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|Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 12:55pm On Oct 24, 2016|
COPYRIGHT WARNING: This creative work is protected under copyright laws and shouldn't be reproduced in any form without due consultation with the author. He can be contacted via email...firstname.lastname@example.org.
And please, I might seek to use this story and make money sometime in the future, or submit it for publication so please don't share. Abeg, na God I use beg.
You can 'Like' it, no problem.
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|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 1:22pm On Oct 24, 2016|
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 1:44pm On Oct 24, 2016|
running splash of rust
and gold flung and scattered
among seven hills like broken
China in the sun.
JP Clark "Ibadan"
The bus park was a lousy one, people tried to manouvere their heavy and thin bodies past other people. It was a crazy scene. Music blared from speakers situated at different parts of the park; dealers trying to sell their wares.
Busy. Hyper-populated. Active, would describe most parts of the city of Ibadan.
Yet, somewhere very far away, inside the thick of the bush, a young man, in his early thirtees kneels down, cloth gagging his mouth, fear runs through his skin, he shivers, as sweat trickle down his temple and forehead. Fear, could be found in his eyes, as he looks up, to the tall person, who wields a locally made, brown-rusty gun, cleaning the dust off it with his tongue. He looks crazy, with his bushy hair, but he is quite handsome by the dictionary's standards. He has a finely sculpted nose and pink lips, a little tribal mark on the left side of his chin and his eyes, were pure white, but filled with ambition.
He removes the cloth from the person's mouth and the scared person gasps, trying to find the words to plead, plead for his life. But, words are hard to come by.
The abductor raises the gun up, and begins to cry. He holds his afraid catch on the head, and say; "I cry not for you, but people who will call me evil because of what I want to do."
The person shakes like a thin leaf blown about ferociously by the Atlantic wind.
"Embrace death," the abductor says "It is a fine woman."
The person who is encouraged to embrace death wants to speak, but words elude him. The one with the gun places the muzzle inside his mouth and pulls the trigger...
Blood wets the leaves. A bird flies away from a nearby tree it was perching on. It goes to invite the vultures, who come with their friends and family, to feast.
He walks away, from his seventh kill in thirteen days. He cries as he walks away, back into the warm and open arms of Ibadan, who is too busy to notice that something is wrong.
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|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by yorhmienerd(m): 1:53pm On Oct 24, 2016|
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by bibijay123(f): 2:03pm On Oct 24, 2016|
i am hooked already
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 2:05pm On Oct 24, 2016|
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 2:06pm On Oct 24, 2016|
bibijay123:Welcome, Bibi. I need some Bibilets hia oo.
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by bibijay123(f): 2:12pm On Oct 24, 2016|
[quote author=fikfaknuel post=50469744]
I need some Bibilets hia oo.[/quote
lol, oya Veekid, Colik, Mhiz, Anugod, carzygod. dominique, iomoge2,swann, toboski1, olatex25 et al food is ready here
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|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 2:15pm On Oct 24, 2016|
Thanks, Bibi. E be like sey u no spell crazygod well. (make I use style mention am).
Chapter one drops soon.
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by dominique(f): 2:29pm On Oct 24, 2016|
Nice thriller, following.
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by veekid(m): 2:45pm On Oct 24, 2016|
[quote author=bibijay123 post=50469902][/quote]
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 2:48pm On Oct 24, 2016|
Definitely following. Looks like this is going to be a superb thriller..
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by veekid(m): 2:54pm On Oct 24, 2016|
Not only Ibadan but the whole country was too busy fighting recession rather than noticing something bloody was happening somewhere
Keep it coming bro
2 Likes 1 Share
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 3:49pm On Oct 24, 2016|
Chai! You give us this kind of prologue and then you hide? See wickedness. Issorite, call me when you update
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by shigo20(m): 4:15pm On Oct 24, 2016|
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 5:54pm On Oct 24, 2016|
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by olatex25(m): 8:58pm On Oct 24, 2016|
[quote author=bibijay123 post=50469902][/quote]
present my amiable writer.. It's my pleasure 2 b here..
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 10:39pm On Oct 24, 2016|
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 6:03am On Oct 25, 2016|
He staggered into the house, with his loosely sewn trouser struggling to stay on his waist. His wife, Omotola, looked at him, shaking her head. She wondered how this limp thing that he calls a p.enis rose to become so powerful inside of her, to have produced seven children. She locks herself inside the house on some mornings, when there is little sales. She reminisces how her mother sat her down outside their family home and counselled her.
"Omotola, have you seen me and your papa fight?" she had asked her.
The innocent looking lady shook her head. "No, maami."
"Yes, a woman is property of her husband. Love him, reskpet him, cook efo riro for am, anytime wey him wan do, open your leg for am."
Omotola reminisced how she had taken the words of her mother to heart on those days, when the young man, Afolabi, wanted to marry her. He was a charming, young man, full of life and had a way with his pidgin-English laced words. He was a clerk, and a good one.
"I will marry you, take you to Eko." he said, his voice and promises were sweet music to her ears.
But now, that voice is slurry, drowned in alcohol, cheap one, that annoyed Omotola so.
"Arrange my bed, I wan sleep!" he said
She laughed at him mockingly.
"Why you dey laugh?" he asked, swirling round on his feet, unable to balance.
She hissed, then walked away, pushing him aside, as she left the house to a banging sound, when she heard someone scream from outside, "Mummy Ade, come sell buns oo."
He looked to the ceiling, shaking his head, and muttered something incomprehensible. He walked towards his room, but his left leg hit a stool and he fell to the ground.
He exclaimed "Ah! Make I no go oo. Maybe she dun put snake for there." As soon as he said this, he rested on his cheek, and slept, snoring.
Afolabi had been an insufferable drunk ever since he came back from Lagos, he lamented and constantly cursed out at the governments of Oyo and Lagos, that refused to pay him his owed salaries. His wife, Omotola, who used to be a faithful woman, changed. Well, she didn't change, she still prepared his favorite meals for him when the money was there, but she didn't garnish them with meat, an accessory he loved more than the real deal. She no longer moaned when he thrust in and out of her instead, she replied with an impatient hiss.
His only source of income was his writing skills, which he utilized to the greatest use, whenever his hands were his. He was able to write some of the most structured and articulate letter anyone the city had ever seen. Rumors flew like birds. It was said that he had written a letter for a woman who wanted to be rid of her late husband's brother troubles. The man had tried to claim her land, and when he saw the hand written words on the paper, he fell to the ground, in worship of the English he deemed impeccable. He never disturbed the woman or her piece of land again. This made him to be quite revered in the the city, and very soon he had many clients.
"Stop drinking nah"
"You could work for a big organization"
"If you get rid of your drinking habits, the Cocoa people will hire a man of your skills."
Numerous people told him. But they never could understand why he couldn't quit drinking. Why he always went to the alcoholic store every morning, and drank himself out. They didn't know that alcohol had become his muse. He felt incomplete when he didn't take it. Since his wife had decided to be a log of wood who only hissed during sex, he fell in love with sleek bottles, his lips would caress them delicately, before he bent it downwards, and emptied all its contents into his belly.
The only thing he'd gotten used to was to wake up, and go to the pub. He didn't have the advantage his neighbours had. His neighbours would bring their kids out in the open and sing songs for them, rubbing ori all over their bodies as they went to school in their uniforms--the shirt was milk with red stripes, and the khaki shorts, red. He had seven children but only the last of them stayed in the house.
The first, Jumoke, was a girl, who unfortunately, was an slowpoke. She would steal food from the house and feed to the dogs. Afolabi would call on his wife and scream "Look at your child--mad!" Omotola would hiss and go away from the scene, saying "she no be your omo sef?". It was Bola, the fourth child and a girl, who was thirteen that would whisk Jumoke away from the house so as to escape the fury of Afolabi's thick leather belt he got as a gift from one of his grateful patronizers.
Yekini, was the second child. A handsome young man who took after Afolabi's father who was a very fine man. Yekini was the most brilliant of all his children. He always came up with genius ideas to capture rats but a disturbing mannerism was how he would burn the rats with a kerosene, and he would laugh wildly as they burnt. He was quite a disturbed kid, and he was quite detached, rarely talked to his siblings.
Perhaps the most interesting of the children was the third, Kelana. He was mocked in school that his name was like a girl's. He would return home with his bulgy eyes and ask his father Afolabi, why he was given such a name. Afolabi would scratch his head, and reply in a murmur which usually meant nothing. Kelana would later befriend the gatekeeper of a rich Cocoa dealer and he was allowed access to enter into the house , the gateman's abode at least, and he would listen to the radio, where a person spoke strangely. The gateman, Sodiq, a Kwaran, would grin and say to him "Na white woman be dat oo." Kelana would then mimic the intonation of the person. He would be showy about it in the house, where Yekini would deal him a deathly stare. Jumoke would clap her hands excitedly, with watery spit running out from both sides of her mouth. "What does the woman look like?" Kelana would smile knowingly, then Yekini would say coldly "He cannot see one's face through a radio." Kelana broke into a laugh "That's right." he said, in the white people's way.
James and John were the fifth and sixth children. They were christened some minutes after they were born. Afolabi and his heavily pregnant wife had gone to a night vigil in St. Paul's anglican church, the biggest in the heart of Ibadan where they stayed. The church had just been renovated by a white contractor and the rusty brown roof was replaced with a state of the art zinc roof. It was said that the zinc was in vogue in Lagos. The clergyman was dressed in his immaculate white robe, when Afolabi was tapped frantically by his wife. She screamed, and the whole church took notice. Service stopped, and the women present gathered around her. The rest of his kids were with his jolly ol' friend Walter, so it was a relief for the agigated Afolabi that they didn't get to see the pain their mother went through. Omotola screamed, her voice took over the corners of the church, as an old woman wrinkled with age who claimed to be a former nurse, had both her hands on her protuded belly, and urged her to push. Omotola pushed, crying as screaming as she did. Afolabi was forced to watch, he wouldn't desert his wife. The baby popped out, and cried shrilly. A woman took off her wrapper and covered the baby, cradling her. But Omotola's pain was not yet over. The nurse urged her to push, that the baby was kicking to come out. She let out a sigh, as the second baby came out. Afolabi hurried, and wrapped the new born in his arms.
"God be praised." the clergyman declared, lifting both his arms to the sky. The worshippers broke into a glorious song, exalting God. They were later dipped in water and named James and John.
"Don't be surprised if they become pastors." the clergyman joked to Afolabi, who grinned from ear to ear.
"Thank you, sah pastor. God go reward you." he said to the man of God.
"You can reward me too"
"How so, sah?" Afolabi asked
"My wife--" the pastor scratched his beard "and I, are having our thirty years marriage anniversary."
Afolabi nodded like a lizard.
"I want you to write me a letter, for her."
Reaching for the pastor's hand, Afolabi shook him gingerly, as they both shared a laugh, even though the look on the pastor's face suggested he didn't know what they laughed over. Pointing at him with his right hand, Afolabi said in the middle of a chuckle "A man after my heart."
James and John however, didn't bear even the faintest traits of future clergymen. They were quite mischievous kids, who would run over their senior siblings legs and backs, even though their mother would tell them in a serious manner that it was wrong to do so.
Life to the family, was predictably endearing. Mornings came with the swiftness of wind, and Afolabi would tip-toe over his children heads and bodies, and wander into the street, to his pub, where he had bonafide comrades, who never failed to share their life stories with each other with of course, a bottle in hand. The children would go to school, with Kelana showing off his accent. Jumoke, most times, knelt at the headmaster's office for commiting one offence or the other ranging from plucking barely ripe mangoes in the school compound, or picking a fight with her classmates, even opening her legs seductively for a youth corper who taught in the school. Yekini was the one nobody ever noticed. He would sit on his own and pick stones, hurling them at the headmaster's fowls. He had once killed one, and the headmaster wanted to punish him in a democratic manner so he made him take a difficult test, far above his years, but he surprisingly passed it. James and John, a handful of trouble, played with sand, sprinkling them over thier bodies, just outside the house, where their mother could watch them. When she got tired of shouting at them to stop being kids, and seize with the sand play, she would veer unto the lonely path ahead, where tortoise cars zoomed past at intervals. She would remember how Afolabi had wooed her on one occasion with his bicycle. Now, that visionable, young man was lost in alcohol, but she didn't blame him. She felt pity for him. The Broom Party made it so. He was probably sprawled on the cold ground of a drink house, wasted, his body stinking of alcohol and sweat.
Nevertheless, as far as her children returned from school, and Afolabi staggers back, when the sun crept slowly under the blue sky, and the moon begins to form, they would all be united, under that rusty brown roof.
The day yawned in lazily, and Omotola was trying severely to feed James and John with locally made pap and some buns remaining from the previous day sales. They protested vehemently with their cries, and Yekini hissed angrily, looking at them in a funny manner as he wore his school uniform. Bola ran around the house, trying to put it in some manner of orderliness when she stamped her feet on Jumoke's waist, who snapped at her with a snarl. Omotola laughed on seeing an angry side to Jumoke. She would have loved to see the drama unfold had Bola snapped back. The troublesome twins had accepted their fate and used their fingers to dig into the plate of pap, while they fought over the hard, and stuffy buns.
Afolabi came out of his room, nodding his head as his children greeted him. For some reason, he smiled. He was an upbeat man, just weighed down by life's troubles. Omotola greeted him last, as she picked the plate the twins ate from. She looked at him in a manner he knew all too well. Money was needed in the family. Bola told him some months ago, clutching his leg "Daddy, mummy is angry." He looked at her, surprised. What would make his wife angry, he thought, but he said to her "Why you say so?" The young girl had twisted her body in a childly manner, then looked around, and whispered into her father's ear "she give Yekini hot slap yesterday morning." Afolabi fumed, and queried Omotola, she cast her face down. She couldn't fight or disagree with her husband so she took it out on the children. "You no give me money, Yekini come meet me say him wan buy book."
Now, he knew better. As he strangled the rope on his trouser for it to stick to his waist, Omotola, had returned to the living room, and had that look on her again. "I get work today--money go come." he assured, going out of his house as soon as he had properly adjusted the bicycle cap on his head. James and John followed his trail, shouting as they ran into the morning. Yekini looked at Kelana, who was brushing his hair, smiling into the mirror as he did. "You look at the mirror too much." he said "Don't fall in love with yourself oo." Kelana still maintained his smile, saying "Better for me, as far as no be that girl wey you like for school." Yekini forced a smile, as Bola broke into a loud laugh, their mother just shook her head where she sat on a stool, trying to put ororo into a plastic container. She knew Yekini had started seeing someone, he always had the thick substance plastered on his khaki shorts when he woke up.
They all left for school and Omotola waved at them as they left, a weak smile on one side of her lips. Her face looked wrinkled, saddled with poverty. She used to be a pretty, fair, lady, that every young man of marriageable age in Ogbomosho wanted to marry. She turned them down, claiming they were "too ugly", as she wanted her children to be "fine and yellow", like the ones in the magazine that Benji brought from overseas.
As she hooked her left hand on the door, she wondered whether her husband would stagger in with his clothes soaked in cheap alcohol. She wondered if he really had a client. Her paternal grandmother had told her to 'loan' two or three of their children to wealthy individuals who would take good care of them but she refused to heed to her advice. The thought of sitting her husband down and telling such a peacock of a man to take his kids to someone to train. He would bark at her, for nursing such a ridiculous idea. Let him bark, she didn't care, she would give him eight days, in her mind of course, and when no money comes into the family, she will discuss the issue with him. If he likes, let him fling her into the canal, her mind must be spoken. It was sad watching her kids from up here, going to school with nothing, except the crumbled buns they hid in their pockets. She heaved a sigh, as she tightened her wrapper, clapping her hands for the wandering James and John to return back to her sight. They immediately did, and she went into the house to bring out her frying pan and other materials with which she fried with.
Afolabi knocked on the metallic gate thrice, and a gatekeeper who looked surprisingly clean came to open the door. He looked at Afolabi from head to toe. He nodded when he was convinced of his sanity. "Chief say wey I no allow anybody come beg for money oo."
Afolabi fumed, but controlled it into a sneer smile "I no come for begging."
The gatekeeper looked at him more seriously now, running his eyes over the entirety of Afolabi's body, which was covered with a monotous native clothing of green and yellow, and a bathroom slippers on his legs.
"Wetin you come do?" he asked.
"Chief wan employ me to teach him daughter."
Afolabi watched as his face lit up, "Doyin?". The man dressed in native nodded affirmatievely. He felt something--a feeling he couldn't quite place, having a tug of war between resent and amusement. This gatekeeper had a look in his eyes, when he was to be a teacher for the girl.
As he battled with his thoughts, he heard a creaky sound. The small gate opened, and he walked in. The compound was a huge one, and its walls were painted white, like a clergyman's robe. Short grasses and long decorative trees adorned its sides, close to the walls. Afolabi wondered why anybody would want create a home for snakes inside his house. But then, money made people stupid. The front view of the house was magnificent, as the glasses glistened in a red-yellow color. Afolabi wondered if it was a kind of bulb. He figured it could be the sun's retracting light, and he looked back southwards, to where the sun shone from. It was the sun. His eyes descended to see the gatekeeper looking at him and shaking his head lightly. Afolabi cursed under his breath "Oloriburuku somebody."
He continued walking towards the front door, his eyes ravaged the entire house, the roof wasn't rusty brown, it was like the zinc in the church, but this one was looked even better, its color was like the color of the wine that Shanu brought to the pub on occasions. The roof seated comfortably on the white building, and made it look royal, like how the Oba of Benin dressed. He knocked on the front door and waited impatiently for about three minutes. He was heared a voice inside, and the person most likely intentionally, didn't open the door at first.
When the door opened, it was a young girl of about fifteen, but she looked bigger than that age. Afolabi could tell she was a little child because he felt that eating too much and being the child of a rich man blossomed one into a giant. She looked at him in a manner that made Afolabi wish he was still hot headed, he would have slapped her teeth out. How could such a small girl look at him in the eye, and didn't greet? "Who are you here for?" she asked, running her white eyes over him. He sulked in his ego and said "Your father, hin dey?" she dug her head inside the house and screamed "Dad, dad, you got a visitor!" Afolabi shook his head. This child seriously needs an iron hand, he thought.
"He's in his study, he won't come down." "What do you mean study?" Afolabi raged "didn't you just call him now? And you say him go study." The girl hissed. "Come in." she said, opening the door.
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|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by ReuEl12(m): 8:09am On Oct 25, 2016|
I've said it and will continue to say it.... do not judge a book by its cover but by its prologue or intro ..... and from this prologue I know that I'm going to love this story. continue, closely following.
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by olanshile2016(m): 8:56am On Oct 25, 2016|
nice use of words so far sir
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 9:28am On Oct 25, 2016|
Waiting for the big bang....
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by olatex25(m): 10:19am On Oct 25, 2016|
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 2:17am On Oct 26, 2016|
Afolabi sneered at the girl "Have some manners, child!" She laughed it off, throwing both hands to the air in a gesture. "Arrest me, cop." The man shook his head, sighing. This one was a lost cause, he thought. He looked around the living room helplessly. Such splendour seemed improper for his impoverished eyes to behold.
"Where is he?"
"Upstairs, the second room to the right, make sure you knock before you enter." the girl said, as she stretched her leg on the leather black sofa, reading a novel.
He was face-to-face with the wealthy man, who had slabs of fat plastered on his neck and cheeks. The man coughed, pointing to a plastic-encased water, which Afolabi rushed and gave it to him. After the man had drank a considerate amount, he looked at Afolabi again.
"Sit down." the man said, "here's not a military zone." He felt that the rich man was trying to be funny and in Nigeria, anything a rich person says is funny. He pulled up a seat to his buttocks and sat in an officely manner, placing both his hands on his thigh, interlocked into each other. For a minute, the rich man seemed to be lost for words and he let his eyes wander the room.
The walls were creamy colored, and the curtains glistened in its red color, in one corner of the room was plenty, plenty, books, stacked inside a cupboard.
It was really a simple room. He expected to see gold trinklets and wads of naira littered on the floor. "My daughter," the man sighed "she is exhibiting some foolish traits." Afolabi wanted to jump out of his skin and say 'I said it!' but he didn't do that. He sat patiently, waiting for the next words of the man.
He realized the man's eyes were fixed on him, maybe in expectation of a question. He hurriedly asked "How, sah?".
The man dabbed his sweaty forehead with a blue handkerchief. "She seems to be an atheist."
"An artist? She wan dey draw?" The man looked at him in a doubtful way--if he was the right person for the job. "An atheist, she no believe in God?" He quickly retraced his words, expertly, and played a quick game of guess, as his prospective employer sighed, a wry smile formed on his face. He knew his guess was correct. Of course, he had the local newspaper,...., to thank. He had read it some months ago on the headline where a traditional ruler said he was a theist, but stuck in between the traditional and the orthodox. He had asked a comrade near him what 'theist' meant and he simply replied 'belief.' "Happiness has been questioning God."
"She questions God?" he asked, widening his brown eyes in surprise. He saw dissapointment on the man's face and like he had done before, he chewed his words. "Sah, that was a reflex cacophony." he said, hoping to convince the man back to his path with 'big english' he didn't even know the meaning. "Give her the Bible to read." He suggested, to which the man responded with a frown, three lines immediately formed on his shiny forehead. "You think I haven't tried that? She prefers to read novels instead."
Afolabi removed his cap and throroughly ran his hand through his hair, as if he was shampooing it. This was a complicated matter. "May I suggest something--sah" he said, raising his hand slowly, from beside his ear. "Go on with it!" the man growled, he seemed irritated by his timidity. "Let her go church, you know, mingle with christians, she go eventually love God."
The man scratched his beard in thought, then shook his head, saying "that won't change a thing."
Afolabi shifted to the edge of his seat in a perturbed manner, he wanted to ask a question and the man was at the opposite of his current sitting position--he relaxed his back on the chair, giving Afolabi a nod of permission.
"Where's her mother?"
"Dead." he replied coldly, with no emotion in his voice or face.
"Okay," Afolabi said, standing up "I'll teach her about God."
"Wait," the man said "lets play some ayo ."
He was surprised that such a person had ayo in his house. They were at it for over forty minutes, which he utilized wisely, getting to know that the man's name was Chief Stainless, one of the richest men in the South West, CEO of a company that deals in loan of agricultural equipments such as tractors, bulldozers, and rather strangely, manual labourers.
He returned home that day with a wide grin on his face. Omotola noticed that he didn't reek of alcohol. He didn't speak like a person who'd lost his tongue, and demanding to sleep. Rather, he picked up James and John in his arms, after giving Bola a nylon full of chocolates. He went over to Omotola and planted a peck on her lips, and when he removed his, he looked round the room, at all his children, and declared authoritatively "I got the job." He said it with so much veracity like it marked the end of their problems.
His children's eyes glistened in the light that the owu lamp provided, They chattered incessantly with Kelana saying "Nuh, they don't lick it." as he cheated John off his chocolate, the kid was awed by his accent.
Yekini curled himself in a corner, deeply immersed in the chocolate bar. Bola had love-filled eyes as her father held on to mother's waist and they walked majestically into the room.
"I hope you're not thinking of those romance novels?" Kelana said in a mocking tone. She looked at Kelana with her 'bad eye'.
"Love is not real." Yekini said, disposing his chocolate plastic encasement on John's waiting head. It bounced off and touched the shut eyes of Jumoke, who was fast asleep.
She growled as she woke up "Who be dat one nah?"
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|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by sirblero(m): 3:58pm On Oct 26, 2016|
Seriously Erhn... You're The Bomb!! Your Story Is Great... Following Till The Very End Keep It Coming...More Updates Please....
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Yohmi: 8:06pm On Oct 26, 2016|
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 5:23am On Oct 27, 2016|
fikfaknuel:This Kelana wont kill me with laugh
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 6:31am On Oct 27, 2016|
Afolabi had started teaching the girl, Happiness about God. At least he was trying to but her curiosity made it an almost imposssible task.
"God is the creator of Heaven and Earth, devil is the bad person. You have to love God and hate devil. Simple."
"Simple?" the girl had the palm of her hand under her jaw, looking at Afolabi in a contemptous manner.
"It's never simple." she said "God is supposed to know past, present and future, so why did he create the devil and later claimed he betrayed him? It's, strange."
Afolabi sighed, he looked at the chandelier up above, wondering why such a fashionable bulb was needed. He stood up, hanging his leather bag which had his Bible and some other books inside.
He came out of the house, and headed towards the gate. The sky was dark and some clouds gathered thickly. It was as if rain would fall. The environ had started smelling of rain, cool breeze blew through the place. Knocking twice on the gatekeeper's station which doubled as his house.
"Oga, you dun dey go?" the gatekeeper asked, grinning wide to nothing in particular.
"Hmm." Afolabi hummed a reply, pointing to the gate.
The gatekeeper hurriedly took the keys from his pocket, and dug it into the lock, looking at Afolabi as he twisted and turned his hand. The padlock pulled open but the gatekeeper hadn't stepped aside.
"Ehm, oga" he said, scratching his cheek "wetin Happiness wear."
Afolabi frowned. His suspicions were right after all. This idiot had a thing for the girl.
"She wear one cloth like that, soaked in otapiapia."
The gatekeeper's face twisted in a puzzling look, then Afolabi chipped in;
"To pursue mosquitoes like you."
With this, he stormed out of the house, pushing him aside. The clouds seemed to be getting thicker and as he doubled his pace, he realized he wouldn't be able to get to the house in time.
He made up his mind to go to the pub.
The thunder roared as if agreeing with Shanu, who had a green bottle in his mouth, half-full. The 45 year old man had argued that the yoruba states was owing salaries because the 'polithiefcians' didn't care.
"They have some mansions here in Ibadan and plenty in Eko!" another person screamed, dropping a bottle on the wooden table which made a thumping sound.
Madam Risikat, the owner of the pub came with a little plate of hot kpomo steeped in peppery sauce. She dropped it, looking at the three men in the eye to ascertain who was to pay.
"I go pay." Afolabi said.
Madam Risikat looked at him "Labi, why you quiet today na?"
Shanu nodded his head. "Ehn, Labi you just dey drink since, you never talk anything."
Afolabi sighed. "Nothing."
"No be nothing. Even when I dey talk about the government wey dey owe you money, you no talk anything." Shanu said.
"Okay," Afolabi said, adjusting to the edge of the seat, looking at Shanu, Madam Risikat, and the other person, a customer he'd only seen today, in the eye. They braced themselves for whatever he was to say.
"One rich man wey employ me want make I de teach him pikin about God," Afolabi looked at their faces, to know if they were following. Saliu's nose cringed, his eyes squinted, and he folded his lips together. He couldn't hold it anymore. He burst into a laugh which angered Afolabi. He looked outside and the rain was dripping down from the zinc to the ground, he focused on the sound it made, and the bleating of Madam Risikat's goats, which hid under a shed, bleating 'mmmeeeee mmmeeeee' for no just reason. He preffered that to Shanu's silly laugh. Shanu rounded up the laugh, chuckling milldly, and holding his stomach.
"You be pastor?"
Afolabi scoffed, obviously irritated. "The girl na atheist," he figured Shanu might not know what it meant, so he chipped in "she no believe in God."
The hens cackled in fear when the thunder sounded again. Shanu stood up, and went to the door of the pub, and looked at the sky. He came back wielding a smile on the sides of his lips, as he sat down, picking the green half-full bottle of beer, and downed it all in a single gulp.
"I know the solution to your problem."
Afolabi immediately showed his interest. He shifted further forward but Shanu turned sideways and said "Madam Risikat another bottle, on his account."
Afolabi went home an happy man. Shanu had suggested to him that he teach the girl yoruba folklore, and "all those Oduduwa stories", basically he was to make her scared by spiritual things, so that she would turn to the spiritual to rescue her. "That's when you start introducing the God of the Jews, the one her father wants her to learn."
"Baba welcome!" James and John screamed, running over to hug him. He knew that they thought he would bring that "sweet thing," another word for chocolate.
Kelana said "Good ev'neen, pops." in his strange accent they had all come to accept, while Yekini and his other siblings greeted him in a gruff voice. They seemed to be deep in sleep. The weather was an encouraging one. It was in times like this he needed his wife. He looked about the room.
"Where's your mother?" he asked
"She went to buy flour." Bola replied, immediately bending her head down towards the book she was reading.
"You go spoil your eyes oo! See everywhere dark, you dey read." Afolabi cautioned.
"Nuh mind her," Kelana said teasingly "she wan to form good girl."
"Olodo boy, you think i'm like you."
"Can you speak the white peoples language?"
Bola shook her head.
"I bet ya dun know what is lasanya."
"Hehehehehe" Kelana laughed, "You won't know, dumb."
"Lasanya is a state in America."
Bola looked grim that Kelana knew all these and she didn't. Her father patted her head with his slightly wet hand and said "Don't mind him."
Kelana was still laughing, fueled by the look on Bola's face. His laugh contested frequency with the gentle taps of the rain on the zinc.
"Quiet!" Yekini ordered.
Kelana stopped laughing and curled himself in his corner of the room, burying both his hands between his laps.
Afolabi made to enter inside. When he was at his door, he turned back and said to no one in particular. "On the lamp na."
Bola sprang up and frantically searched for the match box. After about two minutes, a striking sound was heard, and the dim yellow-red fire illuminated the room.
4 Likes 3 Shares
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Yohmi: 6:49am On Oct 27, 2016|
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by sirblero(m): 10:05am On Oct 27, 2016|
Nice Story.... *still Following.
More Ideas To Your Story..
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Horlorlardaey: 12:09pm On Oct 27, 2016|
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Justicextian(m): 12:27pm On Oct 27, 2016|
[quote author=bibijay123 post=50469902][/quote] Am right behind you Bibi, everywhere you go. Please make space on you mat, let me sit with you... Nice story here
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