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Stats: 2,739,832 members, 6,497,412 topics. Date: Sunday, 19 September 2021 at 09:07 PM
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 8:06am On Nov 03, 2016|
Fikfanuel.. I love this story, more ink
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 4:58pm On Nov 03, 2016|
Make I comment before resuming from where I left off
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by OneManLegion(m): 6:18pm On Nov 03, 2016|
This story is sweeting me nor be small.
Btw, if like me, you've decoded the murderer and the murdered in the prologue, share this.
I won't spoil it for the author, though..
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 12:09am On Nov 04, 2016|
OneManLegion:Brah, why you lying
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by OneManLegion(m): 8:52am On Nov 04, 2016|
Lol. I've read A LOT of novels(and that's me being modest). If you've read as many books as I have, you'll understand why I know the murderer and the murdered.
Lemme give you a hint, the murderer isn't unrelated to Afolabi.
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by shigo20(m): 8:58am On Nov 04, 2016|
OneManLegion:mr decoder maybe u shld kuku summarize ur own now and let's see if it will play out as you thought
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by OneManLegion(m): 9:27am On Nov 04, 2016|
That will defeat the purpose of suspense.
If I told you, the writer will just change it and we'll be none the wiser.
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 7:17pm On Nov 04, 2016|
OneManLegion:Lol.. Im sure almost everybody here can guess that the murderer is related to Afolabi but you can never know what's on the author's mind.
Besides, what gave you the impression that you've read more books than me
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by OneManLegion(m): 9:06pm On Nov 04, 2016|
Optics, b, optics.
"If you've read as many books as I have , you'd understand why I know the murderer and the murdered"
Now, what in that statement says I've read more books than you? All you've done by that question is indict yourself on my behalf.
By the way, whatever gave you the impression that it's impossible to know what's on the author's mind? All mystery/crime stories always have hints on the possible ID of the bad guy and this work is no exception. The author is dropping many hints and I see them, which is more than can be said of you, apparently.
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 9:09pm On Nov 04, 2016|
OneManLegion:Re-read your first post, doofus and stop trying to form ITK here
Don't mention me back, pls
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 9:25pm On Nov 04, 2016|
OneManLegion:By the way, have you read Retribution by Jilliane Hoffman??... read it and come back to tell me it's always possible to know what's on the author's mind
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by yorhmienerd(m): 6:40am On Nov 05, 2016|
Lawlahdey:Small small na, we know you both has read alotta books, but pls don't make us think the author has updated
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 4:30pm On Nov 05, 2016|
yorhmienerd:Lol. . Alright Hon
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 7:16pm On Nov 06, 2016|
sorry guys, i know i've been MIA. my phone knock so please bear with your guy...even if na to borrow fone update, i go try.
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 2:10am On Nov 09, 2016|
Kelana hurried to Zimbabwe's house that evening. It was the short boy who was the 'middle man' between him and the gatekeeper, who owned the radio.
"Zimbabwe no dey." a little kid with an oversized tummy said, stretching out his neck from the house. He was Zimbabwe's younger brother.
"Where him come go, that idioncrasy of a person?"
"Ah, Ah, which one be idiot crazy again, na?" the befuddled boy ask with a mix of glee and inquiry in his large brown eyes.
"No worry, when you big, you go understand."
Kelana laughed away, at the thought of what he just said. He had often been told that he surprisingly had a 'small body' whereas his father was a lanky man, and mother was of average height. He felt different from the rest of his siblings because his humorous nature put so much ease on every one unlike Yekini who was a bore.
He decided on going to the football field, to kill time. It was here he saw Zimbabwe, dust clinging to his hair.
"Hwfa?" He asked
"Alfa dey mosque." Zim replied, stooped low a little as he washed his feet.
"Come escort me go Danbaba side na"
"I wan go see Funke."
"Ogbeni leave girl joor, America dey vote today." Kelana said, stomping his feet in impatience.
"Wetin concern you and America sef?" Zim asked "You wan be politician?"
Kelana grinned. "I want to be a Doctor, with a doctorate degree from Oxford University."
Zimbabwe scoffed, moving past Kelana. It was like what the boy said had no chance of possibility.
" I'll be a doctor, Watch me!" Kelana said, beating his chest. "I will tell the worried people in the hospital, 'there is such a low chance of survival but I will do my best.' Even if na just Typhoid, I fit charge like sey na Death disease"
Zimbabwe paid rapt attention to his friend. After he was sure Kelana was done, he clapped in a child-like manner. Typical Kelana philosophy.
He didn't know, that his friend lied. Kelana wanted to be a doctor to genuinely change the world. He wanted to tell 'worried people' that they were at the right place. He hid his dreams and aspirations behind his humor, just like he hid the tear which formed in his eye when Jumoke left home.
That morning was misty. The air appeared to be stuffed when Walter came with a Taxi. The fifty year old man pat father's shoulder with his little hands, saying she'll be alright, in his Ghanaian accented tone. He always sounded ridiculous. He said 'sir' as 'seh'. That day, mother rained blessings on him, thanking him profusely for the largeness of his and his friend's hearts. For some reason, Kelana didn't like him. Maybe because Jumoke was neatly packaged inside the car like fish in a sardine can, going to somewhere very far away. It hurt him that he couldn't help his sister. Yekini refused to come outside to bid her farewell, he dug his eyes into the book titled AMOS TUTUOLA THE PALM-WINE DRUNKARD. His elder brother had been reading little chunks of the book daily, for it didn't seem lengthy.
It was that moment when the car revved, and splashed dust into the air. That moment it drove away from the teary eyes that watched it, it was that moment, Kelana swore within himself, that he would wear a white coat, and hang that 'medical snake' on his neck.
4 Likes 4 Shares
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 3:51am On Nov 09, 2016|
"Kai, Kela, na your eye be dis?" Danbaba asked the second he opened the gate for Zimbabwe and Kelana.
The mischievous boy smiled sheepishly, saying 'No, I borrow the eye." It was when Zim touched him with his elbow, he realized he didn't say it aloud. It was just a thought. His smile spread into a grin.
"Na me oo" he replied
"Where za fruit fa?" the man Danbaba, wearing a free flowing black gown asked.
Zimbabwe shook his head.
"You see yourself, idioncrasy. Why you no remember me?" Kelana shot at Zim, as if it were his fault. Usually, Kelana was the one who climbed up the mango tree because of his stature. He also forgets, most of the time that Danbaba's payment for his 'radio services' was the juicy mangoes. Therefore, Zimbabwe had assumed the unofficial duty of reminding him each time.
"Next time, we go double am." Zimbabwe swore, touching his tongue with a finger and pointing it to the sky, which housed the submerging sun.
Kelana smirked. He chanted the word 'genius' in his mind. It was incredible, how meek Zimbabwe could be when he is interested in something. On their way coming, Kelana had whet his appetite for the elections with some juicy details he had accrued from going to the newspaper stand and flipping the pages when the girl who sold it wasn't looking. The last time he went, he saw America Decides, written on the column. Beneath the headline, he saw where it was written that the Republican candidate is favored by the 'bookies' to score a landslide victory in DestroyedMichigan. He had heard the word bookies before. It had to do with betting. He had heard on the radio that Americans usually bet their wives, sons and daughters, houses, anything possible. Even if they had that big flat, fried yam that they do over-sabi-sabi and call Pizza on their hands, they can bet it. After they will say Nigeria is hungry, and suffering an 'Economical Downturn.
However, bookies wasn't what intrigued him. It was the word landslide. He couldn't wrap his head around it. Perhaps there was a Waterslide victory too.
All these, he poured into Zimbabwe's ears. He even added some extra, even though he saw nothing like that in the newspaper.
"Do you know that a woman is contesting?"
Zimbabwe's face squeezed, as if he was trying very hard to hold a sh.it.
Kelana wore his trademark smirk.
"Waka fast, abeg." He said, after their pace had intensified, he continued "Yes na, the woman dey contest, for president, of America."
Zimbabwe spat on the floor. "Rubbish!" he screamed rather than said "How woman go dey contest for America, she wan rule the world abi? Woman." His tone was seeped in raw disgust.
"Rule the world?" Kelana asked and Zim burst into a laugh, clutching his belly, savoring the rare moments when he got to show Kelana that he too, knew about foreign affairs.
"Yes. America na super power na, so they dey rule Lasanya, DestroyedMichigan and all those states, and them they rule the remaining world."
"Okay" Kelana said, moving his head slowly in a knowing manner, even though he didn't understand what Zim explained. He wouldn't ask, so that the crazy boy wouldn't laugh at him.
"So if the woman win na, men go turn omo do?" Zimbabwe said, tongue-in-cheek.
"Make we dey watch na." Kelana said, running off towards Danbaba's gate.
Zimbabwe followed suit, starting up a Fela song.
"If you call am woman, Oyibo woman no go gree, she go saaaayyy,"
"She go say I be presido." Kelana concluded.
5 Likes 4 Shares
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 6:43am On Nov 09, 2016|
This is awesome Mr. Author Sir. I like the fact that you incorporated current events in your story. Very creative, more specially given that it fits well with Kelana's interest of America
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by chidozeze(m): 3:40pm On Nov 09, 2016|
OP, you're a genius. I have been a ghost reader, but i decided to commend you. This story is top notch, going by how you included current events in your story shows talent and know-how. Any way keep it up!!!
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 9:34am On Nov 16, 2016|
chidozeze:See your work, you show up and the op disappears . Go back to your ghostland! Fikfaknuel! Where you dey? Oya now, show body. No mind these ghost, they don't bite
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by chidozeze(m): 10:59am On Nov 17, 2016|
Hahahaha.... It's not my fault nah!!
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by bibijay123(f): 9:35pm On Nov 20, 2016|
fikfaknuel wats up bro? updates pls
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 7:05pm On Nov 23, 2016|
Really sorry, guys. Phone problems.
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 10:28am On Nov 30, 2016|
Kelana was humming to a song making waves in Lagos. "Mehn, this Boogey song is good." The guy who sold the discs, sporting a ridiculous hat which made him look like a poor magician looked up at him. Drunk eyes. Kelana muttered as he walked past, sinking himself in the environment around him.
Children playing, different games; suwe, hide
and seek, pursue corruption. Pursue corruption was a game invented by a child. The participants chased a fowl and called it corruption. This proved to have a psycological uplifting as their tiny legs burst into a frenetic pace. Kelana smiled. The fowl was never caught. Some mothers clasped the baskets on their heads and made for the market. The men were mostly teachers, and they sat outside, playing ayo
Kelana tried as much as he could to avoid them. He didn't want to greet any unfortunate person in the morning.
Indefinite strike. Those words were the best thing to have happened to him since Lasanya. All students had been at home for thirteen days now, and unless the government pays the teachers, they will remain so.
"Hey Kelana, come." a certain sabi-sabi teacher called him. Kelana stood like a mannequin, his eye blinking in utter disbelief. He was suppossed to be in ghost mode. Kelana greeted in a prostration, and he caught up to the topic. The teachers were pretending to know America.
"The Republican is a wild man, and he will turn the world to a wild place!" the sabi-sabi teacher roared.
"He will make America great. The industrialization of politicization is direly needed if the world is to be rid of corruption. Who deserves, gets!" a bald man countered. It sounded as if he wanted to shout but his voice was so meek it came out humbly.
"What of the woman?"
"Let her take care of her husband." Kelana said, then put on a sorry face. A kid wasn't allowed to talk without permission where his elders were.
"Hmm, Kela." the teacher, whom he had remembered his name, Mr Ishola, said. "I don't think a woman is supposed to dream of politics." The men stopped their game of ayo and loooked at him thoughfully. "Your father is a lucky man to have two intellligent sons. By the way, where is Yekini?" Kelana briskly replied "Home"
He excused himsellf from the gathering and in the distsance he could see the wide grin of Zimbabwe. They walked towards each other. The rough loooking lad offered his hand up for an handshake. Kelana dodged it, saying "Germs." but he didn't do so just for the sole reason. He thougt it was ridiculous to shake hands with a close friend; one you saw almost each day.
Zimbabwe intimated him on an upcoming contest. A wrestling contest in the next four streets. It was a long walk so Kelana demanded to go home first, to tell Pops. A thick stench swallowed the air and Kelana and Zimbabwe quickly held their noses. Birds fleed away from the scene. A bell rang, and children and young adults brought their dirt sacks out. The young man ringing the belll shouted in his thin voice "Oya oo! Come troway dirty." Kelana observed him. He had high cheekbones, which made his face look compressed. The left side of his mouth played host to a little wound
"No be the one wey dey come before." Zimbabwe said, tugging at him
"Yea, I know"
"That one had tiri long tribal marks on his face. Rubbish!" he spat out. "Tribal marks." A thin smile formed on Kelana's face. The thought wandered through his mind. If his father had been so wicked and stupid as to have cut a tribal mark on his face, the old man will regret his decision.
Their walking pace intensified when Zimbabwe told Kelana he didn't want to miss the second fight, which promised to be a cracker, between Tiger and Gorilla. "Real names?" Kelana asked.
"Stage name, ode. After you go dey claim Americanna."
Kelana approached home after giving Zim the 'wait behind' sign. He opened the door, and there was Father, resting his back on the wall, his head hung down. Mother too, rested her palm on her cheek. He looked at her eye, and her pupils was swimming in a pool of tears. What could be wrong? He left the house just an hour ago.
"They came today." Bola said, coming out of the inner room, placing her legs strategically on the ground, to avoid stepping on the sleeping James and John. Who, He asked in his mind.
"Government people. They came to warn Brother Yekini" Kelana sighed, and placed a comforting hand on Mother. Then he took Bola outside. Bola saw Zimbabwe, she hissed like a furious snake. Then turning in an 'I-don't-care' manner to face Kelana who was surprised at the reaction. "Who came to warn Yekini?" he asked
"I said, government people!" she said in a more-than-necessary loudness. She was still irritated by Zim, who held a mocking look on his face. Kelana waved him off, and off, the boy went.
"Wetin Yekini do government people?" Kelana asked, shifting closer in unadulterated concern. Bola would have grinned under normal circumstances. This was the first time since Kelana's associaion with America had she heard him speak a complete sentence in Pidgin English. But this wasn't a normal circumstance.
"When they come, wearing native. They didn't look fearful or too big, but when they asked 'who is Yekini?' their voice was serious, no jokes, as if they would scatter and burn the house if Yekini wasn't seen." Bola paused, and looked at Kelana "When Yekini came out, they took him outside and talked with him. Mama tried to chook ear but the English too big."
"How do you know it's a warning?" Kelana asked "Yekini walked off in a sad manner, as if someone had stolen all the money he had in the world."
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know." Bola replied, walking off slowly, hesitating over her movements. She walked, and with each step, got out of sight, till Kelana couldn't see her. He farted, and wiped his face, a little sweat had been gathering on his forehead.
7 Likes 3 Shares
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 3:51pm On Nov 30, 2016|
Swann, bibijay123, Jagugu88li... Fikfanuel has finally updated oh
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 2:15pm On Dec 01, 2016|
What's the matter with Yekini now?
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 2:47pm On Jan 17, 2017|
I'm very sad that there are some thıngs happenıng ın my lıfe that has made me deserted Naıraland and thıs story.
If you know me well, you'll know that I value people that take theır tıme to read good works of Lıterature and comment and encourage upcomıng storytellers.
I promıse that I wıll contınue thıs story ın the fırst week of February and when I do, the updates wıll be frequent.
Please, forgıve me. But meanwhılle, read other good storıes on Naıraland. I've seen good storytellers here but unfortunately, don't use language as a conduct. Good grammer makes a good story become marketable and reader frıendly. Please, our wrıters. We are just learnıng the trade. Don't be proud towards learnıng. We are all chıldren.
Fınally, I want to apologıze to everybody ı've let down. Jagugu88lı loves thıs story, I can tell, and because of her support and many others who read and comment, and others who read and don't comment, I MUST fınısh thıs.
Thank you ıf you're stıll there.
I promıse to make your unrelentless support worthwhıle.
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by AyamConfidence(m): 6:09pm On Jan 18, 2017|
This story is the bomb...O.P I'm with you till your second coming
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by samyfreshsmooth(m): 6:35pm On Jan 18, 2017|
OP ur story is nice and i'd wait till u come back to continue....
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 3:20am On Feb 02, 2017|
Bola woke up that morning with an headache. Mother sent Kelana to buy some drugs for her but the lad suggested they mix local herbs for her. Bola shot him with a cold stare.
When they dressed up for school, Mother saw that Yekini didn't budge. He wasn't ready to go to school. She let him be. It was the second week aftermath of the people's visit.
"Bola, see." A girl with a newspaper showed it to her, pointing at a rose colored dress. "E dey reign for Eko."
Bola's lips pouted in indifference. The noise around the class put her off. Suddenly, she remembered that it was the eve of St Valentine's day.
False love, she'd always say of people that reserved all the goodness of their heart for one day.
"Matthew go buy dress," the girl said "for me. Me."
Bola had always hated Matthew. Not hate, as in hate, but she wasn't a fan of his egotistical behaviour, his narcissistic ass, his rude way of slapping girls' ass, and his quite annoying good looks. Once, he had tried to woo her but Superman brother, Yekini stepped in. Talking about brothers. It wouldn't be such a bad idea if Kelana and Matthew were to engage in an argument of show off.
"B, Bola!" Fisayo tapped her. "I've been calling you for hours."
"What do you think of my Matthew?" She pointed at him with her eyes, over at the other end of the class where he bowed his head a little, offering a confident smirk towards their way.
"He's perfect! He loves me! You're jealous." Fisayo said in quick succession, almost in tears as she stormed out the class. Matthew didn't even follow her.
The bell rang. The students rose and made their way to their various homes. Bola was scared of home. She hated the gloom which hung over the place. She and Fisayo would have been leaving together in the company of each other's gist. Zimbabwe appeared from almost nowhere, his bushy hair made him look deranged. He flashed his set of fine teeth and in the midst of his brown skin, it was like the interior of a Coconut in the middle of unopened ones.
"Bola." He called out. "Where is your brother?"
He came closer, looking around. He reached for her lips and planted a kiss.
Bola slapped him, and walked out on him. The sun was still fiery, too early to return home. She made for a spot inside the bushes, a serene place she went to whenever she needed to think.
The birds twittered jubilantly and in the distance, the splash of water could be heard. The soldiery grasses which defended her was compromised. She heard steps coming towards her way. Hide, I must! She thought to herself. But before she could make a move, Kelana's familiar voice pierced the air.
Bola! Bola! He called out.
She didn't answer him and seconds later, as he stood before her, she saw something dark, angry in his eyes.
"Why didn't you answer me, eh?"
Before she could stutter, an heavy jab hit her ribs. Then a slap, the world twirled, and twirled. Her feet struggled to stay balanced.
"You're f-king Zim! That dirty pig! That bastard who will sleep with hisown mother! That idiot who pays whores! Zim."
Kelana slapped her again, ignoring the warning of the dance of the trees.
"I'm n-n-. I'm a virgin!" Bola cried out. Tears pooled in Kelana's eyes.
They made their way home. Kelana supported Bola's weight with his arm. Thick mucus-like tears lingered on his face.
Afolabi was the first to see them: Two of his kids, in their school uniforms, one bloodied, another crying. He hurried towards them. For a minute, time paused and he chewed on the stick of blame: He had failed his children, failed to protect them from this deceptive world, this LovePeddler who poses as a fine person but is the exact opposite. Jumoke is in God-knows-where, Yekini was entangled in the middle of a serious issue, and now, this.
"What happened, Kelana?"
The boy broke into tears.
In the night, when the neighbour's wife who used to work with a local hospital had left, there was silence and over the light produced by the candle, there all looked at themselves. Father to Yekini. Kelana to Bola. Mother to the sleeping James and John. Yekini to Kelana. Kelana to Bola. Mother to Father. Then, a cough. Father spoke.
"Tomorrow is Valentine."
"Yes." Yekini said.
"What do you think Valentine is for? For sweet gifts, for sex? For beating up one's junior sister?" Kelana looked away guiltily. Father continued : "No! It is to blossom the love which we have been keeping care of, kindling its fire, for a long, long, time. It is to be as one, be one, and united. You all know that Oduduwa once gave Oranmila a single stick in a broom which he broke with ease but he was unable to break a bunch of sticks that make one complete broom. You have to be a broom."
"I no know sey you sabi this kain English oo." Mother said and the kids broke into a unified laughter. Father did too, but he shielded it by a false sternness of the face.
"I was a clerk, the best in all Yoruba land and beyond. I studied Literature, and many, many things," this, he said with his eyes wide open, gesticulating with his hands. " Surely I speak well."
All eyes turned to Yekini, whose back was rested on the wall, the corner which was his spot.
"Father." He replied.
"Do you hear what I say?"
"Good, good." Father said, joining both hands together. "We need an anthem."
One blood, one family,
One God, One laughter
Together." Yekini sang.
The surprise on their faces. Yekini's eyes lit up as he sang, and however, the words sounded grim, James woke up and began beating a bucket. Kelana muttered some adlibs and gave a much needed life to the song. Mother swayed and danced. Father chanted Together. Together.
Bola sat there, recounting the day's experience in her head. Heavily bandaged by the way, all thanks to Kelana. She'd surely get her revenge. Father singing was hilarious. Mother would have made a good dancer. Too bad she didn't get to meet Fela in his prime. He might have married her and made his twenty eight wife. Yekini, big surprise. A laughter was rooted firmly on his face. A rare sight. James, the more adventurous of the twin, Life awaits you.
Their animated faces in front of her, and yet, yet, all she could think about was Zimbabwe's kiss. Maybe she liked it. Maybe she didn't. Why did she slap him?
The voice of Father came and drowned her questions.
2 Likes 1 Share
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by xaviercasmir(m): 7:40am On Feb 02, 2017|
you write with vibe that makes your readers yawning for more. That simple writing diction that makes your reader to build the picture in their mind about what the are reading.
MORE INK TO YOUR PEN.
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by samyfreshsmooth(m): 9:06am On Feb 02, 2017|
nice story ma'am and i follow still
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Chommieblaq(f): 5:35pm On Feb 02, 2017|
And she came back as promised...
Well done dear!
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