Hello Literaland, My name is Biade Fola. I will be dropping Short stories on this thread from time to time. I hope you learn and enjoy as you ride with me.

You can several other cool stories here >>> https://biadefola.com.ng/category/stories/
Thanks as we go!

THE STORY OF MY LIFE (A short motivational story)

We were three friends when I graduated from University of Lagos in 1998. Collins, Qadir and me, Sele.
They were the happening guys and I was the stale bookworm.

According to them, I belonged to the BC years. They won’t be seen with me if not because I was, according to them, their book man.

They had clubs and travels to handle so academics was a distraction but thankfully they had me to do their assignments and notes.

I won’t walk with them too but they my money men. I was as broke as shatter, I couldn’t call home for money. Mummy would tell me she had water for diner the other night and instead of collecting something I would end up giving her my sympathy.

I was Collins and Qadir’s book man and they were my money men.

I hated what I did for them and what my life looked like but the hope that things would be better after graduation kept me going, so I didn’t look back.

Poverty spited me so much that I couldn’t say Hi to Maria, the only girl my heart had sang from year one to final year.

I didn’t even have the money to take her to the cheapest eatery on campus, the Hoxofagus. It’s not like she would even follow me to that kind of place anyways, or so I thought.

I vested all my disappointment into making good grades so that I could get a better life.

Finally in 1998, we graduated and a new reality slapped me on my poverty thickened face.

Collins was over 30yrs, so he filed for exemption and started a bank job in Ibadan almost immediately.

Qadir, served in NTA Ibadan and was retained after his service.

I served in a secondary school in Oro, Kwara state. After my service I rushed to Lagos for a job that was not waiting for me.

After three months, I had exhausted my hard saved NYSC income and transport and feeding.

In August 1999, I returned to Ibadan unsure of what awaited me except for free accommodation and feeding.

After, one month in Ibadan, I realized free food and house comes with their own insults.

I knew I was a begger who had no choice, so I took in the discomfort and carried the gait of someone who enjoyed being ridiculed.

Just about the time when I was getting crazy from wallowing in the shameless difficulty, I stumbled upon a speech by Biade Fola, yes the same Fola who currently represents Osun west senatorial district.

Then he was council chairman, Ede North LG, he was addressing the Federal Poly, Ede SUG when they paid a courtesy visit to him.

So he said “Life is full of hassle and tussle. The struggles can either kill us or make us stronger. Whether the struggle kills us or make us stronger is not the decision of the struggle but ours. We should make a decision to succeed and never look back”

The words spoke directly to my poor heart and I instantly vowed to succeed and never look back until I did.

To ensure, I didn’t lack for food, I started teaching English in a secondary school in Apete, Ibadan. They paid me 18,000 monthly out of which I ate and bought cheap cloths.

In April 2001, I took a trip to the University of Ibadan in search of a mentor. I told the first student I spoke with (Kemi is still my friend till date) that I dreamt of becoming a great writer and needed a mentor.

she suggested and introduced me to professor Leo Coker. The professor took me in and did a wonderful job on me.

I was still doing my high school job while learning and attempting to write a masterpiece.

Many a times, I’d see and hide for Collins and Qadir. They frequented the UI staff club on weekends, the same time I met with the professor in the same place. I couldn’t face them and their designer wears and cruise rides in my cheap cloths and Legedez Benz.

The banking reforms of 2005 later affected Collins’ bank and he was laid off. He put his severance pay into poultry but sadly that year was the birds flu epidemic year. It affected him bad… but he was a big boy. He went on to own two car wash stations, one football viewing center and three betGoal shops. Qadir still worked for the NTA.

Overall, their situation was still better better than mine. They still wore cute cloths and drove a car.
But now, the professor had gotten into my head. Material things had ceased to matter. What mattered was where I was going. I had no reason to look back.

I thought I had my breakthrough in 2007 when a publishing house in Lagos- The Pub Merchants accepted my manuscript.

They were impressed with my work and printed it in November that year under the title- “Death of the Struggle, Your Win”. So much for my expectations, the book did not do so well.

On 20/05/2008, ten years after my graduation my breakthrough came. I met Miss Adediwura, an executive at Mrace Books.

She had read my work and felt it was a great effort. “It would have sold better had it an attention drawing title” she said.

That was how I hit it. Mrace and Pub Merchants worked out something and reproduced my work under a new title “The Little Dirty Big Cute Secret of Success” with a rider (Successful men won’t tell you, but this book will!)

After a little over four months, life changed for me. Fancy suits, Italian leathers, even the pen I signed autograph with is a limited edition of Wiston Kou.

Yes, guess who I saw at the public reading of my latest work? Maria Dene! My school crush. She’s a fan, she’s single. Don’t ask me want I’m gonna do with her*

That’s my story. Life hit me rough but I stood my ground, didn’t shake, didn’t look back until I get here.
Now the only reason I look back is to see how far I have come.

Source: www.biadefola.com.ng

Read "My Lecturer Wants to Fv*k me, But…" http://biadefola.com.ng/2017/04/19/my-lecturer-wants-to-fvk-me-but/

My Lecturer Wants to Fv*k me, But…


There was this particular lecturer in my department when I was still in school. We all knew him to be a womanizer. He liked all kinds of women, young, old, fat, thin, tall, and short.Every girl in the department tried as much as possible not to get noticed by him. That means doing your assignment with others and coming to his classes on time so you don’t have to beg him to enter his class.

One day, (I am sure it was because I didn’t pray that morning, it gave devil the opportunity to deal with me.) It started with waking up late for classes that day. When Irealized that it was this lecturer’s class we had, I just decided that I would miss the class. Only for my friend toping me that they were registering the man’s course. I quickly dressed up wore my deeper life gown, even white powder I didn’t rub that day and ran to class.

By the time I got to the department, the man had already locked the door and took attendance. That was when I knew my village people swore for me that day. I waited till he finished teaching and joined the other latecomers to go to his office to beg him. Did I tell you that our lecturers each had their own office? Well furnished o! This particular lecturer even had extra seats and curtains. Maybe he normally held prayer sections in his office, who knows?I had already finished planning the lie I will tell the man, how I was very sick and just came from the school medical center. Am sure God was just watching me and my plans. (I already started with not praying now am about lie).

We reached the man’s office and started begging him to please just let us register the course even if we will miss the attendance. The man acted like we were asking Buhari to legalize gay marriage. I made sure I was very invincible in the back of the crowd.

The next thing I heard was
“hey you at the back on glasses,come here” Shoo!
I joined others to turn to see who he was talking to even though I knew that it was the wall I was turning to look at. One over-sabi girl just shouted my name
“Chidinma, he is talking to you o”
I just used my eyes to dissect the girl. I came closer and he gave me money and some paper to photocopy for him. In my mind I was hoping that he will allow me to register after going for the errands.I ran better than Usain Bolt that day, did the photocopy and came back.

As I was getting closer to his office I noticed that my classmates were no longer there. I became sacred.I quietly knocked on his door and he asked me to come in.as I stepped in he asked me to close the door. Ah! Close door ke? I just murmured the devil is a liar. I banged the door but made sure it wasn’t locked. I moved closer to him and gave him the documents.He now asked me my name I quickly shouted the name my grandma gave me (I normally get angry when my siblings called me the name)
“Sir, my name is Erinma”
The next thing he asked me was
“So who is eating this Bush meat you carrying around?”
I quickly checked if I had mistakenly carried someone’s Bush meat when I went to do photocopy only to see I was carrying only my bag.
“Sir, it’s just my hand bag am carrying o; there is no Bush meat here”
“So you don’t know what I mean? You are trying to form form abi?
“No o sir I honestly don’t know.”
“Ok, then, who is enjoying this bush meat you are carrying in front of you. Which of the guys?”
Oh! He was talking about breasties.I suddenly became dumb. And started calling on my ancestors and God at the same time to give me the wisdom he gave Solomon in the bible so I can I get out of this situation.
“Sir nobody o”
“Hmm, so when will you give me to enjoy?”
In my mind I was calculating my fainting skills in cases anything happened.
“Sir…. Sir”
I suddenly became a stamarer.I was seriously praying and promising God to even becomes reverend sister if I can get out from here. It was like God or my ancestors’ sef saw that I had suffered enough and decided to intervene. He then asked me
“where are you from”
“Enugu” I replied
“Where in Enugu?”
Sir, Ezeagu”
“Ah! Ezeagu, I heard they do juju very well”
I shouted “Yes sir o!, they are very good at it. In fact, both my paternal and maternal grandparents are well known native doctors in the village. Even my dad was also one but recently converted.”
See the lies jumping from my mouth like I was reciting National Anthem.
“Hmmm, serious?” he asked looking almost sacred
“Yes sir, you can ask around” I replied.
He immediately brought out the registration booklet and told me to find my name and sign across it and leave his office I quickly took the book, signed my name and ran away.Since then the man doesn’t even answer my greeting and I made sure I escaped his wahala till I graduated.

Read OAU Amphitheatre (The Ugly PHL 101 Experience) here http://biadefola.com.ng/2018/03/19/oau-amphitheatre-the-ugly-phl-101-experience/

DIARY OF A DEAD CHURCH GIRL

If you’re reading this, it means I’m dead. I was a church girl but I went rogue before my death. I need someone to blame for my death.

My name is Amaka but I'm not here to disappoint. Well, I speak for myself when I say I don't wanna disappoint you but as for my story, I don't know what it'd do. I'm a dead girl, and this is my story.

If I was a boy, my name would probably be Churchill because I was raised by Church people, practically in the church. I was always in the church every other day. It was either praise and worship Wednesday or children fellowship or choir practice or Sunday school prep. I always had something to do in the church.

My father was, still is a pastor and my mum was like his lieutenant. They did the ministry work together. I was in the loop too. I helped in my own little way. I was a church worker: served in the choir, led the children church and later the youth section. I taught Sunday school and wrote songs for the choir. Prayer and fasting was my thing. I was close to Jesus than red bet slip is to greedy bet9ja players.

After secondary school, I didn't see myself going for those 'worldly' courses. So I vied for Religious Studies. I gained admission into the department of Religion and cultural studies in UNN, a school that's supposedly restoring the dignity of man.

Our classes were more atheistic than I had imagined. We had lecturers of divergent perspectives- divergent like the legs of a flirty girl.

I wanted to drop out at the end of the first semester but Dad said the experience was good for me, that I couldn't claim to be educated if I didn't have a broad knowledge of theism and atheism. I should explore both worlds so that I'll appreciate Christ the more and that temptations were the true tests of faith.

I told him the classes weren't so much of Christ but of history, analysis, critique and literature review of religions and their books. He said I should learn and bring my religious upbringing to bear.

The RCS 124 lecturer, Mr Anochili was atheist and he taught the tradition of Jesus like it was the tradition of Obasanjo or Tinubu. He thought Jesus was a great man and he taught it the class on his opinion.

RCS 208 unbundled me. Dr Kayode, Yoruba man taught RCS 208, he was a staunch traditionalist, according to him, "leaders invented religions in other to control them and give them hope." He'd rather go the fetish way of his forefathers than follow a cultural and colonists imposition in Christianity or a violently propagated Islam.

He was a sleek orator and effortlessly implants his ideas in our mesmerized heads. Though, I was one of the stubborn theists, by 300L I had become a liberal Christian. I started dressing to blend. Only the BSF kept me in touch with my creator.

I met Chinwe in the BSF, he was a final year student of psychology. He came to the fellowship once in a while. He was funny, witty and brilliant. We got talking and I fell in love with him. I had my first sex with him and it was beautiful. Chinwe was gentle and caring. I always looked forward to being in bed with him.

Chinwe graduated and things ended between us. I met Lugi, that's everyone called him. I still don't know his real name till date. I was pregnant before I knew he was a cult guy. He was dropped by a rival gang, so I had my first abortion.

I met Nonso in my final year. I didn't love him but he had money and was all over me. I had three abortions for him.

One or two lecturers had to get down with me before I could pass some courses. I eventually graduated but I couldn't go home. Father had disowned me because I went home in another colour. I was black and shine before I left, I returned as a fake half cast. He got furious, I talked back. He was shocked, he threatened to disown me, I packed my bags. Mother blamed him for ignoring my complaints when I started school, he said I'm dead to him but he'll help my soul with prayers. I didn't look back, I thought I was free at last.

I was posted to Niger State for NYSC, I had one beautiful sex in camp with a strong soldier. He was good and all, I reached orgasm. He cummed in me but I didn't care.

The first week into my NYSC primary assignment, I realized I was pregnant. The soldier can surely shoot more than rifles. He had shot a cum into a foetus. Sad thing was, I didn't know his rank or name. I had another abortion. This time it was a catastrophe, my womb was weak so it crashed. I got HIV too.

I was admitted for three weeks. I got up again and decided to give life a try. I returned to my PPA, a beverage company in the heart of Minna. The chairman's son, Usman just returned from Yankee where he had been for years. He saw and found love in me. His father was happy, at last Junior takes interest in a woman.

They eagerly arranged for a trad, I told them I was an orphan never met my parents. Told Usman I was bad for him, he said I should shut up that he doesn't care.

I'm going ahead. I'll marry him. I can't even imagine what he or his father will do when they find out I can't give their family a baby, the only thing I'm capable of giving them is HIV.

I don't even know what Jesus will do with me. I'm beyond redemption, he can't forgive me. I'm dead and you can judge me all you want. I only need someone to blame for my death.

SOURCE: https://biadefola.com.ng/

READ DIARY OF A DEAD CHURCH GIRL PART TWO HERE https://biadefola.com.ng/diary-of-a-dead-church-baby-girl-2/

Diary of a Dead Church Girl (Part 2)

Well, I don't blame myself at least not for the genesis of my issues. Daddy should have listened to my complaints; mummy should have pressed him more on my issues. Throughout school, dad and mum never visited me, not once.

Maybe I should take some blames too. Anyway, it's too late. I'm dead. My body is living but my soul dead, my conscience is buried.

I've gone beyond redemption. Uthman loves me, his father adores me. So why should I let out my flaws and get treated like dirt?

No one in their right sense would marry me if I told them my story.

I converted to Islam and took the name Aisha. Since they thought I had no family, Uthman's family, we fixed the union silently and I got married for the first time.

My wedding night was the saddest day of my life. I played back the whole thing and sighed at how things turned out for me. I married a rich man but won't live with peace of mind. I'd constantly look over my shoulder, fearing that my past might catch up with me.

I didn't enjoy my first sex with Uthman; he was good at it and all but couldn't feel the pleasure he thought I was giving him. Unknown to him, he was collecting the virus.

With time, I settled for the life. I knew I was positive and was taking the meds. He didn't but he would soon get the news that he was too. I was sure it would be traced back to me and hell will lose.

So one evening, I concocted an idea. I went moody before he got back from work and started sobbing the moment he entered.

I claimed I just found out that I was positive and blamed him for giving me the virus. He was shocked, sad and tongue-tied.

We saw a doctor and he confirmed that he got the affliction too.

I was lucky he had led a loose life while abroad so he couldn't tell who gave who the virus. He begged me and we planned our life around schedules and meds.

We were healthy and alive, there was the money and facility but we were afraid of birthing a baby. We didn't want to bring a baby to the world with the virus but our doctor assured us of a procedure that will make sure our baby was negative. So we made a baby.

I was 6months pregnant when I saw on TV that Dad and Mum had died in an accident. They were returning from a revival in Nnewi. I fainted and sobbed for weeks. Nobody could comfort me, I couldn't tell them what was the problem. I had told them I was an orphan. I wailed and suffered in silence.

I thought I'd be better soon, and move on but it was impossible. I kept having nightmares and hallucinations. I'd see my Dad cursing me by the graveside and Mum would be sobbing in a corner of whatever room I was.

I was close to madness. Finally, I lost my brace, I confessed to Uthman, told him all of my story. He got furiously mad at me and made sure I left his house that day. No amount of pleading would placate him, even his father was madder at me. I was eight months heavy but no pity was taken on me.

I returned to my father house the following weekend, with nobody to welcome me. I wanted so much to hear my daddy scream and yell at me, I wouldn't mind a slap or two from my mum. I really needed someone but all I had was the silent walls of the house.

I didn't deliver my baby in the 9th month. I saw doctors but they had no reasonable explanation so reverted to God.

For the very first in a very long time, I needed God. I wept and cried to God for days but saw no significant change. I then realised I was fooling myself. God wouldn't listen to a filth like me.

I went to a church and begged the pastor help me beg God to at least let me born the baby safely. If not for reason, he should consider the baby, it had no sin.

I knew he can't forgive me. I've gone too rotten but the baby doesn't deserve to share from my punishment.

The pastor thought otherwise. He thought God doesn't think like that, he will forgive me as far as I'm willing to ditch my old ways. He was quoting John 3:16 and all other verses that I knew like the back of my hand. I was just looking at him. I knew he didn't know me well enough.

But the man of God was not the one to be discouraged. He introduced me to support and bible study groups. Finally, I had my baby. He is negative. I was happy and appreciative.

God came through despite my gross deficiencies. He's ever merciful and forgiven.

My baby, Joseph is now 24, his convocation is next Thursday.

I was dead but the death of Jesus on the cross resurrected me. Hallelujah, his mercy endureth forever.

Read More Stories here https://biadefola.com.ng/category/stories/

BETWEEN THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP BLUE SEA

There is this common saying about choosing between the devil and the deep blue sea. For many this is just a catchy phrase or some kind of usual sayings. Well, I have seen life in it all its unclothedness. I have been confronted with the craziest of choices. I have had to choose actually between the devil and the deep blue sea. I have made hard choices with hard lucks and pockets of regrets but this is my toughest decision ever. I’m in a die or die situation. I have to choose between the Real Devil and deepest of the deep blue seas.
This Is My Story.

My name is Anayo. I used to be a very handsome young man. Maybe I still am, but during glory days of my looks, I was almost everyone’s toast. Girls beef girls and boys beef me because of me. In the midst of the rigmaroles, I had one big problem- I was broke. In fact, I was perhaps the most broke guy of my time. Many a times I had been bailed by girls that wanted to be with me. I took their money though I knew felt nothing for them. I was often confronted by guilty conscience and beaten by hateful words of girls who thought I was a “gold digger,” “gigolo,” “lazy fine boy” among other disgusting names I got.

When I got to 300 level, I decided to stick my neck and stopped dating girls for money. I decided to hustle. Looking back at the options of hustle I considered and the one finally settled for, I realized the girls who hurled insults at me might have been right after all. The first option that I considered was internet fraud package that is popularly known as Yahoo Yahoo, but I was too broke to afford a laptop and modem, nor did I have the resources to buy browsing minutes at cyber cafes, so I devised a strategy- I would hustle elsewhere and raise money and acquire the gadgets for the fraud business.

I somehow happened to be a book warm. The fact that I didn’t struggle to pass exams had brought offers of impersonation my way in the past which I rejected. I went back to these ‘clients’ and started taking ‘jobs.’

In the first semester of my final year, I met Chinenye on one of my exam malpractice gigs. It was a 300 level borrowed course from Economics. Chinenye was retaking the course. She recognized me from the time we had it together in 300 level and was surprised that I was retaking it. she was taking surprise glances at me throughout the exam. I glanced too. She was hell cute! She thought I was brilliant and should not have failed the course.

“but what exactly happened?” she asked immediately she could after the exam.

“Babe chill. That’s not a cool way to start. My name is Anayo but you can call me Neyo” I said in my suave voice.

“call me Neye… so what happened? I can’t believe you carried PHL 301”she pummeled me again.

“Shit happened. I had an accident on the exam day.” I lied.

That was how we got cozy. Chineye was the first ever girl to tickle my fancy. I fell hard for her. Every moment with her was happier than the previous. She loves me too, maybe equally, maybe more than I love her. Who cares about love calculation anyways. Every moment with her was golden and I couldn’t dare imagine anyone putting asunder.

We got more and more serious. She revamped my life all together. Okay, I didn’t mention she is from a wealthy home, yeah she is. Her folks her stupendously rich and she flowed the wealth on me.

Two months before our final exams, she sat me down told me all she thought I needed to know about her. She felt we should not have any secrets. She asked me to open up too.

“Please tell me everything now, I don’t want to be confronted with your past going forward. No matter how bad, you think they are, tell me. It will break my heart if you lie and got exposed in the future. I will never forgive you.” She had said.

I was ashamed of my past and didn’t want to look inadequate or flawed to her, so I kept mute. I told her I couldn’t tell her I dated for money; I didn’t want her think I was with her for her money. I didn’t tell her I used to impersonate. Ii didn’t want her to be mad at me for lying about the PHL 301 exam. So I lied. I only gave her some skirmishes about my smoking and drinking habits. She took me to her fellowship pastor and he prayed for us. I was baptized and I started life anew, leaving all the bad acts of the old in the past. I became more involved in the fellowship events and got accolades for easy acclimatization with the ways of the lord. I became a reference point. “look at bro Anayo,” “For example bro Anayo,” “even bro Anayo that came few weeks ago,” the reference poured in and it became hard for me to entertain any part of my past. I had no need to. Everything was perfecvt. I found peace with God, and found love and comfort in Chinenye. What more could I ask for.

Honestly, I never took it serious whenever I catch the phrase ‘hell let loose’ until Bernice showed up. I dated Bernice on and off for 3 years. I never loved her so always run off and go back to her again when I go back to being broke. She was in course mate and was practically not graduating with us. She had one or two courses to retake. I used to impersonate for her but had no reason to anymore since I met Nenye. Its her problem not mine.

The past is the best relay runner, it has a way catching up with you when you think you’re already at the finish line. Bernice called me immediately the exams time table got out. She wanted me to impersonate for her again and I refused flatly.

The refusal marked the climax of my problem. When I thought I had refused and that was all, problem was just starting. She got someone else to write the exam for her and they were caught. She blamed me for her woes. She thought I was an expert at the illegal act and would not have been caught.

She barged on me and Nenye in the love garden and dragged me to corner where she gave me ‘the threat.’

“Now you are happy eh? I am not going down alone. I will bring your lazy ass down with me. I’m facing the panel on Monday and I’m sure implicating you. I know this day might come, and I am prepared. I have screenshots and pictures.” She threatened.

I begged her to please have mercy on me. “Please don’t do this to me.” I begged but she refused. She insisted she cannot lose it all. The only way she can free me is if I dump Nenye for her. It was bizarre and impossible.

Now I have to choose between the love, the joy of my life and my B.Sc degree, toil of four years. I have to choose between the devil and the deep blue sea.

NOTE: THIS IS FICTION

READ MORE AT https://biadefola.com.ng/category/stories/