interesting!

Aisha is only a fool,she lacks manner n needs medical rehabilitation.your tinkin faculty is jerkin dt y,your talk carries full weight of illiteracy.am sure,u r a nit-wit.if u rily read ur bible,it says peace maketh d path of d righteous.it also says blessed r d peacemakers,4 dey shal b calld son of God.

Strange and touching story, I've always felt as human beings we can't control what happens to us but choose how we respond to them, the strange thing is that the story is very real. With some 'creative embellishment' here and there but what a story. definitely fit for superstory. I hope it doesn't turn nasty though.

,

Nice one

Ras deputy branch manager.
Gimme a break and lemme enjoy your work of fiction,jare.

I am so hooked. The english is perfect. I wish she had 20 fingers to write her story faster, i don't even care if the story is true or fiction, but it is just interesting read so far, best story i have read in a while,

the story sounds interesting, fictional or otherwise , she is a good writer,

but sha i feel for her.

Waiting for illegal immigrants like Tunmi to post on this thread

^^^

I see

Some things don't add up in this "true story":
1. Nobody becomes a Deputy Manager in a Nigerian Bank after 6 years (except she's talking about a community bank).

2. She started this relationship with Tunde 6 years ago (who later advised her to get a masters in banking in order to secure a bank job), meaning she's only spent about 4 years in banking.

3. Unless her father is d owner of d bank(which is impossible since he's a retired civil servant),there's no way she'd have risen to such heights in 4 short years, her story is nothing but undiluted fiction.

Onto d next crap pls!

nice story.

A very interesting sad story to read on. I can't imagine the pain she went through.

Nice

what a thriller.cant wait for the rest of the story.pls dont keep me waiting for too long.

Fiction or fact, very interesting

OYA PHARTIMOUR(or is her name Bose) cum on gimmmmme soooooomeeee mooooooore!!!!

The story is interesting. Cant wait for the rest of the story. But to be candid, this story looks real. Most often, women are always at the receiving end. This is why the law favours the women in America and developed countries

Ajike:

Fiction or fact, very interesting

Seconded

Sandra is worried about me.

She keeps trying to talk to me. I keep evading her. Sometimes, I reply her with an incoherent mumble. She must think I’m either shy or speak very bad English. No woman would suspect her sister-in-law is actually her husband’s wife.

The worst part of the American house is that the walls are thin. You can hear a lot of what is going on, on the other side of the wall. I have been here four days now. Twice, my husband and his wife have had sex. Twice, I’ve tried to pull out my hair.

From their conversations and from looking around the house, I have also found out that Sandra has two grown daughters. One is at a university in Florida and the other lives with her boyfriend in Atlanta. The elder girl is older than me. Last night, I heard Sandra tell Tunde the girls can’t wait to meet me when they come home for Thanksgiving.

I know that would not happen. I will give myself a Thanksgiving gift before the day comes. I will kill myself.

Tunde works really long hours. He’s gone from seven in the morning till eleven at night. I think he’s also trying to give me some space. He comes to my room every night, keeps the door open and stays for a few minutes.

He’s a great actor, Tunde. He speaks to me in pidgin and Yoruba as if we’re having a conversation. Sometimes, he even laughs out loud even though I haven’t said anything to him. I think it’s his way of showing Sandra everything is okay.

I am beginning to think Tunde is the devil’s first child.

Sandra is a social worker and works more humane hours. She’s gone from eight in the morning till six in the evening.

“So, how are you liking America so far?” she asked me when she came home yesterday evening.

“Fine,” I said and slinked back into the guest bedroom.

Two hours later, she knocked on the door.

“Dinner’s ready,” she said.

“Thanks, I already ate,” I lied.

I think Sandra thinks I spend most of my time sleeping because that night, right around midnight, I heard her talking to Tunde after they’ve had another round of noisy sex.

“I think your sister doesn’t like me,” Sandra started.

“Are you kidding? She adores you. She’s just scared you’ll catch her cold,” Tunde replied.

“She’s been avoiding me,” Sandra said.

“She’s shy. Give her some time,” Tunde replied with a chuckle. “Do you know how many white people are in Nigeria? Close to zero.”

“I think something’s wrong,” she insisted.

“I’ll talk to her,” Tunde promised.

“Do it when I’m not here. I don’t want her thinking I don’t like her,” Sandra pleaded.

They were silent for a few minutes. I was wondering what they were doing. Did they know I was awake and were whispering now? I didn’t have to wait for long.

“Do you think she’s pregnant?” Sandra suddenly asked.

“What?” Tunde shouted.

That scared me. I hope I’m not pregnant because if I am, I will find the tallest building in Baltimore and jump from the roof. I mean what will my child call his or her father? Uncle? God forbid bad thing!

“I’ve seen this a lot of times with the kids downtown. The sickness, throwing up, withdrawal and shame,” Sandra continued.

“If she’s pregnant, my father would have killed her before she left Lagos,” Tunde replied.

“But, you have no father,” Sandra corrected.

“We call my uncle that raised us “father”,” Tunde replied quickly.

I have to keep up with Tunde’s lies. I know he has a father. I know because I go to his house in Lagos once a month just to say hello to him and Tunde’s mother. And, of course, give them a little money and buy them some groceries. It’s what every good Nigerian daughter-in-law does.

Today, Tunde came home unexpectedly in the afternoon. His eyes were red like one of those marijuana-smoking boys in Fela’s old shrine in Lagos. He was shaking with anger as he barged into my bedroom.

“Okay, this nonsense has to stop right now!” he screamed as he entered.

“You are the nonsense!” I shouted as I jumped up.

“You will not talk back to me!” he yelled.

“I will say whatever I want!” I yelled back.

SMACK! Tunde struck me with a slap so vicious I fell down. My vision was blurry for a few moments. I got up, fought through the daze, grabbed him and tried to fight back.

I was a toy in his hands. He’s over six feet tall, almost two hundred and fifty pounds of mostly muscles. I’m half a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter. But, I didn’t give up. I kept fighting and clawing. My stubborness turned him into an animal.

He held my wrists together with one wrist, unhooked his belt and whipped me. I screamed, kicked and cried. But, this is America. Everybody works. I doubt if there was anyone home on the entire block.

After a while, he held me tightly and started mumbling some gibberish. I was stunned for a few moments because it felt like he was speaking in tongues. I relaxed a little. Big mistake. He took that as a sign that I was now more compliant, that he had beaten the stubbornness out of me.

He tried to kiss me. I bit his lips. If he had jumped back, I would have bitten a large chunk of it off. That enraged him. He tore off my skirt and yanked away my underwear. I tried to fight him off. But, it was useless. He bent me over and rammed himself into me.

I had never been raped. Now, I knew what it feels like.

I wish I had AIDS.

hmm.

hmmm, i'm liking this latest one, pls diary, continue 

wow. . . . .  why can't this be written everyday?
am so loving it

cant this girl go bck to nigeria

or find somewhere else to go

does she really have to stay in that same house ?

nice story but its starting to look like a nollywood movie script

Moooooooooooooooooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!

Now, i know this is another good fiction story. She started very well, but its beginning to be watered down. Nigerian women are not known to be this patience. Nigerian woman in the same house with her rival? who is "banging" her rival in the next room. Na lie, no be Nigerian woman that i know. Meanwhile, lets keep enjoying the make belief,

^^ it does happen.

Some things don't add up in this "true story":
1. Nobody becomes a Deputy Manager in a Nigerian Bank after 6 years (except she's talking about a community bank).

my brother as long as u're bringing in good good good money (able to secure big customers with big money every now and then) you can rise to anywhere even before that six yrs in a bank. remember some banks do their appraisal every six six month

hmmmmmm what can i say??

The diary is updated. Interesting twist this week.

Orphan In America
I’m Tunde’s new toilet. He comes home every afternoon and pisses in me. Then, he drinks a bottle of beer and goes back to work.
He’s done it three days in a row now. I try to fight him but I end up with bruises. Back home, I would get down on my knees and pray to God for delivery when I have a problem. But, I’ve temporarily lost faith in God.
How could God put me in this position? I have worshipped him all my life. I always put my faith in him. You would think that with the tithe I pay in church, God would have somehow given me a hint before I jumped on the plane in Lagos.
http://bosediary.com/2011/02/27/orphan-in-america/