hello nairalanders. I wrote a story — a short story. I would like you to read and pass your comments, (constructive, objective) criticisms and whatever.

hope you enjoy my short story.

CHRISTMAS HOLIDAY SOUVENIR
Copyright © 2015 by Eillo
This is a works of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents are either
the product of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual events or locales or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.*******




It had been concluded, as far back as June that we would spend Christmas in Abeokuta. Grandma had threatened to die if a single one of her descendants didn’t make it to her home to spend Christmas and New Year. “What am I living for if all my children have forsaken me in the village”, She’d said.

Kehinde and I believed that Mama was probably going to die regardless of whether her children and grandchildren congregated under our roof or not. Old people only acted like this when they were indeed planning to die and would like to dole out some last minute sermons on her death bed and distribute their properties among the children, we reckoned. I told Kehinde she would get Mama’s rusty Singer sewing machine.

Our uncle Bolaji travelled down from Kaduna with our cousins Timothy, Joshua and Evelyn – whom Grandma preferred to call Romoke because people had begun to mimick by calling the poor lass Efinrin. Uncle Bisi who lived in Côte d'Ivoire had initially called to say he wouldn’t be able to travel to Nigeria. He however was the first to arrive Abeokuta with his entire household when Mama reportedly called him on phone and wept for thirty minutes. Emotional blackmail, Kehinde called it. “He wouldn’t want it to be on record that he indirectly killed his aged mother.” Uncle Bisi’s two daughters and son were grown up, they were our big cousins.

When our parents asked why we packed so many clothes, we couldn’t tell them that it was because we thought Mama might die during our stay and we would have to stay a little longer than initially planned. We just grinned and shared a knowing glance.

Chritsmas in Abeokuta was not as boring as we had imagined. In the evenings we watched movies together, played games and just laughed while Mama fed us like our final destination was the slaughter house. In the day, everyone hung out in groups according to age: our parents did catch up, the older grandchildren talked about whatever. Evelyn, Kehinde, Joshua and I were the youngest. Joshua was thirteen, the rest of us were all about fifteen years old. With our personal tour guide, Kolade, we rocked the town.

Kolade was the boy who lived next compound to my grandma. With him it was easy to get around. He had this badly aligned bicycle that we took turns to ride as we went on fruit-plucking adventures. He was seventeen years old, fair complexioned, tall with a lean and slightly muscular build. “If you had been born in the city all the girls in my school would be chasing you”, kehinde once told him. He had laughed, pocketed his hands and told us that he had two girlfriends in school. Despite his age, he was in SS2. He had a repertoire of jokes, most of which were vulgar and repulsive, but they were funny nonetheless. Of the greatest source of amusement was Kolade’s grammar and accent. Joshua and I would set grammatical traps for him. “Kolade, what is the name of your church?” He would reply, “Bethel Bamtis Shosh” and we would burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter. Kolade never got angry though.

His bad grammar didn’t diminish his hero status. He could do some daredevil stunt with his bicycle, climb tall trees and swim in the river. He would swim several laps against the mild current, disappear under the water and then reappear just when we feared that a mermaid had taken him. We never joined him in the river though. Our parents had warned us never to go into the river, and just when I had gone crazy enough to show Kolade that he was not the only Michael Phelps around, Joshua told a chilling story he had watched on Al Jaeera: a man had been swimming in a river when a very nasty worm swam into his body via his pe.nis
. I changed my mind.

Trouble began to brew when we noticed that the girls laughed a little too hard at Kolade’s vulgar jokes, which were fast becoming stale. I became a little uncomfortable when he and kehinde began to give off flirtatious vibes. When there were arguments, kehinde now took Kolade’s side. This was a blow because we had an unwritten twin brother and sister code that we always stuck up for each other, no matter what.

no comments yet? mmm... lemme continue

It was the day he referred to Kehinde as “my wife” that I seized the opportunity to pick a fight. “Are you mad? How can you call my sister that?” Kolade just laughed and said, “I will marry your sister.” I wanted a fight. I pushed him on the chest; he barely moved from the spot, he pushed me back. I fell, hard. He laughed.
Then I slapped him. He was two years older than me, much bigger in stature, so he easily would have beaten me black, blue and purple, but he just held his face, and walked home without a word. That was when Kehinde spat her venom at me, “Taiwo, why are so mean? You are my brother, not my husband!” Her words hurt like medicated soap on fresh wound. Then she went after Kolade supposedly to apologise.

For the remaining days we spent in Abeokuta, I and Joshua – with great pressure from me – formed our own gang while the girls continued to hang out with their local champion hero, prancing all over the place with him like a deflating balloon.

Our Abeokuta holiday soon ended – Mama didn’t die as we had predicted. My sister and I had gradually repaired our fractured relationship, although it seemed a little different. There seemed to be a little modification to our unwritten twin brother and sister code –there was awareness of being distinct individuals despite being twins. I was more aware of being a boy and that she was a girl.

I thought things would return to normal once we got back and school resumed, but I was wrong. Kehinde would lock herself up in the room and barely talked to me. When my parents got back from work she would stay in her room. When they asked her what was wrong she would say she wasn’t feeling well. I ended up doing her homework for her most of the time. Sometimes, I would hear hushed voices in her room, too faint for me to make out the words. When I asked who she was talking to she said she was calling a friend on phone. “But it didn’t sound like a phone conversation”, I would say. And she would just yell at me to stop monitoring her.


One Saturday afternoon, Uncle Bolaji came to our house. I ran out to greet him. Without acknowledging my greeting he asked, “Where are your parents?” He didn’t call me ‘T for Taiwo’ as he usually did, he didn’t even look at me as he walked straight into our living room.
“Taiwo, go into your room”, my father said. My parents must have known that uncle Bisi was coming. I knew something bad had happened. I ran to Kehinde’s room to tell her something was up. “Do you think Mama has finally kicked the bucket?” I whispered.

“Shh..” kehinde held an index finger to my lips as she tiptoed down the corridor and pressed her ear to the door that led to the sitting room. The old kehinde – who was my partner in crime, who would snoop around with me and with whom I went on secret adventures – is back, I thought. I pressed my ears to the door too and listened.

Uncle Bolaji spoke angrily. “Evelyn has decided to ruin her own life. I will deal with that girl. Does she think that I labour day in, day out so that she can destroy her life and my family’s reputation. She must be a bastard!” I Shot Kehinde a look that said, ‘what is going on’? She looked away. Then Uncle bolaji said, “just a few weeks in the village and she allowed a village boy to impregnate her…I don’t want a bastard in my home.”

I froze. Kehinde did not. She stood quietly and made for her room. I went after her. Her steps quickened, mine did too. She was going to shut the door against me, but I forced myself in.
“Can you now see? That Id.iot has impregnated Evelyn.” I said. She lay down and sank her face into one of her pillows.
“Ok, fine”, I said, “If you won’t talk to me, then I will let you be.” So, I turned to go to my room.

“Taiwo, wait”, my sister called. Her voice was trembling; she had been crying into the pillow. Now she was sobbing. I ran to her side. “What is wrong, Kehinde? Talk to me.”
“I’m pregnant too.”
“What?! How?”
“Kolade...” Her cries grew louder.
“He slept with you too?”
“I’m sorry. Mummy will kill me. I am dead.”




THE END
**Curtains closed***




ps: anxiously awaiting the comments.

The poor girl!...she must be xoooooo scared...and her parentz are in for a rude awakening too...BTW..it was a cool story

Snooppinkett:
The poor girl!...she must be xoooooo scared...and her parentz are in for a rude awakening too...BTW..it was a cool story

thanks. finally, I get a comment!

Welldone o. You write well enough. I shall give you 6/10. And it is only because I think it was too easy to deduce the outcome of the story. Otherwise, I like your prose. I know how this writing thing is not easy like that.

SirChotas:
Welldone o. You write well enough. I shall give you 6/10. And it is only because I think it was too easy to deduce the outcome of the story. Otherwise, I like your prose. I know how this writing thing is not easy like that.

Thanks a lot! i'll work on that.