Visit tamiokorodedeh.com, the latest in fiction blogging, ready to give TNC a run for their money. The short story That Girl is pretty good. They have a novel there too.

To my dear readers,

You might be wondering why I haven't posted in a while; this is due to my jam-packed schedule which includes work on my upcoming novel to be published with Okada Books. After careful consideration I have chosen to delete this account and move to a new one which bears my pseudonym, Tami Okoro Dedeh. All old stories will duly be transferred with new ones hopefully to follow, and the preview for my debut novel shall be published here for publicity.

Thanks to everyone for their support. A couple of people tried emailing me, but due to technical errors I was unable to view their messages. Let me assure you my inability to reply was not due to reluctance as I appreciate each and everyone of my supporters. Those wishing to contact me for literacy advice/comments may use the address tamiokorodedeh@yahoo.com. Please be aware that anything other than matters concerning my writing will not be considered.

By the grace of God, this is just the beginning. Let's enjoy this ride together.

Tami

mitchyy:
Just read this story. I wish every single lady hoping to marry a married man can see this as a stark reminder that it doesn't always end well eventually.

I"m happy Obiageli got what she deserved. She wasn't deceived. She knew what she was doing. Nonsense!

Thank God one person here has a brain. I can't believe there are people who feel sorry for her - let their husbands have a 15-year affair with a younger woman and see how it feels.

Originally, Obiageli was meant to storm into the wedding reception in her wedding gown to shoot Ayo before turning the gun on herself, but that would have been the end of the story, and chances are my readers would have wanted a sequel...

zukasteve:
Bhdhs

What does that mean?

omeira:
Cool story, unique narrative. I like how you write.
Hope to read more of your works ma'am.
PS- I've read others. I kinda like how you brought Libby's character into those stories

Thank you so much. I was planning to write a sequel to write a sequel to The Other Woman's Wedding, but have decided to put it on hold to concentrate on my upcoming novel to be published on Okada Books. I'll keep you posted!

[quote author=Creeza post=61575598][/quote]

Creeza:
I read this to the end. Op did you capitalise , in anyway, that Nigerian Men are sexual narcists who have nothing else to think of, in your view, except quenching their hunger pangs( food and otherwise)? If so, i think you should reconsider.



The story about Temi's ordeal happens in homes where the human nature is a mere mockery of religion, and this I mean practically, and downcasting of the relevance of girl- child in terms of tangible and minute inputs to societal life.



I Know where you got your idea from. '' well I dont know which party my wife belongs to, but I know she belongs to my living room, my KITchen and Zha Oza Room'' @BABA BUBU



Islam pepetrates a system where the opinion of a woman is best to nothing. Watch or stream this video :
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N_h6tSNXgBk


OR READ it up on wikipedia https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Osama_(film). I'd advise you stream it, you will cry for women- its slow and dragged, emotional but you'll wish you could jump into the screen and help the poor girl. (Marina Golbahari)


Either you failed to state that the couple is from a muslim home, ofcourse a third of yorubas are, Or you did not get your fact well, pardon me, before writing this story.
OR yet still, I'm sure this babarism is far gone and erased from our culture as Nigerians. I AM A PROUD Nigerian. A Christain and Indeed a lover of human justice and equality.

Nice piece though. So thought provoking. except for the sadism to men.

My mistake - just realised it's not a Nigerian film. But I can confirm I've never even heard of it.

Creeza:
I read this to the end. Op did you capitalise , in anyway, that Nigerian Men are sexual narcists who have nothing else to think of, in your view, except quenching their hunger pangs( food and otherwise)? If so, i think you should reconsider.



The story about Temi's ordeal happens in homes where the human nature is a mere mockery of religion, and this I mean practically, and downcasting of the relevance of girl- child in terms of tangible and minute inputs to societal life.



I Know where you got your idea from. '' well I dont know which party my wife belongs to, but I know she belongs to my living room, my KITchen and Zha Oza Room'' @BABA BUBU



Islam pepetrates a system where the opinion of a woman is best to nothing. Watch or stream this video :
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N_h6tSNXgBk


OR READ it up on wikipedia https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Osama_(film). I'd advise you stream it, you will cry for women- its slow and dragged, emotional but you'll wish you could jump into the screen and help the poor girl. (Marina Golbahari)


Either you failed to state that the couple is from a muslim home, ofcourse a third of yorubas are, Or you did not get your fact well, pardon me, before writing this story.
OR yet still, I'm sure this babarism is far gone and erased from our culture as Nigerians. I AM A PROUD Nigerian. A Christain and Indeed a lover of human justice and equality.

Nice piece though. So thought provoking. except for the sadism to men.

God as my witness, I'd NEVER seen this movie/drama before; if anything, I was inspired by Henrik Ibsen whose plays I had studied as a Drama student. I am not a male basher, I'm just telling it the way it is - men like that still exist, even here in the UK, believe me. Liberation was loosely based on the story of my cousin who was kicked out and replaced with another woman, the only difference is my cousin has a Law degree, and for the record, we're Christians. I wrote Emancipation to show that despite the odds, a woman doesn’t have to take that nonsense. The characters didn’t even have to be Nigerian. Look at what happened with Mel B - in her own words, her useless husband smacked her down because she was growing too tall for him, but in the end she left his ass. Finally, the last words at the end were loosely inspired by the Chibok girls - if a girl wants to be educated before marrying, it's her right. Thanks for reading.

mceze:


You are a good writer..I want to go into script writing. I have good story lines. I wouldn't mind you mentoring me..Be my mentor pls!
My email-angelezeus@yahoo.com..Thanks in advance

How could I possibly be a mentor when I'm still learning myself? At the moment I'm writing short stories and novels which is pretty far removed from script-writing, and of course I'm in the UK, so that could be a problem. However I could offer you a few words of advice.

Do some thorough research before you write. If, for example, a character is fighting a serious disease, be sure to look into it before working it into the script, but unless it is a medical drama like ER, don't overdo it - there's nothing worse than having to watch a scene interrupted by medical mumbo-jumbo when I'm beginning to relate to the story/character. Develop the main and supporting characters properly. What is their background? What are their likes/dislikes? What is their disposition? Most importantly, what do they add to the storyline? Never write a scene or line simply because its funny or interesting as it slows down the story, and the viewers need to move at the same pace, or they'll get bored. When you write a scene, ask yourself "What does it do to the story, and will the story survive if I take it out?" That goes for characters, too - don't add too many, because you should only have the main, the supporting, the minors, and the extras...and don't make the mistake of making your extras main characters, a common Nollywood flaw - they should only get a certain amount of screen time. Make sure you write your script in good English, but this does not necessarily mean you should fill your work with big words no-one has ever heard of, because believe me, the audience hate that. Checkmate and Basi & Company were very well-scripted, and people still remember them with fondness many years later. Finally, protect your work, because let me tell you, the industry is full of lazy idiots who could steal your work, and if you don't have the legal backing, you're doomed. If you can't afford a copyright lawyer, use the 'lazy man's method' to copyright your work.

Good luck.

neryboss:
I don't want to hear that there's no episode 2. I will be jejely waiting for it

Read my other stories - one of them will soon have a sequel.

xtremeTall:
Boring

Thank you kindly.

sochey:
When is episode two coming up
I can't wait

Unfortunately, that's where the story ends, and there are no plans for a part two. But great news - The Other Woman's Wedding will soon have a sequel.

Thanks to those who have supported my writing on Nairaland - I do all of this for you. To the rebels without a cause out there (You know who you are): the heading clearly states "short story", and if you have a problem with fiction, piss off. If you want an empty story, watch a trashy Nollywood movie with no proper storyline and rubbish actors. Most of the positive comments were received after I posted The Other Woman's Wedding, and I am happy to confirm there will be a sequel which I am currently working on in addition to my debut novel. In the meantime, here is another story which also appeared on TNC. The administrators changed the title without informing me first which I found disrespectful and unnecessary, and I can honestly say I will never write for them again. As their royalties are paid in naira, the money is of no major significant given I buy in pounds. Here is the story with the title in its original glory albeit with a few edits - Emancipation. Libby Thomas from Liberation is mentioned briefly as in The Other Woman's Wedding, and unfortunately men like Bisi do exist.

Enjoy, and thanks again.

PS - Why do my other two stories have asterisks at the end of the title? I know I didn't put them there...


***



Temi sighed as she looked up from the pages she was reading, then left a bookmark inbetween to preserve the place, swearing under her breath. Twenty minutes of cramming and revising was hardly enough to absorb any knowledge, and all she wanted was to bury herself in her pile of assignments. Was that too much to ask? To her pompous husband Bisi, it most definitely was. There was always a reason, excuse, or taunt to pry her away from her studies when she least expected. When would she start preparing dinner? Had she collected his suits from the dry cleaners? Why was she wasting her time over an exam she was unsure of passing? She shook her head in frustration, asking for the millionth time how her own husband could be terribly unsupportive.

Temi dashed out of bed and hid the book under the clothes in her drawer before producing another one completely unrelated to the module she was learning, and as she placed it on her pillow with the pages down, she could hear the impatience in Bisi’s voice as he yelled out for her yet again. As she was hardly in the mood for another cussing session she quickly headed towards the living room where he was sitting in front of their giant flatscreen with an ice-cold beer frothing in a glass beside him as the World Cup qualifier transmitted, hardly noticing Temi as she announced her presence.

“What the hell took you so long? I’ve been calling for you several times, but you’ve been in bed doing nothing.” Temi winced at this fib as Bisi had only called twice, but remained silent as he continued. “I’m hitting the hay early tonight because I have this really important meeting tomorrow. There’s this delegation arriving from Johannesburg, and I have to be well-rested and prepared. Perhaps you should start dinner now?” He reclined on the sofa as his wife grimaced through clenched teeth. Typical, she thought, the only time you develop those hunger pangs is whenever I open a book.

“Now? It’s too early…” Temi had hardly began to speak when Bisi cut her off in a voice so calm it was almost deafening. It could only mean trouble.

“Maybe I’m not making myself clear,” Bisi replied as he reduced the volume with the remote control. “The meeting is important, and I have to be there very early. It concerns a valuable contract the company have been negotiating for months, and as I’m in charge I’m determined to see this deal through. Because let’s face it, somebody has to pay for those exams you’re likely to fail. So if I were you I’d stop arguing, do as I’m told, and prepare the bloody meal. The sooner you start serving, the sooner I can go to bed. And we’ll leave it at that.” His steely glare pierced through Temi who struggled with her emotions as he uttered his insensitive command. “Is that clear? ”

Temi nodded slowly as she turned towards the kitchen, but reversed to take a few steps towards Bisi who was still captivated by the match. “Darling, can I borrow your laptop afterwards? I’ll need it for research, and my own computer still hasn’t been fixed.” She braced herself with crossed fingers as she awaited the reply he was certain to blurt out, and he did not disappoint.

“No.”

“But you’re watching TV now, and you’re going to bed after you’ve eaten…”

“Are you deaf?” Bisi’s sudden outburst caused Temi to coil back in terror as he raged on. “If it's research you want to do, go to the internet café down the road, go to the library, go to your father’s house…I don’t give a s***. It’s that or nothing. Either way, you’re not using my laptop, and that’s that. Why do you even need a Masters degree?” He paused to light a B&H as Temi attempted to recover from this outburst, her mouth still agape. “Oh, and by the way, I want rice.” With these words he turned up the sound, and Temi fumingly marched to the kitchen where she opened her cupboard in search of ingredients, using all her restraint to stop herself from slamming its doors in anger. She had been married to him long enough to accept he would always be difficult, but this was ridiculous; he knew she would never consider stepping into that rundown café where she was sure to be chatted up by lecherous 419ners as she struggled with her revision. As Bisi’s wife, she was entitled to his support, yet all she received was scorn and criticism which showed no sign of disappearing. She craned her neck to inspect the other cupboard, and upon realising she had run out of salt and stock cubes, Temi reached for her purse and informed Bisi who grunted his approval as he took another sip from his glass.

Had Bisi damaged Temi’s laptop on purpose? It seemed likely; after an expensive textbook went missing without an explanation she had taken drastic measures to prevent similar incidents in future, which was why she had bought that second-hand book. No prizes for guessing who was responsible for its disappearance, she thought as she paid the jovial petty trader for the ingredients. Note pads, handouts, and printouts always seemed to vanish without reason, and as she walked back home Bisi’s words were increasingly poignant. Luckily there were no children involved to witness any tension between both parents. The couple had tried conceiving since their wedding eighteen months prior without success, although expensive tests had proved Temi was still fertile. Yet Bisi refused to accept this, constantly specifying barrenness was unheard of on his side of the family, and for months Temi had endured this taunt with his other major put-down...

Those exams you’re likely to fail.

The words continued to haunt Temi as she measured the grains into the basin until a lightbulb pinged in her head – Bisi was masterminding her pending failure, willing to throw away a fortune in tuition fees to ensure she remained a lousy failure…and an even lousier doormat. With a sigh, she unwrapped the stock cubes but did a double take as she recognised the lady in the old Hello! Nigeria page the petty trader had used to envelope the Maggi. Temi uncrumpled the paper, then scanned through the article. Everyone in Lagos knew Libby Thomas was the hottest interior designer/events planner in town, but her colourful life had not always been glitz and glamour. Rumour had it her ex-husband, a high-flying bank manager, had kicked her out of their marriage with their children trailing behind her, promptly replacing her with the hydroquinone-crazy youth corper he had mentored at work. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, she had used her artistic talent to the best of her ability despite the odds stacked against her (No experience, limited funds, divorced with two children…). Six years on, Libby Thomas was a successful entrepreneur enjoying the fruits of her manic labour with her now-teenage children and rumoured boyfriend, the dashing London-born Bob Purnell who ran an advertising agency in Victoria Island. Temi’s eyes lit up with admiration for the striking lady posing in her cherry-red evening gown whilst clutching a champagne flute, and nodded. Any husband who belittled his wife to retain his Alpha-male status was not worthy of her love and devotion, and enough was enough.

Temi switched off the stove before making her way to the bedroom. The fake textbook she had left on the bed was nowhere to be seen, confirming her suspicions. Enough was enough. After throwing a few essentials into a suitcase she grabbed the books that had survived Bisi’s wrath, as well as documents and files from her primary teaching job. Then she sat at her vanity mirror where she combed her hair and glided Peach Blossom across her lips. Her husband, still glued to SuperSport 3, was resting another beer on the ever expanding waistline he had long ignored despite his family and friends’ teasing. Good luck negotiating at that fake meeting tomorrow with a hangover, but don’t expect me to clear up your vomit if you get drunk, because this is it, she thought, as she stood tall in her four-inch heels, blocking his view as the game went into a penalty round.

“Do you mind?” Bisi growled as he stretched sideways to watch the match. “You are not transparent, can’t you see I’m trying to watch the football?” Noticing the change in Temi’s appearance he hissed in anger, his voice rising a notch higher. “If you’re thinking of giving some stupid fashion parade, forget it. I'm not in the mood.”

“Fashion parade? I’m not moving because I have something to say, so why don’t you forget the TV for once and listen?” Bisi was stunned at the aplomb he never knew she processed, but she had barely started. “What exactly do you have against a Masters degree? No need to pretend – I know you’ve been hiding all those books. You’re pulling all the stops to make sure I fail, that’s why you disturb me whenever I study while you sit there in your boxers watching SuperSport all day, everyday. Important meeting indeed…”

“Temi, I’m warning you now, watch your words! Remember who’s paying for that degree before you insult me.” Bisi, who had now abandoned the match, was equally agitated. “I’m paying your fees, hoping you’ll f***ing pass…”

“Insult you? For months you have doubted my ability to sail through any exam, you have accused me of being barren, you put me down every blessed day, and you say I'm insulting you?” Temi let out a sarcastic cackle, noticing two cigarette burn marks on his boxers as Bisi attempted to switch off the set with the remote, but the batteries were weak due to his constant fiddling, and as he stood to perform the task manually, Temi could barely decide what surprised her more – his change of tune, or his unexpected ability to unglue his lazy chauvinist arse off the sofa. “Be honest, the only reason your throwing away your money is because you’re willing to do whatever it takes to prove to everyone I’m not good enough. I’m sick of you sabotaging my progress, and I’ve had enough. All I wanted was to borrow your computer for my research, but you’d rather I went to that rowdy den of fraudsters across the road when there’s already a computer at home. And don’t lie to me – I know you hid my books; you did it today – did you think I wouldn’t notice? Think what you like, but I’m not dumb. I don’t understand why you feel threatened by an educated woman in the year 2017, but I won’t stick around to hear your excuse. Continue with your football, don’t let me stop you.” With these words Temi paced behind the sofa to retrieve her suitcase as Bisi watched with disbelief but he quickly recovered to deliver a tirade of abuse Temi chose to ignore until he dropped the ultimate.

“Stop that nonsense, woman, and get back into the kitchen.”

“No.” It was clear Temi would no longer be pushed – literally or mentally. “Are you even listening to yourself? ‘Go back to the kitchen’…seriously? You really are beyond help.” She nodded towards the laptop which had long finished recharging in a corner of the living room but was still attached to wire due to Bisi’s complacent sloth. “See that? If you can walk across the room to reach it, go on YouTube so you can learn how to cook, clean the house, get rid of your fat belly…anything that will stop you being a total arsehole. And that’s what I call research!”

Bisi was fuming as Temi slammed the door with her head held high, too agitated to acknowledge chants of “GOAL!” from jubilant neighbours running outside to dance merrily and light fire crackers. With her heels clinking Temi wheeled her suitcase behind her, and as she made her way toward her parents’ home – one of the options Bisi had suggested during his harsh criticism – she assured herself she would be fine, whatever the situation. She had no idea where life would take her now she had walked out of her marital home, but as long as she had determination the sky was her limit, and as she raised her head to observe the firework sparks, she knew in her heart she had made the right decision.

Education is your right.
Marriage is your choice.