i will be updating with my laptop from this weekend. please bear with me as the economy of the country is affecting me.

Ok oooo. No qualms.....waiting patiently

Fembleez1:
i will be updating with my laptop from this weekend. please bear with me as the economy of the country is affecting me.

don't worry boss, Buhari told me that soon all will be well

Fembleez1:
hi guys, my phone crashed but i promise i'll get it running may be by Saturday and updates would resume in speed.








Thanks for your understanding.

still waiting for update



Merry xmas dear

The doctor strode in, dressed in his coat and a stethoscope hung to his neck. His pair of glasses fashioned gracefully to his face, hanging on the tip of his nose. He ignored the woman sitting on the chair, fast asleep and went to examine his patient. Touching her head and f1ngering her cheek this way and that way, he shook his head in acknowledgement and wrote one or two things down on the patient’s card.






A mosquito hover towards the lady’s ear who had rescued Yemisi, she struck hard at her cheek and became conscious of the doctor standing in front of her, she stretched and yawning she said, “doctor, how is it going with her?”





“She’s responding to treatment very well. I actually told the nurse you could go home to rest, then come back in the evening. Didn’t she inform you?” the doctor ignored the card he was writing on, pen still scribbling as he look questioningly at the fatigued lady.





“she told me but I want to make sure she was fine and, one of her relative is around before I go,” she said, searching for the phone she had mistakenly forgotten on her lap as she had dosed off earlier.




When she couldn’t find the phone after lifting her handbag and scarf, she looked jumpingly out of her seat to the floor and saw the phone lying flat on its screen. She picked it up and checked through the three missed calls she’s got.



The doctor stamped the last full-stop on the card and reducing the flow of the drip, he examined Yemisi’s breathing. “She’s actually lucky you got to help her early; could have been disastrous if she had had no one to help her at that point. I mean, she would have bled to death. You can see she’s suffered terrible cuts to her head and her thighs, including two other part of her body. There is a sign she was battered cause I can’t bespoke she was robbed with such opaque injuries on a lady for that matter.”



The doctor trudged towards an iron cabinet placed beside the bed - painted in grey. The blue painted wall was in tune with the vitrified tiles on the floor and the standard equipment the hospital has got. He took out two bottles of infusions and a syringe; inserted and drew to fill the syringe, then he infused it into the drip already running. The drip changed from a transparent colour into somewhat yellowish liquid.




Disposing the used syringe and bottles into the bio-hazard bin, he pulled off his gloves and continued, “Have you been able to reach any of her relative yet?”



“I actually couldn’t figure out who to call amongst the numbers I saw on her contact,” she responded.



She had searched Yemisi’s bag and saw her phone, “there is actually no clue as to who is related to her on the phone. No daddy this or mommy sort of thing on her phone, I began to wonder if she was one of those runs girls who would leave their villages to come to Lagos and become prostitutes.”




The doctor stared at her awkwardly and she interjected as though to dismiss his quizzical glare, “just saying that - cause of the way I met her almost naked.”




“I understand………..but madam there must be a way to get in contact with someone who might know her or relate us to someone who knows her,” the doctor suggested.





“Yea doctor. I actually called the last three numbers she dialed. One Kunle was switched off; the other number didn’t go through too but the number she saved with George rang but the call wasn’t picked.” She explained frustrated, “I’ve called the line almost 10 times.”






“You have to keep trying it. Cause we need to present the bills to the family or anyone who would shoulder it,” chatted the doctor.





“Don’t worry about the bills, I’ll take responsibility of that,” she said to the doctor’s surprise, “yea, I will bear the cost.”





“You are such a nice lady,” he commended.






“It’s really nothing,” she hadn’t finished saying when a call entered. The doctor excused her and went out of the ward as she picked the call.







“Hello. Yes, this is not your sister. I met her in a critical condition yesterday and helped her to the hospital.”







“yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!” exploded from the receiver but the lady calmed her.





“She’s getting better. Funsho Daramola’s Specialist hospital in Yaba,” she responded to the question Yemisi’s sister had asked about what hospital they were.
“I will be there soon,” and the call ended.






20minutes later…







The lady had gone out to look around if she could get food to buy before Yemisi wakes when Jumoke, a replica of Yemisi came around as she had said. She is Yemisi’s sister and the likeness was much only that Jumoke was not as beautiful and as tall as her sister was. She wore a blue blouse on a black jean. Her face was natural as she had not had the time to make-up before coming to the hospital once she got the distress - the lady she hadn’t seen told her on the phone. She fashionably leveled her fallen-out-of-place weave-on past her ears. Piteous how she had met her sister with stitches, she shook her head sorrowfully as though she knew what had happened.



It must be that stupid guy again, she started. After mum and dad had warned my sister to stay clear of him, my sister would not just listen. Despite how he treated her in the first place, almost taking her life, she never heeded mum’s warning. Now see what she had done to herself. She stood to her feet and examining her sister’s face, turning it to the right, then to the left; she swallowed bile.




What was she going to tell her parents if they should ask after her? After all, they were not on talking terms since the last incident involving Kunle, which they had warned her about. She never cared to go visit them, nor did she call them. They in turn never called her too as they were absolutely enraged their daughter didn’t listen to them. Well, I don’t blame her anyway, may be she was just madly in love. But I bet this would surely stir her off the blind lust she was wallowing in with that hooligan. Though it appears she’s enmesh.





“Jummy,” a low and faint voice called out, strained.





“Jummy,” distressed, she called out again.




Jumoke moved hurriedly to listen to her sister who had just woken since the treatment had started the night over. She almost shed tears as she couldn’t imagine her sister could be in such a position again after she had been warned.





“I’m sorry,” tears dropped out of her eyes and strolled sideways like a running stream – straight into the green bed-sheet.





“Don’t be aunty mi,” she soothed the back of her right hand; crouched afterwards to kiss it and started shedding tears on it.





“I should have listened to mum,” she sobbed, “now I’m facing the consequence of a disobedient child.”





“Please aunty mi, this is not the right condition you should be regretting your actions. I can understand how much you love Kunle, but……….”





She cut in tersely, “I hate him,” and she cried agonizingly.




“I despise him. I detest him. I defy him and would kill him once I get out of here,” she spurted out in rage, fierce hatred. She lifted and banged the hand the cannula was infused to her vein on the bed – depicting how fed up she was with life.




“Please aunty mi. you shouldn’t say all this. You are still in a critical condition to put these worries in mind. Leave brother Kunle to God.”




Instead of getting a reply from her sister, she just continued crying.




The lady who had helped her walked in with a food flask, greeted the young lady and was glad Yemisi had finally woken up. Nonetheless, she didn’t want to trouble her. She informed Jumoke she would be leaving soon but would come back later in the evening to check on her. She handed the food flask to Jumoke and picking her bag off the floor, she excused the two ladies. Yemisi didn’t even notice her. May be she was engrossed in her ‘murderous’ ambition or was already running out of hand, out of sanity.





“Sister mi, the lady bought you food, so when you are ready, I’ll feed you.”





“I’m not hungry,” she retorted.





“Jumoke, please help me get my phone,” she said later.






Staring at her sister, she asked, “why?”




“Please don’t ask me why Jummy,” she sobbed for a moment, then continued, “I need to speak to Adefemi. I have offended him,” and the tears flowed uncontrollably.






“But sister mi, who is Adefemi?”






“Just get me on the phone with him, jummy.”





T,b,c,……………..

Welcome

Sageez:
don't worry boss, Buhari told me that soon all will be well

hmmmmm, we hope so - cause this change is already turning into chain.

opal4real:
Welcome

Thanks bro.

kwencypresh:
still waiting for update



Merry xmas dear

same to you bae.

This adefemi of a thing son dey overdo am jhoor... Wat8n sue did wey person never do before nah?

Oga femi, how're you doing Jare?

---

The dirt and dusty cloud cluster on this part of the country was enormous. Ridiculously; energy sapping and knees being cracked up, seeming out of blood; or grease, if it could be said. The harmattan had really taken a toll of the lives of those who lived in this state; hindering their daily activities and curtailing the heat that had visited the state months before the harmattan had set in, much to the delight of the populace even when they didn’t much like the aftermath of the piercing harmattan-cold that had enveloped them.



A clunk sound of cars, Lorries and buses ramming into a bump or so made approaching vehicles slow down. They took caution not only of the bumps but also of the atmosphere which was impenetrable, due to the mist patches of the harmattan. The grasses that lined the two lanes to and fro were wet with dews. Some birds took pleasure in it to sharpen their beaks.




On the left side of the road leading into the town was a car parked as a result of a break-down which had to be fixed, as the commuters were still heading farther the town ahead; the next state. A mechanic was sledge trying to fix one or two things below the bonnet or possibly trying to access a part of the bonnet through that medium.


Standing irritated were two men; one in a blue-guinea ‘danshiki’ with designs around the neck to the navel. He wore a brown sandals to match with a cup-like hausa cap. With his face rumpled, he wasn’t short of someone in his late 60’s, or so he appeared to be. His accomplice had a white scary face; nose knitted together to his forehead; you would guess his irritation at the driver.


He spat in a low voice – curses in his native dialect. His anger couldn’t be hidden any further. The bus had broken down the third time on their journey. He hated the adventure he had to face on this day, when it wasn’t his first to travel down this road. However, he was mad not only at the car but at the driver who had consistently said nothing had been wrong with the car before now; that it had been in perfect condition. Citing he never let it pass four days before he gets a mechanic to service it but events occurring now didn’t point to the fact.


In spite of the rage he felt, he didn’t ignore he was pressed. He informed his partner he wanted to relief himself in the bush bordering the road beside. As he walked into the bush, he untied the rope he had knotted together to hold his white lace trousers to his waste, spitting leftwards and before you could know it, he buried himself into the bush.




“driper,” the man in blue-guinea called out in the typical hausa swapping the ‘f’ for the ‘v’ or ‘p’ for the ‘f’ consonant, “you sure pay them por pit pinish vhis motor today?”





“Alhaji, the thing na small thing, the mechanic down finish self, him just dey put the screw back. The car no go stop again.” He assured and went closer to tell another lie, “You see, all those mechanic just dey collect my money since, dem no do anything wey spoil. But this one know work well well.”





“So na barawo,” he gesticulated with his hands waving backwards.




“This one no be barawo, Alhaji. This one e know am for work well well,” he appeared dumber to the Alhaji whose face drooped.




A van sped pass them and in it were two hefty men. The one who was taking the wheel, continuously tapped his four fingers on the wheel in a musical way – as though he were playing the beat to a music; his thumb mounted below, gripping the steering. He whistled baleful tune of music that described the stroke of lines on his face. His teddy - bald but with beards making up for it, as they grew really way out of proportion. The head warmer he wore was gradually losing a grip off his deserted head when he nodded back and forth to his own eerie tunes.



Typing a message and trying to get it to their boss occupied the time the man sitting beside the wheel had. Their operation the last few days had been a success and they had gotten half of the payment worth 3million naira. Now, it remained for them to follow instructions and not go wrong in any way - so as to get their balance and further; good business reputations plus bonuses that has been promised them by the chairman of the party; the man who had sent them.



Removing his glasses to clean his face off the dust the harmattan had blown out, he got a response from the line he had just messaged.



“chairman say him dey meeting o, say him go follow us yarn later, say make we try hang around the city once we reach Katsina.” He informed his colleague who nodded satisfaction.



He was pleased with whatever the chairman said or instructed and he was glad he replied them even on his busy schedule. That was something about him. Once he doesn’t want you to make mistakes in a task given to you, he too loves making sure he doesn’t give you room to blame him in case there be a mistake somewhere. At least that was fair on his side, he agreed. That is someone you want to be dealing with. One who lays out a plan and keep you on your feet to ensure the plan pan out well.




He interrupted his thoughts and asked his colleague, “wetin you think about this operation?”




His partner who had engaged himself appreciating the landscape outside the car turned to face him, surprised by that question.



“You mean wetin?”




“I mean say this operation wey chairman give us. You think say e go be like the ones wey we don do before?” he expatiated.



“Guy, nothing concern me with how e go be, my own be say make we do wetin chairman want and get our cash and another operation immediately after this one.”





“I know but shey you no feel anything apart from that?” he pressed further, “like sympathy?”





“I no understand you guy,” he stopped to look ahead as the van slowed down behind other vehicles. It appeared there was a pothole ahead which made vehicles slow down. He looked at his wristwatch then continued as though he had quickly engaged his thoughts in that short while, “abi, you mean say you no fit dey kill again?”




“I no talk so but………” an interruption came in through the side door as farmers waved tree branches to beg for funds so as to fill the pothole. There was the exchange of hausa language about change and the money they could give.




“na’gode,” a young man who held a stick across his shoulder like a Fulani herdsmen greeted as his grandfather offered the change and collected the 500naira note given to them by the van drivers.




11minutes into the journey after the last stop, they came into Katsina. Traders hawked about the toll-gate advertising kuli kuli, drinks, cow milk and the likes. The van reduced its speed, the two men looking out of the side doors at what seem to interest them greatly.



The people here look mysterious. It was as though rain had never fallen on this part of the earth before. They looked muddy, dirty and unkempt. Their brows were sludge; eyelashes - slime and knitted together like the mouth of a painting brush long abandoned. The wounds that caved the side of their mouth held their cracked lips together like a mud-house.



“Come, shey dem this people no dey bath ni? Abi dem never see water before?” the guy at the wheel inquired from no one in particular.




Two children raced out of a plank kiosk. Their slacked-white-vest had turned brown; fashioned insanely with palms from engine oil. They had pants on; just pants – torn on every part of the fabric. One of them halted, his large head dangling here and there like a swing, it wouldn’t balance on his small size neck; protruding stomach - one would know he lacked many things.



Trying to picture what this vehicle was, he was fuddy-duddy; primitive, and uncivilized. His brother who had noticed he wasn’t chasing after him again came and stood beside him – watching the spectacle.




“minini wan’na?” he asked his younger brother in their language but got no reply. They both continued to stare until the van moved out of their view. Then in an instant, they ran inside the house to gist their parents what they had seen.




A booming sound thundered from the hill behind the houses. It felt like an elephant or an ape was in agony but before they could interpret the sound they had heard, a cow galloped out of the bush ahead and crossed the road. The tyres of the van screeched and stopped. They both looked at each other as though trying to ask what would have happened if the van had collided into the weird cow.



“Guy, look front,” he informed his colleague behind the wheel.




“mehn, ekelebe (police)1,” he exclaimed after he had seen the two policemen ahead, waving their vehicle down.





“No time joor,” the former said, picking his AK47 and, examining the condition it was; perfect! He had nodded, “I go engage this one wey dey my right. Make you use your pistol take the guy on the left.”





“I jaz. Let us roll,” he replied his partner and slowing down, he took hold of his pistol, “1, 2, ready, go.” And the shot went off together, taking the two policemen down.



The van dashed off in full speed as they had accomplished their mission, no other vehicle was in sight. Their port of call right away was to go into the city. They got a text message from chairman who informed them to take their time but make sure they were secured wherever they were.




“Bastard!!!” the one behind the wheel spat out of the window as if they had just killed the policemen.





“Turn for that side, chairman say make we feed that way.” He said, ignoring his partner’s earlier statement.



He made the turn as was instructed but something happened when he looked out of the side-mirror; a car which he hadn’t sighted before the bend also made a turn.




“Guy, we are being followed.”





T,b,c………….

harjibolar10:
This adefemi of a thing son dey overdo am jhoor... Wat8n sue did wey person never do before nah?

Oga femi, how're you doing Jare?

I'm fine sir and you?

another twist

Oya, let's go there

Fembleez1:




I'm fine sir and you?

also fine sir

continued from last update...



"Guy, we're being followed."



“It can’t be so,” he defended, “when we killed those police, nobody saw us. How come this car come dey follow us?”



The driver tried to increase the speed of the van, he took control of the gear and worked it remotely, and then the van moved more speed than it had. If the coming vehicle was not on their trail, he would have figured it out but the inevitable happened; the car also kept up with the van.



“We gaz do something o, cause this car dey follow us true true,” the driver said constantly looking at the rearview and also the inner-mirror.



“Turn for that junction,” his colleague commanded, sudor already forming on his forehead.




He turned as commanded and few minutes later, the car turned too.




“Turn right, right!” he ordered again, his heartbeat racing.



The street was deserted, except for trees that numbered the roads. The gardens danced to the wind. A bird took flight and joined flocks of its specie in the air. The sky frowned overhead as though it would rain soon but it wasn’t going to. A strong wind blew and waved guava trees against the direction where the vehicles were coming from. Dust and waste roller-coasted in the wind, snipping and dodging the approaching vehicle.




“Benji,” the driver called out in distress, “something is not right,” sweats trickled down his face, dabbing his black t-shirt. He was restless on the steering. He peered at the rearview mirror.




“What do we do now Gasper? This is not funny again.” A nylon flew in from Benji’s side of the van and went out through Gasper’s.



“I think I have seen this car before now. I noticed it moved at the toll-gate but I never thought it was on our trail. You remember those two boys that ran out of that hurt?” Gasper questioned, also peering at his side mirror. Now, their van was moving on a high speed, yet the car kept pace; it was a very long one-way road, several miles ahead.



“Yea but what does that has to do with them?” he frowned but concentrated on his driving, on the chasing car.




“Don’t worry, you won’t understand…”




A thunderous shout interrupted, “let me understand, Gasper!”




“Guy cool down na,” the car was stopped by a security man who had opened the gate of a house painted white. He held out a red flag and once he saw the car stopped, trafficated a black jeep out of the compound.




“Increase speed, one car don intercept. But in case the car still follow us, I’m afraid – we go engage.” But afterwards the car never seemed to show up. Benji got the drift of parking ahead on his own instinct to let the jeep pass and see if the car would still be in pursuit. He got hold of his gun, ready - once the van was parked; loaded it with cartridges and with one hand on the door, he prepared for the anticipated battle.



Gasper in turn wore his mask and got hold of his machine gun, leaving the AK47 he had used earlier. He looked at Benji and nodded he was ready. The jeep sped pass but no car appeared. They waited for some few minutes, both looking out of the rearview mirror but not even a single nylon approached from behind. The landscape appeared fled; the road vanishing into the distance.



Silence descended, eloping the area; nothing was moving. The clouds was clear and bright. No bird in the sky. Desperation. They were not going to take chances relaxing a bit, then get caught off guard. They waited for almost 8minutes afterward but no vehicle approached. Gasper broke the silence by dropping his gun, which made some clapping sound.



“I must phone Kunle right now. Hope say him never go blow our cover.” It wasn’t intended as a question for his partner to provide a response to. He got hold of his phone.



Shutting his ears from this world, Benji was in the world of assassins. He maintained his gaze on the side mirror, swallowing spittle calculatedly. And his thirst for blood lingered in his throat.



Putting the phone to his ears as he dialed the number, he gazed at Benji, then to the sidemirror.



“Damn, switched off!” taking the phone off his ears, the chairman call came in.



“Hi boss,” he saluted and now Benji relaxed, removed his mask and set his gun aside, breathing a sigh of relief.



The receiver echoed, “Nice job you’ve done so far. I see you guys are always on the alert.”




“Thank you sir,” he chorused as though he got the message the chairman was trying to convey.




“That car on your trail was my hand work.” He shattered their curiosity.



“You mean sir…?”



“Yea, that was my handiwork. Meet me at Grand Hotel in the next 2hrs. Kunle should be on the next flight from Lagos in the next 20minutes. Goodbye.” And the chairman ended the call.




“Benji, na chairman send that car sha.”




“You mean say to spy us?” he looked at the inner-mirror again. A cat jumped out of a squared refuse house and lumbered along the fence; its fur stood as though it was electrocuted and, face hardened at whatever it was battling the dump with.




“Guy, I no fit explain. Grand Hotel is the meeting place 2hrs from now. Let’s roll.” Gasper enthusiastically said and Benji ignited the engine and they were off, food out of the equation now.

Nice one bro. Pls add more . Thanks

Part 2, Episode 5




Mr Bar bounded down his jeep at the Muritala International Airport, Lagos - as it remained just 20minutes before the flight he had booked to Abuja takes off. He continually checked his phone as he adjusted his white-lace Agbada at interval; throwing the excess up to the shoulder on the right and balancing it on the left too.



He didn’t carry luggage, so it was no need for him to go check his luggage before going on board. As he approached the entrance to the departure avenue, the automatic door opened and his phone rang.



“Hello Mr honourable,” came the mean voice from the receiver.



He halted, mystified by who this was - calling with an unknown number. He looked around the airport, a white man in grey suit passed him by, his head bald and shiny. A couple also wheeled their traveling bag pass him, chatting and giggling.



“Please who is on the line?” he moved out of the way as a cart wheeled heap of luggage along where he stood.




“Hahahahahahahahahaha,” thundered out of the receiver, Mr. Bar removed the phone from his ear and stared at it as though someone’s ran mad.





“I thought you would know?”




“I won’t hesitate to cut this call, I have something better to do,” Mr. Bar erupted, mean. A janitor swept pass in. He was in a blue overall, mask to his nose down and latex gloves buried his hands – holding and swerving the sweeper backward, forward.




No reply came from the receiver and determined, he cut the call. A lady approached him, dressed in a vest that had AirAfrik monogrammed on the chest side to the right.





“Excuse me sir, you are not allowed to loiter around this part of the Airport,” she came plain in near perfect English accent.





“Will you get lost from my sight!” he lambasted spitefully.





“I’m deeply sorry sir,” she smiled ominously, it was as if she frowned – smiled the same time; her face was awkward, eyeballs lit red yet friendly, “but…”




“Please get lost,” he raged and moved away, his phone ringing again.




The lady stood bemused, almost in tears. She felt embarrassed as people, mostly whites watched the way the man had embarrassed her. One of her colleague came by, asking her what happened and she started her madness, demonstrating with her hands; her voice narrowed down the hall filled with travelers, disappearing into airport announcement.



“I can see you haven’t changed for once,” the voice said when he picked the call, “that’s very good of you.”




“I repeat, who is this?”





“Calm down and listen,” the receiver demanded, “hope you’ve read the newspapers and watched the news? Well, we knew you won’t step down from the primaries; we know you are very stubborn.”



Surprised at hearing the primaries, he knew it was from the party; couldn’t be more or less what he guessed. They are about 5 candidates under his party who wants to contest for the senatorial seat into the House of Senate. He is one of the candidates to beat; no, they are two but the other candidate finds him to be a threat in winning the slot to be the flag bearer of their party.




“Is this the chairman?” Mr. Bar inquired confused. It can’t be the chairman who had promised and stood behind me all this while, it just can’t be. May be it is Honourable Kareem or Honourable Muraita, he conjectured; those were the only candidates that could really stand to battle him in the primaries.




“Shut up and listen. We knew who we are dealing with and we’ve planned our strategy. The death of your daughter is just the beginning. Hope you saw how lean she was before she was shot dead. That is just the beginning. Your first born would be the next.”



Being absolutely stupefied, Mr. Bar couldn’t speak; his throat was deserted of spittle; his eyes lit up in fury. So it is you that kidnapped my daughter? That kidnapped Mariam my second born? And what did he just say? Dead? Shot? That can’t be; no, no, no, that can’t be, he thought – physically dead.




“And if you try to act smart, your wife will follow. Also know very well that we are monitoring you; everywhere you go, our eyes are on you.”




To these statement, Mariam’s father turned about, looking at every approaching faces; back views of every departing pupils. He felt dead, soul lost. He felt he was taller than everybody moving about in this hall. Ants were even more visible to him in this state, his inner-eyes saw clouds all around as though he was being lifted up into heaven; rapture taking place; some people dancing in fierce burning fire.




“You might feel glad to know your first born is already here with us; hey brat, say hello to your stubborn father.”




“Daddy help! Help Daddy!” brought Mr. Bar back to the airport environment.




“You have 5minutes to decide your daughter’s fate or she dies,” boasted the receiver and the call ended.





“Hello,”





“Hello,” he shouted again, thinking how does he contact an unknown number without any clue on how to get in touch with whoever it was that called.





“Hello,” he shouted, holding the receiver to his mouth like he would eat it; staring into the screen that was now displaying Mariam’s picture which he had used as screen-saver; palpitating; sweats roll down his face in the middle of a well air-conditioned hall.





T,b,c,......

Hmmm, naija do or die politics... Btw merry xmas fembleez

nyce update bro nd happy xmas

Beautiful story

---

The sun hung suspended in the air that afternoon as Adefemi approached the Hospital gate. His face looked rough, uninteresting like someone who had been disturbed from sleep. He swung his hand back and forth and they rhymed with the marching of his legs. He had gotten a call that noon that Fatimah was at the hospital from Zainab, her friend whom they weren’t on talking terms together before the school vacated.


All the while they had both been coming, he had wanted to ask her what had caused their grudges but his mind was guilty of so many things. He felt he had been really mean to Fatimah, not to have picked her calls. Though he along the line felt it wasn’t his fault, but adduce to it were telling. If he had not been so unconscious he had been friends with Fatimah before he met Zianob, his current obsession, he would have answered her calls, would have scolded Zianob. But was he in the reach to control something and someone beyond his powers?


He had met Zainab at Glover bus-stop where they had both agreed to meet so as to go to the hospital together, of which Zainab was more familiar with the route than Adefemi did. They had both been silent since they said hi, as if they had never met each other before. Hair expressionless face had also refrained him from starting any conversation with her, even when their gazes met often.


A wooden kiosk laden with provisions was at one side of the compound they entered, and approaching an Hausa man bent down washing his teeth aggressively with a chewing-stick, they greeted, but the man took his time to spit horribly into the stagnant water that emanated odours which they both imagined how in the world was the man’s nose able to withstand it.


“Good afternoon,” they repeated, gesturing curtsey.



“Good abt-too-noon,” he responded, wiped his hands on his cream caftan, adjusting his almost-oval-knitted-cap afterwards.





“Who I dey ask por?”




“Please, is this the hospital?” Zainab thought for a few second trying to recall the name Fatimah’s sister had mentioned on the phone. The man looked at her, expectant, his brows arched.




“Kareem Ashafa’s Hospital,” she spat in a rush - the words out of her mouth.



The man nodded and Zainab left off without asking any more question, leaving Adefemi behind, who thought she was silly not to have appreciated the man. He said thank you to the man and followed where she had passed before she disappeared into the distance. He imagined her walks, like an antelope afraid of stepping on the earth, as though there were burning coals on it. Zainab’s uppity was never hidden and he guessed that must have caused the severance of their friendship.


Kicking at the stone which stood on the way, he maintained balance, examined may be he had had any injury but realizing he had not, he moved the stone out of the way so it wouldn’t cause an accident which might cause an injury to someone else.
Now, as he entered the waiting room sighting Zainab with Fatimah’s sister, Mariam crossed his mind. He tried to think about what had happened the day of the inter-house sport; he pulled at his blue shirt and went closer to where the ladies stood, chatting: nothing had really went wrong that day that he knew.



“Hi George,” she welcomed him first, offering him a sardonic smile like she had expected he would come today. But nonetheless, she wasn’t surprised at all; had Clinton who is her sister’s boyfriend come? No, he hadn’t. Yet she felt Adefemi should have been here before now. He was more than a friend to her sister than even Clinton, her boyfriend was.



“hello,” he replied with a plain face, white and straight as if he had been thinking of the first attack he would get from Fatimah’s sister before he actually see her herself. He looked at Zainab whose facial expression stood in a pity as if she were so sorry for what had happened to Fatimah, sorry for the crash their friendship had suffered.
She thought she shouldn’t have allowed it happened. It was all her fault their friendship had turned sour; if she had not been insistent on privacy with Peter, it wouldn’t have come down to this, come down to Fatimah trying to commit suicide.



“How is she doing now?” he looked away from her thoughtful face and leveled his gaze on Fatimah’s sister, who was more light skin that she had always been before now. May be because she was on mufti that had made her this light like a piercing sun on a hot afternoon in the desert. She was beautiful, more precise in the way she make-up, the pancake she applied on her face were directly proportionate to the colour of her skin; a charm.



Twitching at her earrings, she sat down and crossed her leg, then spoke up, “she is getting better; the doctor was able to get her to vomit the substance she had ingested.” Her right hand went to her forehead and coming down her face, she whimpered, “we could have lost her George, we could have lost her.”


This startled Adefemi a bit. How can she call his name in such statement as if he were supposed to be responsible for what had happened to her. A worm bit his stomach and he rumpled his face. He felt like digging into his stomach to get rid of the worm but it was impossible. He managed to squat in front of her as Zainab put a hand across her shoulder to console her.



“Thank Allah she is alive dear. Don’t cry anymore.”



He got a hold of her shoulder-pad and smoothed it lightly, their gazes met as she wiped her tears, “yea, don’t cry. When do we get to see her?” he asked.




“The nurses are currently attending to her and they should be out any moment soon,” she sniffed and wiped the little tears appearing at the tip of her right eye.



She recalled that moment, as Adefemi left her shoulders, Mariam’s phone she had seen when she rushed into the room as her mother screamed. She had quickly hid it from her mother’s sight just to find out how it had gotten there, yet she hadn’t been able to ask her sister. She had first thought of calling Mariam’s mother to inform her she had seen her daughter’s phone but had hesitated. That would have been a wrong move. She needed to inquire from her sister how the phone had gotten to her hands and what had prompted her to attempt suicide. Though her thought had lingered on the shock she might be passing through due to Mariam’s death but she knew that wasn’t justifiable to attempt such heinous act.


Before now, she had checked through the phone to see what she could get but the only clue was that, her sister had been in touch with Adefemi over the last few days, once the incident had occurred. She suspected many things, one of which was that, they might both know one thing or two about Mariam’s disappearance, but her death, she disagreed within herself they couldn’t do such.



She stared into the wall for a brief moment and her eyes admired the butter-colour the waiting room was painted with. A young chubby nurse interrupted her gaze as she passed by; her white uniform tied to her back, her buttocks tempting. She was ebony, clay-body type that her legs were so fresh and devoid of spots. Once the nurse had gone behind the counter and engaged her colleague in a conversation, she thought it was necessary to know what Adefemi knew about the phone.



“George, can you excuse me please,” she stood up and made for the door, walking briskly.



Hope nothing is wrong was the first thing that came into his mind. Why does she request to see me? He thought for a second as he watched her clothe hit the door frame in a breezy romance. He stood up, heart beating, looked to Zainab who questioned him with her brow, and he replied with a nod, he’ll be back soon.




“Hey George, I’m here,” she called out when she saw he was going the wrong direction. She walked backwards and stood beside a tap, shutting it as the red bucket was spilling. She watched a rat peeping out of a nearby hole in the wall and stealing seeds of rice in the shallow gutter.



“Hi,” he said. He halted and hid his hands folded backwards. He wanted to smile but he wasn’t sure she would respond to it, so he rebuked whatever might have made him want to.


Looking at his hollow collarbone carved to fit his appearance, she started, “George, can you tell me what you know about Mariam?”


He looked up rapidly and they both peered, shocked. Though she wasn’t taller than he was, her fleshy neck supported her head a bit higher than his. Spittle accumulated in her mouth and she sucked at it, playfully. She saw his shot eyes and read the lines that were beginning to appear in his face; imaginative lines. Hope I haven’t gone too far, she thought.


As the lump formed in his throat, he was bitter within. He knew he should have replied her in haste but he was too busy contemplating on what she meant. Did she mean what he knew about Mariam in general? He would have replied he does. Yes, she was the most fun loving person he’s ever known, ever met. But if she had asked the question the other way round, which he knew she really had, he didn’t know what response he was going to give, yet, he made up his mind.



“I know she is missing and there are rumours she is dead,” he swallowed spittle and suspended his gaze, now resting it on the button on her crop top.



She cut in tersely, “it is no longer rumours, George. She is dead, so start saying what you know about all this.”



“What do you mean what I know?” he frowned, not waiting for response, “I know absolutely nothing.”




Gesturing, she started, “oh, you think I’m not aware?”



“Aware of what?” it was turning into a question, and question session. She narrowed her gaze spitefully and looked at Adefemi in such a way as if she was reading his expression. She wanted to put much pressure on him because she felt for Mariam’s parents, most especially her mother. But she couldn’t press the interrogation further, couldn’t bear the innocence that spread plain on Adefemi’s forehead. He was sweating profusely as though someone was in his chase. He breathed, troubled; restless, his eyeballs shot-red.



“I’m sorry George,” she took a step but stopped and continued, “you see, I saw Mariam’s phone when Fatimah went unconscious and I’ve been troubled the while.” She went backwards, and almost frail, she sat on a stool. She buried her heads in her palms and started sobbing. He moved closer but avoiding contact.



“I can explain,” she was baffled at this and looked into his eyes; her red eyeballs made her horrific, unattractive.



“Yes, I can explain. Fatimah actually knows nothing about anything that had happened, neither do I. she was only a victim of circumstance. Someone had seen the phone on the floor and handed it over to Fatimah, when he couldn’t find Mariam.” He paused to breathe but she cuts in.



“But why didn’t she hand it over; why did she keep it with her until now? I don’t understand.” She became sullen.



“That’s where I come in. she was afraid, she never knew it was going to get this far. Right before the incidence, they had not been on speaking terms, so I guess she was reluctant to be the first to call or make peace just because of the phone. But she got it all wrong.”



Oh my God! She exclaimed breathlessly. A sharp headache knocked at her head. She felt fuzzy, tired and diminished. “What are we going to do now? Things’ really got out of hands. How does she get away with this when murder is involved,” she started crying.



Adefemi gave her no response. He was speechless himself at this point, he only felt for Fatimah. This might as well be the end of her education if the school authority gets to know, be the end of her life, her good reputation in the eyes of Mariam's people.

There re so many error in dis ur update pls correct dem

Afz9095:
There re so many error in dis ur update pls correct dem

thanks bro. Could you please help me point them out so i can correct them?

Afz9095:
Hmmm, naija do or die politics... Btw merry xmas fembleez

Same to you boss.

bummybummy:
nyce update bro nd happy xmas

Thanks Bunmi and same to you.

TRIPPLEAB:
Beautiful story

Thanks Sir.

politics of nowadays z do or die affair

Happy New year guyz... jxt feeling 4 adefemi.....

E don tay I start to dey read dis story sha. Finally here.
Nice story. I finally get to comment.

Oga fem happy new year...next update pls

domido:
E don tay I start to dey read dis story sha. Finally here.

Nice story. I finally get to comment.

thanks bro for dropping your comment. Happy new year.

Dafkelvin222:
Oga fem happy new year...next update pls

same here bro.