Note from the Author- It has been a long time since I last uploaded anything here on Nairaland. I even have a story still unfinished from my past, for this I am sorry to all the readers I left hanging. Life has been turbulent for me in many ways, it still is, but I cannot wait for a calm. Over the years, having picked up quite a number of hobbies and qualifications, I have changed in many ways, but in many more ways than naught I am still the same Redmosquito who joined this site just as a pubescent child and I still love to write and still hunger for the pen. Though, I have very little to write about, for the unfortunate reason that the ideas never seem to come to my mind fully-formed; despite the intense itch. Nonetheless, I have resolved to simply grind it out of my soul, no matter how blurry and half-formed the stories are in my head.
The stories I shall upload on here shall be based on my real-life experiences, some readers might have seen some of these stories floating about Twitter, cos it garnered a bit of publicity on my page, I have edited them into what I feel is a higher quality.

I hope with this page, I shall be able to re-ignite the flames of literary creativity that once burned so brightly within me, and maybe even start other stories and share that same flame with you. Hope you enjoy.

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1.
I've been stuck in the United States for four months now due to the international Covid Shutdown.
Four months! One hundred and twenty days of utter isolation and near-torture. Thankfully, I have family here to keep me company, but there is only so much company they can give. Only so much. Loneliness was beginning to knock at my door, a different sort of loneliness, the loneliness of hardened nipples and starving lips, so I decided to go out into the streets of Philadelphia and see if I could get to meet women. I would have tried Tinder, but those ones tried to scam me, a gist for another day.

I woke up, did a little workout to get the blood flowing, had my bath, tried to smell nice and look clean. Not too clean, just clean enough. So here I find myself, on the streets of Philly, on the prowl, looking to meet women the old-fashioned way. I’m in my nonsense tank top on the way to the grocery store.

I eyed first babe just as soon as I entered the store, she’s picking vegetables in the food section. Clean shape inside tight jeans. My brain begin dey calculate. Every hunter knows the chances of failure are high. You're simply hoping the chances tilt in your favor small. She's picking things around, I'm following her sensibly at a respectable distance, fam, I even entered pampers section just to appear busy and not set her off.
Babe is walking about the store, hunter is walking about too. All I've been doing for weeks is reading, graphic art and programming. Hunter needs to make a move. I have starved for far too long to mess this chance up.

I need an opening to engage her, but I can't see any. She's always picking things and walking about too fast. Suddenly she's in line for checkout, she's slipping away. If I don't catch her before she checks out, I might miss this chance forever, she's next in line. I'm walking up to talk to her now; suddenly she walks to the check register. Damn! Plan don bash! Hunter has failed so soon. Or have I?
She turns to look at me, as if suspicious of my movement, I quickly pick something from one aisle as if that's what I wanted to buy, I try to blend into the surrounding. Camouflage, my fellow predators will know what I’m talking about.
I am determined, I've walked the length and breadth of this store, and I’ve seen no other babe that is up to her standard. So I'm suddenly standing in Apple Juice Aisle, while she's checking out. I'm standing right in front of American Apple Cidar but my eyeballs are twisted to the left, eyeing her with discretion.

See, one has to be careful with these Americans; they carry all sorts of weapons, ranging from simple pepper-spray to tasers to flat-out guns. I dey hunt for babe no mean say I wan chop bullet for Obodo. I don’t want to spook someone’s daughter now and next thing you know I end up in an ambulance.

She's opening her purse, paying for her items, packaging them. My heart is thumping, I'm touching apple juice to appear normal, but hunter is timing, hunter doesn't want apple juice, hunter doesn’t need apple juice. Suddenly, she carries her grocery bags and walks out the exit. This is my chance. Hunter quickly drops apple juice, walking swiftly but suavely, hot on her heels.

I dash out of the store after her, keeping a respectable distance between us still. She's in the parking lot, her car-keys in her right hand, I catch gaze of the keys, they look like the keys of an SUV. Damn! My mind is telling me, "Damn! This woman pass your level oo. See as her car-key fine". I'm like "Bleep it! Man gaz bold"

I get to her side; she's covered in facemask like me. I quickly say "Hello", she turns to me with a serious bold look in her eyes. My brain is having to think fast, unlike in Nigeria where I'd easily know what to say, here I'm like a fish out of water, I don't know the nuances of the pickup culture here, I don't exactly know how the women here relate to strange men.

And I also have that strong Nigerian accent that I'm sincerely not confident about. Many times, you have to repeat words to these people ‘cos of the accent. Pickups require quick lines that the woman can quickly get, not someone to keep asking you "Excuse me, what did you say?!"
I'm poorly dressed. I have no money here, no job, no car, I'm literally disadvantaged enough as it is. But man gaz bold.

I quickly say, "Oh! I saw you in the store and I thought you were quite pretty, so I just thought I'd come over and say hi, is that cool with you?"

She takes a second to reply, my mind dey calculate, I don’t exactly know how she’s taking it; I mean, let’s be honest, I just told a woman in full face-mask that I saw her and I think she’s pretty, really. This facemask culture is concealing, the entirety of a person’s face is communicative, especially women. What they do not say with their mouths, they say with their foreheads, their nose, and even the way they move and twist their lips. With a facemask, you’re forced to extrapolate from only just the eyes and the forehead, and try to discern from their tone, a dearth of information, really. She looks ahead as she's walking, then says "Alright, that's cool!".

Goal ball jorh!!
But I am struck, her accent is un-American, infact it is more similar to mine than it is to the Americans.
That's how I met Stephanie, a Ghanaian who just made her first Nigerian friend, me.
From there, I quickly carry on, all I need is opening, I sabi move the rest. She collects my number, which is quite fine with me. I bid her farewell as she enters her jeep and I run back to the store for round two, I need to see what else is in the river.

I'm already feeling a little happy for my round 1. But every hunter knows that you can't just get one babe, you need to get plenty, not because you're greedy, but because the chances of failure are quite high. If you go out and meet ten girls, mathematically speaking, only one or two will click. It’s no fault of yours; it’s just the way the system is. Some will just not like you, some will have other lovers, some will just be incompatible with you. Failure is the norm, success is the outstanding rarity. So the hunter needs to take more chances.

In the pampas section I see these two women, one is looking like a mother, she just has that weary look of a young mother shopping for her baby, the second person, her friend, Damn! She's petite like a girl I once dated, hot shape, tights on ass, wearing a crop top, has a navel ring, blue hair, beautiful pink nails, wearing these coloured dental-braces. I can even see the waist-beads. You can use waist-beads to thief my destiny, I swear. Wow! Inseminating! You see I know that those dental braces she’s wearing should already tell me she’s expensive af, but do I care? Nope! We still reach for it.
You know that in this life, sometimes it's good to shoot your shot beyond what you know you're capable of. It's like carrying a canoe and attempting to hunt a whale. But your madness can sometimes shock you.

This one is quite complicated, ‘cos she's with a friend. One woman is hard enough, when she's with a friend, it's much more difficult. Cos they'll be blocking each other, you'll have to get one when there's chance, and you must not be rude to the other. The babe you want to meet might want to keep up appearances for her friend, so she can easily ridicule you or turn you down. It's ten times harder, so I believe.

I enter pure water aisle, it is from there that I'm timing them. Hunter has his eye set, my brain dey calculate. I'm doing like I'm eyeing bottled water, like I'm reading the label. "This water is 100% pure!", the way I'm looking at the label, somebody will think I'm a health inspector.

Suddenly they go to beef aisle and I see small space between the two friends, they're both selecting packs of beef separately. The hunter leaps into action. I forget that I'm still holding a bottle of water, I walk to beef section and I'm still reading the water label. I quickly turn to her.

"Excuse me", I say, she turns to me and looks confused, she no even dey wear mask; masks have become mandatory in all the stores in America, everyone is wearing one except her, that should have clued me in that this one na agbero. I say "Hi", she replies "Hi" and suddenly walks away towards her other friend.

They're both saying some things to each other quickly in that Africa-American accent that I don't understand and they're laughing as they're saying it. I don't exactly know what they're saying. "They are laughing at you", my brain tells me. Hunter cannot be shamed. Na lie, they're not laughing at me, I assert to myself. Ginger! I remain there small, reading water bottle label in beef aisle, still eyeing them with corner eye.
I move to beef jerky aisle, I'm waiting for another chance. I blew the first one, her American accent and her cold reply blew me off, I was too weak, I didn't have the confidence to finish the job, I should have said something smarter, done something quicker. A hunter cannot afford to be so slow during the heat of the hunt. You seize it and do not let go.

My heart is pounding again as I'm waiting for another chance, suddenly she walks away from her friend to return something to the beef aisle. My chance, a hunter cannot lose twice, my ancestors will not allow it. I am from the bloodline of Sango, I must not fail. Ginger! I walk up to her, she sees me, I raise my right hand in saying hi, "Excuse me!", I say. Her eyes change, they flash red. Danger.
This one is bloody. In the crowded mall where Oyinbo choke left, right and center.

She sees me walking towards her, waving my hand and shouts out in that American accent with her fingers raised "No! Thank you!", before turning around to walk away.

Hunter has been publicly shamed. Retreat!! Retreat!!! Fall back!!! Enemy fire!! I repeat!! Enemy fire ooo!!! Hunter is being hunted. I think I can hear her friend laughing, I'm not sure. Everything is happening too fast, first thing is to find cover.


I'm back in beef jerky aisle, hiding, wondering why exactly I did not choose wisely. But I know that as a man you must sometimes go beyond.

I see babe that’s covered in expensive jewelry and I went to carry myself to public disgrace. With my jaga-jaga tank-top.

Thankfully, you cannot shame the shameless. At least, we do not remain ashamed for too long. I walk around the store a while more, trying to avoid Miss Petite all the while. This place is now dead, no more babes, the experience has sullen my mood. Perhaps, I try again tomorrow.
It takes a lot of confidence for someone like me to walk up to strange women, many of you won't believe me, but I know what I feel and go through.
I literally have to fight against a lot of things in my gut. Many other guys have it easier; some have it worse, of course.

But I know that on the other side of that fear is the possibility of some sort of friendship and companionship, so I try to move beyond the fear. Las las, the hunter cannot let fear impede him from the hunt. We wear our scars of public disgrace with pride.

*****************
Jakuta, son of Aganju,
Violent ruler, grandson of Oduduwa;
Who rescued Alaafin Ajaka
He who screams with thunderbolt.
He who kills but is not killed.
The dragon that consumes other dragons with fire.
Sango, yes he is Sango!
Sango, the third Alaafin of Oyo.
Beat him Omele, you are in trouble,
Beat him Iya-ilu, you are doomed;
He who waves his double-headed axe;
The king did not hang,
He killed the stubborn Gbonka with his ferocious fire.

by Aremu Adams Adebisi
University of Ilorin
Ilorin, Kwara state.


Somewhere in Ajegunle one o’clock am, at the exact same hour the spirits summon Rashidi from his slumber, another spirit makes his mark upon the earth. A fiery ball streaks across the sky, like the tail of a comet, like red-hot akara in the sauce-pan that is the night sky.

KRAAKOOOMMM!!!

The ball strikes the earth, disintegrating into a pillar of black and red smoke, to reveal a form atop the ruins, a form of what is a man.

He crouches, his skin black as tar, black as burnt yams, eyes red and fierce, like those of a castrated dog, hair long and woolly, lips plump and juicy red, those of a true African man. His arms bulge strong, all tendon and muscle ripped, his form is evidence of strength, pure strength, he breathes and turns as though every action is a battle to be won. He is clad in white and red skin cloth that runs from shoulder to knee. A huge double-edged axe balances in his right hand.

He rises from where he fell, dust and smoke still simmering from his skin, he looks up at the sky from whence he came. He sees the shacks and ghettoes that surround him. It’s been a long long time since he last came upon this world, and the world has changed, looking nothing like the home it once was to him, an entirely different world it had become altogether, a concrete jungle adorned with utter waste. He growls and walks forward, into the ghetto, towards the sound of men.

Men drink and jolly in the make-shift ogogoro joint, Alomo, Chelsea, spirit and all is being served by the female bartenders.

That is when he walks in, the being that fell from the sky, that is when he walks into the bar.
Sauntering like a god, Ax balanced in hand, loincloth swinging in the midnight breeze.

He looks around at the drunks and breathes in the warm scent of their Alcohol.

“TANA KUNA KUNTANIA!”, he shouts out to the men, he speaks a strange language, a tongue long forgotten by man, a language not of this world.

The drinking men look to one another at first, confused.

“You dey mad? Guy! Stop making noise jare!”, one of the drunk spits back at him before proceeding to put his cup back to lips, filling up himself with the black alcohol, the vile fluid drooling from the side of his lips as he slurps it up.

The stranger frowns, his eyelids narrow to dangerous slits, the air gets slightly electrified. And then he points at the man that spoke back at him, taking a step in his direction.

“TANA KUNA KUNTANIA!”, he shouts again, this time to the drunk that spoke, index finger pointing like a dagger.

The drunk puts down the alcohol away from his mouth, raises above his head the glassware from which he drank, quickly whipping his hand back and forth, in the process bathing the strange being with all of its content. After which he looks around and smiles with the rest of the drunken comrades, as though expecting some sort of praise for what he just committed. They all reward him with a boisterous laugh, deep and hearty, croaking from the bottom of their alcohol-soaked souls.

The strange sneers down at himself, wet with this vile drink of mortals, he looks back at them all, his face distorted into a terrible scowl and then he growls, the same empty growl.

The drunks burst out in laughter once again at this growling strangely-dressed fellow.

“Mr man! Are you just coming from the farm?”, one jeers, causing the others to further erupt in yet another round of laughter, “Or you must be hunting antelopes?”, he adds, fuelling their drunken buffoonery.

The man reddens, it began from his index finger, the little sparks, like the sparks from a wrongly-assembled electric unit, and then his eyes, the eyeballs burning off to reveal balls of flames sitting in his sockets , black smoke escapes his tightly pursed lips, the liquid spilled upon him boils off his skin.

They all fall silent and afraid, they have awoken the monster in him, they have awoken something. This being, he is not a man, he is something far worse.

Error

**********************

Death catches the hunter with pain.
Eshu catches the herbalist in a sack.
Shonponna is the snake that dies
And carries its children away.
Shonponna uses the invisible calabash
To kill two hundred people.
Eshu hands the invisible calabash to Shonponna.
The black soil of the earth is on the farm.
The red soil of heaven is in the grave.
You my child,
Oludande, you born-to-die,
Return from the red soil of heaven,
Come and eat the black soil of this world.

from Black Orpheus 22 (1967)



In Lagos, Nigeria one o’clock am.

The darkness swirls and stirs over the land. Nothing special really, the darkness swirls here often, NEPA makes sure of that.

And in the dark heart of this Metropolis, in a tiny room in a violent surburb, a figure lays in his bed, a man , half-nude with the arms of a woman draped across his chest like snake over the forbidden fruit. And they both snore lightly, taken by an heavy slumber.

This is the abode of the one they call Rashidi, vagabond child of no father. In civilised circles of business and the sanity of everyday life, he is known as Rashidi the Cheat, Rashidi the Tout, Rashidi the Womaniser, the Drunk, the Violent One. But in the dark spiritual circles, he is known by another name, Kukoyi they call him, for it means, death rejects this one, and the history of the name goes much deeper that even the roots of the Iroko.

He sleeps in his one room apartment, his singlet brown and old, his room dark and reeking of cheap gin, the kind that can turn the liver of a weaker man to jelly. Nepa has been so kind as to withhold electricity from him this night, but they still let him keep the wires. Mosquitoes buzz in his hear and all around, he ignores them and snores on, exhausted by his adventures with the lady-of-the-night by his side.

The only source of illumination in this forsaken squalid place is the moonlight, rays of which scatter into the room, like forks of light caught in an heathen place. It’s a full moon tonight.

Rashidi scratches his belly some more and turns a little.

The nightmare still holds onto him, he rolls on the rat-devoured mattress, the dream still reigns. And then he gasps awake with the full force of a Dangote truck.

He remains sitting in bed, wide-eyed, beady sweat glistening on his forehead like minuscule sachets of pure water, his heart pounding in his ribcage like Kirikiri inmates at the sight of a damsel. Still trying to gather his thoughts, a ray of moonlight suddenly bathes his face, chalking his caramel skin, his shy pretty nose, eyes a little too large for his oval head, but still well set in their sockets, with beautiful long dark lashes, light stubble on his strong chin, with a soft fine mustache, hair, dark and trimmed, he holds strong cheekbones, that overlie fine plump lips. On a normal day, he is described as a good-looking young man, but not tonight, as he came forth disheveled and tangled.

“It is impossible!”, he mutters to himself, “Impossible! I can't believe this!"

And with one slow gentle move, he disentangles himself from his bed-mate, swiftly rising onto his feet in one smooth motion, and navigates his way to a luggage box with the aid of naught but the sharp forks of moonlight. He swings open the box, revealing a neatly folded white cloth. He wipes his hands on his trousers in a bid to clean them, as if the trousers are cleaner than the hands.

And then he carries the folded white cloth gently from its resting place and places it on the only clean patch of floor in this filthy room.
He sits beside the white cloth, unfolding it to reveal a bunch of cowries.

As he picks the cowries, beginning to render praises to an unknown being, his face directed to the moon as he panegyrizes to this deity.

“Ifa ooo! Ifa!! Ifa! Bearer of truth! Lies have no place in the words of Ifa! Ifa! Knower of all! Ifa! Tell me the secrets! Tell me what I need to know!”, he says before throwing the cowries down to the white cloth

CLASH!!

The cowries tumble and roll on the cloth, before settling down in a constellation that hides meaning, meaning known only to Rashidi.

He looks at the cowries, his eyes widen, he pushes one hand against his face and wipes vigorously for some few seconds, before staring down at the cowries once again, brows furrowed with worry.

He shakes his head and smiles a sarcastic smile to himself.
“Only two bottles of Alomo! Or was it five? I must be seeing things!”, he says to himself in self-denial, as he packs the cowries again in his hands and further renders panegyrizes to his deity of divinity

“Ifa oooooo! Ifa! The one that seats underground and plots the movement of the stars! Ifa ooooo! Ifa! The one that says East is North and the compass agrees. Ifa! Show me the secret behind the dark cloud! If it is silver lining of tornado!” and then he throws the cowries onto the cloth again.

BLASH!!

They scatter about on the fabric and fall into place again. Bearing the same constellation as before, indistinguishable so.

This time Rashidi gasps, drawing away from the cloth in astonishment and bafflement, propped up on his fingers beneath him.

“How? How? Its ..its ..its..”, he stammers

“It is not……impossible! It is the truth!” a voice says from behind the cover of darkness, in the shadows untouched by moonlight, a voice that was neither male nor female, but was old as if riddled with time and tattered from age.

Rashidi turns to the source of the voice, squinting into the blackness.

“What does it mean??”, he asks the formless voice.

“He has arrived!” , is the only reply

*****************
O Evil Bird!! Bird of the Night!!
O Evil Bird!! Wings of Oshoronga!!
Deliver our Enemies unto us, O Evil Bird!!
O Evil Bird of Darkness, Devour our Enemies!!
-Yoruba Curse Song (Translations from Koto Aiye)


A thing approaches our world, cutting through its path like knife in the bark of cocoyam stem. It comes from another realm, an other-worldly place. It approaches, silent and swift, burning through the blackness of space, crashing through our atmosphere of Ozone. Something approaches our world, it comes with blackness and rage, bringing death and sorrow, it comes with wrath unknown. And as it comes upon us, the darkness swirls and swells, for the evil ones are watching, young mortal. Be wary, for the evil eye now laughs.

**
In Washington DC, NASA space monitoring base, nine o’clock pm,
Computer keyboards fervently click away, the room is dimly lit, filled with over twenty faces illuminated by their individual desktop screens, the air is heavy with noise and a dozen chatter, everyone is excited or disturbed, both emotions are difficult to differentiate in such an atmosphere.

And suddenly a man walks into the poorly lit room, donned in a black suite, about fifty years of age, six feet in height, no moustache, no beards, early gray hair on his shrivelled scalp, a cold stare on his face. As soon as he steps foot in the room, all turn to face him, going silent in the process. He looks about at the troubled faces behind the computer screens.

“Major General Scott, Chief Commanding officer, US Military Extraterrestrial Division”, he announces, to no-one in particular but to them all.

He looks around after speaking and meets the still-baffled stares of the computer operators.

“When stuff falls from space, I’m the one they call to shoot it down. Your bosses called, I hear you have a bit of a problem”

“A problem? No no no no no!?”, a young man raps from behind his computer desk, “What we have here is no problem at all, it is a treasure! It’s a discovery of a life time!?”, he adds as he pushes himself out from his cubicle. He’s not so tall, about 5ft 4inches, glasses on his nose, fleshy face, round nose, he plops out of the cubicle, roundish, like a ball of groundnut liberated from a cup of Garri.

He walks up to the Major-General, “I knew it! I was afraid of it, but still I knew. I knew they’d send you, the US Government plans to welcome aliens with bullets!?”

“No! Not lead! Lead won’t do sh!t to aliens! We use high definition radiation lasers, that’s what we do!?” the Major replies, gritting his teeth in the process, “So what do you have here??”

The young man ignores the bellicosity of the Major’s words and continues to recount.

“Two hours ago, it was just another tiny asteroid flying past earth, not really big, as big as a small house, nothing special about it, y’know, we have them flying all over all the time. But this one, it was special, particularly so, it changed direction unprovoked, all by itself, mid-air?..it made a sort of U-turn” , the geek says grinning from ear to ear, “It suddenly went off course, as if manned”

“What do you mean by off-course??”

“It was moving towards the moon but it changed direction. Now it coming towards us!”, the young man raps excitedly, with this weird smirk across his face, his hands plastered across his chest as if to say the object was coming directly into his own garage back at home.

"Look! Look!! Watch it move!" he says, as he points childishly at a one of the monitors, the Major turns, following the line of his index finger, to look up at the tiny dot, which he took to represent the falling body, plotting a dash-line graph on the dark background of the screen.

“TWENTY SECONDS TO LANDING!! UNIDENTIFIED OBJECT ACCELERATING!!”, a mechanical voice bursts out of the speakers, cutting sharply into the dry air.

“What? It cannot possibly be that fast!?”, the young man shouts from where he stood, beside the General, rushing away back into his cubicle, like a bush-rat returning to it’s hole in the ground.

“It’s accelerating and changing course rapidly in the atmosphere”, another voice replies from behind a screen.

“Five seconds to landing”.

The atmosphere becomes tense once again, everyone ignores the General and goes back to the computers. Keyboards click away as fingers pound energetically, plotting the trajectory and trying to foresee what will happen next, like the guiding hands of Ifa.

The Major grabs one of the young men and asks, almost threateningly.

“Where is it landing? Tell me! Where??”

It has been a long long time. And I have grown old and weary, but the story to be told, must now be told. The truth to be spoken,must now be let loose upon the land. It has been a long long time, and the Creator has seen it fit to let this retelling fall upon you. Come, young mortal, sit by the ever-burning calabash with me and let the fires of Ifa illuminate you.

LarrySun, brother mine. I see you still keep the flag flying. Big ups, my man. Big ups.