Chairman Dimeji Wasiu walked into his office in his usual swagger, spotting a smile on his face and waving hands at his staff, even stopping for a brief second to shake hands with the cleaner. His staff was awed as to what happened, that raised the boss to such an elevated mood this Thursday, which was usually tagged a stressful day, alongside Monday. They didn't know what he knew, and what he knows is, he'd just averted a major danger and stumbling block in his personal glory and quest of becoming chairman-for a second time.

He sank into his comfortable seat as he dropped his suitcase, looking upwards, and waiting for the fan to blow hard enough to dry off any perspiration on his face.

"Dis kind mumu sun sef" he cursed, annoyed that it wasn't one of the numerous things he didn't control. In fact, it was one of the things he despised most, being so similar to 'common men' who sweated like elephants who ran a marathon. He'd have gotten a car if not for the likewise mumu state governor and the mumu state house of assembly, which ordered one kind mumu peugot automobile as the official car for all local government chairmen. Sometimes rumor flew round that the state governor patronizes okada, danfo, and buys yam from road side stalls, and eat corn and pear in the most unpleasant manner and environment. Well, who wan suffer, make him suffer, the chairman thought. His thoughts was interrupted, he heard three quick knocks on his door. His secretary was an utmost mumu, he thought again. The insultive word was just his favorite this morning. How could she disrupt the important moment where he lashed out at the state government, in his thoughts?

"Yes, Agnes, come in" he instructed, after he had sit straight and adjusted his cap on his head. That wasn't the reason why he took long to permit her entry though, he had some seconds ago released a quite odoriferous and provocative gas, which erupted from his belly, and came out through his anus into the air. So he had to keep the secretary, who was from Jos waiting, as his air freshners battled profusely with the quite powerful gas.

The door opened, and the chairman was quite suprised that it wasn' Agnes, but his nephew, John. He looked sharp on his suit, and walked confidently towards his uncle, his foot wear making office-like sounds. You know the sound right? The clattering sound made when bankers run frantically through banking halls. Yes, that sound.

"Good morning, uncle" he greeted, for the second time that morning.

"My very good-looking boy, how are you doing? You have grown so much"

"I'm doing great oo, just been relaxing at home before I resume work " John said,sitting on the long, black sofa which rested at the right side of the office, where the chairman usually observed his 1:30 pm to 2:50 pm nap.

"Yes, our very intelligent son. What job is that, if I may ask?"

"The foremost hospital in Nigeria has offered me a job" John replied, flashing a smile in obvious pride.

"That's good, but even the best of Nigeria is too poor for my beloved nephew. Why don't you work for me?"

John burst into a laugh.

"Ah-Ah, uncle, you are funny. How can a graduate of Medicine and Surgery work at a Local Government Office? It's best reserved for Public Administrators"

"See dis ignorant boy oo, which of the above did I study? None! But here am I, a major recipient of the national cake. I even know of someone who studied Banking and Finance but did his IT in a police station" the older man replied, proving his superior knowledge and street-wise.

"Sha, i'm your nephew, you're my uncle, my name is not someone. Where is the journalist?"

"I don't know for her oo, it's almost eleven" the chairman said, looking at his watch.

Just then, the sound of two knocks at the door. The chairman knew that this time, it was Agnes.

"Yes?"

Agnes walked in like a bruised cat, she looked more ugly than the word itself, but that hadn't stopped the chairman from using her to satisfy his libido.

"The journalist is here" she said.

Loving this

The door opened, and like the scent of blooming flowers rushes into the admiring nose, the entrant forced both men in the office into falling in love with her beauty, her delibrate steps, when she walked like a royal lioness, calculated, unrushed, the sweet scent which follows her presence, her luscious thighs, the skin-fitted skirt, her blue shirt which hugged her both breasts, even with one button set loose, giving a little glimpse, a golden chain dangled in between the two, round mounds of inviting flesh. Now to her face, yes, her face! It was more beautiful than the writer could ever use adjectives to describe, but one thing John was sure of was, if this girl contested in the year Agbani Darego won the miss world, she, Darego would have been considered as an underdog, a less-superior beauty to the person who stood before them.

But no! She didn't 'dress to kill' or cause any turmoil in the air, she didn't seek to cause the growing bulge which chairman Dimeji Wasiu felt between his legs, she didn't. She, unlike many other African women, was a feminist and believed, that women were no weaker vessel. If a man could perfectly display his flat, bare chests, a woman could too. The word was, equality. Equal, was the remarkable spell, which she held over both men, nephew and uncle, as they sat emotionless, mouths slightly opened that a grasshoper could find it's way inside with adequate determination. And so they sat, like dummies, until her deep-sounding masculine voice woke them from their trance

"Good morning, chairman" she greeted, as the chairman looked at his nephew, astounded as to when he began addressing him as 'chairman'. His nephew shook his eyes violently, employing all his tricks of facial communication to tell his uncle to snap out of his own trance, as someone was greeting him. He finally suceeded.

"Yes, goodmorning" the chairman said, still looking at his nephew. The lady journalist was confused, as she looked at herself, wondering what was making these men act like idiots.

The chairman then took his briefcase nearby, and exited the office, claiming he needed to make a quick call, using the bag to cover his genital region.

A lengthy stare, between John and the journalist, with entirely different thoughts on each other's mind. John was the delusional one, acting on the rather stupid mentality he had accrued over the years that when a lady stares directly into your eyes for too long, she is admiring. The lady's thoughts however, was very distant from that. She wondered why this young man was looking at her as if he was born in a gay community and a female was an alien to him.

The chairman's entry back into the office broke off the eye battle, he had gone into the toilet to relieve his excited penis from tearing through his boxers. He had also looked into the mirror and urged himself to get his game on. If he played his cards right, he would be re-elected chairman and prettier ladies would happily grace his bed.

"O, where are my manners? Pllease sit down" the chairman said, pointing that she sit down on the chair directly in front of him. John too, stood up from the sofa and sat at the other chair, facing his uncle, beside the journalist. People familiar with Nigerian office setting would attest that this physical arrangement was the usual. The oga's chair, two visitor's seat facing the oga, in between was the desk on which papers were found, a telephone at one side, sometimes, a little flower vase at another, sometimes, some artistic objects, sometimes a globe. Just at the back of the visitor's seat, at the upper right side of the office where the oga's eye could easily catch. Then a cupboard at the left side, where irrevelant newspapers, magazines, and other printed stuffs were kept. Sometimes, cofee cups could be found ontop, usually it was a picture, that was a 'great accomplishment' in the career of the oga. Just beside the cupboard, was a water dispenser, which was totally different from today's model and unlike now, only the few rich people then had a 'dispenser' and of course, you had the clock, at the left side of the oga's seat, not forward, just beside. It was one on the few things in the conventional office that all persons could see without straining their necks too much.

"What's your name, miss journalist?" the chairman asked

"Why do you assume i'm a 'miss', mister chairman?"

"Well, because, you have no ring on your fourth finger"

"o, you are observant. I don't think a ring should symbolize who's married and not, there are many countless men who are always with their rings like how an asthmatic could never be found without its inhaler, but are bonafide cheaters. I have covered a story like this, which eventually ended in divorce, an ugly one.

Well, my name is Suliyat" the journalist said, after ranting about male infidelity.

"That's good, very good. You are Hausa?" the chairman asked, initially grinning wide, justifying in his mind as to why he was hit with her beauty. She was Hausa, the most beautiful tribe in Nigeria, possibly the rest of Africa, excluding the North African women who looked like water creatures, popularly called mami water.

"Yes, i'm from Kaduna, why do you ask?"

"Are you aware, that in ancient Hausa land..." Suliyat sighed, she didn't sign up for a History class, but she listened nonetheless.
"women basically have nothing called rights, or duties, even till this present day, women are wrongly treated very inferior to men. For example, some years ago, women were not allowed to vote in Northern Nigeria. Today, if women vote, it's on a different place from the men, and the votes, are even manipulated.

In Ajeromi-Ifelodun, which you call Ajegunle, there are several people, touts, and even sane people, that ridicule and abuse a woman, usually a beautiful woman, like you, when they walk without a male present. That is why..."

Suliyat wondered what the chairman as with this 'gender-driven' speech.

"I have asked my nephew here, to be your official escort during the week you are going to do your survey report" he concluded, pointing at John whilst giving him a wink.

It all happened too fast for Suliyat to say no.

"John, meet Suliyat, a journalist with The Sun. Suliyat, meet John, a first class graduate of Medicine and Surgery, my nephew"

John grinned in mischief, offering his hand to the lady in a gentlemanly gesture. Suliyat took his hand, John shivered inside, it was really soft.

"Hi" John said

"Hi" Suliyat replied

"You both can get going" the chairman said, waving them off.

fikfaknuel nice one, you are doin gR8

CHAPTER SEVEN
They looked at themselves with telling glances, walking side by side in their quite 'official' wears. John, on his black suit, inside a white shirt and a smart black tie. Suliyat, in her knee-level skirt, and tight fitting blue shirt. An air of silence was strictly maintained as no one said anything to the other, wanting to maintain the strictness of proffesionalism.

Surprised, John was, to see a red car parked just outside, the office. Maybe it was someone else's. As if to confirm, Suliyat brought out a remote from her purse and hit the button. The car beeped twice, as the lady walked 'officely' to the car.

"Is this your car?" John asked, pointing to the car with the surprise evident in his eyes, it wasn't many members of the womenfolk who drove a car. Not too many John had seen anyway.

"Yes, it's my car" she replied, entering into the car, gesticulating John to do the same.

They were inside, and Suliyat had been driving for about seven minutes before she broke the silence.

"It belongs to the media house-the car" the lady on the wheel said, bursting into an half-laugh, John wondered what she considered funny in the matter, and why on earth should a woman have such a voice, and why in Nigeria should a woman be driving a car when a man was inside, it seemed disrespectful to him, even though he couldn't drive.

"Have you observed what you are doing right now?" John asked with a puzzled look

"Yes, I am driving" the lady replied, John was disgusted by the lack of remorse in her voice. He considered her as stark ignorant.

"Do you know that in this Ajegunle, in the whole of Nigeria even, it is not proper for a woman to drive a man? The man would be considered weak"

Suliyat smiled mischievously, just a day into this, and she had been taught about gender stereotypes by two men, she wondered how many more 'sermons' she would encounter.

"I don't know that, and the perception is outright wrong" she replied, after keeping John hanging for her reply for quite some time.

"I'm John"

Theresa laughed.

"Haven't we met before?" she asked

"No. My uncle introduced us. I didn't have the pleasure of doing so myself" John explained his view-point

"Your uncle, the chairman, you're close to him?"

"Yes, he is a good man, he was my benefactor throughout my stay in the university"

"That's good, but in my years of active journalism, I have never found one politician whose hands were dirt-free"

"What do you mean?" John asked, with a tone of anger, which Suliyat immediately perceived, and she too, saw the need to lay back, and quell the natural curiosity of the journalist in her.

"Nothing" she replied calmly, then sped off.

Suliyat parked the car at a safe distance inside the street where the first body was found; it was Jejelaye, near the Wilmer axis. The street was desolate and strangely quiet, as Suliyat thought. She'd heard many tales about Ajegunle and how it was a densely populated city, and at all times, in every street you are sure to find people smoking and engaging in all sorts of rubbish.

She thought wrong.

John knew that most inhabitants of this street had gone to their various workplaces, as it was in the whole Ajegunle. It was roughly 2pm, and the sun was still boiling hot, just about the time when 'work' is considered to have really started. The only people that would be at home were of course, the very few jobless, the housewives, who'd engage in telling tales that didn't concern them, to which people call 'amebo', and the last set of people that were at home during this time of the day were children, who were too little to attend school.

"Why don't we go somewhere else? As you can see, people obviously don't sit around on fences like I know you thought. They actually have real-life jobs" John said, taking a swipe at Suliyat, still licking the wounds of the earlier slight altecration, where the journalist, maybe, suggested that his uncle had some skeletons in his cupboard.

"I see, you take me for a fanciful barbie, who obviously knows nothing about street life and doesn't even possess even a little bit of toughness"

"I don't care about all this big grammar you're speaking. Just, prove me wrong"

"What if I told you, I have lived in a city not very different from this, in Kaduna. In fact, I was a victim of attempted rape, twice"

John listened with rapt attention, as this journalist was telling him things that better remained as secrets.

"So you see, I might know a thing or two about ghettos where the crime rate is high. Since then, I have taken defence classes, and put two guys in the hospital who saw me as a tool to satisfy their sexual libido"

John clapped, in appraisal of this woman warrior. "Waoh, bravo!" he said

"Now let's go somewhere else" Suliyat implored, as she got into the car.

John followed suit.

"When will you tell me about you?" she queried, once she settled into the driver's seat, her left hand on the steering.

"At lunch" John replied.

With the skill of a sixty year old professional driver, Suliyat manouvered her way through the streets around Wilmer, under the directions of John, of course. She was being led by his mouth to where he called the 'Greatest buka of all time'. Suliyat wondered what kind of charm that the woman must have sprinkled inside the food to make such a grown man lick his lips just at the mere thought of him eating the food. She'd heard that a woman was arrested in Ajegunle for cooking her food with the water used to bathe a corpse. Suliyat wanted to see if this was also one of the assertions and talks she had heard about Ajegunle that were outright wrong. The glee of seeing people at the 'buka' added the fuel on her hands, with which she drove at such a terrific pace, albeit legal.

John pointed a nerby stall, which a huge canopy was it's shelter, and a few people were seated under, with their plate of food balanced on their palm. They were tables but these people rather conspicuosly, neglected them. She parked the car, as both she and her acquaintance walked to the buka. Suliyat sat down on one of the seats arranged horizontally, annoyed at how the people eating shone their teeth and waved their hands towards only John, in greeting, totally neglecting her presence. Maybe they were intimidated by his smart-looking suit.

She didn't know she was the one expected to wave hand and greet them 'una weldone oo' when they were doing nothing but becoming prospective customers of public toilet owners.

"Abeg give me rice twenty, agonyi ten, macroni ten, two meat, one shaki. Put stew well well oo" John placed his order, receiving the food with a salivating tongue which was evident on his lips, if he bent his head down a little, the spittle would trickle down like little drops of water.

The fat lady who sold the food, stood akimbo, looking at Suliyat, she wondered whether she was not going to buy food. One resident in Nigeria must have at least once, been at the receivng end of this kind of stare; where the person looked at you in an unflinching manner, waiting for you to realize your mistake.

"I'll have the same thing as him, less stew though. I'm pimple-prone" she said, now realizing her 'mistake'.

Just when the lady was about to dip her oversized arm into the food, a phone rang, and she, upon recognizing the tone, dropped the spoon with which she intended to serve with, and ran to where the music erupted from.

"Moji! Moji! Go sell for dat auntie" she instructed as she left, pointing towards Suliyat.

A young boy who looked just about fifteen, who had been previously washing dishes, rinsed his hand with a cleaner water, and dried it on his apron, then ran to serve the 'auntie', Suliyat.

Fine descriptive write-up, waiting eagerly for the rest.

Waiting.......

Moji was through selling the food, and since no one else indicated any interest to buy, he went back to the corner, where he was washing dishes on a table. Suliyat enjoyed the food, at least, it was good and less oily like the one she'd ate before. She looked at John, and he was too immersed in devouring the 'species' of meat in his plate, he didn't even seem to pay attention to the rice, which now turned pale in anger, at how it was neglected.

The possibility of a 'lunch-talk' as pre-planned now looked very bleak, as anybody's attempt to divert John's attention from the plate might prove abortive and fatal. He was quite muscular, and had broad chests, not that it was intimidating to the lady. If anything, some members of the women folk considered it sexy.

The fat lady, the likely owner of the buka, and head cook got back to her work. Suliyat was observant of her weird behaviour when she emerged back to the scene. She stood near Moji with a very suspicious and threatening stare, Moji's countenance too, it was like one of those moments when either of your parents gave you a deathly stare, and you know you've done 'something' but not sure what.

After they had finished their food, when walking back to the car, Suliyat tried to voice her observations to John, who picked his tooth with a thin piece of wood. That would do more harm than good.

"Did you notice how that woman acted after receiving that call?" Suliyat asked, looking into John's face, trying to aid her voice with the seriousness on her face.

"Yes, I noticed" Suliyat sighed, happy her mind wasn't just reading meaning into insignificant things. "And so?" John asked

"Don't you think we should do something about it?" Suliyat asked with undiluted concern, to which John reacted with a loud, hysterical laugh.

Suliyat thought 'I said it! The food is not purely cooked, it certainly has side effects'. A candid suggestion wasn't enough to make such a grown man, one well capable of having a family, laugh like a goblin.

"See, let me tell you, in this place, the philosophy is to 'mind your business'. What do we go back to do? Query the woman why she was looking at the boy 'suspiciously'? When we don't even know what their relationship is, we have just been there for thirty minutes. It's not wise to back, don't you think?"

Suliyat was irritated by his lack of concern, maybe he was siding the woman becuase of her food, she'd heard countless times that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. That could well be the case here. But, much of the irritation and resent went to herself, because she saw sense in what he had said.

The lady had no card to pull, as she thought fast, something in her tells her to go back to the buka. She was driving very slowly, steadily escaping the scene. John noticed this, and looked at her. She didn't feel the heat of his gaze on her.

In a dramatic, fast-and-furious manner, Suliyat made a 360 turn, displaying a terrific skill on the wheel. John was taken aback and almost fell off his seat, figuratively and literarily, as he tightened the grip on his seat belt.

"What are you doing?" John screamed from the heights of surprise and shock, even though he tried to be a man and maintain control over his facial features.

"I'm the madam here, you remember?" she said calmly, pulling the 'oga' card for the first time in her life. Truth was, she hadn't been 'oga' ever before, so logically, this was the first time, and she didn't do bad, or did she?

When they got to a safe and sight-seeing distance, Suliyat brought the car to a sudden halt, John wondered whether she was trying intentionally to scare him.

They got off the car, and hid somewhere, their eyes were on the now-empty buka.

Just as predicted, the boy was getting beat by the fat lady, the owner of the buka who switched weapons between her fist and a long, hard spoon, which looked like the one used to serve soup in the times of Oliver Twist.

Suliyat looked at John in a stare that any Nigerian wouldn't misplace. In pidgin terms, it was "Shebi I tell you?"

This is awsome keep it up.

Dear op,

... ... ... ...this story is no ordinary story i read on this forum. I mean, this is a master-piece!
.........The way you play with words and use them to describe events is second to none. The only story that had such word plays and a vivid narration was: SEX as SHE TAUGHT ME written by Fabiano.


......Another thing i noticed was the swiftness with which you heeded to the guy that advised you on updating the story regularly. Oboy, i've never seen any op on nairaland dropping such long posts and in rapid succession(Ozila, come and learn ).


Dear op, after you, na you. Twale!!!

Suliyat wanted to surge forward and intervene in the beating, but John's strong hand held her back. She looked at him, demanding whether he was so compelled to exhibit his perceive masculinity and obvious physical superiority each time he got the chance. She freed herself from his grip, but didn't seek to run forward again. The fat woman had dragged the boy into a nearby store at the back of the canopy. Pots and utensils were the items kept inside the small store.

The beating had stopped, but Suliyat couldn't stop to think why it happened so, for the woman descended on the boy immediately after they left. She felt the incident had something to do with the phone call the food seller received. She, Suliyat wasn't all too interested in the food as John so to prevent her eyes from boredom, she ran it through the place, as she saw the food seller's facial expression changed into a powerful frown.

Suliyat and John stood up, and walked back to the car, as if nothing happened. The silence which loomed was like a virus, eating in their souls, as they drove to no where in particular. They both wanted to say something, but couldn't construct it in proper language. For Suliyat, she was angry at John, but didn't wanted to sound abusive when she spoke. John wasn't sorry for stopping her, he was just sorry he pissed her off and he didn't want to apologize like a malo-he too, was a product of the streets, before money came and status changed.

"I have an idea" John said quietly, breaking the silence, as air whooshed into the car through the half-closed windows. Suliyat's hair blew to the back, she looked so beautiful, John observed. She bit her lower lip softly, ruminating thoughts in her head. She didn't answer, and for a moment, John wanted to slap some senses into her for keeping him waiting, that was something he detested so much. But, he couldn't imagine laying a finger on this beautiful creature, whom God must have been very happy when He created her. He looked at her, as her lips failed to twitch, in signal of speaking. He nudged her a little, and she shook like an epileptic woken up with cold water from a bad dream.

"What are you thinking? You are not fit to drive" John asserted, expressing himself with a disturbed face. He clearly didn't want to die because of a lady that obviously hated him.

"Oh, I'm not fit to drive? After you stopped me from helping an abused little boy? I'm not fit to drive, when you have poured a soured soup on my face by your actions!" she blasted John, who kept a straight face, resisting the urge to engage in an argument with someone whose hands controlled the wheel of a car he was in. She continued

"You suddenly can't talk? I'm not fit to..." she burst into an hysterical laugh, a gentle little sea of tears forming in her eyes for reasons she didn't even know. John didn't see the tears, his eyes were fixated straight but he could feel her voice breaking. "Or do you want to drive?"

John was silent, the air was silent, all was silent, except for craftsmen and traders outside that made twittering noises whilst selling their wares. Suliyat wondered what suddenly caused this. She turned and looked at John, whose head was now bent in shame.

"I can't drive" he finally said with a defeated tone.

Suliyat almost burst into another laughter. She wondered when it became a thing of shame when someone couldn't drive. Maybe it was because of his ego, it could have been bruised; admitting to a woman that he couldn't drive. She felt pity for him.

"What were you saying? About an idea or something" she asked

"So you heard it?" John snapped out of his somber mood.

"Yea, I was only acting" she replied.

John was astounded, he had told a woman a major secret in his life, because of a lie. She was just, acting.

"I'll tell you in someplace safe. I don't want you to act, again"

Suliyat laughed loud, then looked at John. John couldn't fathom what he said that was so funny but, he joined in the laugh anyway. It wasn't so good for such a beautiful lady to be considered a lunatic.

Gofwane:
Dear op,

... ... ... ...this story is no ordinary story i read on this forum. I mean, this is a master-piece!
.........The way you play with words and use them to describe events is second to none. The only story that had such word plays and a vivid narration was: SEX as SHE TAUGHT ME written by Fabiano.


......Another thing i noticed was the swiftness with which you heeded to the guy that advised you on updating the story regularly. Oboy, i've never seen any op on nairaland dropping such long posts and in rapid succession(Ozila, come and learn ).


Dear op, after you, na you. Twale!!!

Your words of encouragement fuels my pen.
Thanks, sir.

ruggedadventure:
Waiting.......

My ever-present reader. As long as light dey, you wont have to 'wait' like solid star.

Coming out of ghost mode for the sake of your story. I have never commented on any story on nairaland , not even "silent seduction". more ink to your pen op

fikfaknuel:

My ever-present reader. As long as light dey, you wont have to 'wait' like solid star.

lol..... baba, u knw I got ur back nah
Keep up d good work bro. I'm so much into this story like...
Keep it up bruh

Carry On Nigga

Tgold1:
Carry On Nigga

Tgold1 I sight u....

AustinBlinks ritababe gsalvatore prose5 AIZU deemajor oloriabefe tjshizzle just4fun shawnie keeks stancious africandollar prettycee aksule mrjah coolabbie cutemi spending

[b][/b][color=#006600][/color] good work bro

fikfaknuel:
AustinBlinks ritababe gsalvatore prose5 AIZU deemajor oloriabefe tjshizzle just4fun shawnie keeks stancious africandollar prettycee aksule mrjah coolabbie cutemi spending

I full ground

ruggedadventure:
Tgold1 I sight u....

I Zoom You!!!

nyc compilatn. Wen is d nxt update

followin pali to pali

Back at the buka, Moji knelt down, in humility, as if the fat woman who sat before him on a table was his god. He cast his head down, offering his hair only, for the woman to see. If she was a member of the dreaded terrorists of the Middle East, hacking Moji's head off wasn't so much of a hard task.

"Who you be?" the woman finally asked, after catching her breath, she spoke calmly, defying her ealier imposition and demeanour. One could tell she wasn't speaking calmly because she was naturally reserved, it was rather, as a result of her tired state. The anger and force, on which her heavy hands descended on the feeble body of Moji in quick succession was more of a strenous exercise than a beating. The boy's body was so bony that her hand even ached. She wondered whether he didn't eat, when she only fed him left-overs and half plates of almost-soured rice. She didn't know he shared his flesh with the rats he lived with, which took of sizable chunks off his body.

"I am an orphan, ma" Moji replied, his head still sunk towards the ground.

"You don't have any relatives, uncles or aunties?" The fat lady asked, in a rather incredulous moment and time. The young boy had some two months ago, wandered like a stray sheep past Awele's buka. He looked like someone that just walked, with no obvious destination. As he trudged past, he, Moji was looking at Awele, and the 32 year old Deltan suspected, but kept on doing what she was doing; washing dishes, and running back to check up on her stew. Moji saw this as a perfect opportunity, for it seemed the lady had no assistant.

"I can help you ma" Moji crept from behind, taking the lady unawares, her shock evident, as she dropped the spoon on her hand. The pot almost fell off the coal-constructed edifice on which it stood upon. Awele wondered if he wanted to help her by frightening her to an early grave.

"What kind of help?" She had asked, picking the spoon up, offering her two robust cheeks called buttocks to the view of the young boy, not that he even registered the tiniest of interest in it.

"I can wash, sweep, serve, even cook if you want me to" Moji replied, numbering his 'abilities' by using the index finger of his right hand to touch the rest, in a childly counting manner.

"Okay, but you won't cook" She replied, her hard-earned money to buy stuff used to cook wouldn't be wasted by this tiny boy, who didn't have a glowing recommendation from Iya Risikat, the veteran cook, who all aspiring cooks wanted to cook like, including Awele.

And so, from that early morning, Moji was 'gainfully employed', and Awele never thought it wise to ask Moji who he was, until today, some over sixty days after when evening was fast-approaching, and the sun was gradually leaving the cloud to a standing ovation because this was exactly the time when most Ajegunlites were leaving their various workplaces, and some, would converge at Awele's buka, not trusting the culinary skills of their 'fiance-wife' or painfully wedded wives.

It was 4:39pm, May 2003

Awele saw some of her regular customers approaching the buka, and she immediately motioned Moji to stand, for she didn't want any lecture or condemnation from people who had a bad day at work, looking for whom to vent on. Funny, Awele was 'spacious' enough to accomodate all the venting.

Moji stood up with a sullen look, knowing that the conversation would have to continue sometime. He didn't know when, he just hoped that it wasn't any time soon.

sleemoon ebukav jumizie13 dominicnuel ashatoda kingdave30 joanee20 spikedawson slimhan daeveed Rex1 prettydock22 favou iamlukas sharonnnn donpoker9 mattkent fiyah ddonoflife herzern rosalieene datjohn starrylady young03 angelsss laddybay TheSociopath gattus amyvals

Such an enchanting piece with a beautiful literary finesse. A big thumbs up to you, nice descriptive style of narration. Nothing beats a good prosaic work other than this. More wisdom to you.

fikfaknuel:
sleemoon ebukav jumizie13 dominicnuel ashatoda kingdave30 joanee20 spikedawson slimhan daeveed Rex1 prettydock22 favou iamlukas sharonnnn donpoker9 mattkent fiyah ddonoflife herzern rosalieene datjohn starrylady young03 angelsss laddybay TheSociopath gattus amyvals

Tag me when next u update

hmmmm present

fikfaknuel:
sleemoon ebukav jumizie13 dominicnuel ashatoda kingdave30 joanee20 spikedawson slimhan daeveed Rex1 prettydock22 favou iamlukas sharonnnn donpoker9 mattkent fiyah ddonoflife herzern rosalieene datjohn starrylady young03 angelsss laddybay TheSociopath gattus amyvals

The car came to an halt, back to Jejelaye, the street where Suliyat was supposed to interview at least, two to three persons. She was frustrated that into her first day of the survey report, the day was almost over, and yet, she hadn't extracted any meaningful information from any person in Ajegunle, that's of course, excluding the lectures of the suspect chairman, and his macho nephew. But well, she had a prospective eye-opener, something that may well prove deeper than initially thought, or maybe, she reasoned; she was just reading too much meaning into it. Thousands of cases about child abuse she has heard, but somehow surprisingly, nothing ever becomes of them.

Her face lit up with a smile, as she remembered the macho John saying he had an idea. She turned to face at him, and in a comic twist of events, she realized he had been look at her all the while her professional thoughts ran through her head. He had been looking at her, wondering if this girl found it funny to just stay emotionless for quite long spells of time.

She coughed "Ehem", touching her chest with her right hand lightly, at the same time reaching below for a plastic-encased water. She drank it brisky, dropping it almost immediately some collective drops soother her throat.

"I want to know about the idea you claim to have" she said, afterwards looking startled as John looked at her animatedly, like he was a dummy. She later figured out it was because she had requested for his opine in a commandly manner.

She chipped in "please", trying to sound feminine as much as she could.

John shrugged, and let a wry smile form on his lips. He had made this dominant female say one of the magic words he was taught early in his education, 'please'. It surely worked a magical effect in his ears, he wondered how it would sound when she said it from her heights of sexual pleasure, dripping in the sweat of lust, as she would plead with him to enter into her, and share in the pleasures of the skin.

He grinned wildly, and changed into a frown almost immediately. The lady wondered why his facial expressions changed like how a celebrity changes clothes at an event.

John suspended such puerile thoughts, for now.

He said "okay, here's the plan", scratching the little beard on his chin lightly.

"You noticed how I was so immersed in the food? That actually was because, the food sweet die" he said, as Suliyat growled, wondering what it had to do with her interests.

John continued, speaking slowly like an aged revered literary personality.

"I can correctly say, that the woman didn't see my face. And she didn't see us approach the buka together so to her, we are total strangers"

"So we are" Suliyat asserted, to which John frowned. He wondered how his earlier thoughts was going to be reality someday. It was unlikely, given the lady's persistent stubborness.

"In conclusion, I will go alone to the buka tomorrow, and you'll hide someplace. Then, i'll send the boy an errand towards you, and then, you corner him"

Suliyat cheered bravo for the wise brain which thought such brilliant idea, even as simple as it was, it was detailed and was bound to succeed.

She put her hands on the wheel, and drove away, after some suspecting persons were pointing at the car. Suliyat didn't want a confrontation with any of them today. Tomorrow would suffice.

"Thanks, for the idea" Suliyat said, leaning closely to John. The man closed his eyes and allowed his imanginations wander. He thought she would kiss him, and his lips were slightly parted. She smelt very nice. She didn't kiss him, not even a peck, she opened the door for him and said "bye".

John got off the car, and was walking back to where he would board a taxi. Just some three seconds after leaving the car, he remembered he didn't have her contact details.

Running back, his head almost hit the car, but improvised and bent lower, peering into the dark car, and saying, or requesting, any tag he justified in his head

"I don't even have your contact details" he spoke, trying hard not to make it sound like he was 'toasting' her, even though in his inner most heart of hearts, he conceived a facade that he was.

She blurted some numbers in quick succesion, which should be her phone digits, as soon as she was done calling, and John punching them into his telecomms device, he called the number, and it rang inside the car, a green light illuminating the car.

John said his "bye" with a feeling of accomplishment, somewhat proud he was a certified and pratcical trickster. He had collected her digits without making a fuss of it. His accomplishment was immediately cut short when Suliyat said;

"The phone and number is company-owned. After my five days survey here, it will be immediately returned to the media house called The Sun"

John shrugged, walking off in defeated steps, he remembered another saying he was taught in his early schooling days. Surely, he, or she in this case, who laughs last, laughs best.