[size=14pt]My husband, my slave![/size]
By Segun Durowaiye
Sunday, 9 Oct 2011


I want my husband to be my slave and do whatever I want. That’s my heart’s desire. Men should be slaves to their wives. I’m sure Orilola is dating another woman; I can’t share my husband with anyone. He must do my wish and dance to my tune any day and any time. I’ll go and see Baba Ifagbemi at his shrine this weekend for a charm that’ll make Orilola become my slave so that I can toss him around and use him anyhow I like.”


For about 10 minutes, Mrs. Orilola talked to herself absent-mindedly. Her two children had gone to London for summer holidays, and they would arrive that afternoon with their dad, Mr. Orilola. Talking about money, you could never underrate Mr. Orilola. He was a very rich man. He was the chairman of many companies, home and abroad. He was a nice man, as attested by many people. He was love and simplicity incarnate. He took special care of his family and the needy. He touched the lives of many people who were not even related to him. He was a rich man who didn’t believe in garnering titles. He had been given chieftaincy titles, but he always turned them down and maintained just ‘Mr. Orilola.’ He was a philanthropist who doled out millions of naira in the service of humanity and wouldn’t want his name mentioned like some egoistic rich men.


Mrs. Orilola was the only wife of the tall, handsome and ebullient multi-millionaire businessman. They had been married for the past 10 years; so far, it has been a sweet, wonderful and lovely married life. Mrs. Orilola had everything she wished. Their beautifully-furnished mansion in highbrow Victoria Island, Lagos, was simply breathtaking and out-of-this-world! It was paradise on earth! She had everything at the tip of her finger. There were cooks that took care of the family meal; drivers and housemaids that made sure the Orilolas did not labour at all. They had close to 30 exotic cars in their garage; and Mr. Orilola showed unlimited love and passion to his beautiful wife the way kings treat their queens.


He would travel to America and Europe to shop for his family, particularly his beautiful wife. She wore the most expensive clothes and jewellery befitting a queen. Her skin was smooth and velvety, like the softest flower. The fact was that the Orilolas were living in super-abundance.


That early morning, Mrs. Orilola was at the shrine of Baba Ifagbemi, the old geomancer, who was skilled in the occult art of divination. Her mission was to get a potent love potion that would make her loving husband become her slave totally. In the whole of Idugan, a town on the outskirts of Lagos, no one could compete with the bald old man in the uncommon art of geomancy.


He was feared by all and sundry simply because of his spiritual and metaphysical powers. “Now Baba Ifagbemi,” she said, “I need the most powerful love potion that would turn my husband into my slave, to act like my houseboy and do whatever I order him. Just name your price, I’ll pay it. I have to be at home before 3:00p.m. because he would be arriving home from London with my kids today.” She adjusted her headgear and knelt in front of the diviner.


“Irunmole, the spirits of evil and good have heard all you wanted,” the old geomancer replied in a guttural voice; “but this kind of love potion will cost you N300,000. The gods will take care of your heart’s desire. If you pay me the money, I’ll bring the love potion from my magical bag of power now and hand it to you.” He spat thrice inside a ram horn containing black soap.


“Money is not the problem, baba, as you well know I’m always loaded,” she gestured, then delicately opened her handbag and brought out three crisp bales of N1,000 notes, totalling N300,000. She handed the three bales to the old herbalist. The diviner gave a toothy smile and giggled too. He reached for a bag hanging on the blood-stained wall of his shrine. He opened it instantly and dipped his hand inside it.


“Now, take this black powder,” he said, nodding his head confidently.

http://www.punchng.com/Articl.aspx?theartic=Art201110090471720

hmmm yorubas ll say
ayo lo pa