Yetunde Aladura

She was the prettiest of the Nigerian West Indian family in Shomolu.  But she was more excited over her sexuality than her beauty. She loved to catwalk swaying her waist left right, right-left, to see if the boys in Morocco Ville were ogling at her.  And many of them often ogled at her with a stiff erection.
“This Morocco babe is irresistible,” Toks said to Bobo as they stood at the Morocco bus stop waiting to take any of the Danfo minibuses to Yaba.   
“Look,” said Bobo pointing at the roundabout.
Toks looked at what Bobo was showing him.
“You see that broken coconut?” Bobo asked as he pointed at two pieces of broken coconut on the ground.
“Yes,” Toks nodded.
“Yetunde Aladura and her Cele people broke that coconut at midnight.  And they always do this at their regular Friday night vigils,” Bobo said.
Toks listened attentively.
“Yetunde and her mother are Cele people and you know that Cele is a cult.  They say she even gets possessed and falls into a trance,” Bobo said.
“Yaba!  Yaba!  Yaba!”
It was the husky voice of the rough looking lanky bus conductor of a Danfo minibus as it came to a halt at the bus stop and the few commuters quickly boarded the bus, including Bobo and Toks.
It was midday in July. The long summer vacation for schools started a week ago. The school pupils and students were either at home watching TV and playing indoor games or they went to the nearby playing grounds to play soccer and engage in other outdoor activities. Bobo and Toks were final year pupils at the nearby Igbobi Boys College in Shomolu. They were going to Yaba to visit some of their schoolmates and then go on to the National Stadium in Surulere for sports.
Bobo continued gossiping about Yetunde to Toks and the other passengers on the bus could not help hearing him.
“Hmm.  I was told that her mother even put hot pepper in her vagina recently,” Bobo whispered to Toks.
Toks gasped in alarm.
“Why?”
“I will download the rest of the gist when we return.  I cannot disclose the details in a public transport bus,” Bobo said.


“Yvonne, you have a letter from Riverdale,” Yetunde said to her elder sister.
“Wow!” Yvonne exclaimed excitedly as she collected the blue envelope from Yetunde.
They were idling in their large courtyard under the Nest berry tree.


N.B:
To be continued later.

na wa o, am sure say na yabatech yetunde go dey go.

Yetunde is presently living in England.
She left Nigeria after her secondary school education in Lagos.

The story na faction oh!

It is a sketch I wrote while on this board.

With this story which you call "faction" or fiction, you have sunken to new low levels. What the heck is the matter with you? We both know that predominantly, your story is not fiction so cut out the bullsh*t.

- Yetunde
- Morocco Ville
- Nigerian West Indian family
- Cele
- Nest berry - which FYI is the wrong spelling
- Riverdale - another wrong spelling
- Bobo e.t.c.

I can go on and on.

The best you could do was change yvette's name to yvonne (the closest name you could come up with).

You are skating on very thin ice mister.

.

https://www.nairaland.com/nigeria?topic=20401.msg1270464#msg1270464

its a small world. and dont you ever forget that @ Orikinla.

henceforth i'm going to treat all your stories as autobiographical sketches.

I still don't get ayomorroco's beef.

Sounds intriguing tho.

Might make a good short story

Life is a great story.

I love the drama of life.

I am only the story teller.

I don't know what anyone is barking about.

Maybe you should go and bark about your own mis-matched dysfunctional family.

If you were a storyteller as you claim, you'd tell a story and let your imagination guide you, but I guess that is too hard an exercise for someone like you. You couldn't even make up names and places if your life depended on it - and it has for some years now. Hasn't it?

Since life is such a great story, maybe you should regale your audience with tales from your chequered past.

This is serious.

@ayomoroco
Please can you let us in?

ayomorroco, its high time you took things easy. the gentle man never knew you are a descendant of morroco. it was all fiction. u know!

yicob:

ayomorroco, its high time you took things easy. the gentle man never knew you are a descendant of morroco. it was all fiction. u know!

Please, try not to comment on things you know nothing about.

The poster knows me and my family very well (as well as I know him and his family).

as if this is a family issue. have you guys dated each other before or what the hell are you arriving at?

yicob:

as if this is a family issue. have you guys dated each other before or what the hell are you arriving at?

I am "arriving" at nothing. Nothing that concerns you anyway. The important thing is the person I originally addressed knows what I am talking about and that is all that matters. Your comment on dating deserves to be ignored and that is what I shall do to it.

I am 100% bona fide Nigerian Igbo and very proud of my Nigerian heritage and I am not a second class citizen.

Please, post your full length photograph since anyone can hide behind a computer online and claim anything.

If you know the full story, then tell me to separate the fact from the fiction.

Orinkila from the look of things this is no fiction your probably telling a story about ayomorocos family.Too bad.

Orikinla:

I am 100% bona fide Nigerian Igbo and very proud of my Nigerian heritage and I am not a second class citizen.

Please, post your full length photograph since anyone can hide behind a computer online and claim anything.

If you know the full story, then tell me to separate the fact from the fiction.

LOL. You could have fooled me for a minute there. It is funny how you have a case of amnesia now and are jabbering on senselessly, when a couple of months back, you did not doubt or dispute who I am. Just to refresh your memory, I refer you to one of your previous postings on https://www.nairaland.com/nigeria/topic-53353.0.html . Some people might be tempted to think that you are beyond cheap/petty tricks, but apparently not.

Funny how despite your being 100% Igbo, you have done everything to absorb the Yoruba culture including taking on a Yoruba alias [Talk about being and acting like a second class citizen] and saying that the Yoruba culture is the richest Nigerian culture.

Anyway, I have decided to leave you to your "faction" or fiction and let you get on with it. Having started, there is no need to separate fiction and fact. I will relish returning the favour in full [matching fact for fact, fiction for fiction], as unlike everyone else on this forum, I do actually know you - warts and all. This is not a threat, it is a guarantee.

By the way, there is no need to take me serious as I am probably "anyone" who is hiding "behind a computer online" and moreover, I can "claim anything".

I believe I have said more on this subject than I have on any other one in this forum. So I guess I'm done now (at least I hope I am). I have said my piece. You have yourself a good day sir.

*smacks lips*

Yetunde Aladura II

Baba Ijo Cele on Oyedele Street in Shomolu, was in a trance. And in this esoteric state, he always saw things and heard things. Strange things.

Ahaah!Ahaah!Ahaah!
Aa-gbi d! Lome-ji! Je Ishue-e jo!
He was now speaking in a strange tongue.
The other members of his congregation in ankle-length white gowns were beating some drums, ringing some bells and shaking some rattles.
The scent of the incense was making Yetunde to sneeze. And as she was sneezing, she was feeling drowsy. Then she began gyrating her round hips to the rhythm of their percussion instruments.
Baba Ijo Cele suddenly stirred and started making gestures with his long hands over her head.
The atmosphere was now cloudy as they lit more incense sticks. The smoke filled the whole place.
Baba Ijo Cele felt hot blood in his veins and he was having a stiff erection as he fixed his gaze on the gyrating Yetunde.
Gosh, she is so sexy, he thought.
Flashes of his younger years in Boston crossed his mind.
Mine, oh! Oh, mine!
He was going to explode!
He would have preferred to grab her, but he quickly rushed to the bathroom and released his semen.
Phew!
He sighed with relief and relaxed for a while.
God help me oh.
He had to perish the thought of fornicating with Yetunde.
Not after the narrow escape from the wrath of her elder brother when rumours were rife that he had impregnated her mother. And Kebby threatened to shoot his mother for daring to get pregnant when she was meant to be mourning her husband.
But widows are not nuns. A woman must heed the call of nature.
Marvin gaye's Sexual Healing echoed in his dizzy head.
There is time for spiritual healing and there is also time for sexual healing.
He felt his erection again.
God help me oh.


TO BE CONTINUED.


N.B:
The content of Yetunde Aladura is the imagination of the author.
Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Waiting for Part III.

@ poster, I noticed you did a volte face of sorts, but since it was not total, I ain't satisfied. In total tribute to someone we both know, here is a "faction" mini-sketch I wrote titled -

[size=18pt][center]THE LIFE OF A NONENTITY[/center][/size]

[size=13pt]Part I - Chima - A Perfect Example in Selfishness[/size]

Gladys wiped her brow as she squinted over the open fire in the small and blackened kitchen. The firewood she was using to cook was wet, causing smoke to fill the kitchen and the fire kept dying out. Her eyes hurt from the smoke and she coughed sporadically.

“Chima!” she called.

“Chimaaaaa!!” There was no reply. ‘This stupid boy will not kill me,’ she thought as she marched into one of the two rooms that made up their sparse living quarters.

Chima was lying on the bed, daydreaming as usual.

“Chima, so you are here and you heard me calling you yet you didn’t answer,” she said angrily. Chima ignored his mother. He resented her and his father. He resented the kind of life he was born into. Why didn’t God make him the child of a rich man?

“Chima, is it not you I am talking to?” she queried. Chima still did not answer. “Chima, this your stubborn attitude would get you nowhere in life,” Gladys scolded. “Just come and go and buy me some dry firewood. The one you bought is wet and won’t catch fire. My pot of soup is almost ruined. Oya, hurry up.”

Chima lay immobile, a frown pasted on his face.

“Chima! Chima!! Chima!!!” Gladys voice was raised in anger.

“Mama Ogini!” Chima shouted. “What is it? Everyday Chima this, Chima that. Am I your houseboy? Abeg leave me alone ojare. Don’t you know I am an intellectual? People like me don’t go around buying firewood. I am trying to think about my future, so don’t disturb my life.”

“Ehn Chima, is it me you are shouting on? This has become your new habit. Chei Chima. Chineke, see the child that I carried for nine months in my womb. See the way he is shouting on me like I am a nobody,” Gladys said biting her finger in frustration and regret.

Chima ignored his mother’s lamentations. He was sick and tired of this rubbish. He could not wait to make it big and get the hell out of this hell hole. He often dreamt of the day he was going to be a famous writer.

“Chima, you know your little ones are sick. You know that I myself am not well and instead of easing the burden on me, you are not even helping at all. Okay, where is my change, let me go and buy the firewood myself,” she said, resigned to the fact that she was not going to get any help from him.

“Where is the change Chima,” she repeated. Chima continued to ignore her. “CHIMA!” she shouted. Chima jumped off the bed angrily, shouting “Mama, I said you should leave me alone.” He shoved his mother out of the way and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

“Ewoooo,” Gladys wailed, putting her hands on her head and then beating her chest. “Chima, I will make sure your father hears about this when he gets back,” she called after him.

Dejected, she trudged out of the room heading back to the kitchen. However, before she could reach her destination, she ran into Mama Chichi in the corridor.  Mama Chichi looked really upset.

“Madam Gladys,” Mama Chichi said. “I have come to report Chima to you,”

To be Continued.

Part II - If Nobody Sings my Praises, I will Sing it Myself (Coming to a Cinema/Bookshop/Forum near you). By the way, this story na "faction" o.

chei!! Ayomorroco your story is interesting

mukina2:

chei!! Ayomorroco your story is interesting

Thank you. You are very kind.

hmmm,

funky grabs a chair and sits. _{this is getting interesting !}

@ Ayo no case



Funky add a pop corn to that

ayomorocco:

@ poster, I noticed you did a volte face of sorts, but since it was not total, I ain't satisfied. In total tribute to someone we both know, here is a "faction" mini-sketch I wrote titled -

[size=18pt][center]THE LIFE OF A NONENTITY[/center][/size]

[size=13pt]Part I - Chima - A Perfect Example in Selfishness[/size]

Gladys wiped her brow as she squinted over the open fire in the small and blackened kitchen. The firewood she was using to cook was wet, causing smoke to fill the kitchen and the fire kept dying out. Her eyes hurt from the smoke and she coughed sporadically.

“Chima!” she called.

“Chimaaaaa!!” There was no reply. ‘This stupid boy will not kill me,’ she thought as she marched into one of the two rooms that made up their sparse living quarters.

Chima was lying on the bed, daydreaming as usual.

“Chima, so you are here and you heard me calling you yet you didn’t answer,” she said angrily. Chima ignored his mother. He resented her and his father. He resented the kind of life he was born into. Why didn’t God make him the child of a rich man?

“Chima, is it not you I am talking to?” she queried. Chima still did not answer. “Chima, this your stubborn attitude would get you nowhere in life,” Gladys scolded. “Just come and go and buy me some dry firewood. The one you bought is wet and won’t catch fire. My pot of soup is almost ruined. Oya, hurry up.”

Chima lay immobile, a frown pasted on his face.

“Chima! Chima!! Chima!!!” Gladys voice was raised in anger.

“Mama Ogini!” Chima shouted. “What is it? Everyday Chima this, Chima that. Am I your houseboy? Abeg leave me alone ojare. Don’t you know I am an intellectual? People like me don’t go around buying firewood. I am trying to think about my future, so don’t disturb my life.”

“Ehn Chima, is it me you are shouting on? This has become your new habit. Chei Chima. Chineke, see the child that I carried for nine months in my womb. See the way he is shouting on me like I am a nobody,” Gladys said biting her finger in frustration and regret.

Chima ignored his mother’s lamentations. He was sick and tired of this rubbish. He could not wait to make it big and get the hell out of this hell hole. He often dreamt of the day he was going to be a famous writer.

“Chima, you know your little ones are sick. You know that I myself am not well and instead of easing the burden on me, you are not even helping at all. Okay, where is my change, let me go and buy the firewood myself,” she said, resigned to the fact that she was not going to get any help from him.

“Where is the change Chima,” she repeated. Chima continued to ignore her. “CHIMA!” she shouted. Chima jumped off the bed angrily, shouting “Mama, I said you should leave me alone.” He shoved his mother out of the way and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

“Ewoooo,” Gladys wailed, putting her hands on her head and then beating her chest. “Chima, I will make sure your father hears about this when he gets back,” she called after him.

Dejected, she trudged out of the room heading back to the kitchen. However, before she could reach her destination, she ran into Mama Chichi in the corridor. Mama Chichi looked really upset.

“Madam Gladys,” Mama Chichi said. “I have come to report Chima to you,”

To be Continued.

Part II - If Nobody Sings my Praises, I will Sing it Myself (Coming to a Cinema/Bookshop/Forum near you). By the way, this story na "faction" o.

Very good narrative.

You can post copies on:

Amazon.com: ekenyerengozi michael chima

A community about ekenyerengozi michael chima. Tag and discover new products. Share your images and discuss your questions with ekenyerengozi michael chima ,

http://www.amazon.com/tag/ekenyerengozi%20michael%20chima


But why are you annoyed with Yetunde Aladura?

Are you a member of Cele?
Were you the Yetunde the mother put red pepper in her private part?
Why did she do such an inhuman thing?

Is it true that Yetunde's mother got pregnant whilst mourning her husband?

Why not post your photograph if you are confident and proud of what you are posting on this board?

Or are you ashamed of your looks?