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Stats: 2,739,869 members, 6,497,499 topics. Date: Sunday, 19 September 2021 at 10:38 PM
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by empress101(f): 6:44pm On Feb 02, 2017|
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by AyamConfidence(m): 9:59pm On Feb 03, 2017|
Bhet where is Bibijay123, jagugu88li, room089, JefferyJamez and all the others... is story is muah
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by room089: 6:28am On Feb 04, 2017|
Baba Confi abeg no vex; na first thing first!
I dey my magnificent Room 089, I want first fortify Tubaba and other protesters against every obstacle and failure come February 6th.
Trust me I go soon show!
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by AyamConfidence(m): 7:32am On Feb 04, 2017|
room089:abeg I sef dey follow fortify them...we don tire for this people
I dey expect too soon...the story make brain
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 12:11am On Feb 10, 2017|
Yekini was seated over his book that Valentine evening. Kelana had gone out, Mother was somewhere nearby, in the street, watching a play staged by the youths. It was titled Roses. Mother tried very hard to convince Yekini to take up a role. Of course, he wouldn't agree to such ridiculousness: a play.
Bola went with Mother too--she wanted to visit her friend but Yekini figured she knew it was most likely she would bump into Kelana, who went to the football field in that street. Bola had been nursing a silent resent against Kelana. In the morning, when food was being served, naturally by Bola, the girl gave Kelana food from an impoverished plate, on a tray of hisses and that contemptuous look.
This cool evening however, his senses were with him. He reasoned that in one way or the other, the arrival of the fellows from The Broom Party was a reason for things colliding into each other in the family. Father's drunken humor was lost, Mother would cry to herself when it seemed nobody looked, mentioning her father's death in between sobs. Kelana had the Americana thing cut down to the barest minimum and Bola, well, was Bola. A beautiful woman for the future, a prodigy. He felt it in his soul that Bola had something huge in front of her.
He craved a bond with people, his family. Of what use is learning the unseen realities of life, and ancient wisdom, of flying tortoises, and crawling lions and palm wine spirits if he couldn't share them with someone he trusts?
He knew however, that trust was a strong word and when he conceived this idea, his first instinct was love. His love for a member of the opposite sex. Aramide was the only girl he had felt a thing towards. And he remembers quite vividly that day during the indefinite strike. He had expertly went around the house, till her elder brother was out of sight, and he went by a window and sang her a song of the spirits and she came out, and together, they eloped to a quiet place.
"You love me?" Aramide asked.
"Yes," Yekini had replied "I love you so much."
The infiltration of Yekini's hand into her bra suggested that sex was imminent but suddenly, she stopped him and ran out of the place in tears. Aramide couldn't be trusted, not if she wouldn't allow him do this little thing.
He hadn't seen her since then.
The wise eyes of Obafemi Awolowo stared at him as if asking : "What will you do?"
He got up and wore his jersey. Walking out of the house, he muttered Kelana.
The field was a huge mass of sand, stretching out far to a a well, very far place. It was a wonder that just eleven players could run to and fro in pursuit of a little ball. However, his quest for a bond had brought him here. He would later find Kelana shirtless at the east corner, where his mates played. The moment he got there, the surprise on his little brother's face was nothing compared to the fascination he had seeing how so much he'd grown, and his abs, sweat trickling down his body, he was a damn fine young man!
"I dey set oo!"
The boys were so immersed in the game that neither of them paid him as little as a glance. Later on, a boy would get tired and Yekini entered the pitch, playing alongside his brother. The plan was getting on well.
"Pass, pass!" Kelana screamed one moment when Yekini had the ball. Yekini lofted a pass onto him and Kelana skillfully controlled it with his chest, bringing it down to his feet, before riling in a good shot.
Goal! The shout of celebration reverberated round the pitch. Yekini ran over and hugged Kelana. Kelana hugged him back, and a pull, they looked into each other's eyes and found what they'd been longing for: friendship.
Walking home, they talked. Not quite as much as jolly pals but then, it was something.
"What is your favorite thing in the world?" Yekini asked Kelana
Kelana stopped, on the pathway amongst bushes, here he was among his brother.
He looked at Yekini thoughtfully and bit his lip. "I like many things a lot," he began "I like football, candy, chocolate, battery-less radio, the American woman inside, her voice, uhm....yea! Lasanya."
"I love Lasanya!" He tugged at Yekini excitedly. "I'll like to visit that place."
"Place?" Yekini asked.
Kelana's features twisted insanely in a bid to relay what his mouth couldn't say. Wasn't Lasanya that big and fine scenting place with huge houses?
Yekini burst into a laugh at the look on his brother's face. The laugh was somewhat cathartic and he felt lighter. In his head, belly, feet...he was literally jumping home.
"You don't even know what you love." He said and broke into a run, daring the more athletic Kelana to pursue. He did.
1 Like 1 Share
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by goingape1: 6:57am On Feb 10, 2017|
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by WaffenSS(m): 7:18am On Feb 10, 2017|
All nairaland 'writers' are so formulaic they sound the same.
Over descriptive. Strange metaphors. Disjointed pacing. Jejune humor. Relying on exposition to portray character rather than letting it build up within the narrative device.
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by ddddon(m): 8:08am On Feb 10, 2017|
Yeye, I just checked your profile and you have not authored one post talk less of constantly engaging readers here on Nairaland with a story. Yet you critic someone's work. That's sheer stupidity and envy I guess. Yimuu
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Hundreddegrees(m): 8:50am On Feb 10, 2017|
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by ngeneukwuewuGOAT: 9:47am On Feb 10, 2017|
You tried BRAVO!
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by waluga(m): 11:05am On Feb 10, 2017|
i dough my hat babe....such a very nice, soul captivating, touching story yuh gat here.....more ink to ur pen...keep it up#AFONJATOTHEMOONANDBACK#
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Kajiang02(m): 9:54pm On Feb 10, 2017|
Trust me, you need help. I won't bother running through your profile. Quit the attitude of Bad belleism.
Now, go back and read story from beginning.
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Melian(f): 11:01pm On Feb 10, 2017|
Lol. I read and watch crime as well. They're my favorites as l have a thorough investigative mind. I knew who the murderer was from the first few paragraphs in chapter one. I'm interested in knowing "why"... l find this disturbing. This has kept me going.
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by WaffenSS(m): 7:41am On Feb 11, 2017|
Once is enough.
I'm not a glutton for punishment.
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by WaffenSS(m): 8:07am On Feb 11, 2017|
Typical nigerian mentality.
Every work of art is subject to criticism, objective or subjective.
You can't control my perception so back the fxxxk off before you hurt yourself, you poor hapless insipid yap.
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by waluga(m): 8:45am On Feb 21, 2017|
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by fikfaknuel(f): 7:22am On Mar 01, 2017|
Afolabi scurried off the grasp of Omotola that evening. He didn't suggest to her the slightest but her tales of her recently departed father bored him to death.
"Na goodman him be. Him no like wahala" she said and peered out the door, her eyes wise like an old storyteller. She burst into a laughter and hit Afolabi's arm softly. "You remember when you wan marry me? Jackson been wan fight you because you no drop something."
Afolabi scratched his chin. "Jackson na that your rogue brother abi?"
"Rogue keh--Na too much igbo dey spoil him temper."
Afolabi laughed the good old laugh. Such lengths she went to defend her brother. There was a little tear in his eye when he had excused himself, or rather mischievously ran out. Bola was working with the neighbours sewing machine. Sandra was her name; Madam Sandra. Wrinkled and slow, but not old. Omotola used to detest her character then for a reason he was sure even she didn't know.
Kelana and Yekini ran into the compound holding hands, dusty feet. Their laughs warmed its way into Afolabi's heart. He heard Yekini tell Kelana : come let me show you secrets.
What were these two up to? Girlfriends already? Haa! Porn pictures? They were scarce in Ibadan but for the right price and 'good' name, you'd get some. But then, Yekini was no average teen. He seemed to live for the books.
The moon was cut into two pieces by a bony tree. The night was fresh and young and the air smelt like the top of a beautiful tap of wine. Afolabi sneered when he saw young folks and the aged even, holding hands! If it were to be in Lagos, red and white would be littered all over the streets from a week ago.
Such good weather made him want to go the pub but he had no money on him and it was on days like this he usually got drunk. The family has something good going on. His recklessness wouldn't spoil that. Yes! The idea struck him. He hadn't been a good client. Apart from the three days in a week that he taught Happiness, he never went there. He hadn't formed a trust between him and the girl. Sure, he'll keep her secret. She'll be Christian. Her father was happy with him but, he didn't know the littlest detail about her.
"Who you wan see? Class no dey today." The gateman asked popping out his head. Afolabi stole a quick glance. His wide eyes were strikingly apart and inside them swam lines of green and red. Thin nose, high cheekbones, a canoe lip. Agonizingly pink. He was a fine man.
"Happiness." With this, Afolabi shoved the gate open and entered. The house had become too common to be awesome. He delivered three quick knocks on the door and Happiness came running. She greeted him and he entered: books were scattered on the floor, her face was awash with tears. Defiant little girl, she didn't hide it.
"What is wrong?"
"What do you mean?"
"Everything is wrong."
"Not really. You are alive."
"Mother isn't. Nah--I don't even know her!"
"What else is wrong?"
"Today is Valentine."
"I have no date. I have no friends. Everybody who knows me thinks I'm a spoilt little brat."
"I don't think you are."
"Yes. You do. You are just doing your job, Mr Afolabi."
"See, see. I have a daughter like you. Defiant, strong, willful...I, I, understand you more than you think."
"I promise. I'll talk to your dad. He's up?"
"No. He's out on a gala. Politicians stuff."
"You're alone on this fine night?"
"Can I stay till tomorrow?"
"I'm not sure daddy would approve."
"He's not here! That's the point. He shouldn't neglect his daughter in search for political power."
"You are a good man, Mister Afolabi."
"Okay. What do we do?"
"I'll like to know you. Other than you are Happiness."
"Can I tell you something about me?"
"I prefer being called Ogbeni Afolabi."
"One more thing-does your phone work? As in can I call someone?"
"Sure. It's the old model but it calls at least. All phones do, don't they?"
"Well, I haven't had the time to get one since my last spoilt."
"Here." She hands a phone to him.
The line rang for a very long time before it was picked.
"Yes? Who is this?" A feminine voice sounded from the other side. Afolabi could hear the chirping of beds and the grunt of frogs.
"It's Afolabi, your neighbor."
"Haa! Afolabi--" she dropped the falsified accent. She had a fondness for him. When Omotola was out in Ogbomosho, it was Sandra who gave him food and stuff if he returned drunk. "Wetin?"
"I'm sleeping over at my employer's home."
"I want you to go tell my wife sey I go come back tomorrow."
He heard a sigh.
"You know that me and Omotola no dey see eye to eye?"
"Even if na nose to nose, I beg you, abeg!"
"And most importantly, assure her that I'm not drunk. Hey! I'm not drunk! I'm at an employer's home."
"Sure." The call went dead.
Afolabi turned to give Happiness the phone and there on her lips and eyes, were a smile. It made her beautiful, and her skin golden, as the sunsetesque glow of the chandelier rested on her.
"The night is long," she said, turning towards the fridge. "Juice or Gin?"
"Juice, of course!" Afolabi answered. No way he'd drink alcohol in front of her. It was an unwavering endorsement. Moreover, he'd promised Omotola that he wasn't drunk.
Happiness smiled and gave him a cold glass containing yellow liquid. He sipped on it and said : let's begin. Tell me about you.
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by Nobody: 7:54am On Mar 01, 2017|
|Re: Under The Rusty Brown Roof#NLwriters by waluga(m): 9:08am On Mar 01, 2017|
thank God yuh are back....i for just call ibikunle balogun ibadan, ogunmola and gbonka to come scatter ur yansh...lol....nice write, more update please.
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