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I'm starting off this piece with a short chapter. I will endeavour to add to it regularly. I hope you like it.

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ONE

A robust, averaged height girl ran down the stairs screaming joyfully. Her short skirt was hitched around her belly button, exposing a view that wasn’t child-friendly.

“Tunji, leave me alone oo!” She said, running into the living room. It was 2p.m. and the hot Lagos sun was an uninvited house guest, multiplying the temperature of the room.

Her assailant ran in after her. Oscillating from laughing and being out of breath, she fell backwards on the sofa.

“Who said you could leave the bedroom?” Tunji asked. Tunji was tall and skinny, with Will Smith ears and beady eyes. His friends often said his eyes made him look like an area boy, but the females found him very attractive.

“Answer me now, before I enter you like Holy Spirit!” Tunji said, moving closer to his dishabilled interest.

Her eyes gleamed passionately. “I’m waiting,” She purred.

“Haa, Tope!” Tunji said. “See Ashewo!”

Tope laughed. “Talk to the hand!” She said, for some reason. She attempted to cool herself down by repeatedly flicking her wrist near her face.

She looked around the small room, taking in the family pictures of Tunji’s uncle, the ceiling fan and the odd interior design: the walls were brown, the carpet blood red and the ‘70s looking furniture was green.

“Tunji, don’t you guys have a generator?”

“Of course! But, we don’t use it until 8p.m.”

“Okay, no problem.”

Tunji walked over to the windows and pushed both of them open. “Why, do you use your gen anyhow?”

“Our gen runs for days. If it needs to.”

“Hmm!” He shouted, hitting the top of his clenched fist with the bottom of his other one. “Ema dami duro, yeah emi omo babalowo!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tope said, smiling proudly.

“Chei!” Tunji exclaimed. “For real, it’s hot in here.” Beads of sweat appeared across his forehead.

“Come here,” Tope said meekly, the tone of her voice giving away what was going through her head at that exact moment.

“Why?” He asked, as he moved towards her.

She waited until he was hovering over her. “Take off your shirt.”

“Hmm,” He sounded out, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a smile, before obeying her command. He threw his t-shirt onto the carpet.

Tope grabbed the top of his jeans and sent both the denim and his boxers to the carpet with an impressive tug. His member, pre-empting this situation, rose to the occasion magnificently. Tope’s slight gasp and the widening of her eyes were all that needed to be said about that part of his anatomy.

She looked up at him, eyes glassy as if in some reverie. “You’re fine, sha.”

Her Adonis shrugged. “We thank God.”

She laughed. “Ode. Have you been to Switzerland?”

He shook his head. “No, but I’ve been to London. Twice, even.”

“Switzerland is much different. Much nicer. I’m going to Geneva next month to see my mum for a few days, but I’ll be staying in a hotel, because I hate my step dad. If you want, you can come.”

“Heyyyyyyyy!” He screamed, and began to dance on the spot, not bothered by his unclothedness at all. “I’ll need a visa, shey?”

“Local champion! Is there anywhere outside Africa that you can travel to without a visa? Unless you have a European passport.”

“I know, I know, I was just confirming. I'm a traveller.”

“Yes, you travelled from the village.”

“Your papa!”

Tope’s shrieks of laughter were punctured by the tinnish shrill of Tunji’s mobile phone. He bent down to reach into his jeans, pulling out the ringing device. Straightening up, he looked at his phone with uncertainty; ‘NUMBER WITHHELD’ flashed across the screen. Tunji pondered for a second and decided to take a chance.

“Hello?” He said into the phone.

“Hey, Tunji,” answered a female voice. A familiar female voice, obviously, as Tunji reacted to her voice by contorting his face to look like he’d swigged half a bottle of agbo.

“Hey. Shalewa.” He gruffed. “What happened to your number?” He looked down at Tope and rolled his eyes. She smiled a knowing smile back at him.

“Oh, nothing,” Shalewa said in the sweetest voice, before giggling guiltily.

“Okay,” Tunji said flatly.

“So, how you dey?” Shalewa asked. “How mumsie, popsie, Uncle T...them, them?”

“Fine. Everyone is fine.”

“That’s good.”

Silence. Tunji sighed and looked down at Tope’s heaving cleavage as she played around with her Blackberry.

“I can’t wait for uni to restart,” Shalewa blurted out finally. “I’ve been so bored, I read my law textbooks every day, can you imagine?”

“Hmmm,” Tunji offered.

Tope decided she’d had enough of waiting; clutching Tunji’s rear end with both hands, she moved her face towards him until she had merged with his pelvic area, much to his delight. The gentle sound of his breath leaving his mouth permeated the hot, sticky air of the living room.

“Are you okay?” Shalewa asked.

“Yes...Yes, I’m just...preparing my food.”

“Ehhn Henn? Okay...”

More silence. Tunji didn’t mind this time.

“So,” Shalewa began, “are we still on a break?”

“Errrm.......”

3D tinz

TWO

{ring!}
{ring!}
{ring!}
{ring!}

As soon as Uzor’s sleepy grunt breathed life into the phone call, Nnadozie regretted dialling his number.

“Dozie,” Uzor said, with a ghostly whisper. “Dozie...”

“Uzor...Bruv, I’m sorry. You’re sleeping, right?”

Silence.

“It’s...it’s 10 past midnight,” Uzor said finally, clearly making an effort to string words together. “You know I’m working tomorrow.”

“Damn, damn, damn! I forgot.” Nnadozie hadn’t forgotten, he’d just hoped his family friend wouldn’t be in bed. Or maybe hadn’t hoped; maybe he hadn’t thought at all.

“Gini mere? Is it Chinyeaka?”

“Errr..... you know what? I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“...Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t thinking of the time – let’s do this later. I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that...Look...make sure you call me after work tomorrow, okay?”

“No doubt, no doubt. Uzor, I’m really sorry.”

“Iwu onye ara. Ka chi foo.” Uzor hung up.

Nnadozie stared at his phone for a long time. He felt so stupid; he hadn’t called Uzor in over a month and now that he needed someone to talk to, he’d selfishly called a notorious early sleeper.

And look at how long it had taken Uzor to figure out why he’d called...shame.

I’m such a f**king mug, thought Nnadozie.

He wiped his eyes, got off the bathroom floor and switched on the lights.

*******

Nnadozie got out of his Volkswagen Corrado and greeted the Mega Plaza security guards. He walked over to the food court, ordered two shawarmas + a can of ginger beer and chose a table. The food court was only open for another 45 minutes and other than a cute couple near the entrance and a large group of boys at the far end, it had been relieved of its patrons. Nnadozie, a recent insomniac, had become a regular there at this side of midnight.

He unbuttoned his suit jacket (paired with ‘shacommended’ specs, jeans and trainers) and sat down. The last few days hadn’t made any sense – how did he end up in this Stephen King nightmare? One second he’d been pledging his life to her, and the next...that Facebook message...

Why did he check her inbox? He had never done that before, she’d always had his full trust – they had each other’s phone PINs, email address passwords, bank account details...everything! And not once had he thought of invading her private space. So why did he do it on Friday? Why?

Nnadozie massaged his forehead harshly, trying to put this moment of the twenty seventh year of his life - his most troubling year so far - into perspective. Maybe I should be grateful the B***h and her lover chronicled their sexapades on a networking site, he thought.

Did he just refer to her as a B***h (albeit mentally)? He smiled ruefully; maybe this was a sign he was getting over her. Good.

Chinyeaka was shy, religious and most of all, prudish. She never dressed provocatively and always had a choice word or two (or ten) for any female who fell into her line of sight with exposed cleavage or even bared knees. Her own modesty was her pride and joy and she never hesitated to let everyone know this. And while they had sex at least twice a month, it was generally a straightforward and formal affair, and Nnadozie was convinced she did it for his sake.

He might have been mistaken.

He needed to calm down. He took a folded A4 sheet of paper and 4B pencil out of his suit jacket, unfolded the paper and immediately started drawing. Sketching had always helped him relax.

Why this guy? Did she find him attractive? Was he a ‘bad boy’? Rich? A better Christian?

Wait...the guy definitely couldn’t be a better Christian. Not after he’d had his greasy way with someone else’s girlfriend.

Ex-girlfriend.

He'd gone to hers’ three hours ago, after giving her two days to get her “F*****g head right” (Those 48 hours were hell for him) only for her to say, “maybe it was better things happened this way because I'm not in love with you anymore but I didn’t have the heart to tell you."

Damn.

Those words hit him like a sledgehammer-wrecking ball combo. He wasn’t expecting that. At all. He was expecting a weeping Chinyeaka to be on her knees, begging him to take her back. And he was going to play hard-to-get for about half an hour before forgiving her (on the condition that she didn’t speak to the guy – or any other guy – on FB again).

Instead, he was on the one on his knees, literally on his knees, begging and begging for her to reconsider her position. He pleaded. He implored. He urged. She didn’t budge.

He also invoked, asking her to consider that they were already married “in God’s eyes”, to which she smirked and said, “Nope, we’re sinners in God’s eyes.”

She was horrifically unrepentant, only saying the minimum that a transgression (to him) such as what she did required. Nothing more. She wouldn’t even look at him.

And the worst, the worst, the very worst of it all, was that her lover kept calling her while Nnadozie was trying to summon angels down to earth with snot and tears running down his face. She never confirmed who was actually calling, but Nnadozie knew it was the guy. It must have been; she refused to pick up the repeated calls until she’d had enough of the caller’s persistence and finally picked up, saying sweetly, “Not now, give me a second please” before hanging up again.

It was clear from the Facebook messages she’d sent that she was the keener one of the two and that hurt him as well. It was bad enough that she wasn’t in love with him anymore, but knowing she was besotted with someone else? Boyyyyyy.

Nnadozie met Chinyeaka in London two years ago and they started dating a year after. She knew everything about him, his struggles, his disappointments and his hopes for the future. She’d promised to be by his side always, believing in his dreams. They were going to take Nigeria by storm!

Now this.

“Excuse me,” He heard a husky voice behind him. “Your food.”

It was a lanky waitress bringing his food. Nnadozie didn’t even look up from his drawing.

“Thanks,” He mumbled, as the waiter placed the tray on the table.

After connecting the last line with his pencil he raised his head and inspected his graphite creation: a car that looked uncannily like the DeLorean DMC-12, drawn from behind. Just above the rear lights on the right were three words.

Made in Nigeria.

Nnadozie sighed loudly and reached for one of the shawarmas. His thoughts were already directed towards the issue of whether Chinyeaka deserved one more chance.

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Thank you so much, everyone! More to follow very very soon. And happy, happy new year!

THREE

Matthew 21:22:
Ndien kpukpru ñkpö ekededi mbufo ëdibeñede ke akam ke mbuötidem, mbufo ëyenyene.

“Uwana!”
“Uwana!”

A petite lady rained blows on the front door of a flat. Her hair was in a perm, and her yellow and brown wax fabric dress complimented the fine job the sun was doing in that area of Lekki. Her handbag was so big that she could probably hide in it.

“Uwana!” She cried. “Don’t tell me you are not in there! What is this, after how many days? Pscheww!”

She thumped the door again. And again. And again.

“Uwana! Look at this man of God! You people won’t change.”

On the other side of the door, a handsome man was crouched very low. He had on three quarter length trousers and nothing else. His physique was like that of a freerunner.

“Uwana!”
“Uwana!”
“Uwana!”

The lady snapped her fingers. “Okay, we shall see.” She mumbled a few incantations in her language, turned away from the door and headed towards her jeep. The cowering man watched through the keyhole as she reversed out of the compound and sped off.

The man, who was obviously none other than Unwanaabasi, stood up and stared at the door for several minutes. He sighed and moved towards the cooking area, a small space in the ultra compact (but modern) studio flat where his portable double hot plate and cooking utensils were housed.

He reached for a small pot and two packets of Dangote Noodles. He paused to look up to the ceiling.

“God. Ŋtaha?”

Unwanaabasi shook his head and continued making his lunch. He knew Elizabeth – his landlord – wouldn’t return today; she was far too busy with her other tenants and shops to chase him for the next 6 months rent payment advance.

Everything was great just a month ago. He was the assistant pastor of Prosperity Congregation Church, a theologian par excellence who shot up the ranks of that well-acred church in less than six months – he was that good. Members of the church often said “Pastor Uwana sabi word of God pass G.O., mek we talk true and shame d devil.”

He was a baby-faced thirty-two year old and as such, there wasn’t a lady at PCC, single or married who didn’t find a reason to seek his advice and prayers. Of course, everyone sought out ‘the oga at the top’, General Overseer Bishop Prophet Most Reverend Emmanuel F.B, MBA, whenever they were fortunate to get a minute of his time – it would be silly not to hear the wisdom of God from the horse’s mouth of someone so successful – otherwise, Unwanaabasi was pretty much the darling of everyone at the church. His salary was modest, officially because he hadn’t been at the church for a year, but really because the G.O. did not want Unwanaabasi to get too big for his boots. Either way, Unwanaabasi, a man of God who only had eyes for God, lived a simple life and was pleased to live in a flat in Lekki – near the church – even if the flat wasn’t half the size of one of PCC’s restrooms.

So what happened? Unwanaabasi was at the church on a Friday evening, looking over his notes in preparation for Sunday’s thanksgiving service. The under-12s and their youth leaders had left the complex and he thought he was the only person inside the building.

After being satisfied with the quality of the speech and the bullet points, he stopped to eat his dinner, afang soup and semolina. He was just about to tuck into his scrumptious meal when he decided to give in to one of his few indulgences – eating in the G.O.’s office, where the man’s multiple horse-powered air conditioner, DSTV- connected flat screen TV (70” and 3D TV) and a mammoth black Italian leather swivel chair could make anyone feel like the head of state.

So off the assistant pastor went, out of his own office, down the corridor, then another corridor and past the video control room. After another two corridors, he went up a spiral staircase and was in front of a huge padded door. He put a hand on the door handle and pushed open the door.
What Pastor Unwanaabasi saw made him drop the nylon food bag: Natalie, free from the shelter of her clothes was bent over the long oak desk. General Overseer Bishop Prophet Most Reverend Emmanuel F.B, MBA, also naked (with his well looked after linebacker frame), was behind her, thrusting for his life. Natalie’s red nails were slashing at the lovely swivel chair that Unwanaabasi had been planning to sit on and she was making a lot of noise – it’s fair to say, mek we talk true and shame d devil, she was not speaking in tongues.

Natalie, 26, was fairly new to Nigeria (she arrived from California three months ago) and the church (her dad, an Italian-American married to a Nigerian woman, was devoted to the G.O and was one of his earliest benefactors). She was so light-skinned that she was pretty much white-skinned and at 6”0 and 128Ibs it wasn’t farfetched (are we not discussing African men?) to say necks always craned and strained whenever she walked into a room. Some of the internet scholars among the PCC congregation were certain she was a hip hop video vixen in the states. And at that moment, as a first hand accidental spectator of her unclothedness, even Unwanaabasi, a militant abstainer from sensual activities, had to conclude that if she were, in fact, a video girl, she would probably be up there with the best of them. Based on the parts of her body the G.O. was squeezing and poniarding, at least.

The assistant pastor wasn’t a spectator for long; the amative duo turned around and saw the man with his mouth wide open and his blue bag on the cream carpet. Natalie shrieked and reached for her blouse, while the G.O., less predictably, uttered, “Evening, my son.”

Unwanaabasi turned and put his long legs to good use; he was out of the entire complex and hailing a cab at the end of the street in less than five minutes.

From Friday night until Saturday evening (just before his second hour long prayer of the day), all he’d thought about was the future of General Overseer Bishop Prophet Most Reverend Emmanuel F.B, MBA; what was he going to do now? How could he have given in to temptation? Would God now take away his anointing? What would happen to the dear people of Prosperity Congregation Church if their dear G.O. left the church because of his guilt? Who sent this lieutenant colonel of Lucifer, Natalie, to his boss? What was her purpose in Lagos, who sent her?

Most worryingly for Unwanaabasi, he wondered if he was going to have to step up and become the interim-G.O. while the real one sorted himself out. Was he ready for that responsibility? Oh, Agnes, the G.O.’s wife!! – how could he have forgotten about her? How would she take the news? Could she have foreseen this happening?

Women are very perceptive; maybe she had even warned her husband about this pale giraffe with the big...God forgive me, my eyes cannot erase what they have seen.

As soon as his evening prayer hour was over on Saturday, however, his mind began to settle and evacuate the more naive thoughts he was having. A particular fact stuck out: The G.O. had not attempted to call his assistant pastor to explain Friday’s events. Why? Also, why wasn’t the G.O. shocked or ashamed to see him yesterday? The situation was fishier than a pot of Efere Ndek Iyak , but Unwanaabasi wasn’t going to jump to conclusions. He looked over his notes one last time, inspected his grey suit repeatedly and went to sleep.

By the end of second Sunday service, conclusions hadn’t only been jumped to, they’d been jumped. The G.O. turned up, walking hand-in-hand his wife, and delivered his sermon with all of his usual charm. He danced with zeal, preceded over tithes and offering time with even more zeal and prayed for the sinners of the church who hadn’t given their lives to God with a thunderous fervour. If he even felt a smidgen of guilt he definitely wasn’t showing it.

And the end of the service, the congregation hastily dispersed to the second hall to fill up on jollof rice and goat meat. The G.O. sent his wife to get some food for herself and to save him a plate. The various pastors and youth leaders had also stayed behind to have a quick meeting led by the G.O. But the man himself was busy, trading verbal nothingness with...Natalie. She was grinning, blushing and playing with her hair, tilting her head to look at him as if nothing or no one else mattered while he was poking her arms with his fingers.

To the other church staff members, there was nothing to see; The G.O. was a playful and charismatic man, always ready to talk whenever time permitted it. To Unwanaabasi, who knew much better, this was mind-boggling; what was going on here?

Unwanaabasi had had enough; he boldly walked up to the two and coughed politely. Natalie turned and on seeing the Viewer of Friday evening, was visibly ruffled. The Most Reverend, however, was not. He said to Natalie languidly, “Okay my dear, go and chop some rice. We will talk later.”

Unwanaabasi face turned acrid as his eyes followed her seductive steps towards the second hall. He turned to face the G.O.

“Yes, my son,” The G.O. said, smiling. “How can I help you?”

“Ehhhh, G.O.,” Unwanaabasi began, scratching the back of his head.

“Yes?”

“Because. What I mean...You see...”

“Unwana, speak – I’m hungry and we still have a meeting.”

“Sir, forgive me...We need to talk about what happened on Friday. What I saw.”

The G.O. chuckled.

“We need to talk,” The G.O. repeated. Unwanaabasi nodded.

“About what?” asked the G.O.

The back of Unwanaabasi’s neck was moist with sweat.

“I think-” He began.

“Look, let me save us both some time,” The G.O. interrupted, moving closer to Unwanaabasi and turning the treble of his voice down. “I have carried the concern to God and he said I should not do it again. So I will not.”

“Whattt?” asked Unwanaabasi, incredulously.

“That’s all.” The G.O. turned to leave their huddle.

At that very moment, Unwanaabasi was taken over by the Holy Spirit. This is not a fact, merely the only logical explanation what followed next: The assistant pastor held the G.O.’s arm, stopping him from leaving.

The eyes that the G.O. gave his assistant pastor were on the other spectrum of divine. All of the fire, none of the Holy Spirit.

“Listen, my son,” he said in a measured, but icy tone. “If you don’t leave my jacket now, I will carry you outside myself and throw you in the gutter!”

Unwanaabasi let go immediately. The G.O. adjusted his suit blazer of his 3-piece suit and brushed off imaginary dust from the area that had Unwanaabasi’s palm seconds earlier.

“Let me tell you something, you foolish boy,” The G.O. continued. “If you like, you can walk out of this church now and never come back, or you can sit down for the meeting. But if you like your life, you will never disturb me with this nonsense again.”

He walked away from Unwanaabasi. After being about ten metres away he paused, turned around and returned to his bewildered assistant pastor.

“One more thing,” He continued. “Because I know now that you don’t have sense: James, chapter four, verse eleven – ‘Brothers and sisters, do not slander one another. Anyone who speaks against a brother or sister or judges them speaks against the law and judges it.’ I know that you will not try anything stupid like trying to take this rubbish to someone else. I will not allow your ignorance to destroy this church and the people that love God. I will protect it with everything I have.”

Now it was Unwanaabasi’s turn to get fiery. “What are you talking-” His voiced was raised and a few of the other teachers started to look in their direction.

“Do my prophets no harm,” interrupted the G.O., calm and still speaking in hushed tones. “Touch not my anointed and do my prophets no harm. Submit to their authority. Don’t pretend you don’t know your bible. I will tell anyone what is necessary to protect God’s flock from the evil jealously of our enemies. And let me tell you this, who do you think the people will believe? And do you think you will get another job at any church in this country?” He laughed. “You are stupid, but not that stupid. How many ministers do you think I know? Plenty. ”

With that, the G.O. walked towards the circle of seats that had been arranged for the short meeting. Everyone else in the auditorium had figured out that something was wrong and all pairs of eyes were either on the leader of the church, or its brightest talent.

Pastor Unwanaabasi was shaking. His face was a mixture of confusion, betrayal and righteous anger. He walked towards the circle of seats.
Instead of sitting down, however, he kicked an unoccupied chair with all his strength. A youth leader had to jump out of her chair to avoid the oncoming plastic missile. The air was filled with a sustained collective gasp, no one could utter anything else.

Pastor Unwanaabasi headed towards the exit and walked out of the church, looking very much like David Banner’s alter ego.

*******

Back in real time, the former assistant pastor transferred the noodles and a tin of sardines to a bowl and reached for bottle of water that was only half-full. He took the bowl and the bottle to the middle of the room, placed both objects on a small square table (suitable for one only) and sat down on the folding dining chair. He closed his eyes and prayed over his meal.

After leaving PCC on that fateful Sunday, Unwanaabasi knew he only had two options: he either had to expose the head of the church, or he had to resign. But what would exposing the man do? Would anyone believe him? Would anyone want to? And what if the G.O. wasn’t bluffing about making sure Unwanaabasi never worked in another church – was he ready to say goodbye to the church, his only joy in life?

No. Unwanaabasi felt like a politician, but he was not going to ruin his life for a man who wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t his fight anyway; God would deal with the man. Unwanaabasi could always continue his crusade for his heavenly Father at another church.

So his mind was made up; he turned up at the church the following Wednesday and handed in his resignation letter. The G.O. laughed heartily and told him that he should not have bothered; he had already been replaced from the moment he stormed out of the church on Sunday. That stung Unwanaabasi but he did not rise to the bait. “Well, good for you, sir,” He responded quietly. “May the peace of God be with you and your ministry.” He made to leave the G.O.’s office.

“Wait,” The G.O. commanded. Unwanaabasi stopped and turned around.

The G.O. reached into one of the desk drawers and brought out an envelope. He threw it at Unwanaabasi. “So you think I’m not a man of principle? Sorry to disappoint you.”

Unwanaabasi looked in the envelope; it contained several brown Naira notes. He looked at the G.O. who was smiling self satisfyingly. The smugness grated Unwanaabasi.

“That is your parting salary,” continued the G.O. “Of course, the month is over so I’m sure you don’t expect me to pay you the full amount, do you?”

Unwanaabasi gave him a shrug that was more of a ‘I don’t care’ than a ‘I don’t know’.

The G.O. stood up. His smile morphed into something mischievous. “Or...do you want to blackmail me for more money?”

Unwanaabasi glared at him. Was that a dare?

Because he could. He could make this man pay. He had expenses and people to take care of, and this man had just made his life very challenging.

But Unwanaabasi let the feelings of anger roll off him – the last thing he was going to do was cross over to the G.O.’s way of living.

“God bless you, sir.” He left the office, involuntary slamming the door behind him.

Of course, there was no way that Unwanaabasi was to know that the G.O. was recording their conversation, and that had he assented to the blackmail idea, a creative bit of audio cut-and-paste work would have reduced his reputation even further. But that is the wonderful thing about intuition; in the hands – or heads – of those that are prepared for it, what is it if not a direct line to God?

Unwanaabasi looked at the wall clock; 13:00. Maybe he could read in peace for the rest of the day. Before the return of the jeep.

still here

Dear readers,

I was 'detained' by the antispam bot for a hot second last night, but here's the third chapter above.

More to come.

Thanks.