Good evening, everyone. I'm sorry for taking off. School has been totally brutal and it's really not easy to be alive. But, who says things have to be easy

I'm having a break from school for some months and taking you on pulsating valleys and fast bends is the closest thing that'll bring me fulfillment. So, horses firm, tight grip, whips high, pulse racing.

Gunfire!

Synopsis:

Hayatou becomes the
president of his nation. And that comes with all his past has to bargain. His twins used to be children to a woman in another nation. Life storms his vessel and his old hands fidget, letting life sail
through the bumps but, as he may also know, into a hut built of the continent, Africa.
Graves will be dug and
whichever man will fit will be laid in. Goliath trembles.

History is redefined and the beasts are unmasked.

Dedication:

The old hag, the tainted
soul, the weakest vessel,
the one with a million folds of
wrinkles. But whose children
will rise. Africa. And you too.

Come in to make reservations. Updates start tomorrow.

Tijehi, Evajael, Meneski, Stuff46, Skimpledawg, Cbella, Darkcrisp, and others who are probably lost in memory.

I'm captured by the Synopsis.

OluwabuqqyYOLO:
Come in to make reservations. Updates start tomorrow.

Tijehi, Evajael, Meneski, Stuff46, Skimpledawg, Cbella, Darkcrisp, and others who are probably lost in memory.

Yes!!! I'm here, dear. Fire on!

OluwabuqqyYOLO:
Come in to make reservations. Updates start tomorrow.

Tijehi, Evajael, Meneski, Stuff46, Skimpledawg, Cbella, Darkcrisp, and others who are probably lost in memory.

hmmmm....

PROLOGUE

---

February 15, 1953.

The man shut his eyes reflexively and gave the bare floor a gathering tug; his breathing hastened and contracted, like the turbines of Kanji, and his dark face contorted into a mask of wild pleasure as though he was a bull on heat. He grunted in very rapid succesions and every muscle in his hard body tensed and exploded, giving forth a strangely pleasant sensation like the fleeting, treacherous prick of a needle. Hot, sticky jelly flowed, unrestricted, into the woman that lied underneath him and some of the white mess spotted on her light, slim laps. Her eyes, unlike his, were open but the insides had all turned white. She tightened the grip she had used her legs to lock his sturdy body in and wriggled like curly, long hair on the old, dull mat.

'Ina son ki, Jummai,' the dark, sturdy man scooped the slim woman up, with him still in her, and kissed her. She returned the kiss with her delicate finesse and he moved inside her but he had been spent already - same with her, he knew. He put her down after the kiss and traced the contours of her beautiful body with his long fingers.

Jummai sat on a stool, still naked, and smiled at him. She loved how their smell combined and mingled with the one in this room, the smell that he had always claimed reminded him of his home, his hometown, in Calabar. Maybe it was because of her little cooking or the smell of her cape. She didn't know but she was glad he loved it.

They had met nine months earlier, when he had just been transferred to the close-by Kotoko barracks from Calabar. One fateful day, he had strayed from the barracks and had ended up wandering around for hours. The effects of his walk and the despair that laced his heart, like white on rice, was starting to eat him out and his head had begun to chime when he saw her.

Her back was turned and she was having a mud pot on her head. Her appearance gave the image of a painted lady showing off her body. Desperate, he had whistled and she had turned. Then, he heard something like a shriek before she broke into a sprint. He had run after her of course and had yelled madly like a big parade of thunderstorm before he stumped his legs and fell. He thought it was the end and his tough eyelids had gained softness and were about to dream when he heard movements. She had returned.

Her long robe left nothing but her finely drawn eyes and that was all it took to lose himself. After several persuasion, she had helped him up and, even after that, had kept a distance from him. Communicating with her was a problem but it was worth the haggle for when she finally spoke, her voice was delicate, like the just growing tender tendrils of cocoyams. He immediately felt thankful that he had strayed that far. They had shared smiles and she had afterwards shown him to Kotoko, his base. Maybe it was the strangeness with which they met or the pleasant welling in her heart when he spoke, she couldn't say but she had yearned to see him return. And he had. In the little bushes where they had first met.

Presently, they were in her stuffy room. In fact, it was a hut and she had been living in it for many years now. Baba had taken her to this place as soon as she had become mature and had grown full in some shameful parts - as Baba had put it - of her body. It was her other home - far from the one in the city, and every item in the room smelt of her sweats, amongst others. Normally, the huts were shared by 5, 6 girls but Baba's status had earned her hers. She put a few touches in some places. There was the wooden table in a corner; the plates; the neat pile of clothes, her Koran, and, lastly, the old, dull mat. The wooden table had become a part of her as Baba had made it for her since she was 16. She read her Arabic writings on it, prepared food on it and did all other things. Then, her meals which she was sure he enjoyed. She had begun cooking as far back as she could remember. The room had no definite paint color but the walls were not bare. The room was often dark at night save for the local locomotive lamp that burned lowly at times, as now. If one was mindless, lit or not, one could hit his shin against the heavy wooden table.

Droplets dropped on the thatched roof and that alarmed her mildly. It was 10 pm already and he couldn't sleep there. Sneaking him in the darkness hadn't been easy, think less if the rain forced him to wait till morning. Quickly, she put on her dark jellabiya and she escorted him into the compound. She feared the sun would just rise from its slumber and expose her betrayal to the heaving trees and her heart trembled out of fear. He realized and fondled her hands and she quietly slipped into her room. She thought of a wash but the other girls could notice and become suspicious. No, better not. After some time, she fell asleep on her mat, laying some wrappers on it, and then, dreamed of seeing him in a few weeks.

To Be Continued

stuff46:
I'm captured by the Synopsis.

I hope the story ensnares you.

EvaJael:


Yes!!! I'm here, dear. Fire on!

Welcome, baby. I need you here!

And, ah, yes, Leesah!

[quote author=OluwabuqqyYOLO post=72107420]And, ah, yes, Leesah![/quote ]
If you had not mentioned me ehn, let me not talk.. it's good to have you back dear. Welcome and ride on for I am on board with you

[quote author=Leesah post=72111995][/quote] Lol, you sure know you'll never be forgotten.

Ehm let me park my truck here

OluwabuqqyYOLO:

Lol, you sure know you'll never be forgotten.

Awwwww ..

-Let there be light.
-But we don't need it...
-Shh! Light...

CHAPTER 1, Of 1960

---

April 14, '53

---

The day was gradually getting dark. The sun's eyelids turned heavy - too heavy - and, soon, it fell asleep. Relief fell upon the city like heavy blocks of ice, bringing forth a chatter or two here and there. The adhans then sounded loudly from the minarets, settling in the atmosphere like fine, filtered, brown, sandy particles in salt. The rich, creamy darkness of the night then began to wear off and the skies loosened, unfolding the silver pores of the moon across its face. A peculiar ilk of cold, like weight on a wavering feather, then started to hang on the lapel of the night, releasing a mildly stinging air into the ambience.

Presently, a dark, manly silhouette sat under the apparently makeshift kiosk of a food vendor and rubbed each of his hands against the other, both stimulating just enough heat for the moment. He cussed under his rough breath, raided his throat and dump a load of phlegm into the muddy gutter that idly laid just before one entered the kiosk. There were times though - like the day before - when the gutter would be active and would gurgle with the brown roaring water like a volcano spitting huge, orange balls of fire. But that day was not one of those times. The silhouette put on a little, silver torch and some light pinched the darkness. He shone the illuminating circle on a mini clock that he held high in one of his dark hands and shook his head, as though to whine in pain. It was some minutes past the auspicious 21st hour.

An engine went off in a distance, behind Karim Leather Company, a 100 metre or so ahead, and a casually wistful noise followed. Again, the silhouette rubbed his hands together and did a quick quick eye. He walked toward a minivan and the lights landed on his face. It was Christopher, Jummai's man.

A man in ash knickers and black polo alighted from the minivan and ambled forward to meet him. They walked past each other without a gesture and after a few yards, they stopped and the minivan's lights broke into two. Each part evolved into nothingness and the ordinary silvery coating of the night returned.

'The war should end tomorrow,' the other man blabbed like a-month-old baby.

'But the battle has never been won.' He supplied and his hand swung to his chest like rifles of war.

'Gecko.'

'By the roadside, sir.'

'The general wants you back in 36 hours.'

'What?!' The words hit him hard, and he almost bit his tongue. 'There is an arrangement, sir...' the words came out incoherent. He felt cold beads of sweat fill his head.

'It's the general's order. Gecko, obey.' The voice was frozen, chill and lacked emotions. It carried a conviction, one that let it order others on someone else's command.

'Oh-kay!' He couldn't hold his emotions. His voice came out disjointed and a lump formed in his throat.

'Have your documents,' the man handed him an envelope. 'Arrive at evacuation area ut sit.'

'Bene mi.' He bowed his head.


He looked at the passport in his hand. 'Hayatou Selim.' His heart sank to the bottom, like sledgehammers in air, and he left it there. A jelly-like mess enveloped his head, like a ball of cotton wool left in water. Tears streamed down his face. He was powerless. And, for this, he was sad.

'DESTINATION: Hometown; Cameroon.'

Jummai... Jummai.. Jummai.
****TO BE CONTINUED****

Culin:
Ehm let me park my truck here

Please, don't park beside that my Beatles.
Welcome to the dream.

OluwabuqqyYOLO:
Please, don't park beside that my Beatles.
Welcome to the dream.

Hehe ok. Thanks.

OluwabuqqyYOLO:
I hope the story ensnares you.

Chat me up on Fb later tonight, we've got serious discusion.

-I love you.
-Like grown-ups do?
-No. For real.

---

May, 53
Jummai wiped the tears that hung at the edge of her eyes and were aching to spill already. She noticed that the laali painted on her light face was ruined. She sighed - one that encompassed pain and frustration. Then, she heard the drums beating softly, like the patters of a feline, and, then, loudly - like the blast of explosives. Her heart trembled and the anxiety and bitterness she had strove to keep within fell apart, right at her feet, like the wings of a twit in flight or maybe the outspread arms of a welcoming mother. She sighed heavily again and instead let the bitterness drown in the mess it had caused at her feet. She opened the non-challant kahl tube that laid idly on the brown, wooden table and enmeshed the slim dark coating stick in her eyes. Then she stamped the stick at the fore of her head and made the spot look like a thickly tender, rich full stop. She then loosened a grey knot of leaves and fetched some somewhat watery laali. The substance was quick-dry and, moments after, her hands brimmed of fashionable strands of black designs. Next, she scooped a red, heavy paste from a polyethylene bag and ran it across her lips. As an afterthought, she damped her hands with the flowery orange talcum and enveloped her face with it. Like the Monalisa, her face was a lit of colors and it bore a look of precious rubies. She opened a jar and gazed at her rippled reflection , and her heart split. What if Christopher saw her this way, she questioned. Then, it took her utmost effort not to cry but, even, her eyes turned glossy.

A warm night, a fortnight ago, when Baba had come to the door of her hut with Maman, the old caretaker of the guide, she immediately felt something was in the offing. Somehow, she knew what it was but she denied herself acceptance. Then, when it became clear - as darkness at night, and glaring like the bulge of a frog, she had died a thousand times. Quietly, she had decided to keep to her room in the most secluded area of Baba's large compound but Baba wouldn't let her. Everyday, he had made sure different women come to her room (some in the night with little, inquisitive lamps) to see her face. Everyday, the women had praised her to Baba's delight and had thanked Allah for making her their brother's bride. A few though had questioned Baba concerning her quietness and perceived coldness and she had heard scrapes of how he defended her. She would then later hear him ponder if she had been like so before she left home. But, no, he would think and eventually conceal his thoughts with a shrug. She would imagine his round frame standing in his room, with his arms akimbo and his fat, bald head heaving. Then, she would imagine that he would take off his jellabiya and sleep on his straw bed, dismissively dismissing his worries. One of the older women, Maman Idi, had upset Baba so well that he had knocked her door when it was dusk and the shadows had begun to fade.

'As salam alaeka,' he had whispered.

When she had answered, he had turned his back to her and pleaded with her if she was chaste. His voice demanded the truth and, though, she couldn't see his eyes, she knew he would be looking hungry - as though he was on a quest. But that was Baba and she liked him that way.

When Baba's mother had come, she had made it impossible for the old one to see her and the walkingstick had left, after hissing at her and shouting at Baba for letting her grow so old before marriage; now, she had grown sick because she had spent so long years in Gidan-Kotoko, the guide she and Christopher had rendered unclean together.

Presently, the usual pleasantries reached her ears and she knew her to-be-husband had arrived. The words exchanged were familiar and the faint tremor of pain filled her already split heart. It was the same way they had come for Zilehy, her elder sister, who had died a year after the rites. The musk that filled the house smelt the same as the one Zilehy's folk had worn but those memories were still too painful to relive and she returned everything to the abyss she had entrenched in her several years ago. Those memories were why Baba had let her grow so old. Her childhood friends were all married and had offspring already. When Baba had let them come in, each was with a child strapped to the back. Some would say the older yaro was outside and she would see him on the day of her ‘aure’ and she had mostly smiled.

Moments later, she was kneeling before Baba and a host of relatives. Sanni; Shemsiyah; Musa; Bala; Aisha... she had counted before her knees felt wobble and her eyes heavy with wool. Her sight blurred and everything in the large room lost shape. She confusedly held her nose and she felt the familiar tremor of vomiting rambling in her throat. Then, she passed out and her light-skinned flesh landed on the pound notes that laid a few metres before her.

Following...

-God could not be everywhere, so He created moms.

---

December, 1964

---

The woman knocked the door lazily—one at a time, like the beating of a dirgy drum—and waited, using the moments to stare wearily at her dark, fleshy shadow in the cast of the fire-wielding sun. She straightened the lapels of her grey rumpled wrapper and bent to wipe some dirt off her feet. Her hands then proceeded to her light face—and wholly rubbed the dust that were on her feet on it—and wiped the beads of sweat off it, each looking like a stony, silvery glass ball. Satisfied with how clean she had become, she began to knock the door fervently—as though a man grunting on a woman.

'As-alaekum!' She shouted and reinforced her knocks, thinking for a fleeting moment that she was chasing a bull. Sanni! Sanni!! Sanni!!!

Soon, her knuckles felt sore like needles had been stuck into them and the knocks grudgingly stopped. She put her back against the rough mis-aligned wall and glided down until her buttocks reached the bare soil. She fetched some roasted groundnuts from a little porch she carried and scooped water from a silent, watching clay pot. Her jaws, moments later, were marching on the spicy nuts—like heavy tracts of a bulldozer on an arable land—and lickety-split, she was dozing off, her reassuring snores rustling through the huge cacophony of green leaves and fruits, acting as a pronto shade from the acutely disturbing smile of the giant ball of heat seated gloomily in the skies.
****
Akimi walked further from the crying girl. He put his hands to his ears and angrily crossed the road. He stared back at her now and saw her still firmly rooted to where he had left her. His insides churned and burned, each organ soon resembling a crook, burnt and dark form of ash.

'Sherifah!' He barked and cut her up with his gaze. 'Ba ka zona ko?' He yelled and seemed to wait but the girl failed to take even a step. After some minutes, he looked around and found a long, thick guava twig—like a strand of dreadlocked hair—and marched his way toward her. He crossed the road - his jellabiya vacillating as his legs stamped wildly with each step. He raised the twig in the air, poised for action but decided otherwise as a strange thought filtered into his mind. He let the twig fall and, as he reached her, drew his hands into a punch and struck her little face intently. He struck again; then, again and the girl slumped, hitting her head on the idle mass of rock that sat behind her.

Akimi panicked immediately and dropped the punch he had drawn again. His protracted veins contracted instantly, like wrinkles on a baby's face. His angry face softened and his good-looking side came on. He folded his jellabiya and stooped to her side. The blood trickles ran down her pretty face and sullied the rock—like the birth that had begotten her. Her subtle eyelids lost the will and veiled her milky, glossy eyes. Her breathing became laboured and her teeth gritted in rapid succession. The chill air whirled beautifully and mingled with the blood that laid by her head. Then, the air turned vile and tempestuous and blew her hijab here and there as though it were hijacking the sticky veil. The clouds gathered and the bright colors that had been hanging at the treetops eroded, like the sexual desires of an aged woman.

Akimi's instincts came into place and he ran. It brought to mind—the tale the girl's mother had told her and her brother. The one that said her father had run away after she he got her fraught with them. But their mother had failed to tell them more - like how her Baba had slumped when he got to know of the pregnancy; or how everybody had despised her because of her infidelity; how Baba's properties had been usurped after his death; and how it had made them victims of circumstances. Those were the parts Jummai kept to herself and dreamed of as she snored at Sanni's door.

'Sherifah. Sherifah.' She muttered as she was shook awake and the familiar face of Sanni came into view. She smiled—an agitated, coloured baring of her teeth.

---

****TO BE CONTINUED****