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Stats: 2,229,478 members, 4,877,596 topics. Date: Friday, 19 April 2019 at 01:33 AM
|We Are Able(a Touching Story) by Nobody: 11:31pm On Aug 02, 2014|
This story is meant for private consumption only--not meant for any reader except SammyHoe and SammyHoe himself. Let me call it a fictional diary, so nobody should comment o, eh eh
Yes I remember, let me call Kenewriter and Larrysun up the podium.
Out of restriction to all Ebiagites including Lorlaahlozz, Talk2riel, Stormybucci and Akinkudin
~~~~~~~~~~About the Story~~~~~~~~~~
Nothing much, just motivational(HIP is emotional and EBIAG is alrounder while AEDHA is humorous and Hope And The Island of Greatness is also motivational)
Ah! I'm sorry I'm not addressing the EBIAG FAMILY because I didn't invite them here so Larrysun and Kenewriter would have to ask me the meaning of AEDHA, EBIAG, etc later.
Now my gate is locked and no one...I say it again, no one including 'E' is allowed to come in to read this story.
mathematically, E= Everyone
Everyone= Tag: Onose01, Elantracey, Princesa, Larrysun, Kenewriter, Ishilove, Divepen, Frank317, Dayvhid, Sugarbabekemi, Stormybucci, Temitopedaniel, Helensharpay, Karevwite, Akinkudin, Jigsawkillah, Onosj, Jigsawkillah, Toykathy, Zeenab, Therock5555, D9ty7, 01emek, Okem09, Akinkudin, Talk2riel, 3Dimension, Ayobami193, Mohammad11, Muniho, Michaellegend, Damex333, Winie, Candy, Zuby, PrinceAdepoju, Mynd44, Obinnau, Mykhel, Joseff14, Kingphilip, Logodwhiz, Hoyhebhuks, Kayemjay, Tiffanyjay, glowingscenes, Talk2riel
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|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by Nobody: 11:33pm On Aug 02, 2014|
[b]WE ARE ABLE
I feel a cold touch at my back. It is harmattan period. I just want to be left on my bed. I turn around like a fat cake, but mother turns me around again. I can see her mouth moving. I wonder what she is saying. But certainly she can’t be saying anything more than the fact—I am lazy.
My school is in Ejigbo, Lagos. They say we are special people, yet I haven’t perceived anything special about us. Some of us can’t talk. Some of us can’t walk; some of us can’t see, yet they say we are special. Well, I am not moved a bit by those flatteries.
I look at mother’s hand movements. It is funny to me. I smile. I wonder when she will be able to master the sign language.
“Rose, get out of bed,” she has managed to communicate with her hands. She has to repeat each word just to put them at their best. I could remember challenging my teacher some times back that…
I rise up lazily and go straight for my bath. When I get to the bathroom, I see a basin filled with water there. Wow! It is warm. I splash the water on my body. I observe that the door is shaking but I didn’t really think about it. I continue pouring water on my body. Today in particular, I spend around thirty minutes in the bathroom. The water is just exactly as I want it to be—warm.
When I step out of the bathroom, daddy gives me a scornful look. The grotesque on mother’s face also suggests to me that I have done something wrong again. Why me all the time?
My father gets into the bathroom and begins to open his mouth. Since I am deaf, I didn’t hear what he is saying, but my mother is opening her mouth too in return. They understand each other—it’s only we, the special one so called, that can’t understand them.
Mother helps father to carry a bucket of water into the bathroom. That man—always angry. I don’t know his problem. He is far away from me more than a stranger. I wonder why he is my father. Mother quickly taps me and I face her when that man has entered the bathroom.
“Rose, you used your father’s water,” mother says to me in her amateur sign language, yet she claims that she has learnt the language while I was five years of age. I wonder what is still keeping her in the amateur level till now, after six years.
“I used his water? How?” I ask. Sometimes my hands just get tired of speaking. I wonder how I will be able to speak if I become paralyzed in my hands or a bad accident claims them.
“I put his water in the bathroom first because he must be in Ikeja as early as possible.”
“Why don’t you tell me that before I entered the bathroom?” I ask.
“Em…Rose…erm…” my mother’s face is clugged up with tears. I know she is a very tender person—not wanting to raise anything that will remind me of my status—deaf and dumb.
“Em what? What has letter ‘M’ got to do with this?” I am confused.
“When you were leaving, I was calling you, but you were too fast. You have already entered the bathroom. I only woke you up so that you could go and brush your teeth and not to take your bath. Your daddy will be angry with us. He has been kicking at the bathroom door for a long time to break it if he could.”
I know what mother is talking about: she wakes me up; I rush to the bathroom without looking at her to hear from her (you have to look at someone to see his/her communication). But if that is the only thing that has happened, does it warrant my dad frowning at me in that manner as if I am nothing but a fart?
“Is he my daddy? I doubt it,” I say. Mother doesn’t want my eyes to get those tears in them again. She comes on time to wipe them off for me. I don’t believe I have a daddy yet. The only pictures I took with that man mother calls my dad are the ones during my one year and two years birthdays. No recent pictures, yet I am already eleven. Maybe if he knew that I would never speak in life, he would not have snapped those pictures with me then.
Who creates me? I am sure it is not the same God who creates the other people on earth. I have approached my mother once and said, “Don’t you think it is satan who creates me?”
“Don’t say that again Rose!” mother replies me. The vigour with which she moves her hands shows to me that she is shouting.
“But why can’t I hear and speak?” I challenge her. “I thought that they say that all the things he creates were good.”
“You are good either,” she says to me.
“Good?” I laugh mockingly. Those lips of mine, what can they do other than eating, laughing and crying? I have been advised by my teachers to laugh always, since it will prevent my mouth from smelling. But I don’t seem to see the reason for laughing at all. I only laugh to make jest of people sometimes. Nothing again can make me laugh, even if you tickle me I won’t.
I didn’t feel like going to school that day again. That man in the bathroom has killed my joy. How I wish I am not born into this family. If I am born into another family, it’s only my mother I will miss. Who cares about John, that wicked man? I think.
Reluctantly, I sit at the table. If only mummy can allow me have my own meal inside my room and not at the dinning table. Or what is the essence of eating at the dinning table when my daddy is having his own food in a separate dish? It’s only my mother and I who eat together in the same plate.
I see the way John is leering at me as if he should just lock me up somewhere. He is guzzling the food as if he hasn’t eaten since the day before yesterday. He can’t even communicate with me since he has refused to learn the sign language like my mother. He will only tell my mother to tell me anything he wanted to tell me, yet if he has written them down I would have understood him. I have perceived that mother doesn’t use to tell me what my father was asking her to tell me. Perhaps my father’s words will be too harsh on me. She has to come out clear one day when the preacher in our church condemns the act of lying in all its ramifications. That day, mother said to me that she has been telling me the opposites of what father has been asking her to tell me. I didn’t need to ask her what exactly he has been saying since commonsense is there in me to know that they were unpleasant things.
I am looking away while eating. Mother taps me. A mould of amala is still in her grip, but she has something to tell me. With the food in her hand, mother gestures to me, “Rose, your daddy says you should stop looking away from your food.”
I know that what he said is more than that. His face can tell it all—many wrinkles on his forehead. If only he can speak in a mild manner to me, it had been better.
I quickly readjust and eat my food, silently as usual, since there isn’t any noise I want to make. I see daddy speaking to her again. This time, mummy speaks back with an angry face. It seems as if they are on my matter again. At last, mummy speaks to me:
“Rose, don’t get angry, but your dad says that I should tell you that if his boss gets angry at him for coming late to office today, then you are in trouble. But don’t mind him, Rose, he can’t do anything for you.” That is how my mummy will always say, yet that man will beat both of us together whenever it is time for him to do so.
My father looks at us as if he is suspecting that my mother is saying more than he said to her. I look at his mouth and I am able to figure out the first word he says:
“Hannah…” That is the name of my mother.
I fold my hands and didn’t eat again. Father didn’t even care. He has finished eating the amala. He has begun to rush out of the house. That Volkswagen he has, he hasn’t used it to take me to school once. Sometimes my mummy will use it to take me there if he is on afternoon duty, since he will be sleeping in the morning by then.
Father points to me as if he is threatening me when he gets to the door. Mother is just looking at him. When he leaves, she rushes to me and hugs me tight. She was shedding tears as she presses her lips firmly against my cheek.
I am off to school. Mother takes me there herself before going to her own work too. Throughout the school period, I didn’t speak a word. Mrs Oyin, our class teacher is surprised. How come Rose’s name didn’t enter the name of noise maker today? she must have thought (we write names of noise makers in our school too; making unnecessary sign language is a noise).
Mrs. Oyin is a second mother to us. She likes everyone of us in Primary Six B. When she comes into the class to punish the noise makers, she calls me out and takes me out of the class. If only I can hear, then she would not have taken me out of the class. She would just have whispered into my ears.
In the office, she says, “Why are you not speaking today?” I tell her there is nothing.
When I get back home, daddy was already inside. I am surprised. He is supposed to be in the office by then.
I go on my knees to greet him, but then, he slaps me on the face. I scream with all the power inside me. He will be the only one to suffer the sound from my throat. He didn’t leave me alone. He has come on me, punching me like a punching bag. Mother rushes in at once and begin to prevent him. But it is too late. My eyes are swollen already, yet I didn’t know my offence.
It is the next day I know what has happened. My father has been suspended from office for two weeks for getting late to work that day. But does that call for dealing with me brutally that way?
God should kill me once and for all, I think.
NB: I NEED A SPONSOR TO HELP ME GET THIS STORY PUBLISHED AND OTHER STORIES WRITTEN BY ME. PLS IF 'YOU ARE ABLE' SPONSOR ME AND YOU WON'T REGRET YOU DID
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OTHER STORIES BY SAMMY HOE
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4. AS E DEY HAPPEN
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|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by LogoDWhiz(m): 12:04am On Aug 03, 2014|
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by barackodam: 12:06am On Aug 03, 2014|
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by barackodam: 12:07am On Aug 03, 2014|
First role toh sure
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by ViktorMartins(m): 12:10am On Aug 03, 2014|
SammyHoe: This story is meant for private consumption only--not meant for any reader except SammyHoe and SammyHoe himself. Let me call it a fictional diary, so nobody should comment o, eh eh
Whyne yourself; we reading this!
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by tunery004(m): 12:19am On Aug 03, 2014|
Nyc start............taking my seat on d first row.................
In sign language....Oga giv us more...........
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by Lorlaahlozz: 12:41am On Aug 03, 2014|
Abi iyaf not read it ni
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by toykathy(f): 12:44am On Aug 03, 2014|
Another blockbuster. Front row things
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by 2map(m): 12:45am On Aug 03, 2014|
I'm surely not missing this... spotted a typo " He is guzzling the
food as if he hasn’t eating since the day before
yesterday." Do the needful. It's a nice piece.
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by Nobody: 12:51am On Aug 03, 2014|
2map: I'm surely not missing this... spotted a typo " He is guzzling the
I say no comment because it's a deaf and dumb story lol...I have made the correction you asked me to make. Thank you very plenty
@Lorlaahlozz, you no dey slp? Aftrall, I didn't invite any EBIAGITE HERE NAH. Your own stories continue next month, September 1.
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by Lorlaahlozz: 12:53am On Aug 03, 2014|
SammyHoe:I know u re joking..u mean 3rd August
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by bookhy(f): 12:56am On Aug 03, 2014|
Sammyhoe dis is anoda good nd reasonable story from U,,,d way u write all ur stories make me sit down nd think deeply,make me conscious of my surroundings lyk HIP, nd also makes me c am also a genius in my own way...May God continue to increase U in knowledge,,,,following U gently
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by Nobody: 1:03am On Aug 03, 2014|
bookhy: Sammyhoe dis is anoda good nd reasonable story from U,,,d way u write all ur stories make me sit down nd think deeply,make me conscious of my surroundings lyk HIP, nd also makes me c am also a genius in my own way...May God continue to increase U in knowledge,,,,following U gently
Next time, speak with me in sign language you hear? Lol
How things nah?
@Lorlaahlozz, I mean that September 1 like anything o. You know what? By then I would be so much in d mood to write EBIAG3 in particular because I lost my mood right now.
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by 3Dimension: 7:10am On Aug 03, 2014|
Sammy dishing great stories from the days of john the baptist. Happy sunday folks
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by talk2riel: 7:49am On Aug 03, 2014|
Iyav landed o.
This one will be hurt.
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by LarrySun(m): 7:57am On Aug 03, 2014|
Phew! This is deep. Great job, Sammy.
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by aveiro(m): 8:27am On Aug 03, 2014|
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by Kaymania(m): 10:18am On Aug 03, 2014|
Make i dey go...
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by Nobody: 11:20am On Aug 03, 2014|
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by Nobody: 11:27am On Aug 03, 2014|
3Dimension: Sammy dishing great stories from the days of john the baptist. Happy sunday folkslol
talk2riel: Iyav landed o.hurt or hot?
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by Nobody: 11:29am On Aug 03, 2014|
LarrySun: Phew! This is deep. Great job, Sammy.Tnx Larrysun, pls stay on d high table lemme go and fetch some refreshment for you.
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by maputohq(m): 12:07pm On Aug 03, 2014|
since I'm not among the E, I guess I can “consume” along with you.
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by Canme4u(m): 12:16pm On Aug 03, 2014|
@ !" 1) ( x '+8 /!7v )1
:p / \ =~ £ ¤ & @@@////\\\\ ¥
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by Nobody: 12:19pm On Aug 03, 2014|
maputohq: since I'm not among the E, I guess I can “consume” along with you.
Yes. Come and sit on d high table
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by dammygoody(m): 1:24pm On Aug 03, 2014|
Well well well.... Signing in quietly.... Shh..don't say anything @you, yes you..
Hey prof., is this not one of the stories that should feature on our magazine
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by maputohq(m): 1:52pm On Aug 03, 2014|
SammyHoe:I'm coming right away.
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by missuniverse(f): 3:24pm On Aug 03, 2014|
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by Nobody: 3:38pm On Aug 03, 2014|
dammygoody: Well well well.... Signing in quietly.... Shh..don't say anything @you, yes you..
Yes!! Here is expo for us
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by dammygoody(m): 4:38pm On Aug 03, 2014|
SammyHoe:wow!!! How privileged are we..Thanks.
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by Temmytayo20(f): 5:01pm On Aug 03, 2014|
Present sir! Nice story...
|Re: We Are Able(a Touching Story) by seunviju(f): 6:43pm On Aug 03, 2014|
Why won't we comment.present sir,following
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