope of securing another one before the deadline. Well, it happened that he couldn’t make the deadline.

AUDIENCE: That is madness!

SPEAKER: [Laughs wickedly] Madness you say? But it is ‘love’, isn’t it? I bet he will be fulfilled seeing his girlfriend in school than himself. After all, he has he has tried as far as education is concerned. [He lets out a wicked chuckle again].

A LADY: That is craziness! How dumb of him! [The audience agreed]

SPEAKER: [hushes her] DO not say that. How could that can’t be craziness? He only helped a damsel in distress, just like we helped him raise the cash for his tuition fees. And I can tell you, unless the girl is crazy, she will get herself another man right in the school. I don’t think after she graduated, she will be glad to associate herself with a dropout! Especially [he pauses], a poor one like Akin! [He reverberates in his evil kind of laughter again]. It was solely on Akin, who wasn’t forced at gunpoint. It was his decision, and whatever the outcome, he should deal with it.  The same way I wish Bimpe will not be in hell for aborting for his boyfriend!

AUDIENCE: What?

A LADY: So, Bimpe died through abortion?

SPEAKER: Well, her friend said, and I quote, “her boyfriend said he wasn’t ready, so he begged her to abort it for them”. May her soul Rest In Peace, even though I knew her soul will be Reserved In Punishment!

AUDIENCE: Ha!!!

SPEAKER: [gets serious] Yes. May the guy live on, and enjoy his life in prosperity, in the bosoms of another woman. May Bimpe’s soul….well [he shrugs], who knows? I bet she will be regretting now, I bet she will have wished clocked were turned backwards, and she would have made the right decision of abstinence, or protecting herself. I know Akin will wish he was wise, and if…if…if only Blessing will come back alive from her coma, since the doctors say they are not sure, she would have wished she listened to my advice. She would have bought her husband a punching bag, or leave the abusive union.

I agree, Love exists, but it resides only with God [he raises his finger], and that has been proven over and over again. But you guys [he pointed to the audience and moves his hand from one end to another] will never learn.  You will continue to wallow in the dark outcome of this man-made love, which the wise has always wielded as a weapon against the fool. Now, who are the fools in these stories? And who will remain the fool after this story? The question will be answered in the end. You either be the wise one, or the idiot!

[With this, I walked back to the podium, packed my notes and my tablet, and I left through the door at the side of the stage]

CURTAIN DROPS, AND AUDIENCE REMAINS SILENT!

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