Tagging Red mosquito, Senbonzakurakageyoshi, Larry Sun, Ishilove, Princesa, VanTee 20 and all others o. Party don start..

This is purely a work of fiction. Any allusion to characters or names whether dead or alive is purely coincidental. No form or part of this work may be reproduced without the permission of the author. All rights and wrongs reserved.

This work is dedicated to the girl child.

Following

CHAPTER ONE

The sound of her father's coughs filled the dingy, poorly ventilated one-room apartment, ricocheting into the compound which was currently empty. That was a rare occurrence. It was that time of the day-just before noon, before the noisy children would be released from school and the lazy[i] okada[/i] riders took a break from hustling. It was that time when total peace reigned in the ghetto of Isale-Oyin in Akure, Ondo state.
Eru's father coughed one more time. Painfully. And, once again, the sound reverberated through the thin walls. This was remarkable because sound only travelled through space, and space was something this compound certainly did not have. On a regular day, the heavily congested compound housed eight of the Face me, I slap you rooms signature to the slums of Isale-Oyin. At nighttime however, God himself would need help counting the multitude of occupants plus squatters the compound contained. The building was originally designed as a Two-Bedroom flat with just a bit of space for a security outhouse. Its present state was a 360 degree variation from the architectural plan. The landowners would definitely have found it unrecognizable. A stroke of luck had caused the legal occupants to relocate abroad, leaving the house in care of a shady, street-smart relative. The building's present condition was his way of buttressing his income flow.


Babajide Braimoh was Eru's father. He was not an old man, yet his coughs sounded like that of an aged[i] 'taba'[/i] smoker. As a matter of fact, he was a mere thirty two years old but he was sick, very sick. Some people said it was the sawdust and stuffy air from the sawmill where he worked. Others said it was the effort involved in operating the heavy machinery required to hew the timber into smaller logs. Still others felt it was merely a case of accumulated Jedi jedi.
Mama Iyabo, a fellow tenant, was one of such people. So, she was forever mixing local concoctions that she swore cured everything from toothache to AIDS. Concoctions which, if truth be told, contributed to Babajide's deteriorating health. For if he did not throw up from the foul odor of the mixes, then he certainly spent the day purging out what little food he managed to eat. Mama Iyabo was just trying to be helpful but after a particularly weakening bout of diaorrhea, Babajide cleverly devised a means of disposing them. He simply instructed Eru to flush them down the pit toilets where the eighty parts dry gin in them served as sterilizer and the twenty parts roots, an air freshener. Mama Iyabo was none the wiser, and Babajide's stomach restful. And, of course, there was the group who believed his sickness was purely spiritual. Agbeke was one of such people. But we would talk about that later. Right now, we must talk about Babajide.

He had indeed lost weight. His once strong muscular body had dried up and his clothes hung loosely on him. His once shiny, dark skin had dulled in complexion; and as for his gap toothed smile, it was no longer in circulation. He was a perfect representation of death warmed over.

Whatever was killing Babajide Braimoh was more than his cough. Yes, what ate at the heart of this once handsome, gap toothed specimen of an Ijebu man was not even physical. It was deep inside his heart. Yes, deep inside his soul. And Agbeke had guessed it.


Babajide coughed again and Eru winced from where she sat outside, washing away the remnants of the morning meal. Little Eru was just seven years old but her father’s health was a cause for concern to her. All the herbal remedies she faithfully ground, mixed and grated for him were of no use. It seemed like every drug he took only aggravated his condition. It had kept him from going to work and her from school the past six months. She missed school. She missed dressing up in her uniform and trudging to the public school hand in hand with the other children of the neighbourhood. A tear crawled down her left cheek but Eru wiped it away quickly. She didn’t want her Papa to hear her crying because it always saddened him. And she loved her Papa too much to cause him any more pain. She just wished he would get better so that their life could get back on track. She had never known her mother; her father was all she had. Another tear traced a sad pattern on her face and she hurriedly wiped it away. She gave a tiny sniffle and then, suddenly, she got an idea- she would practice her power spitting! She always wanted to spit long distances like her friend Remi, but her current spitting prowess needed a lot of work. Yes, she decided. She would practice her spitting. At that thought, her mood perked up and her face lit up a smile.

wharlzywee: Following

*large smile*

Where will i sit down?

Olarewajub: Where will i sit down?

you go be chief usher... If not for your siggy, i for ask you to sell popcorn and coke. Lol.

The first wad of spit landed on her left foot. Eru hissed. She quickly washed it off with the remnants of the soapy water. She took a deep breath and tried to recall Remi's instructions. Sucking in her stomach, she puffed out her chest like a peacock, swirled her tongue round the innards of her mouth and then hurled its contents outside like a nuclear missile.
It promptly landed on Agbeke's window.

The dull thump of the thickly mucused spit woke Agbeke up. As an old woman, she was a very light sleeper. She opened her eyes and tried to make sense of what had woken her up.

Outside, Eru continued her spitting practice unaware of what she had done. She snorted once again, puffed out her chest like before, but this time, she set a mental target- the wall opposite her. She released the third wad of sputum with force, and this time, surprisingly, it landed on target!

"Ehen!” she affirmed.

She was getting set to hit another target when she heard a voice call out her name.

"ERU!”

She froze. Her eyes darted from side to side; left, right, left again. And then, she realized where the voice was coming from- Agbeke's room. Panic rose within her. She had no idea the old woman was home. Somehow, for no reason she could readily place a finger on, she had never been comfortable around her. The old woman never maltreated her, on the contrary, she was kind, even motherly towards her. But Eru couldn’t help it. What she felt for Agbeke was something akin to fear- an unnatural fear. So, she always took great pains to avoid her or at the very least, minimize contact with the old woman.

Eru hesitated in answering the call. She scratched her head, thinking quickly. She decided to sneak into the house and come back for the dishes later. She took the first step towards the house, when, as if on cue, the voice called again.

"Eru!”

Eru sighed. Obviously, the old woman was watching her. She shrugged and answered,

"Im coming, Maami".

Agbeke grunted in response. She had heard the child spit repeatedly and was merely curious as to what could be wrong with her. Eru dragged her slippered feet along the cement floor as she approached Agbeke's room. She knew the old woman did not like it but she didn’t care. It was her punitive way of registering displeasure at being summoned against her will. She pushed the door open and entered.

Agbeke smiled at the child before her.
Her eyes travelled from the child's crop of untamed hair, and soft pouting lips, past her slightly distended stomach down to her straight legs. Agbeke smiled again. Inspite of the old, torn clothes and general state of unkemptness; there was no denying it, the child was indeed beautiful. She had taken her father's looks but that fair complexioned skin must have certainly come from her mum. Agbeke sat up closer, the better to see the child. She surveyed the child again, enjoying what she saw and then her eyes widened and froze on Eru's chest.
Was that...?
Could it be....?
Yes, she was developing breastss! Little curves of flesh were budding and soft nipppples pressed against the faded gown she wore.

Agbeke did a double take.

When had this happened? Why did she not notice it earlier? Little Eru was growing up quickly, she mused.
Then, another thought floated past her head. Bolting upright, she grabbed Eru's palms and stared at them.
Nothing.
With the same swiftness, she snatched Eru's jaw and peered into her small, round eyes.
Still nothing.
But the child was spitting a few minutes ago, Agbeke thought. One could never be sure with these children of nowadays. Agbeke grabbed the slightly puzzled child and shook her by the shoulders, demanding,

"Are you pregnant? Tell me!"

Now, it was Eru's turn to do a double take.
What was this wretched old hag screaming about? She took a step back and tried to break free but the woman's grip was too powerful. Panicking, Eru began to struggle. Swiftly, Agbeke stood up from the bed. Holding Eru with her left hand, she groped under the bed and brought out a shiny, black stone.

Eru stopped struggling and stood still. She watched in mute fascination as Agbeke raised the stone above her head and mouthed silent words.
For thirty seconds, it seemed like time stood still.
Then, Agbeke removed the child's gown. Eru was too mesmerized to even object or protest. Naked, she stood before the old woman. Agbeke calmly placed the stone on Eru's stomach and waited.

Emm that means i will be standing all through. Nice story.

whitemosquito: you go be chief usher... If not for your siggy, i for ask you to sell popcorn and coke. Lol.

Checking in. Thanks for the invite, ride on

I'm impressed with your sense of description; a quality every writer needs but few possess. Great job, bloodsucker!

But, when a writer uses the royal plural personal pronoun 'we' in the description of events, the readers can safely assume that there is a narrator being introduced. And most times, the narrator is also usually a character in the story. We, the readers, therefore have the right to know whom the narrator is, you should at least tell us his/her name. Is it Iya Moji or Uncle Alinco?

An impressive start to a master piece in the making. Keep it up Whitey.

Oya..I dey enjoy story boss

present ma

following

Agbeke was an elderly woman but she was not stupid.
She knew that Eru had little or no affection for her, in fact that she barely tolerated her, but she did not blame the child.
With all the rumors the other tenants and their children circulated about her, she would have been surprised if the child behaved otherwise.
It was only natural that a childless woman who had no known family or relatives would be prime target for vicious rumors and jokes. She knew they gossiped about her. She heard them as she made her way to the bathroom every day. She noticed the sudden silence that greeted her as she passed by them seated together. She observed the guilty aversion of their eyes whenever she caught them in a stare. She understood well what it all meant.

They avoided her - in the daytime, that is. At nighttime however, they all patronized her. Yes, under the cover of darkness they snuck to buy what she, Agbeke was selling.
What was she selling, you ask? Age-old wisdom, coupled with a wide knowledge of roots.

Yes, whatever your problem was, Agbeke had the knowledge. From infertility to love potions to aphrodisiacs, Agbeke knew them all. In addition, she dealt in dark medicine. Infact, that was her specialty. She was so good that it was rumored that she had offered her children, even her womb in exchange for all the knowledge she had.
But who am I to judge the matter? All i can say is, in every rumor, there is always an element of truth.
The black stone fell to the ground unaided. Agbeke picked it up and heaved a sigh of relief. She collapsed onto the bed, her tension spent. There was nothing to worry about, the child was not pregnant. The black stone never made a mistake.

Eru remained standing; slightly confused, staring at the old woman.
"Oya, wear your dress", Agbeke ordered.
The child snapped out of her reverie and meekly obeyed. Agbeke considered the child-woman standing before her. Very soon she would begin to experience her monthly cycle, and the ghetto was no place for a motherless, vulnerable albeit attractive young child. So she did something she had sworn never to do. She took matters into her hands.

Drawing the child closer, she whispered into her ears,
"It is time for you to call your mother back."
Eru's eyes widened at the statement. Her mother? She had never known her. So how could she call her? She opened her mouth to beg to differ but the woman hushed her up.

" Behind you," she said gesturing, "There are three grinding stones. Bring the one you first touch."
Eru was intrigued, but once again, she did as she was asked. She found one and dropped it in front of the old woman.

Agbeke reached into a nearby basket and presented two leaves to Eru.
"Spit on them.", she ordered.
As usual, Eru complied. As soon as she did, Agbeke dropped them onto the stone, and gestured to Eru to grind them.

Immediately Eru knelt down and began to grind, Agbeke also began to speak. But not in Yoruba or English. She spoke in low tones an ancient tongue Eru had never even dreamed existed, let alone heard. Fascinated, Eru looked up and watched the old woman's lips. Agbeke's eyes were closed as if in rapture, but her voice was increasing in power and volume with every syllable. Unknown to Eru, the grinding stone took on a life of its own, grinding faster and faster in rhythm to the speed and strength of Agbeke's voice. Finally, she called out,
"STOP!"

And that was when Eru looked down to the grinding stone. There was nothing there. No leaf, nothing. The stone was as clean as ice.
Anyway, Agbeke pretended she did not hear the rumors the women spread about her because she knew their secrets. Each and every one of them had come for 'consultations' with her at one time or the other. Infact, she knew more about them than they even knew about themselves.

Eru's case was not much different. Indeed Agbeke knew more about Eru than the little child could ever dream about herself.

As a matter of fact, it was to Agbeke that Babajide, Eru's father, had come crying seven years ago when Eru was first conceived. It was Agbeke that had handled that delicate situation, and calmed volatile tempers when all hell had threatened to swallow Babajide whole.
But I’m getting ahead of the story.
Suffice it to say that Agbeke was keenly interested in the child.

CHAPTER TWO
Eru skipped down the dusty street hurriedly, careful not to spill the contents of the black nylon bag she held in her right hand. It was to be their dinner- #100 worth of fried yam and fried fish- her father's first meal of the day, or at least so she hoped. She intended to persuade him to eat, she wasn't going to take no for an answer. The call of the Muezzin, summoning Muslim faithful to the evening prayer echoed in the distance and Eru picked up her pace. One of the excuses her father employed to skip his meals was that "it was too late for his body to digest food", and she didn't want him to outsmart her tonight. But just to be sure, mentally she began to debate how best to rebuff his protestations.

She was already close to the house, in fact she had just crossed the gutter, about to pass through the compound gates when Remi, her friend, rushed out and accosted her. Dragging her to a corner, she began to garble excitedly in high pitch, her hands waving wildly, her words spilling over in a rush to get out all that her highly absorbent ears had soaked up.
Eru was unfazed by this; she knew Remi well, having lived together all of their seven years, she knew how to handle her. She calmly transferred the bag to her left hand, then with a swift movement of her right, clamped down on Remi's mouth, holding it there until she choked the dribble to a gradual stop. Experience had taught her that it was the most efficient way to silence her, for her friend was forever talking. She talked at all times; even in her sleep!
Remi was quiet only on occasion- when she was too shocked to speak, and such occasions were few, far between and often instigated by Eru.

When Eru could see that Remi had calmed down sufficiently to speak coherently, she asked her
,"What happened?"
Remi took a deep breath, pausing for dramatic effect and then released all her excitement into the one statement,
"Your mama don come!"
Silence. Disbelief.

Eru peered into her friend's eyes as much as the dimming evening light could permit, seeking a sign, a clue of some sort, to betray that Remi was playing a prank on her. Nothing. Just delighted content at having been the first to break the news to her.
Eru paused. Now, it was her turn to pull Remi to a corner.
"Ehn, what did you say?" she demanded.

Remi paused and took a deep breath, the piece of information she was about to reveal was too juicy to just rush out. Savoring the moment, she began to whisper,

"Na after you comot go buy yam o! E no even reach five minutes when you take comot na im she come. If to say you wait small, you for see am as she take come! If to say you buy the yam for Mama Nkechi hand sef, e for don quick you come back, you for see am! I know say na the other place wey dem dey fry yam, near Baba Bose shop na im you go, shey? I wish, you even quick waka, you for quick meet her as she..."

Remi's voiced droned on and on a plethora of "what if" scenarios, but Eru had faded her out. The recurrent message replaying in her brain was simply 'Your mama don come'. Her mother. The one that gave birth to her. The one everybody said she must look like. Her mother...

Remi considered her friend Eru, she had gone dazed into one of those dreamlike states she often found her in whenever she was by herself. Remi too knew how to restore her friend to default settings. She reached out and shook Eru thoroughly till her teeth rattled in her mouth.
Eru snapped back to reality, gasping "What? What?"
Remi hissed. Eru was taking all the fun out of her story regaling, but she refused to be annoyed.
"I say, you no even sabi the best part!"
"The best part?", Eru dumbly repeated.
"Ehn! The best part!", Remi affirmed.
Eru was puzzled, what other news could possibly trump that which she had just heard?
In a theatrical whisper, Remi continued, "She carry car come! Big car! Eru, your mama get CAR!"
If Eru was shocked before, with that latest revelation, she was now stupefied! She rushed into the compound galvanized by the seven year old yearning to see the woman who brought her to life, the woman who according to latest news was rich enough to own a car!

True to their ingrained love of anything remotely scandalous, gossip worthy or not; the entire residents of No 49 Gberigbe street, Isale Oyin, had come out of their various rooms, cubicles and partitions. There was a small crowd gathered just by the entrance to the main passage way of this suddenly infamous house. People whom Eru had not seen for weeks had trooped out; Oga Chidi,the part time mechanic who was forever bringing his 'village sisters' of different shades, shapes and sizes to visit him was present. Mama Karo, to whom Eru had lent a kerosene stove to two weeks ago, and who had conveniently forgotten to return the said stove was present. Evangelist, a middle aged man with three children whose only visible occupation was to carry out 5 o'clock 'morning cries' was also there. Heck, even people from the adjacent houses were there! The crowd was too much for the small passage, Eru couldn't see who it was that was the center of attraction. She could only hear her voice.

The first thing Eru heard of her mother was her voice. It was angelic, exquisite, cultured with a trace of the foreign in it. It was unlike anything she had ever heard in the slums of Isale Oyin and Eru was mesmerized by it. Have you ever heard someone speak and become immediately certain that attributable to the quality of the voice, the owner must possess a musical talent on par with the likes of Celine Dion?
Eru's heartbeat accelerated faster as she drew near the crowd. How would she access her mother? People were milling all around her, calling out greetings; some reaching out to shake her hand, others just content in staring at her. Eru was confused. She pressed through the crowd, somewhat reminiscent of the Biblical Zaccheus, struggling for a glimpse of a seven year old fantasy.

She saw her feet first. Encased in expensive looking sandals, were fair, beautifully formed, classily pedicured feet. Eru's eyes lingered, she wanted to drink in the sight, to capture the moment, to enjoy her first glance. Slowly her eyes travelled up, past her mother's ankles, her calves, her knees and then, she noticed she was no longer straining to move forward. Somehow she was already at the front, someone must have noticed her presence and pushed her through the crowd, so that she was directly in front of her mother. The silence that fell upon the gathering was expectant and deafening.
It was inevitable that their eyes meet. The owner of the angelic voice with the exquisite feet, and the little child, scruffily dressed who held a black nylon bag. Yes, it was unalterable that as Eru's gaze traveled upward; as she straightened up to her full height, her eyes would collide with that of her mother's. When it did, it was a shock to both parties. Eru looked at eyes that were the same shade as hers, skin very much like hers, even a face that exactly mirrored hers. She was taken aback, as was her mother. Both let out simultaneous gasps, even the expressions on their faces eerily alike. Eru did the only thing she thought to do. She turned around and fled down the corridor, to the only place she trusted at that moment. The only place she was familiar with-her father's arms. She rounded the corner with top speed, her hurry causing her to stumble, even stub her toe once, twice, unaware that an even greater shock awaited her in her father's room.

She threw open the door to their room, burst in, and stopped. The nylon she had faithfully held onto dropped unnoticed to the floor, her jaw fell open and her eyes slowly grew bigger. Her father was standing! Standing on his feet, by himself, dressed in a shirt and pair of trousers she didn’t even know he owned! This was a man who for the past six months had been bedridden, only getting up to take his bath and perform necessary toiletries. And even then, it was always weakly and reluctantly! She took a tentative step forward, to better confirm if it was her father. Yes, indeed, it was; he had his back towards her, but it was him standing there with his shirt tucked in and his hair combed. Incredible.
She whispered, "Papa?"

Spinning round immediately as if he had been waiting for her, he began urgently, "Where have you been?! I have been waiting for you! Look at this room! It's untidy! Oya, pack those clothes from the chair! Fold them! Where is the broom? Quick, sweep the room too! Why are you standing there like that, looking at me?!".

Eru found her tongue.
"Papa," she demanded in a small whisper that seemed already to know the truth, "Is it true then? Is it true??"
Her father paused, turned his attention away from the bed he was trying to straighten and regarded her with gentle yet sorrowful eyes.
"Eru," he began, "I don't know how to...", but then he stopped and his eyes switched to somewhere above her head and he grew silent. Eru heard the rustle of fabric behind her first before she smelt the subtle change of the room's fragrance to something that was undoubtedly feminine. Her mother had followed her.

She turned to confront her, to ask her if indeed the rumors were true, but her mother swept past her as if oblivious to her presence, her eyes fixed intently on the man standing in the center of the room with his shirt tucked in and his hair combed.

"Jide??" she gasped.

Jide did not move from where he stood. He had long dreamt of this moment every day for the past seven years, how he would react, what he would say to the only woman he had ever loved, the only woman he had given his heart; but now that the moment was here, he found he could do nothing, say nothing. For what seemed like an eternity, they both stared at each other, paralyzed by the strength of their emotions.

Then Jide whispered, "Mojisola...ife mi....".
And that broke the ice, for with tears streaming down their faces, they rushed into each other’s arms, both whispering the other’s name like it was an act of worship.
Eru stared at them, tears running down her own face, for naught except the intensity of the raw emotions she had just witnessed. She backed out of the room blindly, confused. There was a lot she didn't understand. Too many questions filled her head and along with them a variety of emotions that discomfited her - sadness, mortification, and surprisedly jealousy.
She needed answers, and she needed them quick. There was only one person she felt she could turn to at this point, so she went in search of her. She headed down the corridor towards Agbeke's room. The old woman’s door was shut firmly but Eru resolved to wait.

*********************************************
Eru lost track of how long she had spent outside in futile wait beside Agbeke's door. Darkness enveloped her like a cocoon, the mosquitoes taking sharp, delicious nibbles of her flesh. Sighing, she stood up and dusted her behind. Then, it occured to her, the dust that carpeted the front of the room was too thick, too undisturbed; nobody had passed by recently. The old woman must have gone on one of her 'hunting' trips, or wherever she went to obtain the rare roots and herbs she employed in her trade.
Eru considered the surroundings again; if it were true, then Agbeke could not be expected back for a while for those trips she made were usually long, spanning several weeks. Dejectedly, Eru turned back and headed for her father's room to turn in for the night.

She tramped down the corridor, disregarding the fact that it was way into the night and the large majority of her neighbors would be asleep. As she approached her room, she heard the muted voice of her father and the quiet sobs of the woman everyone referred to as her mother. She immediately switched to stealth mode. The door to the room was slightly ajar; they were so engrossed in their discussion they forgot to shut it after she left. She slipped in unnoticed. It was easy, their backs were towards the door, her mother enclosed in her father's arms as he stroked her hair and back.
He was whispering terms of endearment while alternately reciting, "I forgive you, my dear. It's not your fault."

Eru was a mess of differing emotions as she watched this drama unfold before her. Her father, who was sick; in fact, who found it difficult to even rise from the bed most mornings was holding this woman firmly with such strength in his arms! This was a man who had lost all appetite for food and spent most of his waking moments staring at the ceiling in their room! Who hardly spoke to her except when absolutely necessary, who hardly spoke to anyone, for that matter. And he had not coughed a single time since this woman arrived! Not once! Those nerve racking, phlegm filled hacks that had caused her to wince each time, even shed a few tears had stopped- for the entire period of this woman's presence. She didn't understand it.

And what were they whispering about? What were they not telling her? This woman had not even spoken to her, and she claimed to be her mother! Where had she been the past seven years, why hadn't she come sooner? Why was her father whispering those particular words over and over? He comforted this woman the way she wanted him to comfort her, Eru! Why? She was the one who had taken care of him since his illness started! She was the one who had stopped school to do that effectively!
Wave after wave of questions washed over little Eru and with it a growing feeling of a new and utterly unwanted emotion - jealousy. She had never had cause to doubt her father's affection for her, but that was what she was doing now, all thanks to the arrival of her 'mother'.

Sinking to her torn mattress on the floor with nary a sound, she let hot, salty tears flow down her face. Aware that the couple was oblivious to her presence, and wanting to keep it that way, she swallowed every sound her weeping was wont to produce. She cried herself to sleep that night - and in fact many nights after - but not before she heard certain things that would forever violate her mind.

Van Tee 20, divepen, zyzxx et al, welcome. Thank you for honoring me with your presence.

whitemosquito: *runs though thread screaming in high soprano* LARRY!! I missed ya. *in Madea's voice* Thank yer... The narrator is Omniscient...

The feeling is mutual; I missed you too.

If that is the case, the 'we' or 'I' should be totally avoided in the narratives, except in the characters' dialogues (which, of course, must be quoted).

Please don't leave us hanging with this o, I'm enjoying it.

Bless you, ma'am.

Wow! This z wow

CHAPTER THREE
Babajide couldn't believe his ears. When the child, Remi, had barged into his room that evening, urging, insistent, that a certain lady was looking for him, he didn't respond. Initially. Until he had risen up with great difficulty and looked out of the window, that is. Then, he had frozen still, staring at her back, as a flood of powerful emotions he had tried without success to suppress for over six years washed over him. Love, anger, regret, sorrow, incredulity, disappointment- each potent of itself, each fighting for dominance, and each failing repeatedly. He had had enough time to sift through them, these past six years, to starve them and rationalize them. To face them and to surmount them, to put the past behind him and move forward and face his fate; but he had failed. And the secret of his heart and soul had finally eaten away at his body, and he let it. He was now past caring about what he looked like or what he made of himself in this world for the inspiration behind his living was gone, so he no longer cared. Or so he thought. Because, after he had stared unbelievingly at her for about five minutes, he snapped to attention. Strength he had not possessed in several months surged through his veins as he sort to recollect his senses and prepare himself to meet her again. Mojisola Olaniyi. The love of his life. The first and only woman he had ever given himself to - heart, soul and body. The woman who had given him the greatest gift of his orphaned life - her love - and with it, Eru. The woman who had also shattered his heart to smithereens. He had dreamed of this moment everyday for the past seven years, each dream ending differently.

Now, she was here. His seven year old fantasy about to come true. And he couldn't figure out what to wear to live it. He was aware he had lost a lot of weight and with his current illness, a lot of his good looks. He hesitated, seven years was a long time for someone to still remain in love. What if she had forgotten him? What if her tastes had changed had matured? She would definitely be well educated now, her family would have seen to that. Will their different positions in life not be emphasized now? When he met her, he was a young adolescent with ambitious dreams. Fate and the birth of Eru had changed all that and he was now a shell of his former self. Would she not be disgusted with his current condition?
At least he had to tidy up this room...

‘Eru!’, he suddenly remembered! Where was that child? She was supposed to have gone to buy dinner, wasn't she? Turning around, he wasn't surprised when she walked in, at just that precise moment he was looking for her... and started asking questions in that way she had that was so like her mother's. He wasn't paying attention to her, he couldn't. And anyway, he had long lost the ability or the desire to answer her questions years ago. The child was too precocious, her questions too many and painful to respond to. They stirred up memories he would rather have forgotten. So, he shut her out as usual.

Then, he looked up and his eyes met Moji's. She had followed Eru into the room. Standing beside the seven year old daughter she had never acknowledged nor recognized, he wondered how he had ever fooled himself into believing he could forget her. Not when their child grew up to look more and more like her every day. He stared into those eyes - those eyes that had mirrored his soul all those years ago, the ones that had held a hot, passionate love for him - and he knew that nothing had changed. He knew he was still deeply in love with him.
And he forgot all about Eru.

whitemosquito: Erm. Oga Larry. Na under which constitution or for which textbook dem talk dat one? Biko, third party narrative's are personalized all the time bro. Check up on it. Thanks all the same. Shows your carefully reading. Love that.

Okay o. My bad. I agree with you if you don't agree with me.

He listened to her tell her tale in between quiet sobs, and he had no choice but to believe her. It all made sense to him, the way she told it, and most importantly, he wanted badly to believe her. He could never hurt her, never be upset with her; not when he loved her so deeply. Anyway, he knew her, and she would never desert him, not without a good reason. Not when what they shared was so special, so precious. So he forgave her. He forgave her for every tear he had cried, for every pain his fragile heart had borne. He forgave her for Eru's first step she had missed. For Eru's firsts that he alone had experienced when it should have been the two of them - her first word, her first tooth, her first day in school. He forgave her for the sleepless nights he'd spent beside Eru when she was sick, that miserable night in the General Hospital when she had chicken pox, mopping the fever from her brow. He had taken her home the next day and nursed her to health in their little room and then fallen ill to the same disease days later. He forgave her all. And with his benevolence came a stirring in his loins so primitive and eroticc that even he shuddered.
The swell of her bosoms as they rested on his chest warmed him; she was fatter, her body would be more matured than it was seven years ago. He slid his hands up and down as he tried to placate her. What was this spandex fabric she was wearing? It was driving him distracted; he could feel every mound of her skin, every cumulus of bone, of muscle. He could feel her brassiere, enclosing flesh he had not tasted in years.
‘It's been too long’ he thought as an increasingly potent heat started in his pelvic region. Almost absentmindedly, his fingers traced the elastic band of the back of her bra to the front of her chest. He let them; he was powerless to stop it. He felt her gasp, rather than heard it. And with it, his hand stilled. He did not want to offend her. Her sobs had stopped, she was quiet now. Slowly, she raised her head and looked into his eyes, searching for something he wasn't sure of; but she must have found it for she reached up to cover his mouth in a kiss so deep he shuddered at its intensity.

It had been long, but not so long that he forgot how it had been the first time. He remembered, and with his memory increased his heightening. Just when he thought he could take it no longer, she slid her hands down his waist, to the spot where the heat was most passionate. Now, it was his turn to gasp, and he lost all control.
He lay her flat on the bed, and mounted her. Seven years of abstinence, seven years of longing, seven years of frustrated desire assuaged in that one night.
They danced that age old rhythm three times, their sweat mixing with other body fluids; at first roughly,soundlessly, each one's need greater than the other, then passionately, the initial desire half satiated, and finally tenderly, with tears in their eyes, exploring the wonderment of the flood of repressed emotions. And then, they did it again and again

Is Eru a name or it was shortened?nice story,followin gently

seunviju: Is Eru a name or it was shortened?nice story,followin gently

Yes dearie. Her name is Êru ti ife, eru for short. And this is her story. Im introducing her in bits. Just stay tuned, ul get the full gist. Remember were just in chapter one.

And they both forgot about Eru who had cried herself to sleep.
Over the next few days, Eru watched her father blossom and flourish like a hibiscus flower pollinated by generous bees. He literally changed right before her eyes; laughing more, eating more. His health seemed miraculously restored, and along with it his good looks and vibrant personality.

The neighbors did not marvel too much, instead she heard them making snide comments about what 'konji' could do to a man (the women), and how regular 'kpekus' cured all ailments (the men). Her father became a reference point for all the men seeking to score a romp in the hay with their lady loves, threatening them with a manipulative 'You want make I be like Baba Eru?', when they hesitated to part their legs for a taste of sinful pleasure.

Eru did not understand; all her mother had done the day after she showed up, was to hug her and proclaim, 'what a little woman you are' in that cut glass voice of hers. She had however, frowned at her appearance, tsk tsk-ing her unkempt hair and raggedy clothes. Eru did not begrudge her mother the new clothes she bought her, or the effect that her arrival had on her father, or that she could return to school. What she really wanted were answers to the numerous questions eating away at her soul, but no one paid any real attention to her. Apart from making sure she was well fed and tucked into bed on time, her parents were totally consumed in themselves. They talked to each other all the time, touching each other, even taking baths together-they were inseparable, unconcerned about the raised eyebrows and gossip they generated. For the whole of two weeks.

Then her father announced that he was going back to work - in the saw mill.
Eru would never forget the events of that decisive afternoon.

They had just consumed a delicious meal of Ofada rice tantalizingly garnished with kidney, liver and 'shaki' parts. That was something to be said for her mother - she could cook. Her father was reclining on the bed, his newly filled tummy slightly distended, with her mother resting on the crook of his arm, while Eru sat opposite them on the other side of the room, attempting to do her homework and pretending that she wasn't stealing quick peeks at her parents.
Her father spoke first, actually he just casually blurted out.

"I'll be resuming work tomorrow."

There was an eerie silence for the whole of sixty seconds, then her mother responded, "Which work?" It sounded more like "Which werrk?"
Another silence.

Then, "My old job, of course. The one at the sawmill."

"You want to go back to hacking pieces of firewood for akara sellers?" her mother asked.

"C'mon Moji, that's not what I do and you know it!"

"What's the difference?"
By now, her mother's voice was raised and she had sat up on the bed facing Babajide.

"Yes, what's the difference, I ask you? Is that how you intend to support us? To hack firewood for the rest of your life...till you break your back from the strain?"

Another silence. Eru was staring at them intently now, all pretext at doing her homework forgotten. What was wrong with working in a sawmill, she wondered.

Then Babajide drew Moji back into his arms, cooing, "It's just a means to an end, Ife mi. You know I plan to own a sawmill of my own someday. The dreams I had when I met you are still alive, especially now that you have come back into my life. Ife mi, I would do everything to make a deserving life for you and our daughter. I need to raise a capital first, and establish the right connections that will ensure that I never lack a constant supply of wood...I want to make sure that Eru gets the highest level of education possible..like you", he added.

But Moji was not easily mollified.
"What of the money you say my parents gave you?", she persisted. "Isn't that enough of a capital to start with?"

"NEVER!!", her father growled. Springing up from the bed with anger, he blasted, "I will never touch that cursed money! And if you have any idea the kind of man you fell in love with, you will never ask that of me!"

Eru stared at them, her eyes round like saucers. Never had her father raised his voice at her or her mother since she arrived. And what did he mean by cursed money?

CHAPTER FOUR
Mrs MaryAnne Eustacia Abimbola Olaniyi was an Iron lady. She wasn't so because she ran her household with an iron fist, or because she was one of those self made, self proclaimed women of timber, caliber and plywood.
She was one simply because her children called her so- behind her back, of course. And they should know; they'd lived their whole lives under the suffocating hold of 'I am your mother, and I know best'. She firmly believed that she alone possessed the absolute knowledge of what was best for her children, and she let others know that fact. Her word as far as her kids were concerned was law, and there was no questioning it. Even her late husband, God bless his gentle heart, had long since given up challenging her decisions over the children, and had, for the sake of peace, permitted her full control over their lives. It was one of the biggest mistakes of his life; it was a testimony to the size of his recriminations that his last thought as he lay dying in a private ward at The Rock Hospital, Lekki; was how sorry he was that he had allowed his wife impose her whims on the three children they had brought into the world together. Infact, his regret was so palpable that six years after his passing on, he still turned over in his grave, whenever he sensed his wife's single minded influence over the children's lives.

Mrs May Olaniyi, as she was known to her friends, was also a fairly wealthy woman. She came from a long line of 'Blue bloods'; rich, classy aristocrats, who had their fingers in every pie at one time or the other- Oil & gas, Education, Health, Trade, Real estate, Politics- you name it, they had a certain financial interest in it. It was rumored that her family originated from one of those freed slaves, armed with Western education and exposure had built Broad Street and the Marina from scratch; owned and controlled majority of the land and businesses in old Lagos. The operative word there being "old" because, economic policies, changes in government and mismanagement by ancestors past had left the Olaniyis with more name than fortune; and though the name still opened a few doors, albeit squeakily, 'new money' had gradually taken over the corridors of power and the Olaniyis were one of those old names content with riding the last wave of hallowed fame.

With the death of her husband, May had become the sole controller of the Olaniyi home. She had clout and could certainly ensure that her children felt the weight of her 'love and care'. However, in addition to inheriting the Olaniyi fortune, she also inherited the sole burden of the family secrets.
They weighed within her, deep down in her soul, causing her frightful nightmares, nightmares from which she would awaken, late in the eerie hours of the night, gasping and shuddering at their intensities.
She was haunted by selfish decisions of years past, decisions of a reckless and irrepressible heart, a heart swollen with doggedness and pride. And while she once had the arms of her devoted husband to chase those nighttime terrors away, upon his death she now awoken to a cold and lonely bed, alongside unending silence.

Tell you what. If i get 50 likes, ill upload the next update as a voicenote. That way you can get to hear the story read from the horse's mouth. Lol. Its up to you guys.

whitemosquito: Tell you what. If i get 50 likes, ill upload the next update as a voicenote. That way you can get to hear the story read from the horse's mouth. Lol. Its up to you guys.

51 likes. oya update

Loving the story. Following.

70 likes;I like ur writing style efon funfun

whitemosquito: *runs though thread screaming in high soprano* LARRY!! I missed ya. *in Madea's voice* Thank yer... The narrator is Omniscient...

Hmm! You employed third person omniscient technique which is the most smoothest...wow! I love it.