Hello All,

This would be my first time posting a literary work, on this section. I really enjoy reading other people's stuff, people like DanWrites and some others whose username I can't recall now. I hope to give as much fun as I have received and yes, keep the constructive criticisms flowing.

Cheers

‘Walahi you are such a bootipul gehl! What is your name again?’

‘ Ivie sir.’

‘Ibii,’ he drawled, in an attempt to pronounce my name.

‘No sir, Ivie, I.V.I.E, Ivie.’ I responded politely, attempting to repair the damage done to my name.

‘I.B.I.E, Ibie.’ He repeated, this time with a smile that made him look like a dog on heat.

I rolled my eyes resignedly.

‘Hab you been to Dubai bepor?

‘No sir? Does the job require travelling to Dubai?’

Alhaji Jibril smiled once again, revealing his gold teeth. He looked at me with tiny, almost blood shot eyes. His thin fingers, stroking the goatee that almost reached his chest. Then, he took of his hat, revealing a shiny bald head.

‘Look Ibie, poget avout dis job. I want to takea op you; I will take you to Dubai and around za world, you will neba hab to look por job again.’

I looked at him, struggling to conceal my irritation and taking in his features; lanky, bald, well over fifty, with the tiniest eyes I have ever seen and lips as thick as a bat fish.

I couldn’t understand what was happening. I mean this is the fourth job interview in two weeks and all the prospective employers preferred to have me warm their beds.

I didn’t dress provocatively; in fact, I always deliberately dressed conservatively; loose fitting clothes, always a size bigger and well below the knee. Yet, I always seem to receive undesired attention from the opposite sex.

I knew I was quite beautiful, very attractive to many. I had a lithe physique, taller than the average lady, with a height of 5, 11 on bare foot. My caramel skin tone was flawless and my hair, which was kept in its natural state, is long and full. My face, which was oval, presented huge, dreamy hazel eyes, a small nose and full soft lips. My slightly chubby cheeks hid a set of dimples which becomes prominent every time I smile or even curve my lips.

I jerked as I felt the rough palms of Alhaji Jibril on my chin. What nerves! The man actually touched my face!

‘Excuse me sir, this is supposed to be a job interview. Please, if you don’t think I am qualified for the job then…

‘Shush, bootipul ladies are not suffosed to work, why do you want to suppa when I can gib you ebrytin you want?’

I stood up immediately, ‘do enjoy the rest of the day, Alhaji’. I walked out of the office gracefully. I wasn’t going to give the heartless, shameless man the satisfaction of watching me display anger induced by frustration.

As I hit the streets, walking towards the junction where I would take a commercial cab back home and struggling to prevent the tears stinging my eyes from rolling down my cheeks, I began to mutter to myself. Is it my fault that I was created this way? Is beauty not supposed to be an advantage? Mine seems to be a disadvantage, more like a curse even! Men always wanted to take advantage of me.

I lost my mother at the tender age of four. She died in a plane crash. I was an only child and my dad who never remarried died, grief-stricken over the death of my mother, when I was sixteen. My dad always said I reminded him of his sweetheart, as I was the splitting image of my mum. Many times, I caught him weeping, clutching the picture of my mum, close to his heart, repeatedly asking why, why. He never got over her death! He became depressed and began to exhibit signs of dementia.

When I turned fourteen, my dad began to see me as his late wife. I was confused. He would call me pearl; which was the pet name he called my late mum. One rainy night, I woke up to find my dad on my bed, undressed! I jumped out of the bed, screaming ‘Daddy, I am your daughter’. I ran out of the room and locked myself in the bathroom. I sat down, folded my hands over my knees which were drawn to my chest and began to weep. I woke up, to the rays of sunlight, streaming through the window. I was cold, from lying on the tiled bathroom floor and my body ached all over. Recollections of the previous night’s event began to fill my head and my heart became heavy. I suddenly felt like I had been punched in my stomach.

I felt so much fear and confusion. I wasn’t going to get out of this place. After what seemed like three hours, I began to feel the pangs of hunger in my stomach. I stood up, washed my face and brushed my teeth, then turned the key in the lock open as quietly as I could. I opened the door with more caution than a burglar trying to break into an apartment.

It was silent everywhere. My room was devoid of any other human; I quickly locked the door to my room. I was too scared to risk going into the kitchen and also too ashamed to face my dad. What am I going to do now? I silently asked myself. Another thirty minutes passed, I decided to go to the kitchen. Ignoring the wild beat of my heart, I unlocked the door, took the key out of the key hole and locked it as I stepped out. Then I tiptoed towards my dad’s room and pressed my ear to the door, silence. I waited for about five minutes, still no sound. Then, I proceeded, still on tip toe to the kitchen. I opened the fridge, took out four slices from the loaf of bread and made a tuna sandwich. I took a bottle of sprite and hurriedly went back to my room.

FTC nice one lady

Thank you Muna

Oya come and kontinu what you have started o

vicadex07:
Oya come and kontinu what you have started o

, oh boy. na who send me thiis kind work. I don dey taya oh. lol.

Thank God, it was a Saturday. I don’t know how I would have concentrated in class. I chewed silently, and then lay on the bed after my meal. I woke up to see that it was past 2pm. I sat up on my bed and wondered where my dad was. I decided to go check his room. The door moved when I turned the knob, but my dad was nowhere around. I went out of our two bedrooms flat, hoping to see him outside, still no sign. We lived in a mini estate along airport road in Warri, where everyone pretty much tended to their own businesses. I wasn’t sure who to ask about my dad and went back indoors, hopeful that my dad would return soon.

He wasn’t back until a week later. But then, I had lost my dad forever. Things changed completely, his mental health continued to deteriorate. My dad was checked into a private mental institution by his sister my aunt. Two years later, he passed on. I never told anyone about the events of that night.

I lived with my aunt and her family, consisting of her husband and my two male cousins. They tried their best to give me a home. I excelled at the annual scholarship exams offered by the high school I attended and was offered a university scholarship to study communications. Then, disaster struck again.

DanWrites, i see you. Oga, welcome. I am a fan oh.

First, I'd say it's a nice start and really your mastery of the Hausa accent is impressive!

I'd say you avoid too much details though. Leave the readers to their personal imagination sometimes.
Then cut down on your 'ly' adverbs. And finally show more and tell less.

In all, I anticipate a great work.

Please note that these observations are subjective and some might not think same. Remember, it's your work and you have the sole right to decision.

#following

DanWrites:
First, I'd say it's a nice start and really your mastery of the Hausa accent is impressive!

I'd say you avoid too much details though. Leave the readers to their personal imagination sometimes.
Then cut down on your 'ly' adverbs. And finally show more and tell less.

In all, I anticipate a great work.

Please note that these observations are subjective and some might not think same. Remember, it's your work and you have the sole right to decision.

Thank you

Following

Thank you, Almacherish and Aisha. Welcome on board.

lovely writeup yh...😘😘😋🙋

emekaanijah:
lovely writeup yh...😘😘😋🙋

thank you.

I was beginning to get agitated. ‘Where are these people?’ I asked myself. ‘I tried mum’s number, for the uptenth time, no response. I looked around, at other students filled with excitement and taking photos with their families who have come to celebrate with them as they matriculated. I felt like taking off my matric gown.

I took a picture and left for my hostel. Later that evening, I got a call from my adopted mum’s line and the tragic message was delivered! My new family was involved in a fatal car accident on their way to Benin, for my matriculation. No one survived!

I went through the university with a vengeance! I was angry at the world. I always wore a sad look, never made any friends because I was scared to. I believed that anyone who became close to me was doomed to die. Thankfully, I was on full scholarship and money for my upkeep was not an issue. I had some money in my savings account, worked at a cyber café in school and got paid to type students’ projects.

I looked forward to life after school. I would graduate with excellent grades, get a good job and maybe get married. Six months after completing the National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) scheme, I still had not gotten any job, despite graduating with a first class degree. The only job that was being offered to me was that of a mistress, to scrawny looking men looking for fresh blood to rejuvenate their dwindling cells..

‘Mtcheeew.’ I hissed loudly, as I came back to reality. I scowled at a man who offered me a lift and flagged a taxi headed to Wuse. I got to Wuse just in time to catch the BRT bus headed to Nyanya. I quickly hopped in.

As I approached the self-contained flat I shared with Rume and Oke, I couldn’t stop myself from wishing I had my own apartment. Right now, I wanted to be alone.

‘Babe, ha far na? Rume welcomed me excitedly.
‘Omote, give us good news’, Oke chipped in.

I ignored them.

‘Shu, wish levos na?’’ wish one you jus dey bone our side lie say na we be federal govment wey no gree provide job?’ Oke continued.

‘Oke, calm down.’ Rume cut in.

‘Babe, I am so sorry, why are you so upset?’ Oke asked me, seeing the tears freely flowing down my cheeks.

‘I, I d-don tire’. I stuttered.’ W-what is it? I jus-just want to get a decent job.’ The stutter increased because I was talking and crying.

‘It is okay,’ Rume said, patting my back. ‘Don’t talk again; we will talk later when you are calm.’

‘There’s concoction rice in the kitchen, lemme dish some for you’. Oke stood up and walked towards the kitchen.

I was famished, yet had no appetite. I met Oke and Rume at the NYSC orientation camp at Kubwa in the Federal capital territory. We were pleasantly surprised to find that we were all from Delta state and more excited that we were from the same tribe; Urhobo. We called ourselves, the three hot chicks and stuck together.

A year and six months later after we met, we are still as close as ever and without jobs.

‘Oke, fly dey call you.’ Rume called out to Oke, whose phone was lying on the bed ringing.

‘Na wetin dey worry dat yeye man sef? Shu!’ Oke responded. ‘D man no dey yeh word. I no know wish tactic to use again, he just won’t let me be.’

‘I beg, come and pick this call’ or I go pick am oh!

‘By all means do, my durling.’ Oke replied Rume. Giggling, Rume answered the call.

‘Talk to me,’ she said, mimicking Oke. Oke and I burst into laughter; Rume held a finger to her lips, signalling us to keep shut. She then put the phone on speaker.

‘Baby geh, kekwanu?’ entered the voice from the speakers. ‘I have been carring and carrying you, where you reave ya phone?’ amidst silent chuckles, Rume said,’ I was in the kitchen.’

‘Kitchen, ehen what ah you doing inside dia? Ah you cooking?’

‘Errm yes, no.’
‘Which one is yes, no?’

‘I just finished cooking.’

‘Hmmm baby geh, what did you cook, ret me come and eat na, invite me na.’

Oke began to move her head in disapproval.

‘It’s concoction rice oh,’

‘Which one is concoction lice again? If you want to eat lice, eat lice. Which one is concoction lice? Bia nne, get leady ret me take you out to eat betta food, you will eat point and kill?’

‘Errm’. Rume looked at Oke for approval, Oke looked at me and I giggled.

‘Baby geh, ah you dia?’

‘Err, yes’

Okay, so you want me to come and corret you flom ya house?

Ummm, no. My roommate is not feeling well.

‘Ya loomate? What is long wit ha? Ret ha forro us to chop point and kill, I plomise you she will well.’

Our controlled laughter escaped our lips. Rume quickly cut the call. We were still laughing hard when the phone rang again. Rume pushed Oke, ‘go and talk to your pest abeg’, I no dey.

Hello,’ ‘yes herro’, what apun to d rine?

Sorry, the line went off.

‘Okay oh. So, wia is ya house? Ret me come and corret you.’

‘We will meet you at Nyanya under bridge, Oke replied.

‘Why na? ret me come to ya house to cally you pipu.’

‘Our street is not motorable, it is better we meet you at the bus stop.’

Okay, ngwanu. What time is that?

‘Hmmm, in the evening, 5pm should be okay.’

‘Okay, my baby geh. By e by e oh!’
Oke dropped her phone on the bed. Funny man I said. Are you really going out with him?

‘Oh yes we are!’

We?

‘Yes! We!’

No, no please I am not…

‘Look Ivie, I know you are feeling low right now, but that is the main reason I want you to come with us. Besides, this man will not let me be if I post him again. So, let me just agree to go with him but not alone.’

I really don’t feel like it, I really just want…

‘Ivie, please let’s go. Going out will get your mind off the stress you are feeling now.’ Rume joined in.

Okay, okay. I have heard. I know you girls won’t let me be if I don’t accept this unwanted invitation. I got up to return my half-finished meal to the kitchen, drank a sachet of water and returned to the room. I took off my dress, lay on the bed and shut my eyes.

Aisha800:
Following

hello o.

i don land with ma private pimped wheeled barrow.. *parks* goes to d front seat. Grabs sour kunu and puff puff.. Following

#following.............

kai!, dis yarinya get am fa story .....abeg i fit reserve front seat for some of my guys?