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Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters - Literature (2) - Nairaland

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Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 10:37pm On Oct 27, 2016
I woke up this morning to find Kelana ready to crack my ribs with laugh. Off to bed now, this boy is still at it. grin Lasanya....hahahah

Mr. Author Sir, I'm appealing on the wife's behalf now. Make Afolabi stop this everyday drinking abeg, at least he has a job now.

But the again, maybe the drinking brings nice lines for the story #TOL# Nice one bro

#GodBlessKelanasLasanya

1 Like

Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 11:43pm On Oct 27, 2016
The bell rang and all the students gathered under the large mango tree in the school compound.

"We have come to the end of the term," the principal said. A thin man, who wore braces over his oversized striped shirt.

"And we will call the result here."

Fear rang through the place as unease swept some students off their feet, their countenance said it all. Some group of boys in one corner patted a boy on his shoulder in a congratulatory manner. The boy was the favorite to clinch the first position in his class.

"Ehm, let us get straight to business." the principal said, placing his eye glasses close to his nose and looking through them into a paper.

Tensed faces looked at the old man, who was flanked by the vice principals. "This boy ehn, always coming last." The school burst into an unprecedented laughter. They knew who it was. "Erinfolami Toyib! Come and claim your prize."

The laughter and buzz-like sounds intensified as a bulky boy who wore a rumpled shirt and torn trousers trudged to the podium, with his head bent down below, he had a sinister smile on his lips, as sarcastic claps and jeers escorted his movements. As soon as he got to where the principal was, he placed both hands on his feet, lifting his buttocks to the sky. This style was called 'touch your toes'. A lanky teacher came from behind and flogged him on the buttocks with a cane six times. It sounded whoof! whoof!

The principal adjusted his glasses, and looked at the miscreant. He knew he had pulled of his most famous trick, stuffing his buttocks with jeans and all sorts of absorbent clothing. On a good day, the principal would have stripped them off but not today. He had to deal with this as quick as possible so he could go visit his mistress who was coming from a nearby town. Toyib stood up, and cleaned the dirt off his trouser, then walked back to the queue with a smile on his face. Nnamdi, a junior student would beam and say "Odeshi."

The school returned to its calm. The comic effect of Toyib's punishment on them had waned. "It is time to call the recipient of the first position award." Silence rang through the air. Of course, everyone was not going to come first. In fact, the students who vied for the position were less than four. But the person who comes first affects the school generally. Girls now know who to flock around, boys would make passes at girls if the first positioned is their friend, other brilliant students will have to sit-up in the new term, teachers would automatically favour the person and his or her friends, and for that brief moment of three months until the end of another term came, it wouldn't be wrong to say that the person who comes first will be the star attraction in the school.

"The first position goes to no one other than," the principal paused, looking around the school with a confident smile on his lips, holding the students in a moment of suspense, their hearts clustered tightly, it was as if they were unable to breathe, eyes were fixated on the principal and the students refused to blink, not wanting to miss that moment.

"Agunbiade Yekini."

The school was engulfed in rapturous applause. They were bemused. Yekini. Nobody could have dared to even consider the possibility but here was he, walking in an unshaken manner, as if nothing mattered. He walked with an expressionless face and didn't turn to answer the soft voice of Aramide. He saw hateful eyes focused on him. It was Emmanuel, the favourite and his gang of worshippers. He was given a mathematical set, wrapped in brown paper as reward. "You can do better, knowledge is power. Education is the key." the principal had said, squeezing his hand in the guise of an handshake.

The street was thrown into a frenzified state when Omotola was told by Bola that Yekini had come first.
"What should I do for you?" his father had asked him.

Yekini said bluntly, after initially hesitating "I want to be free."

Afolabi looked at him intensely, what did he mean by free? "I don't understand."

The seventeen year old boy, Yekini, said, standing up "I want to leave this house and face the reality of life."

"No, no, no," Afolabi said "Children your age don't ask for such."

He sighed.

His father continued "they ask for footballs, jerseys, khaki shorts, sweet, buns, bicycles, boots, shoes, and sometimes, even a girlfriend." Yekini registered his disinterest by focusing his gaze on the painted portrait of Obafemi Awolowo which hung above his father's head, on the wall. He lowered his eyes, and his father was waiting for an answer.

"I want a bicycle."

"Okay." his father replied in a low tone.
**********
Kelana sat in what they called a living room and looked across to Bola, who quickly escaped his gaze. He suspected her. She lied to her mother about going to a summer lesson but his friend, Zimbabwe, had said he saw her with some girls, heading in the opposite direction of the school.

Yekini looked at Kelana, then Bola. He could sense the unease between them both. He sunk into his thoughts. It was a month now and father hadn't bought anything with a tyre, talk more of a bicycle.

"I haven't been paid salary." his father said on an evening when he came back from work.

"Buh ya say ya work for a rich man. Is he a fraud?" Kelana asked.

"If no be say sun still dey sky, Olorun, I would have asked Ogun to strike you thunder now!" Afolabi raged. Kelana muttered and left the room.

Yekini's eyes were still fixed on his father. He didn't have any interest in the bicycle earlier but now, Aramide seemed to want him driving one.

"Chief Stainless wants to run for political office so his money is low now but if he wins, I fit buy you okada sef!" His father said, trying to pacify him.

"Okay, baba" he said quetly.

4 Likes 2 Shares

Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Divepen1(m): 6:52am On Oct 28, 2016
Afolabi, how you go take do am na. Even the girl would not listen to folklore, I'm sure.
I'm so happy for Yekini...

1 Like

Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by sirblero(m): 8:43am On Oct 28, 2016
LIKE I'll Always Say....You're Story's Great!
But Your Updates Are Not Much... We Are Still Hungry Ma.. Feed Us With More Update Please...
More Ideas To You Story..

1 Like

Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 3:27am On Oct 29, 2016
CHAPTER FOUR
"Do you know anything about being Yoruba?" Afolabi asked.

She chewed on her bubble gum recklessly, saying "I don't need to."

"You absolutely need to."

He shifted closer.

"Do you know that this house, this city, stand on hills?"

She shook her head. He smiled.

"These hills are seven," he said "and they were built by the seven sons of Oduduwa."

"The name sounds stupid, almost like 'old juju, sir''

"I can assure you that there is so much to believe in the things that can't be seen."

With this, Afolabi dug his hand into his leather bag and brought out a bottle, containing blood. "This," he said, cleaning the dust off the bottle with his hand. "can call out to Sango."

He looked up and Happiness was shivering but sweating in the mildly air-conditioned living room. She couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye.

"What is the matter? Surely no be the blood." Afolabi said.

She shook her head and said something incomprehensible. "N-n-no." she finally said a valid word.

Afolabi stood up and made to go up and tell her father that she was behaving strangely. He was sure he wouldn't be overly blamed. He was just trying his best to instil the fear of the supernatural on her.

He climbed the stairs but heard rattling sounds behind him. A hand gripped his native trouser material.

"Happiness?" he said as he looked back. "Wetin dey do you?"

She burst into an uncontrollable sob, even though she tried to bite her lip to prevent her father from picking any sound.

"The ga-gatekeeper," she said, still on the marble floor. "I've seduced him into..."

Afolabi's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Having sex with me."

"And, blood came out?" he was shocked that he could say such a thing and still not lose his mind.

The girl nodded in the affirmative, as tears streamed down her eyes. She had been playing the spoilt daughter of a rich man but now in this state, this utter vulnerability, he could only feel pity for her. He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her.

"Don't cry, child. I'm sure you know that he was a mistake."

She looked up at him.

"You won't tell dad?"

"I won't," he said, and he smiled as a golden opportunity presented itself.

"if you start being a christian."

She finally yielded and claimed to have "officially become a christian." if her secret is safe with him.

Afolabi came out of the house and as the gatekepper came out to open the gate, he was asked by the curious idiot what Happiness wore but instead of the usual snubbing, Afolabi gave him a vicious blow on the cheek, which was sure to have unbalanced a tooth.

"Egbon why na?" the gatekeeper asked, putting his hand inside his mouth to know if he was wounded.

Afolabi went out in the middle of an irritated hiss, slamming the gate which made a deafening sound. He wished that such people would be castrated but he hated himself more. He had taken advantage of her situation.

Walking with his head bent down in shame, he heard noises of kids. He looked up and saw about three kids pursuing a boy who rode a bicycle. The boy on the bicycle pedalled away in glory, beaming widely. Afolabi hit his left leg on a stone and said "See how cursed I am!" He was angry that he couldn't buy a bicycle for his son who had come first in school while a rich man's child who has experienced sex before the age of fifteen lives in splendour. He didn't see her as a spoilt brat now though, he had seen a victim. He thought of his other children. Kelana would have smiled at such a scenario and said one of his trademark white people's talk. Yekini probably thought of him as a failure. Jumoke; sometimes he thinks that her situation was Heaven ordained. She would have questioned their situation. She might have sought to change it. His friends tell him that Jumoke has a nice body and had she been 'alright', Walter's friend would have come from Accra to take her abroad, to Italy, where she would work in a five star hotel. He never told Omotola that many of his friends said this. She would have cursed the order of nature for denying her the privilege of saying to her friends "You know my daughter, Jumoke? She dey work for overseas."

James and John were simply too young to understand life under the rusty brown roof. They were just four years old, born because he was bored, and on returning home from a friend's place, he found Omotola cooking. He tore the wrapper off her and penetrated. He didn't mind locking the door; it was his door after all and his kids, he was sure were in school.

However, after those minutes, he had no time for post-intimacy. He wore his trousers and went out to Madam Risikat's pub.

Now, four years after, he trudged along the dusty ground, and found himself in front of the pub once more. The owner of the wooden shack saw him.

"Ah! Labi, you dun come?" the woman asked.

He didn't answer. He was suddenly thinking about his family and the girl, Happiness. It would be selfish that while everyone drowns in their struggles, he sits here, drowning in a bottle.

Touching his pocket, he made it known to Madam Risikat that he didn't have any money.

"I go give you credit, come drink." she said.

"No, thank you. I wan dey go. If Shanu come, tell am sey I dey hail."

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Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by sirblero(m): 5:26am On Oct 29, 2016
Thankgod At Last The Old Man Is Now Using His Head Upon Dem Say Mke E Cum Drink On Credit...Lolz
Nice Story...
Kip It Coming..More Ideas To Yurh Story.
Following#

1 Like

Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Domance: 1:38pm On Oct 29, 2016
Following like shadow. Nice one jst keep it coming
Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 2:29pm On Oct 29, 2016
Ahy this Happiness now.. embarassed

Good move Afolabi, please stay sober for your family more especially for Yekini who is looking for an exemplary father figure.

#LongLiveKelana grin
Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by bibijay123(f): 10:31am On Oct 31, 2016
so I just had time to read this...Afolabi' s children are something else oo. More updates bro, you are a doing a good job.

1 Like

Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by olanshile2016(m): 11:14am On Oct 31, 2016
following Sir
Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 1:23pm On Oct 31, 2016
I have been ransacking Literature section for a beautiful story since and this is it! cool
I'm in love with this story


Fikfanuel. . Saranghaeee kiss kiss
Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 9:21pm On Oct 31, 2016
Yekini hissed at everything he saw. It was really annoying that the tap wasn't running. It was even worse that mother had to give him two containers; 25 litres each. He wondered of what use was Kelana if he couldn't do anything besides sweeping the little house and of course, providing entertainment for the family on nights when NEPA were too stingy with electricity. With the family unable to sleep, Kelana would tell them "ya know that white people eat mosquitoes?"

He had walked quite a long distance in search of water when he saw people running to and fro with excited faces. He looked about, looking at them to ascertain the reason they buzzed about but it was as if he was inexistent. He followed the crowd, to where they headed, and it was no surprise when he saw that it was a high profile member of The Broom Party who stood graciously on a podium, all smiles.

"Fools!" Yekini cursed, as he walked out of the place. He saw a blue tank ahead and hurried towards it. The woman who sold the water wanted to hurry to collect her little piece of the national cake so she tied her wrapper with so much alacrity that the key to the tank fell and the grateful boy picked it, and filled both his containers.

He got home and dropped the water. He sat about for like an hour. He was bored. The trees he used to stare at had become old to his eyes. The birds refused to fly past the sky. He went back to the rally.

"Youths are our future, you are important to Ibadan! Don't be left out of this!" A voice thundered out of the positioned speakers as hands waved brooms to the air. It made Yekini laugh at the deceitful nature of politicians. He laughed and he laughed, till his bones ached. He was really crazy, he thought, at how such a sentence sounded so funny to his ears. Even Kelana's strange accent hadn't achieved that.

He saw a pair of familiar eyes look at him in the distance. It was Aramide. They walked towards each other, he tried to make up sentences in his mind. He came up blank.

"Yek, how are you?" Aramide asked.

He scratched his hair, before saying in a stutter "I-I'm fine." he looked around "You?"

She laughed. "Why are you acting like a fish on land?"

Yekini pinched himself to confirm it wasn't a dream. It was hard to talk to her. He didn't tell anyone that Aramide was the girl that he did something with in his dreams, and it was in those times, he woke up with the sticky thing on his shorts.

"I'm fine, really." he said.

"My brother's watching us, you know." she said as if she'd been asked.

Yekini looked around. The crowd was now dispersing and he saw a person staring at them coldly, presumably her brother.

"School is resuming next month." she said.

He nodded weakly "Yes."

"You know you are the golden boy of the school now."

He forced himself to smile. It was odd that she seemed like the one trying to keep the conversation going. He felt that it was a man's duty. He tried to converse, but couldn't. He looked at her skin. It was flawlessly brown, like properly-made tea.

"You have to be rich to be golden."

"What do you mean?" he asked

"The politicians," she said,turning her head towards the podium "are organizing a youth empowerment program."

"They pay?" he asked

"Yes, that's what Michael says."

"Michael?"

She laughed as if she sensed the jealously in his voice. "My brother," she said and looked at the skies.

"I have to go."

He wanted to lean in and hug her, but he didn't. He sweated at the feet, trying to root it to the ground.

The week passed and he didn't see Aramide. However, he gave the 'empowerment' a try. They were told that they were to stage a protest to the Government house, and lament profusely. They also gave them speeches to memorize, to say to the cameras, when the journalists came.

The first day they did so was three weeks into resumption. Yekini had spoken so fluently to the cameras that he became a local hero and hailed as an "Intellectual rebel".

His hands were saturated with money and immediately he bought clothes, books, trousers, underwears, a perfume and powder. He wanted to look good for Aramide. He bought her some things too--perfumes, chocolates and a silver watch. He wanted to do more but he didn't know what girls liked.

He gave his mother some money, but not directly. He hid it inside the box she kept her clothes, and when she found them, she screamed and said to father: "Labi, see money oo!"

"Na your own?" he asked, shifting to the edge of the bed which let out a soft cry.

She hissed and dug it into her breast region.

One day, Yekini received a letter from a postman who came riding a bicycle. The letter had a red stripe running over the white envelope. He tore it open. An umbrella was printed in black. He saw below, "dear sir," He read the letter, it was an invitation to work with the governing party. He scoffed, they didn't know he was just a student, who really needed to lie to make money. He put the envelope into his pocket and went inside to continue reading the Amos Tutuola novel he had bought. He considered it the most precious possesion of his.

Later that night, a queer little woman whose brother-in-law lived down the street came visiting later in the evening. She came from mother's village of Ogbomosho. Mother was delighted to see her but the sad look on the woman's face denoted something had happened. They spoke in soft tones, etched in pain. The woman left after mother had given her some money and wrapped some buns into a newspaper for her. Mother's hand hanged in a wave. Yekini quickly sat down from where he watched them.

Mother entered inside. "Baba mi is dead." she declared, and the tiny room shrunk in itself. Kelana didn't have any humor on him when he muttered something that sounded like "sorry." Bola held on to mother's thighs.

"I will go Ogbomosho tomorrow."

The next morning, immediately after the fowls' crow, she left. Her eyes were puffed and dark shades were under them. She probably had no sleep. Father too, seemed sad. He told us how Solade, mother's father was a good man. He was, Afolabi told them "a little educated." and wanted her daughter to get married to a literate. Solade even allowed him owe half of the intended bride price, to be paid at a later date. "Solade was a great man, so sad I can't visit now."

He dropped some money with Yekini and demanded he take care of the house. Since he got the job, he usually returned home feeling tired yet Bola would ask him: "How about your student?"

"Is she fine like me?"

"Does she have big eyes?"

Father always chuckled and replied "She's a troubled but good girl" But for the past four days, since mother went to Ogbomosho, the stench of cheap alcohol which hung around him had returned.

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Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by OMA4U(m): 1:52am On Nov 01, 2016
..
Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by OMA4U(m): 1:53am On Nov 01, 2016
Please, are you sure this work is yours?

There's a book with the same title written by Abimbola Adelakun ( A Punch Columnist).

2 Likes

Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 4:17am On Nov 01, 2016
OMA4U:
Please, are you sure this work is yours?

There's a book with the same title written by Abimbola Adelakun ( A Punch Columnist).
Just googled it and yea, but the gentleman's title is 'Under the Brown Rusted Roofs."
It's set in Ibadan sef, hence the title.

But this is 100 percent my work.

3 Likes

Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by OneManLegion(m): 4:29am On Nov 01, 2016
I just googled "Under the rusty brown roof" and look what we have here : "Under the brown rusted roofs" with a synopsis that suspiciously resembles this one. It's authored by one Abimbola Adunni Adelakun.

Here's a link to an interview the young lady gave:
josephomotayo..com/2011/03/meet-writer-adunni-of-under-brown.html


This story might well be a plagiarism unless of course, the OP IS Abimbola Adelakun in which case the OP would have to prove it.

If the OP can't prove it, I'll report him/her. I don't support theft of intellectual properties.
Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 4:35am On Nov 01, 2016
OneManLegion:
I just googled "Under the rusty brown roof" and look what we have here : "Under the brown rusted roofs" with a synopsis that suspiciously resembles this one. It's authored by one Abimbola Adunni Adelakun.

Here's a link to an interview the young lady gave:
josephomotayo..com/2011/03/meet-writer-adunni-of-under-brown.html


This story might well be a plagiarism unless of course, the OP IS Abimbola Adelakun in which case the OP would have to prove it.

If the OP can't prove it, I'll report him/her. I don't support theft of intellectual properties.
Chai, see ridiculousness. Please illuminate me on how this is theft, with a quote that is almost the same with Adelakun's, or a Character.

This is getting insultive. This story isn't even completed yet, I just update each day, and the plot's all in my head. Prior to these, I haven't heard that columnist's name or book before.

So mr OneManLegion, go through the pain and report me, I just might get famous.
Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by OneManLegion(m): 4:54am On Nov 01, 2016
fikfaknuel:

Chai, see ridiculousness. Please illuminate me on how this is theft, with a quote that is almost the same with Adelakun's, or a Character.

This is getting insultive. This story isn't even completed yet, I just update each day, and the plot's all in my head. Prior to these, I haven't heard that columnist's name or book before.

So mr One.ManLegion, go through the pain and report me, I just might get famous.


Aii, since you claim so vehemently that it's yours, I'll leave you be.
Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 5:01am On Nov 01, 2016
OneManLegion:



Aii, since you claim so vehemently that it's yours, I'll leave you be.
But keep in mind that you've wrongfully accused someone, and projected my image in a wrong light. May I suggest you dig up enough facts before you do such again?

Everybody 'knows' Ibadan is a city 'trademarked' by its roofs, that's why my title is drawn from there but thanks, I never knew another book exists with almost the same title. I'll change it, and be more careful next time.

Peace.
Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by OneManLegion(m): 5:38am On Nov 01, 2016
fikfaknuel:

But keep in mind that you've wrongfully accused someone, and projected my image in a wrong light. May I suggest you dig up enough facts before you do such again?

Everybody 'knows' Ibadan is a city 'trademarked' by its roofs, that's why my title is drawn from there but thanks, I never knew another book exists with almost the same title. I'll change it, and be more careful next time.

Peace.


I did not accuse you of plagiarism. Go back and read that comment again. Read it slowly.
Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 5:57am On Nov 01, 2016
OneManLegion:



I did not accuse you of plagiarism. Go back and read that comment again. Read it slowly.
I got no qualms with you man, I write for the love. Perhaps, when I seek to write professionally, my research on these things would be broader.

And, your signature...you're a fvckin fan of Kendrick Lamar!!! Mortal Man is such a socio-political track. I listen to it when I write.
Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by OneManLegion(m): 6:16am On Nov 01, 2016
fikfaknuel:

I got no qualms with you man, I write for the love. Perhaps, when I seek to write professionally, my research on these things would be broader.

Alright, brother. I wish you all the best. I'm a writer as well. Though too lazy to write long prose for now.

And, your signature...you're a fvckin fan of Kendrick Lamar!!! Mortal Man is such a socio-political track. I listen to it when I write.

For the very reason that you're a fellow fan of Kendrick, you're my main guy. The guy's prodigy never ceases to amaze me.
Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 6:20am On Nov 01, 2016
OneManLegion:


Alright, brother. I wish you all the best. I'm a writer as well. Though too lazy to write long prose for now.



For the very reason that you're a fellow fan of Kendrick, you're my main guy. The guy's prodigy never ceases to amaze me.
I'm telling ya, the man's knowledge about the Black Life is outstanding.

Let's chat bro.
Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by OneManLegion(m): 6:27am On Nov 01, 2016
fikfaknuel:
I'm telling ya, the man's knowledge about the Black Life is outstanding.
Let's chat bro.
Alright man.
Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by yorhmienerd(m): 9:15am On Nov 01, 2016
fikfaknuel:
I'm telling ya, the man's knowledge about the Black Life is outstanding.
Let's chat bro.
Need ur fb username
Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by bibijay123(f): 10:07am On Nov 01, 2016
OneManLegion:
I just googled "Under the rusty brown roof" and look what we have here : "Under the brown rusted roofs" with a synopsis that suspiciously resembles this one. It's authored by one Abimbola Adunni Adelakun.

Here's a link to an interview the young lady gave:
josephomotayo..com/2011/03/meet-writer-adunni-of-under-brown.html


This story might well be a plagiarism unless of course, the OP IS Abimbola Adelakun info which case the OP would have to prove it.

If the OP can't prove it, I'll report him/her. I don't support theft of intellectual properties.


chill bro..... I wrote a story few yrs back but i was surprised wen someone told me she watched a movie with my exact storyline. I checked out d movie n it was true. Surprising tin is d movie was an old movie n produced way back before i even conceived d idea. It happens n I am certain this work is d op' s own.

4 Likes 1 Share

Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by OMA4U(m): 2:42pm On Nov 01, 2016
fikfaknuel:

Just googled it and yea, but the gentleman's title is 'Under the Brown Rusted Roofs."
It's set in Ibadan sef, hence the title.

But this is 100 percent my work.

I'm sorry I didn't mean any false accusations. I only wanted to put plagiarism in check.

Sorry once again.
Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by PeachyP(f): 8:25pm On Nov 01, 2016
Kelana is funny cheesy. The story is nice op, following smiley
Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by bibijay123(f): 9:47pm On Nov 01, 2016
Fikfaknuel pls updates!!!!!

1 Like 1 Share

Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 6:12am On Nov 02, 2016
Jumoke was ill, three months after grand pa Solade's burial. Father always showed his concern when he returned from work but, when Yekini would look deep into his eyes, it seemed like the girl was a burden. The odd one. Her tongue loosened, and spittle never ceased pouring out from it. Bola would cry her eyes out and often lament. How the world was unfair and rigid, it wasn't easy to get money.

When Father returned today, he smelt of alcohol. But this alcohol wasn't cheap one.
Yekini looked at him over the book he was curled up reading. His feet struggled to stay balanced on the ground but he talked in a regular pace when he asked

"Bola, Where is Kelana?" Bola sighed, with her eyes still heavy from crying.

"He went to see his gatekeeper friend,"

Father's head shook in an unknowing manner.

"the one that has the white people's radio."

"Okay." Father mumbled. He looked around, as if expecting to see someone different from Yekini and Bola. Jumoke stayed with a local herbalist since yesterday, James and John played outside, and Kelana was somewhere, singing 'Lasanya' high to the heavens.

"Is your mother in?" Father asked no one in particular but Yekini felt obliged to reply him.

"Yes" he said curtly.

He was annoyed that Father could pretend not to know that for about four days since Jumoke went ill now, Mother locked herself inside, and sobbed uncontrollably, refusing to be consoled. She would mention her late father's name in the middle of her crying and it all seemed like two huge fists, rolled into one, to serve her a vicious blow to the face.

"Go and play." Father said, much to Yekini's irritation.

'Play': The word seemed very out of place.

How could a seventeen year old be asked to play? How could Father consider him such a little kid, who could take his mind off things like the Palm Wine Drunkard, Aramide, his elder sister being ill, and the letter in his pocket by playing? Ah--yes! The letter. Yekini had started groping a pen so ferociously, and he would write somethings, and was largely unsure of what he wrote but he was sure it was about his family, about politics. Ever since he engaged in the false protest, he had this sense of belonging, this innate desire to question the norm.

'Why do people work and do not get paid? Where does the money go to?' He would ask himself.

He still was, lost in his thoughts when Father's voice woke him up from the slumber.
"I said, Go outside!" he repeated.

Yekini stood up and yawned lazily, stretching his body, as he stood on his toes for very brief seconds. He stuffed the book into his bag and went outside, to leave Father to tell Mother whatever he wanted to. Yekini just wished that the walls have ears, and they would tell him all that has been said. While he was outside, looking at the sky, envying the birds' freedom, Bola tapped him. Her face was rinsed. He felt pity for her. She was closest to Jumoke. He knew that somewhere, she wished, or rather cursed, why the only girl in the family asides her was 'not alright' and could barely talk without bathing the ground in spit.

"Brother, I wan go see my friend." she said.

Without hesitation, he said "Go."

"I'm at Fisayo's house."

He didn't ask her who it was, even though he heard Kelana mutter to himself in a soliloquy, that Zimbabwe had told him that Bola might have started moving with the wrong girls and they went to meet boys. Fisayo wasn't a bad girl. He wondered what made him have the phrase 'bad girl' in mind. Aramide often drew her skirt up, and he would look at her full, fresh thighs. One day, he mistakenly saw her pant--it was a rose red color. She flashed an enchanting smile at him that day from across the class, as if she knew what he had done. He wondered if it that made her a 'bad girl'.

He didn't pay any mind to Zimbabwe. He wished Kelana too, wouldn't. But he and his immediate younger brother didn't always see eye to eye. They didn't converse, not as much as he did with James, who would sit on his laps, and ask him curiously "Brother, who is that man?" the four year old, pointing at the portrait which hung on the wall.

"That is the great Obafemi Awolowo." Yekini would reply.

"Who is he?"

"He fought for this country's freedom."

"free, from who?"

"The white people, Britain."

"They used to be here?"

"Yes, they still are." He would reply to the young boy. If only he and Kelana spoke more often. His gaze had now shifted to the trees, and the numerous flying insects buzzing around it, fighting for a little bit of juice which trickled down its bark. Ants too, crawled on it. He thought of school. Truly, as Aramide had predicted, he was the 'golden boy'. Girls flocked around him and it was then he took notice of how handsome he was. Teachers tried to 'claim' him. One of them, the teachers, claimed that a nephew would swear with his life that he saw Yekini talking to the cameras outside the government house. Yekini refuted the 'absurd' claim, and thanked his stars, that most of the teachers were too hard-up to buy a black and white television set.

He saw Father walk past, his head seemed to be bent towards the ground. He had both hands in his pocket. He looked at the sky, and night was fast approaching. The sun was going away. The crescent moon emerged, in its royal silver color.

"James! John! Inside." He ordered.

The twins quickly ran towards the door. John had shouted "first to reach na God pikin!"

"No, no, no," Yekini disapproved "Bathe before you go in."

They grumbled as they transfered water from a brown bowl into a bucket, and used it to bath.

Kelana returned with his legs covered in dust. He must have gone to play football. Bola returned, with a much uplifted mood. She showed Yekini a pencil Fisayo gave her. "It's an eye pencil," she said.

"for what?" Yekini asked as if he didn't care, but deep inside, he was ashamed he didn't know what this pencil was used for.

"It is used to make the eyes fine." Bola explained.

"All girls use it?" he asked.

Bola shook her head lightly. "It's for the big girls." she said.

He liked the idea--an eye pencil. When next he got money, he would buy two for Aramide. She would surely be grateful. She might fling her body on his.

He stood up to go inside, when the toads began croaking with their ugly voices. There was a drizzle in the morning and so, a small, shallow pool of water had gathered together. It was no surprise toads had already began to feel at home.

He got inside, the room dimly illuminated by the lamp.

Mother sat on a stool. She spoke:
"Your Baba and I just decided," She looked around. "Jumoke will go with Walter's friend to Accra."

They were quiet, for they knew her, she didn't speak words just for the sweetness of how they sounded. She meant it. Father had somehow convinced her.

"When?" Bola asked.

"Next week." Mother replied, and retired into the inner room

5 Likes 5 Shares

Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by bibijay123(f): 7:36am On Nov 02, 2016
awww Jummy is going to Accra, hope Walter' s frnd treats her well
Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by sirblero(m): 9:42am On Nov 02, 2016
Hope She Goes And Comes Back In One Piece! Op Mur Ideas To Yur Story.. #keep It Coming..

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