do4luv14:



Baba no leave us for here biko, or better still, post am for your blog, no be all of us dey X me too include biko 🙏🙏🙏

Castro and Efe 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

For you, I will man.

All episodes will be on katakatastreet.com in full. Subscribe for instant notification of posts.

Still, my job here is done

Friends, as I sign out of this platform, I present the PROLOGUE of the new story I'm serialising on X (Twitter). Please follow @Centino__ (double underscore.) 3 volumes of Number 225 Katakatastreet are also available at katakatastreet.com for free and for purchase. Cheers friends.

SERIES TITLE: FOOD IS READY

PROLOGUE

AMA and IMA

Ama bursts into the world four decades ago in a conservative farming settlement just outside Efik Kingdom. Where she comes from, it doesn't matter to the men if their women are stiff like coconut trees or soft like beds of roses. Beauty to them is being healthy enough to carry and push out a 4kg first-born son within hours of going into labour so that a husband can boast within a year of marriage of having a fresh pair of hands to help cultivate his land in another decade.

Parents watch with hawk's eyes as their young daughters blossom and are alert to the early signs of puberty expected at around age thirteen. A family's obligation to their girl child is simple: Keep them healthy and ensure that they keep their legs shut until you pass them on to the next family for procreation.

It is with concern, therefore, that Ama's parents notice that at eleven, their daughter has already seen her first period and is showing unusual body development. At thirteen, her chest is as heavy as that of those fresh from the fattening room. And at fourteen, her hips rival those of the goddess Afia Anwan in width. Men who thought they needed to wait at least two more years begin to circle. Ama's father, Ikpa, has no plans of giving his daughter away before she turns sixteen.

"Dark times await," Ikpa declares to his wife one day, their patience wearing thin from Ama's recent habit of prolonged stays in the shared bathroom, each lasting an hour or more.

"Have you looked at her?" he says to his wife on her fourteenth birthday.

"No, Obong mmi," his wife submits.

"Don't be stupid, woman!" Ikpa hisses.

The following day, Uyai calls her daughter into her bedroom and examines her. Later that day, she has her report ready by the time her husband drains the last dregs of palm wine from his personal gourd after a hard day on the farm.

"It's there. As visible as the sprout of new corn. And slithering like the tongue of a cobra," she says, her heart fluttering.

Ikpa shakes his head.

"Take her to Abakpa tonight!"

It's bad enough that your firstborn is a girl. It would certainly be worse if she grew up unable to control her urges such that villagers would say to their sons, "Grow up strong and don't eat sweet things so that you would produce a son at the first strike. Don't be like Ikpa and produce a LovePeddler to assuage everyone's thirst before they find a suitable woman."

That same night, as the world sleeps, Uyai heeds the wish of her husband. She travels by foot with her blooming daughter to Abakpa, a village five miles away, to have the ugly development in their child erased.

At four in the morning, Eka has already sharpened her implements for the operation. She goes to the guest bedroom to fetch the new girl. The bed is empty. She searches the house and finds that her son's bed is also empty.

Edet has come home to look for a wife. At thirty, he is still a bachelor after city girls have drained him of his essence before heeding conventional wisdom to go home for a good girl.

But he doesn't have to put them in trouble to get one! Eka moans.

It is a year and a half later that Edet returns with Ama to the village to formally carry out her marriage rites. They come in the company of a newborn daughter they name Ima. Her eyes are the colour of the evening sky, wide and luminous with long uncurled lashes and a button nose. The baby squirms at every touch and sucks on a knuckle in relief when back in the safety of her mother's arms.

Twenty-seven years later, Ama and Ima stand all alone in the world. Both widowed. Both single mothers. Both enchanting nymphs sculpted by the hands of nature's own artisans.

Nearly sixteen years separate them, but you have to be eagle-eyed to be able to tell who is mother and who is daughter between the two. Ama, following the passing of her husband, exudes a timeless allure embodying grace, vitality, and enchantment. Ima takes after her.

They now live in an obscure close off Opebi in Lagos where Ama one day announces to her daughter that she is starting a restaurant in the showroom on the main road her husband used for his moribund shoe business, the endeavour that accelerated the journey to his grave when the burden of debt drove him to suicide.

"Can't you see the potential?" Ama says to her daughter.

"Look around. See all these banks, boutiques, bureau de changes, airline offices, big furniture companies, gymnasiums, other offices we don't even know what they do. They all employ people and have customers. We will be feeding them all!"

Ima can see from her mother's eyes. But there are big eateries everywhere as well. This is not an original idea.

"I am a Calabar woman," she says with a perfunctory wriggle of the waist. "No one offers what we can. We don't cook rice with machines!"

The similarity between Ima and her mother ends with the banging bodies they both possess. While her mother believes everything is possible for as long as she wears her two hundred-carat dimpled smile, Ima always reasons that an unpleasant surprise is never far off, therefore she tends to be more pragmatic. Life made her so. She lost her womb to a bad abortion at nineteen. The man that was responsible married her at twenty. At twenty-two, her effervescent mother carried and bore her now six-year-old daughter for them. Ima named her daughter Gift. What else could she call her?

She is back at her father's house two years later when she finds proof she had married a man of the underworld. She learns via a phone call a year later that a stray bullet had killed him. Ima knows it was no stray bullet. They'd deposited more than one slug in his criminal skull in a shootout.

Supremely shy and wary of people, she accepts to work as an office hand for her father until his death. Now with her mother's new designs, she does not think twice before agreeing to tag along. She is not expecting anyone to come and save her. She is on Twitter and sees that every microblog on masculinity tells men to avoid women like her. They do not mind her body, but being almost twenty-eight with a daughter and incomplete insides and once married are the sort of circumstances they are teaching the new breed of men to punish. So she will stick with her mother and make the best of this new endeavour.

She enrols in a three-month culinary class to get to grips with the nitty-gritty of modern dining. When she is ready, her mother has already found an interior designer to tear down the old showroom and turn the place into a cosy little diner that catches the eyes of their targeted clientele.

"Mummy. Men. These men. I'm dead!" Ima gasps after their first week of business.

Two young men in their twenties outside their regular clientele who work shifts at the airport and somehow find a lot of free time in between are always on hand to offer the needed brawn when they take delivery of drinks and foodstuff. They live nearby. Ama takes them as the sons she never had and makes sure they do not go hungry for the kindness they offer her. One day, frustrated at never being noticed by Ima whom he fancies, one of the boys named Irikefe, panting from offloading a truck full of yams and two bags of rice, corners Ima in the food store and says, "Ima, there's something I need you to know."

“What is it?” Ima says.

“Promise you won’t be mad at me for telling you.”

“Why should I be?”

“It’s about your mother.”

“And what is it about my mother that can possibly make me mad?”

“My bro Castro discovered something.”

“What?”

“And I checked.”

“Oh speak!”

“Your mother. She fvcks her customers.”

TO BE CONTINUED.
CHAPTER 1 ON TUESDAY ON X. FOLLOW AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS!

Khaleel04:
The link is not working

Baba I don’t know what the problem is but follow @Centino__. double underscore.

Obisteve42:
Centino, the link you posted here leads to nowhere. I have tried connecting to your X page but there seem to be too many Centino. Pls do something about the link.

The link is fine. Must be something about this site.

However find me @Centino__. a double underscore.

Posted 8 articles to warm up my account and my main work commences in the coming days as I resolve some technical stuff.

See you around.

do4luv14:



What about your site katakata. com

Still there. You can download 225 Katakata Street book 1 for free and buy books 2 and 3.

Hello everyone!

Special Announcement

Katakata Street is moving to the X (Twitter) app.

I can reveal to this community that I'm starting another series on there but to warm up I invoked the ghost of an angry Mr Cosmas in what will be a series of threads before my new fiction comes to life.

So you can find me here

https://x.com/centino__/status/1785986571491041584?s=46&t=Js8RaCM9rqKVF8F9XG58MA

Those who always said Centino show your face, show your face now have their wish met.

It's the real me you will see on my Twitter profile. Make una no just yab me

Join the X app if you haven't. Follow, turn on notifications, comment, like, repost and tell your friends!

It's gonna be huuuuuge!

keelsors:
You finally took the bold step to end this story. Kudos to you for making that bold decision.

I don't see 'Freke doing anything significant with his life anymore. I had already lost hope in the dude a long time ago. Unfortunately, he still wallows in self pity. His dreams will continue to be that - dreams - unless he picks himself up and makes an effort. That's why Jonjo will always continue to lord over him as a man and have his "girl" and "love of his life". Even little Clementina that he so stupidly decided to let his manhood think for him over still listened to Jonjo's advice over his. 'Freke wil continue to remain irrelevant as a man except he changes his ways. That's his true awakening. Unfortunately he currently sounds like someone who would one day, sooner rather than later, find himself somewhere on the 3rd mainland bridge staring down at the waves below, gathering the courage before taking the final plunge.

By the way, what happened to the sultry Lizzy? The last time she was mentioned was when she took 'Freke to the prophetess and came back without a word to him.

Interesting take.

I wouldn't know what would happen for sure with Freke but your postulation is tenable. It was not an easy ending to find and like tsharp noted it all could have turned out anyhow and it would still be OK. I'm satisfied though that it is still making us think.

Lizzy was out of the picture from that moment. That was the plan. Ending the story started from that chapter I think. One by one canceling out some major characters. Having been privy to everything the prophetess told Ndifreke she knew there was no longer a place for her so she quietly left the scene.

Thanks for summation man.

tsharp:
The best part of this is that this wonderful story did not end up as one of the abandoned ones. Very many times it almost felt as if that was what will happen.

Thank you for seeing it through to the end. As much as I love the story I believe it is the right decision to end it and to end it now.

This is the best story here no matter what anyone says and I'm happy to have been a part of it from page 1.

As for the conclusion, whatever the outcome of Ndi and Maya could have been it would still be fine. It was that complicated. The romantics would love this ending.

Mr Cosmas. He was too good to be a human so fair enough. When he did not knack anybody in that compound I suspected him. Very poignant final words there too. It was also typical Centino to finish off leaving us scratching our heads. Well done boss. As The others have said, do carry us along wherever you go. You made the last 6 years beautiful for us and you always deserve our support.

My man tsharp. I know how many updates I did just because of your prompting. Yes you were there from page 1 and have barely missed an episode even on the site. Thank you. I told EkopSparoAyara (who no one has yet matched in detailed analysis of episodes he read) that I'll fly down to whatever city you are and have a beer with you. Same with him too. You guys been too much.

SunFlow:
I feel sad already.

What can I say?

Thank you Centino the centimetre

My man! Thanks for all the support online and offline. You guys made it happen. Until next time.

YINKS89:
Centino, it's been a very long ride and every journey was followed both here and on the website. I really want to commend you on this master piece and also to commend you on knowing when to throw the hat in. Looking forward to you next piece, do make sure to tag us.

Didn't even see this before mentioning you in do4luv14 reply. Thanks YINKS89. You're top 3 in my followers list from the first pages. Even if I post in New York Times I'll always tag my Nairaland community. Y'all are wonderful. Indeed it's high time. But I'll be back.

do4luv14:



Any Epilogue to finish it up patapata??

Nor tempt me bros. For you, YINKS89, tsharp and a some others I'll probably keep writing. But had to kill off my favorite character to make sure I don't come back. The story had become my life. Even when I wasn't writing it I was writing it. Will do many more in my life time but 225 Katakata Street will always have a special place.

Ophixialtohny:
Mr cosmas a ghost thanks centino for dis great master piece centino

You're welcome.

Hydriss:
Centino, thank you for this masterpiece bro. It was worth the years. I wish you the very best i your future projects, can't wait to read the next masterpiece from the great Centino

You're welcome. There's another on the way for sure. Just like with 225 Katakata Street, I let it bubble and simmer within for a while before I let it out. We're almost there. There'll be an announcement in the new year.

Jojodjo:
All good things come to an end.
Thank you Centimo.

You're welcome

jojothaiv:
It's been an heaven of a ride, from the day you stroke the pen and let our realities danced to the ballads, sonnets and satire intricately woven from the deepest part of your soul.

I say thank you sir for this sweet journey, it was worth it and until when next you spare another episode (perhaps), the feets that marched out of Katakata street who have found a place on Nairaland will come back for one last dance.

As the Yorubas would say, Ire o!

Even I can't quite weave it like this. Thanks man. Great lines.

hafizfarhan:


Why he/she is not responding on WhatsAPP?

Me?

Guys, finally I post the final episode. I know say I don explain taya but make I still explain one last time. This as you know has been one heaven of a journey for me. Even when everything points to the fact that I should bring this to a close I still find a way to perpetuate it. Number 225 Katakata Street is more than just a story as you know. Were things to be different, I'd have liked to stick to my initial resolve to write this to infinitum. But mehn....anyway make e be. I wrote and rewrote these two concluding chapters so many times that I'm convinced that if I had posted this concluding one any earlier than today I would have found a reason to come back tomorrow to continue. But I found a conclusion I was satisfied with. I hope that you'll feel so too. So please enjoy. If you have to go back a few episodes to be able to follow please do. I'll put everything together in one place soon so it can make perfect sense when you do reread. I strongly recommend that everyone get copies of Number 225 Katakata Street for the wealth of information and enlightenment it contains. Also, buy make this new year sweet for your guy

Until my next project...Cheerio my friends.


ONE DAY AT A TIME (final chapter)

News reaches us that Maya has had a baby boy. I am happy for her and I text her to congratulate her. I am still in my new state of ease with the world. In the evenings, I sit alone on the soak-away slab and watch the street. After dinner when it is dark I am there again gazing at the stars. When I go to bed, I fall asleep within minutes.

Irikefe has now moved out and Castro went to live with him. Castro says he too needs to go out and find himself and I agree. Both young men receive my blessings and we have been texting on WhatsApp every day.

The council of elders have sat a few times since the afternoon of Maya’s delivery. I have not felt the need to be a part of the meetings. Sitting by myself has been enough for me.

My neighbours have let me be. They think I am on my own because I am heartbroken. If they find my bearing at variance with this line of thought, they are happy not to say. I have to be heartbroken. What else should there be? What else would make them happy?

Josephine approaches me at the soak away. She is wearing jeans and a T-shirt. I remember the last time we sat here together. She had been wearing a bum short and a top that was not more than a few strings around her body. We wanted to make Maya jealous after our first major fallout after she lost the first baby. Things got heated and I was about to go to bed with her when Mama Akunna showed up. The compound had just been praying after we were rid of all doubts that the old woman was a witch. Her alighting from a keke hale and hearty after we had finished casting her to the bottomless pit of hell made us all scram in different directions. I aborted my mission to Josephine’s bed. Someone else, Wasiu, then surreptitiously went and took my place.

Just like then, she comes and sits close to me now. This time she keeps a respectful space between us. She does not start a conversation at once. People now perceive the need to be economical with words around me and it gladdens me. Finally, she says, “I delivered her of the baby you know.”

“Oh.”

“I thought you’d like to know.”

“Well yeah, I suppose it’s good to know.”

“That man wanted to be in the room. I chased him out with the heel of my shoe.”

I chuckle and she continues, “He stood there cursing and swearing the whole time! What kind of fvcking hospital is this? Can your doctor speak English? Are your instruments clean? I swear to God if anything happens to her you’re all dead! Yen yen yen!”

“That sounds very caring,” I say.

“Caring my ass. He was just showing himself. ‘We should have gone to St Nicholas. We should have gone to Lagoon. Fvck! This place stinks!”

“And why didn’t they go to those other hospitals?”

“She was already crowning, that is the head of the baby was already visible, while they were in the car.”

I shift uncomfortably and she reaches out and squeezes my hand.

“Don’t worry he didn’t look. She announced it to him and told him to come to our hospital. She knew it was my shift. It was a great pleasure.”

“Yes, I saw you just heading out that afternoon.”

“Yes. It was too easy for a first-timer. I’m happy for her. Happy for you too.”

Again, number 225 Katakata Street begin to lurk around. I can hear their unspoken thoughts. He has found a willing replacement for Maya. Let’s wait and see when they go inside. I shake my head.

“Why are you happy for me Nurse?”

“It’s yours Ndi. The resemblance! I have never seen anything more obvious.”

I sigh and say, “Why do people say this of newborns? A month in maybe. The only obvious thing when they just emerge is if they are white or black or mixed race.”

Now it is her turn to chuckle. “Trust me the resemblance is always there. And in some families, there is even a running trait. I remember one case where this old woman came in and all she was saying was let me see the eyes. I want to see the eyes!”

“Meaning?”

“It’s a family where they have big eyeballs. As I later learnt, one hundred per cent of the time their children come out with the same bulky eyes. If you say you are having their baby and it comes out without the family's eyes, just pack your things and go. No DNA needed.”

“Now that is risky. Genes mutate. Sometimes the resemblance is borrowed from an ancestor and not the immediate family.”

“My dear as I learnt that day, if you are pregnant in that family, just start praying from day one that the genes do not mutate. The old woman was the boyfriend’s mother who did not want her son to marry the girl. She did not believe the pregnancy was his because she used to shake her bum on TikTok. The first time she smiled at her son’s girlfriend was as the baby passed the visual DNA test.”

“It had big eyeballs.”

“Just like the father’s. Just like all seven family members men and women that came at different times that day before they were discharged. It was incredible.”

We become silent. I can see more of Willy Willy’s boys in the usual places.

“This one looks like you too Ndi.”

I nod and continue to stare into space. Someone is burning a tyre from a distance. Black smoke rises into the sky. The voices coming through are frantic.

“I hope all is well over there,” I say.

Josephine hisses and says, “All is well Ndi. People here did not start acting crazy today. I’m talking about your child now. Your firstborn son!”

There is a dramatic ring to the last sentence. It sounds like something out of a Nollywood flick. The expected reaction would be for the addressee to spring to his feet, shake his head, and roar something like ‘impossible. Nothing must happen to my heir! The first seed from my eminent loins! Show me the bastard and I will cut off his scrotum!” Instead, I smile and squeeze her hand in return and say nothing. She continues to regard me. I recognize a similar expression on her face to the one on Irikefe’s the other time. But Josephine seems to have more faith in my sanity, because, after a while, she says “I know you need to do a lot of thinking. You cannot be rash with your actions. The fact is that that man is an asshole and my girl deserves better. Consider the baby.”

I remain silent and continue to take in my environment. A familiar cock with one leg hops into view. I watch as it stops and cranes its neck in the direction of the frontage where it lost its other leg. The boys of number 225 once took offence at it for pooping on their playground and crippled it with a stone and a good aim. The owner is the oldest resident of number 221 who built a small cage in their backyard for the three birds he rears and lets them roam free in the daytime. I always thought Baba Taju belonged more in Number 225 than in any other compound on Katakata Street. Rearing chicken on the chaotic street is the sort of endeavour only a resident of Number 225 would undertake. He had a piece of red cloth tied to the feathers of each bird. Irikefe once said, “Who wan thief dat kind dirty fowl? Fowl wey dey chop shit! Na disease go kill you before even the juju.” I give full attention to the cock now. The way it throws its neck from front to back makes it look like it is reconsidering its decision to visit Number 225 again. It succumbs to wisdom and hops back in the direction from where it came.

Josephine shifts uncomfortably. She is still studying me. Then suddenly she says, “But what are you even supposed to do? Our girl has gone and had her baby and has left with the man. Does she expect you to now go and pull down their door and demand for the baby? What will you even do with the baby?”

I do not feel the need to respond.

“Why are you even so calm?” She says.

I tilt and face her and smile. She cannot sustain eye contact with me. It is in the evenings like this back home that I would take to the top of the guava tree in my father’s compound. I like the mean rootedness of trees. They bloom rain or shine and are unfazed by wind or gusts. They may lose a leaf here or there, and sometimes a branch would snap under harsh conditions, but they always rejuvenate and remain. In my delicate moments, I took to the tree and I was there until I felt rejuvenated. My worries float away as it ventilates. My mother had said that the only thing she was grateful for as I was leaving the village was that I would stop nestling atop trees. It terrified her that I could always be found there even as a child. They said in the village that it was even more unusual to see a six-foot young man finding the top of trees accommodating when there were girls to chase. I sigh and take a deep breath.

“It doesn’t make sense right? I mean, I’m not making sense,” Josephine says. She bites her lips and continues, “You know, Maya has made her choice. I know you are not a saint but neither is she. You do not put a man in such a situation. I mean… what a mess! You just remain cool okay? When your child grows up, he will look for you.”

With that, Josephine gets up, hesitates and then says, “You will move away too right? Your boys are gone, Jide and Funbi married last week. You know that right?

I nod.

“Maya has happened, Achike gone too. Not to talk of all those that went in the past both on foot and in coffins.”

“Alhaji has sold the house. This time, we all don’t have a choice.”

Alhaji Sirika’s red cherookee jeep stutters to a stop as and he hops out with three Asian men in tow. Without speaking to anyone he takes the men on a tour of the house and at the end of it they stop at the frontage and Alhaji Sirika announces loudly:

“Ehm…all of you see your new Landlord o! Mr Cho. Say whatever you want to say. They will all hear.”

There are not many people on the frontage now. But Alhaji knows what he is saying. Whatever is about to happen will be transmitted in no time to everyone who needs to know. It is Number 225 Katakata Street after all.

The oldest-looking of the three Asian men clears his throat and stutters, “I buy house I change house for warehouse all you pack go!”

“Have you people heard? Please go and kill yourselves somewhere else. No more. A lawyer will come and serve you official notices. Your rent will be returned for those who still have time. May God never let me come in contact with human beings like you again.”

Alhaji Sirika hurries back into his car together with Mr Cho and his compatriots. We all know we will never see him again.

A commotion erupts in number 225.

“How did you know Alhaji had sold the house?” Josephine says to me as neighbours scamper.

“I did not know.”

“You said it just before he drove in.”

“Did I?”

Josephine regards me for a long time, shudders and walks away.

Mr Cosmas joins me at the soak-away. We sit in silence and observe. We watch as the news of our final eviction notice develops legs and moves from room to room and all the crannies of Katakata Street in no time.

Continue reading https://katakatastreet.com/2023/12/28/one-day-at-a-time-final-chapter/

SunFlow:
Centino, why do i feel like Ndi don mad?

MY AWAKENING

The sight of Jonjo in Maya’s room and the degree to which it breaks my heart changes my life.

I turn from the ghastly sight and slowly make my way back in the direction from which I came. I refuse to be affected by the desperate eyes of the observing troupe who saw Jonjo arrive and match upstairs while I sought counsel with Mr Cosmas. They had taken positions behind doors and along the corridor pretending to be busy when I followed shortly after. Curiously, no one sneers now. No one coughs or guffaws, as they are wont to do in these situations. They stand like sentries while I take one slow step after the other away from the scene of my latest ignominy. They search my face for any clues of anguish. Somehow, I find a resolve that seems to set my face aglow, if Irikefe is being truthful.

“Bros wetin con dey make you smile?”

“Oh, nothing,” I said.

He shakes his head and continues to study me where I stood observing the delightful chaos of a typical day at 225 Katakata Street.
Boys are kicking a football about without a clear aim. Usually, they play a three or four-a-side ‘monkey post’ considering the small space of the concrete frontage. But today someone just shows up with the ball and they started kicking without any system. Each does whatever they please when the ball gets to them. A boy joggles it for a bit, earns cheers for each successful control and passes it to another who takes it on his chest and knees it to another. It gets to Carbondioxide and he aims a shot at a watching young girl and fires. The little minx as if expecting it, turns her backside and it bounces off onto the feet of another to rapturous cheers. Everyone is now calling for the ball. They revel in the chaos. I enjoy their uninhibited laughter. Mama Cowbell swears at them from where she seats by the gutter washing the coats off a bucket of soaked beans for tomorrow’s moi moi. “If them born una well make that ball reach here! Stupid things!”

The Undertaker stands to one side supervising a Mallam mending his shoes. He has a book in his hand, which he occasionally glances at. I smile at him and he narrows his eyebrows and looks away. I look up when I hear a rumble in the sky. It is the rainy season after all. The boys sense a special occasion. They quickly make small posts and divide themselves into five aside. The girl who had been kicking with the boys insists on playing.

“When rain start you go remove your cloth o! Na rain ball we wan play and na only pynt we go wear.”

She is a blooming adolescent who is wise to the antics of the boys. Lanky with clear signs of approaching puberty, she stretches and jumps on the spot as professional footballers do on television before taking to the field. “I go remove everything make una nor worry,” she says coyly and the boys begin to argue amongst themselves about the team she should play for. Another rumble in the sky and she quietly slips into the corridor and disappears.

“Elsie! Elsie! Come back here!”

“Yeye geh!” Another boy hisses and passes the ball to a teammate from his own half.

Prince White yells at Carbondioxide to go to the backyard and remove their washing from the line because of the imminent rain. Carbindioxide theatrically blocks his ears with his fingers and continues playing, an action that brings Prince White shooting out of the corridor towards his son with more cheers from the onlookers, especially as his squint eyes make him appear to be looking in a different direction from the one he is running. I join in the cheering as father and son run rings around Mama Cowbell who is almost bursting with rage. Irikefe approaches me.

He stands beside me looking undecided. He is now twenty-five and only an inch shorter than I am. He is no longer the wily nineteen-year-old I first befriended when I arrived Katakata Street in 2017. Six years have seen him dethroned as the oracle of number 225. That title now belongs to Castro’s little brother Willy-willy. If Irikefe thought he knew everything that happened in number 225, Willy-willy believes he wills things to happen so that he would have content for his mischief corner. He commands a strong following and even organizes a meeting of teenagers he convenes right after the council of elders’ meetings where they analyze everything they garner from the adults’ meeting from a distance and discuss them more ‘factually’. Willy-willy recently said to me “When you people wonder why there is so much fornication in this compound, we go ahead and investigate the facts of the fornication. For example, the day Aunty Maya’s sister entered your room, we went to the shops after you went to buy things and found out that it was pepper soup and bread and coke you fed her before you people continued till daybreak.” As I think about it now, Willy-willy looks in my direction and smiles, even as an opposing team member fires a shot through his legs.

“Bros you sure say you dey all right? Irikefe says.”

“Oh sure my man, why?”

He looks at me and averts his eyes when I look back into his.

“Bros Freke, I understand that it is difficult for you seeing that you will not give up on Maya despite everything. But I take God name beg you no come crase join. See as you dey look everything dey smile like baboon wey just enter township zoo.”

My smile is even wider now. I see his sincere concern for me. I feel a tinge of regret for the way I treated him following the sexual assault matter that effectively ended our friendship. He looks at me now as though he would readily drag me by the tether to a healer if he thinks I need one.

“I am perfectly fine my friend. It’s a lovely afternoon, well, except for the coming rain. See the life in these kids, see the beauty of their games and their unbridled joy. There’s Mama Cowbell over there doing the Lord’s work ensuring that we have the world’s best moi-moi every morning. Look at Mr Kingsley in his weird elegance. See our neighbours coming and going, all full of life and laughter despite what we see in the news. Can’t you see the beauty? Can’t you see the harmony? Look up. See the clouds. Have you ever really observed these phenomena? It’s awesome. By the way, whose daughter was that that the boys were just teasing? I never saw her before.”

“That’s Mama Kike’s lastborn. How will you see her when all you look at is Maya and her Sister. Then under his breath he says, “Or maybe you will see her when she develops breasts.”

I laugh as if I have just been tickled and bend over holding my midriff. Irikefe looks around and then back at me.

“It's not that funny bros. I don’t like what you are doing.” He takes me by the wrist, and we move towards the soak away, out of earshot.

“Bros, I don’t know how I will say this for you to get it. I wish I can slap it into your head aswear. Maya is not worth it! I worry about that chick. She is the most confused woman in this world. Okay look at this. You are born into abject poverty. God blesses you with a job and an opportunity to leave this place. I hear she had a flat in Lekki or somewhere. Then after a while, you leave everything and come back here with pregnancy. Pregnancy o bros! A situation when you want the utmost comfort! But you abandon it for here where you were violated, your mother died in disgrace and your brother ran mad and vanished from the face of the earth. Bros, is this not the type of situation when normal people would curse this ground and depart to never return? Yet our girl comes back. Not only that, she sends her sister to go and sleep with her boyfriend and the alleged father of her unborn child. By the way, bros, if you accept that baby don’t ever talk to me again! That man that is there with her right now is the father! That is why he came! That is why he will always come around. So as I was saying, you are ready to share your man with your small sister. And when you go to talk sense to her she be looking at you like you are looking at me now like Mr Bean. Is this normal? Okay she has been here for some weeks now, it looks like she is living what she thinks is a new life, and your hopes go up. I saw the way you marched to her room. I told Castro that you look like a man that is about to go and propose. We saw the man go upstairs. We did not want to stop you so that you could see for yourself and maybe receive sense. Then you go upstairs and see your bride in another man’s arms and you come downstairs smiling like Christmas goat and kicking ball with children. Abeg bros stop smiling na. You are scaring me!”

I am not forcing or faking my smile. I do not feel any hurt. I appreciate his concern and I understand his argument but I feel well. The wind increases in velocity and the clouds begin to be drift east. It may not rain after all. The boys remain ecstatic. It did not matter that rain brought flood and filth to Katakata Street. Prince White and Mama Cowbell and the rest of the adults are worrying themselves sick because of the change in weather. But the children don’t mind. They want to take off their clothes and enjoy the rain. Why can’t we all do that? Then suddenly it looks like it may not rain after all. All that angst from the grownups for nothing!

“Brother, did you notice that it may not rain afterall?”

Irikefe’s eyes widen. He takes two steps backwards and then comes closer and feels my forehead with the back of her palm.

“I am fine and I heard you. But the weather has improved and we will have a good day after all. Even if it does rain, it is still a good day. We can play in the rain.”

“No na bros.”

“I am fine. Truly I am. I have lived in this compound for six years and I never saw the harmony in this wonderful chaos. I never really noticed these children at play. I never recognized the wholesomeness in their activities. I never saw Mama Cowbell for the angel she is cooking for us come rain or shine. There are children here I never saw before. For once, impending rain does not feel like doom. I breathe and I feel whole. Maya? It doesn’t even matter.”

“Ehen?”

“Yes Irikefe. And I’m sorry for the way I treated you that time.”

He says nothing but continues to look at me suspiciously. I smile and his pupils dilate again.

“Please don’t do it bros. I beg you. Don’t.”

“Don’t do what my friend?”

“This is how they say people that want to commit suicide behave. They suddenly become happy and talk like wise King Solomon and then thirty minutes later you find them hanging from their ceiling fans. Bros abeg no do am. She is not worth it.”

“I am not killing myself. If anything, I feel like today is the first day of my life. It feels wonderful and I like what I see all around me. I’m not thinking about Maya. I’m not thinking about anything.”

“If you say so boss.”

“I say so my friend.”

“I’m leaving this compound bros. I should let you know.”

“You are the caretaker. How can you leave?”

“Alhaji has made it impossible for me. I can’t live with that man and his son anymore. Besides, my job in Mushin isn’t so bad. I am now managing the printing press where I work. Unlike you guys, now that I have saved some money and have good reason to leave, I will.”

“I understand.”

“And besides, the calamities here are becoming too much. Mr Zubi made the point. This compound has buried more people, seen more police cases and hospital admissions than the rest of the Street put together. Mr Cosmas often says that we are put here together for a reason. Whatever the reason is, there can’t be anything left to experience, except maybe my own death or I commit murder because all of una still dey make me vex. See that albino enter my house con dey behave like say hin be my papa. Bros I will leave. I already paid for a place at Mafoluku.”

“It’s all good my friend.”

Continue reading https://katakatastreet.com/2023/08/13/my-awakening/

DELAY ANNOUNCEMENT

I caught a fresh perspective on the concluding chapter and decided to rewrite it. It will be worth the wait. Apologies.

Holywizard:
how can I get your contact?

Here https://katakatastreet.com/

Holywizard:
@centino I need your help please and it is urgent

Call me.

ASS DESTINY


“They ran away. And just like her husband before her, they swept the rooms clean and left only the dead body for us.”

“Where did they pass bikonu?” Mr Zubi said.

“Ask me. If that woman and her daughter leave that room carrying a mountain on their heads would you notice? Is it not those god-forsaken waists you would put your eyes on?”

“There is something about the ikebes of women from other African countries aswear. This may not be apparent to a white man or an Indian. But we Nigerians know that a South African or Ugandan or even a Ghanaian bottom comes different even if comparable in size to those of our women. They have a subtle dimensional variation that precipitates a loss of tranquillity in us. We have now discovered that even little Togo produces life-consuming ones as well.”

“Oga Lawyer! All this English over bumbum. God help us!”

“I wonder if men from those countries feel the same way about Nigerian nyash.”

“I’m glad you said nyash. Our women have nyash. Endowed women from those countries have something you want to find another name for. Scroll through instagram. The moment you saw a foreign one you just knew!”

“Elite Nigerian ones are now being corrupted with BBL. They do surgery and put foam inside and it stays forever. Nigeria always takes the lead with such nonsense.”

“If you want to talk nonsense, you should at least get your facts right. It is not foam they surgically put in the bottom. It is fat from other parts of the body.”

“Ndifreke, Josiah, Jide, concerned neighbours from number 223. Are we seriously discussing the anatomy of African women when we have a dead body on our hands? Not only that, the killers fled right under our noses. They did not only flee, they removed everything he owned in broad daylight and no one noticed! But it is their bottom that gets the attention of my neighbours!” Mr Zubi said.

There was silence for a minute and then Josiah spoke.

“Yes, we are discussing the anatomy of African women Mr Zubi. We are because in finding a lasting solution to this tragedy, we must get to the bottom of the matter.”

“Now that was smooth Oga Josiah,” Ndifreke said.

“This is not a joke.”

“Of course, it isn’t. Tell me Mr Zubi, have you been yourself since those women came to this compound? Or we should begin by saying what we know about everybody’s behaviour since they came?”

“That is beside the point Josiah. Whatever you think of my behaviour, I did not kill Achike and steal his things and vanished like smoke. Can’t you see? It is wicked and baffling. Everything is possible in number 225 Katakata Street except absolute secrecy. It can only happen by means not physical and that is why I worry. Who were those people? Who was Agbonyibo and his women? Why did they come here in the first place?”

There was another pause before Josiah resumed.

“Mr Zubi, Achike is in the mortuary and the police are doing their jobs. As for the mysterious clearing of the room, Agbonyibo did it and we know he was a wizard of the highest order. How did we think that a man like that would not put his wife and child where he belonged? The first thing we should have done as soon as we found out about that man was to send his family away forever. We do not share space with witches. We banish them. Even the bible says we should burn them. That brings me to the question of their anatomy as you call it. Maybe now we should be open about our lustfulness in this compound. After Awero we promised ourselves we will not see that kind of death here again. I remember it was the reason we started these council meetings. But what did we do to prevent a reoccurrence? Nothing. There have been many near misses. Eyes have been lost. Heads split open. Innumerable physical combats. Many of those could have resulted in more deaths. Each time something happened, we sat here and instead of talking about how we were letting our genitals let us down, we only wanted to know who threw the first punch. Now it has happened again. So today, we will talk about that anatomy. Because if those women did not have that type of nyash we would have acted with clearer heads and Achike would still be alive today.”

“With all due respect to the dead,” Irikefe said with his face contorted to the degree of his disgust. “Achike no try. Nyash wey all of us dey use appreciate the kingdom, e reach him turn Achike marry am. He married the daughter and still kept the mother for himself. Who does that? I know say we too dey fvck for this compound but let’s call a spade a spade, Achike own too much. He was greedy. If one big nyash can kill a man, wetin him think say two go do am? Una surprise say load disappear for broad daylight. Una say una no know say dem be winch because dem get big foreign nyash. Make God forgive una.”

The men of 225 Katakata Street had come to accept that Irikefe only grew up to be a man who spoke his mind no matter whose ox was gored. While he was impetuous and mischievous before, now he was forthright and fearless. If the older men felt sore with his take, they did well not to show it. They were relieved to see that Mr Cosmas was itching to speak next.

“Gentlemen, this has been most unfortunate. But is anyone here really surprised? While I take exception to some use of language here already, I must admit that Josiah and Efe have made good points. However, we must be careful that we do not sit here and judge. We are in no such position. All of you here would have done what Achike did given the opportunity. Was it not in a meeting like this that Agbonyibo offered his daughter to us? We saw some of you turn into donkeys following that. You have turned sexual relations given to us as a means of expressing love in loving relationships into a life mission. It has become a propensity that has enslaved your soul and will surely be the end of you. You will be chained by your Instruments to this earth for thousands of years if you don’t free yourselves while you have the opportunity. Even if those women had put placards on their heads announcing that they were witches, some of you would have followed them anywhere still.

“You attack each other to kill just so that you can have some cheap release. Children are no longer children so long as you can find a passage. Shame. I hope you learn from Achike. Dying like that is not the end you want. Because it will not be the end at all. It will be the beginning of an existence you did not think possible. He who has ears let him hear.”

Mr Kingsley cleared his throat.

“Get yourselves and your families out of this place if you can. No one should live like this.” Looking directly at Mr Cosmas he continued. “Say whatever you will homeboy, but in a cramped house where everybody can see everybody’s bedroom and we all use the bathrooms at the same time and bump into each other willy-nilly in the corridor, at the backyard, at the frontage, on the staircase, everywhere! We live like animals so we fvck like animals! I don’t know how you do it Cosmas but for the rest of you,” he said looking around, “I repeat, get out of here if you want salvation.”

He went back to stroking his beard with seeming disinterest. He did not quote anyone. That was the gospel according to Mr Kingsley. An original.

“There are no mistakes in creation,” Mr Cosmas said. “You are all here because you are meant to be here. You are to experience these tragedies to find the impetus to mend your ways. When something bad happens to others, the right attitude is to look within and strive to free yourself of similar faults as theirs. You can make all the excuses you want Kingsley. It is not a sin to be poor and live where you can afford to. We still have people in this compound who have lived honourably and they are not eunuchs. This is not the only compound like this on Katakata Street yet we have buried more people, have had more hospital admissions and more police cases than the rest of the street combined. There is a reason why this is happening. See the opportunity it offers for your spiritual growth.

“You may live like animals but you are not animals. You are spirit. But until you recognize this and awaken, you are no different from an animal because you have the same material consistency as an animal therefore your bodies would behave in the same way as that of an animal. But your spirit is what makes you different. An awareness of this is how you subjugate the animal flesh and bring it under control. It is OK to strive for better living conditions but what is more important is to recognize your higher standing and adjust your life accordingly. Wait your turn in the bathroom without peeping at your neighbour’s wife. Walk the corridor or the backyard or wherever and be conscious of the fact that these are shared spaces and don’t fake bumping into people so that you could touch them. That someone’s door is open does not mean you should strain your neck to see the colour of their bed sheets. You behave the way you do because you do not have self-control or even self-awareness. You are unaware of what makes you different from an animal!

“When you get to the beyond, you will find yourself in the midst of lustful beings like you who are harming themselves relentlessly because that is what they lived for. No one will ask if you were living in a mansion or a shack. Achike will awaken and see others who were more affluent than he was but with similar propensity in the same place as he and he will recognize that he was not there just because he shared a room with his mother-in-law. Quit looking for excuses and work on yourselves. If they catch Chisco he will die by hanging by the letter of the law and no one will care that he was not living in a flat. People in mansions and even King David from a palace found a way to seduce his neighbour’s wife. A propensity is engraved on your soul because of how much you have fed it. If you were to wake up to your faults and decide to free yourselves in a place like this, you are better than a man who goes into seclusion or runs to a bigger house because he cannot face his weakness. He falls flat the day he ventures out. Give thanks for where you have found yourself. See the opportunity it accords you for your upwards striving and grab it. You are not here by mistake.”

“Erm Mr Cosmas. What did you say about Achike waking up in the beyond?” Mama Cowbell’s husband asked.

“When you die, you wake up in a region corresponding with how you were inside. The law of spiritual homogeneity will take you to souls who are like you. If you were a murderer, you will all be attacking each relentlessly to kill but you will not die because you are no longer in the flesh. You will suffer the viciousness of the attack and this can continue for thousands of years until there is genuine repentance and a cry for help following which a hand will be extended to you. If you were lustful you will find yourself amongst your kind. Imagine being attacked sexually for eternity. Do you think you enjoy sex? Wait until you die by sex and wake up where all you do is have sex for the rest of your existence. Seek ye the kingdom of God and its righteousness you have been told. If you spend your life seeking anything else, you just might find it. And it will not be what you expected. Awake!”

*

Jide Falomo did not care about where he woke up when he died. He was happy that at the moment he woke up in the midst of men and spoke like a man. No one lifted a brow in the council meeting when he led the discussion about the anatomy of the African woman. He pinched himself afterwards when he remembered his takes, particularly the fluidity of his finishing remarks. “There is something about the ikebes of women from other African countries aswear. This may not be apparent to a white man or an Indian. But we Nigerians know that a South African or Ugandan or even a Ghanaian bottom comes different even if it is comparable in size to those of our women. They have a subtle dimensional variation that precipitates a loss of tranquillity in us. That last line was the best one. The best thing yet was going back into the room and finding Funbi lying on her right side of the bed facing the wall and her equally distinct Nigerian bum making a good impression on him.

She did not know if she was dreaming. She was in no hurry to pursue her curiosity. No way did she want to wake up yet. It was what she missed most about her last relationship – when he crept up behind her and spooned her, his arms around her, his broad chest ingesting all of her back, and his stiffness threatening to drill a new hole into her until she adjusted her hips enough to make it rest correctly before her rapidly moistening vulva until he was ready to take her. He did not usually rush. He knew how much she loved the spooning so he held her like that until he heard her mourn of readiness. If he wanted to be kind, he quickly lifted her legs apart at the knee and entered her. On some occasions he let her squirm in anticipation and grind herself onto him. He would chuckle silently and wait until she took the initiative and lifted her legs and guided him in from the rear or sprung up and straddled him. She found that when he let her take the initiative he lasted longer. He would let her ride him until she got tired and then he would turn her over and destroy her. She always woke up five hours later wondering what month of the year it was. She missed him so much but she knew it had to end. His wife, her sister, found out and made sure the whole world knew what she had been doing for the four years she lived in her home. The only person that took her in was the friend in a sham marriage with a gay man. Her heart began to accelerate as it became increasingly clear that she was not dreaming. A man was spooning her and touching her delightedly. It could only be one man. But what if it was an intruder? What if it was Iniquity? The thought got her flying out of his warm embrace. She dug her knee into the mattress and faced her companion. It was not a dream. It was who she wanted it to be. The beautiful man she had cohabited with for two years since his wife left him.

He chuckled at the initial alarm in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak but he stretched his index finger and thumb and pressed her lips together. What was there to say? It was at times like this that the limitations of words became too apparent. Slowly she laid back down and backed him again, then with quiet excitement she pushed her bottom into his hardness and reached for his arms and wrapped them over herself. He pressed himself into her and even began to caress her breasts and twiddle her nipples through her silk nightie. It was wonderful to finally see him do what she always wanted him to do. She reached behind and felt his hardness. She could feel his face spreading into a smile at her back, where he had been sniffing deliciously around her neck. She did not want to ruin this by taking the initiative as she had always done. She was always quick to guide him into her once she sensed the coming of his hardness before it lost it. When they did the missionary style she would look into his face and closed eyes and know he was thinking of a man. More than once he had blurted out the name of some bloke. After the fateful visit of Iniquity, she was sure she did hear him call his name once while he came inside her. That was the day she knew her sojourn with him had reached its limit. Maybe homosexuality was never truly reversed. Maybe they were really born that way. But this was a good man who was suffering. And she had gone beyond her brief in trying to “correct” his “deviation”. But here he was, without any help from her, doing what a man should do. Now she had to see him do it looking at her.

She turned and faced him. She reached for the light switch beside the bed. Not that it was dark because it was morning and a slice of sunlight through the drawn curtain kept the room fairly illuminated. But she wanted more light. She wanted to convince herself that this was real! He was smiling at her. That idiotic smile men wore when they were h*rny and scared that you might change your mind.

“What is going on?”

“You’re beautiful.”

She chuckled and said, “I know.”

“And you have the best ass of all.”

“Jide. What is this about?”

He pulled her into him by the waist with one firm jerk. It was the most masculine thing he had ever done to her. He kissed her. Gently at first and then hungrily with his eyes closed. It was the only time he closed his eyes. She placed a hand on his chest and eased back. He came after her and stripped her of her nightie like it was infested with soldier ants. His smile was now more assured. He looked like a man who knew what he was doing. She expected him to turn her over but he did not. He lay her on her back and held her legs apart by the ankles in the V position, gained stability with his knees both side of her hips and penetrated her deeply. He was slow and sure. He did not once break eye contact. He was with her one hundred per cent.

Continue reading https://katakatastreet.com/2023/07/16/ass-destiny/

CAIN AND ABEL

It was 7 o’clock in the morning and Wasiu had already cleaned Chisco’s room and cooked a pot of beans porridge to go with the large loaf of bread he had bought the previous night. He greeted Chisco effusively on his return from Achike’s, hurriedly ate some of the food he prepared and slunk out of the room with his famous knapsack across his back. Chisco saw that he had left him a large portion of the bread and had even cooked the beans with mackerel, something he knew Chisco would die for.

“He has restarted his drugs business. Now he sells the one they call loud,” His spirit guide said to him. That is why he is so friendly and has made breakfast without asking you to contribute anything.”

“No wonder,” Chisco said. “So I should be expecting trouble soon. They are always after him when he starts selling.”

“He will get into trouble for sure. But this time he will not come out of it. He might even get killed.”

“How do you know?”

“I am a spirit. I can hear his thoughts and I can see his own guide. Though the poor guide has been grieving since being assigned to Wasiu. Wasiu only listened to it when he was in prison.”

“Should I warn him?’

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it is meant to be.”

“So his guide told you he is going to get killed?”

“Not exactly. I figured it. But through his guide.”

“How is that so?”

“When you are dead and have to do this you will know. We have our ways.”

“When I die I don’t want this kind of a job.”

“Then you will have to do as I say always. It’s your only guarantee.”

“So you guides know Wasiu will expire this time around.”

“Yes.”

“And now I know but I cannot say anything?”

“Tell him and he will tell someone and when it happens they will come for you. I will be waiting to hear your explanation.”

“Why would any spirit want to guide Wasiu in the first place?”

“Because they had the same problems as Wasiu and helping Wasiu change would also be redeeming themselves so that they too can ascend. That is what you do as a guide; or rather, that is why you are a guide. That is what I am doing with you. Like you, I refused to be a witch doctor and chose to live a normal life. But I broke the rule to save someone. Now I have to redeem myself by helping you to succeed.”

“But unlike me, Wasiu does not listen to his guide.”

“Wasiu like ninety per cent of humanity.”

“I listen to you.”

“Because you are more conscious of the spiritual having succumbed to witchcraft. This actually makes your burden heavier because you know I am speaking to you and know I am here to help you. Disobedience carries a bigger burden. In his case, he thinks it is his conscience and like most people, he mainly ignores it and does what he wants to do anyway. He will only prolong his suffering.”

“Why wouldn’t the guide just abandon him?”

“No one said it was going to be easy. It’s your lot as a spirit guide. You don’t give up because it is difficult. You grieve a lot as Paul said in Ephesians. You do know that the grieving spirit referred to there is the Spirit guide.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because you are about to do something I have to stop you from doing and you have to listen to me. I need you to listen to me.”

“I am not about to do anything. I only want to go and see Eyonyam.”

“That is it. Do not go.”

“Why not?’

“You have no business there. And your brother was right.”

“What was he right about?”

“You did not have to do what you did there. I told you not to. I told you to go to your own place.”

“She is the babysitter. There was no way she was going to spend the night away from that house. I had to take my chance.”

“It was a stupid chance you took. Your brother was angrier than he showed.”

“He is jealous. And it is such a shame because he is married to the woman’s daughter.”

“You are not his moral compass.”

“Neither is he mine.”

“He was right to reprimand you. The woman is his responsibility. Sex is not a pastime. Who you do it with and where you do it are not things you trifle with. Going back there this morning is an action you may live to regret.”

“Something is not right. I feel I must go there.”

“As one who sees where you cannot, I tell you that everything is as it should be. You do not need to go back there now.”

“I feel I must.”

“I thought you said you wanted to be a normal man? Live a normal life? Become a successful businessman? But in the time you left the coven and returned here you have been everything but that. You have only had your attention on the bottom of women. You have flown in the night to go after a woman who was with another man. You have disrespected your brother by sleeping with his mother-in-law in his house while the woman’s daughter was there sleeping. You have only been preoccupied with everything but the things that should move you closer to your goal. Rather than go to your brother’s this morning, redeem yourself for what you have done instead. Go to his place of business, set up and start selling before he comes. You are not barred from where he keeps his wares so you have everything for the needed head start. Remember you were to meet with a man who is to give you your own space at Oshodi. You could talk to the fellow this morning and go and inspect the place if you do not want to work for your brother today. Today, take one step towards being the man you want to be. Decide now and avoid another mistake.”

“There is election on Saturday. We are voting Labour Party. The Yoruba people know this. They have threatened to maim us all before then so we do not go out to vote. The motor park is not the place I want to be at today.”

“You are only making excuses. You are safe, and I should know.”

“I thought what you do is only to advise and I decide whether or not I want to heed your advice?”

Chisco was right. Man had freewill. His spirit guide fell silent.

Chisco suddenly felt the urge to hurry. He set the plate of beans and bread before him aside and stepped out of the room he inherited from Achike and hurried down Katakata Street. He did not know why his heart rate quickened as he approached number 225. He ignored the jeers from Irikefe and his band as he entered the corridor. Predictably, it was already common knowledge that he had slept with Eyonyam to the dismay of his brother. No doubt, someone had had their ears tuned in as Achike chastised him earlier that morning. His brother had let out his motor park vendor voice such that you had to be hard of hearing to have been anywhere near that corridor at the time to not have garnered every knowledge of everything that had gone down on the floor of Achike’s parlour the previous night. The jeers turned to cheers as he approached his brother’s door. Without bothering to knock, Chisco turned the door handle and came face-to-face with Achike copulating with his mother-in-law while their infant splurged water around the parlour from inside a bath.

“My daughter go soon come” Eyonyam had said when Achike urged her to turn and bend over.

“You know that is not true. She has possibly only washed one leg since she entered the bathroom. Turn. Now!

He was stroking himself hard as he urged her. Eyonyam could have stood her ground but she made the mistake of uttering another excuse. It also did not help that she could not stop looking at his large member.

“Your pikin. Your pikin dey look us!”

“Holy Malachi! Woman! I know you are not that stupid!” Achike reached out, peeled the baby from her side, and dipped it into the bath where he knew it would be happy to remain. With the urgency of a drowning man, he grabbed her by the waist, spun her around, pushed his pelvis into her soft bottom, and ground himself against her. He then placed a sustained nudge on her back until she bent over. Achike fumbled for the soap, kicked her ankles apart and lifted her wrapper.

“Oh Nne! You even get sense no wear pant! Oh! Ah! Hm!”

As he made love to her the previous night, Chisco had entertained thoughts of a future with Eyonyam. Yes, she made him a wizard albeit a half-baked one; she had successfully lived normally for so many years being a witch herself! Whom best could he have chosen to traverse the rest of his skewed life with? The woman had the sweetest vagina he had ever tasted. At the time, he had thought he would gain clarity over the preposterous scheme post-orgasm, but even as his brother threw him out that morning, he knew he was going to return for the woman. He had found his soul mate! Not even his spirit guide could convince him otherwise! Therefore, as he happened upon his brother taking his turn with Eyonyam, all Chisco saw was a thief making away with his destiny.

Chisco picked up an old Coke bottle that Achike used as a candle stand from a corner of the room and delivered a rabbit punch to the base of his brother’s skull. He had no idea that he had just delivered a fatal blow. Therefore, when Achike fell and jerked three times and became still, he only hissed and took Eyonyam by the wrist.

She snatched her hand and glared at him. “You have killed him!” she said, with eyes ever widening.

“Him go get up. Make we dey go.” Chisco said.

“If you know what is good for you, disappear. Now!”

“I no dey leave you. I love you.”

She did not like the look in his eyes. Imbecility ran in the family.

As calmly as she could, she said, “This is not a movie. You have killed a man. And you will be dead too if you are discovered.”

Chisco stood transfixed. Achike did not bleed. His eyes were still open. His erection did not even diminish. It was as if he was waiting for his lover to straddle him.

Time stood still for Chisco. He tuned in and realized that his spirit guide had left him. He felt that emptiness you feel when caught red-handed and there is nowhere to hide. You want to blame the devil and know you will sound stupid but you go ahead and blame the devil anyway. Eyonyam was right. He needed to flee. Outside in the corridor, the busybodies were not sure what had happened. He blessed Eyonyam for her extraordinary calm and strode purposefully out of the compound as he had strode in. Once outside, he ran to his place, found his travel bag and threw in the much of his personal belongings as he could take and headed out for Ojota Motor Park. He could still find a bus to the East at that time. He knew the police would go to his village to look for him. He would have to see if they would hunt him down to the ebe onwu forest where he was going to go and live with Dibia Okereke and accept a full initiation and become the witch doctor he was destined to be.

*

The soul of Papa Efe who died and returned as Chisco’s spirit guide was now suddenly a roaming spirit. Chisco had become a murderer. They were no longer compatible. The universe has the law of spiritual homogeneity woven into it. Like only attracts like. Chisco would have to find another spirit guide, or more correctly, another spirit guide, one with characteristics more similar to Chisco’s would have to find him. Papa Efe grieved. He could see his son but he could not go near him. He could see everyone but he could hardly stay still to commune with them even if he wanted to. The souls of good persons could not linger on the earth because of their lighter core. They quickly ascended to the more luminous planes. Darker earthbound souls were more comfortable in the earth's environment. Their ethereal bodies were so dense people could even see them. Papa Efe though lighter remained on this plane because he had to atone for his final days on Earth. He died in witchcraft. He was not yet ready for the luminous heights.

Existence as a spirit guide was tough. Hard as they worked, it was still up to wretched humanity whether or not they saw any gains. Their free will and earthly dominion meant everything was invariably in their hands. But he knew better than to question the Almighty and His laws. He got Chisco because he deserved Chisco. Now he hoped he would be assigned another more amenable.

Papa Efe began to feel a strong pull. Was he getting his next assignment already? Was he going to be that lucky? The pull became overpowering such that he found himself penetrating walls until he was standing next to Evae in the bathroom. He was allowed little time to process what was about to happen. He understood, smiled in gratitude and lost consciousness.

Evae felt the first kick of the baby inside her womb as she expanded her sponge and washed her back. Her pregnancy was at the midpoint of gestation – the point where a soul incarnated in the foetus. She stopped and paid attention. No one knew the kind of soul a pregnant woman would attract. But going by the laws, it would always be a soul that had things in common with the mother or things in common with the people around the mother at that midway point. That was why in the olden days they kept pregnant women away from certain places, gatherings or companions when pregnancy was at that midway stage. There was always the danger of attracting an unpleasant soul. What she felt now was peace. It only meant one thing. She had attracted an agreeable soul.

Evae had a lot in common with Papa Efe. They were a witch and a wizard who were good people inherently. Evae had become a born-again Christian, married a normal man, and stayed in her body always. Papa Efe had given up the lifestyle, chose a normal life albeit in poverty, and had not succumbed to the lures of witchcraft for thirty years before events surrounding his son that started with Evae and her father brought back that part of him. The threads of fate between them were strengthened by Papa Efe taking to witchcraft to find a solution to the bondage her dead father had put her, which was effectively exchanging his life for Evae’s. Now the woman he died to save would in turn offer him another chance at life on earth as his mother. Incarnating in Evae’s foetus seemed the fairest outcome. Even though he would have no memory of his past life when he was born, he would grow up to detest witchcraft. He would become a man that dedicated his life to freeing people from witchcraft and discouraging its practice and through him his mother would also gain complete liberation. They would both right their wrongs by their presence in each other’s lives. Surely, that would be more agreeable than living in a recalcitrant body like Chisco’s and hoping they would listen to you and live well for both your sakes.

Evae knew of mothers who felt sadness on feeling that first kick. Always the babies they birthed gave them trouble from birth. With many black sheep, their mothers would remember that it all began with the gloom they felt on experiencing that first sign of a new life in their wombs. Evae was glad that that was not the case with hers. She hoped she would be having a girl. She would grow her hair long and plait it a new style every week. She would teach it to cook special Togolese dishes like akume and pate that she loved. Though she had come to like Nigerian dishes, she would make sure that her child also knew and enjoyed the equally sumptuous menus of her motherland. Now she had to hurry and go back inside and tell her mother about this experience. Evae believed that she was going to have a good child.

Eyonyam needed to give her daughter the right impression. What was done was done. A tragedy of some sort was always lurking the moment Achike began to have designs on her. He was not the first and he would not be the last man to lose his life by the bottom of a woman. Only this time, it was in the best interest of everyone that the facts of his demise were not immediately apparent. Anyone could work it out easily. By the time Chisco was discovered to be at large and she too was gone and compound members remembered the altercation between the brothers earlier that day, the truth would be out there even before the police arrived. Achike was bleeding through an ear now. She pulled his shorts up, dragged his body to the doorway between the bedroom and the parlour, and shoved a pillow under his head to hide and also collect the blood from the leaking ear.

She began to pack their bags. This was the premonition she had been having. A dead Nigerian man! The people would skin her and her daughter alive the moment they found out. Even though Achike was murdered by his own brother; that she had been the cause of their fight would attract the most interest. They would all pretend they had not at some point or the other propositioned her and were willing to kill their wives to have her.

She could not bear their police, much less an inquisition by the compound’s silly council of elders. Her only option was to take her daughter and grandchild and disappear. She knew how she was going to do that. She was not the wife of Agbonyibo for nothing.

She gestured to Evae to shut her mouth when Evae returned from the bathroom. Then she spoke English from her deeper consciousness.

“I think he had a heart attack or a stroke. This generation is not the healthiest.”

Evae covered her mouth with the palm of her hand and gawked at the dead Achike. Her mother would not let her speak.

“Now listen. We are foreigners. You know these Nigerians are mad people and their police are worse than demons. I will make a few calls and we will be at Aflao border before nightfall. We only need to get out of this compound without raising any suspicion and we are clear.”

“Ma. My husband,” Evae managed to voice, fighting tears.

“I know. We will mourn when we get home. But believe me, these people will say we killed him and they will throw us in their prison. Do you want to find out how life will be in there?”

Evae shook her head.

“Good. So we have to run,” her mother said.

Evae nodded and tightened her grip over her mouth. She could not take her eyes off the lifeless Achike.

TO BE CONTINUED.

YINKS89:
The story is coming to an end after 6 years and am glad I'm part of those that started the journey together..... and we would end it together.. centino 👍 up

Oh indeed YINKS89. You, tsharp above, do4luv14...You guys been there from page 1!!

I really appreciate you and the very many that came afterwards. I toyed with the idea of doing some mentions in those closing remarks but it would have been unfair to leave anyone out so I let it slide. But from the heart of my bottom, I mean from the bottom of my heart I appreciate y'all. THANK YOU.

extremelygolden:
Unbelievable. Never knew our Street story is still ongoing.

Centino you know try ooo. You didn't even ask after Extremely Golden, one of your ardent fans.

I lost this account at a time, and for years I wasn't available on Nairaland. I came back fully about two weeks ago.

Welldone on the writeup.

Better believe it

I couldn't ask because I was running o! Life just hold your brother for throat

Nice to see that you got your account back.

You can find my contact at Katakatastreet.com

Lutherblaq:


my mentor is back o

welcome bro, you are truely a legend

Nice to be back man. Though back to leave properly. This now has to rest. Good to see you and others keeping the torch burning. More power to you.

Jonjo arrived like rain while the sun shone. For him, there was no other way of doing things. Be unpredictable.

Maya hissed and waited for him to speak first.

“I wanted to see how you were doing.” Maya did not offer him a seat. He helped himself to one.

She straightened in her armchair and said, “You didn’t think I’ll last a day away from your paradise.”

He threw his head back mirthfully and said, “I know you’re made of granite despite the fine face.” Leaning forward and with sudden sternness, he said, “I care. Believe me.”

He now wore his beard full, as was the trend. It was jet black and glistened with health and oils and the few visible grey strands in it stood like silver motif. Maya rolled her eyes and adjusted her gown over her shin.

“I have provisions in the car for you. I didn’t want to come upstairs carrying them. I remember what happened the last time I came here bearing gifts.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Your Hulk Hogan boyfriend made a good show. I’m sure some tins of sardines are still in the gutter somewhere.”

“That, I can assure you, cannot happen in Katakata Street. They would find the sardines even if they got stuck in the sewage pipe.”

Maya somehow kept a straight face while Jonjo dissolved into laughter.

“How is he?” He finally said.

“He came by. Looks well.”

“How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“I mean, how are you as a couple?”

“I don’t see how that is your business.”

“Come on. I said I care.”

“Have some shame Jonjo.”

“Oh, I’m Jonjo now.”

“Oh sorry. Asiwaju of Lagos.”

Jonjo chuckled and said, “I like the new you.”

Maya yawned.

“So I take it that you are still going strong. I admire the loser. Is he absolutely convinced he is the father of your baby when you were living with me all the time?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“No, I mean, it’s a super story. Love that has defied everything including common sense.”

Maya swallowed and took a few deep breaths. “I know your ego cannot contain the fact a woman would shun all you offer. But I am happy I left. You are a scumbag.”

“No man forgives infidelity. Maybe a weak man like you have. You should know in any case that he appears weak now because he has nothing. The day he makes money, he will remember all those times he witnessed me tapping your ass in the studio, and his imagination will feed him correct images of what I did to you every night while he lay alone admiring the ceiling. He will mess you up so badly that you will realize that you do not go back to a man who knows you cheated.”

“Fvck you Jonjo.”

“I on the other hand will gladly take you back even though I know he’s fvcked you a few more times. I can live with it. You were not exactly my woman. I will make you that now. Then I can kill him if he comes within two hundred miles of you.”

Maya felt the baby kick. The lunatic in front of her scandalized even the poor thing. But she could not look him in the eyes.

“I tell you the truth. What you can do since it is love that you will eat for the rest of your life is to make sure he remains where he is. That is also easy. He is already a lazy pussified tw*t. Give it to him to eat every day. Let him beg for it. Show him he isn’t good enough and let his only ambition in life be to satisfy you. While his mates make money keep him wondering what he needs to do to make you happy. Keep him imagining only what he needs to do to give you another orgasm. In the meantime, you make sure you keep making money. Every woman wants a man she can control. It’s the new world. And when you need a real man, you can always find yourself one. If you are lucky, I will be in the mood.

“I came to make sure I gave you this message because you will need it. You see, I care.”

The curtain parted just then. Ndifreke’s eyes mirrored a serpent’s when they met Jonjo’s. He did not wait to respond to the jolly greeting aimed at him.

“There goes a heartbroken man. Your white knight,” Jonjo said with a grin.

She heaved a sigh and said, “You are a bad man.”

Jonjo shrugged and locked eyes with her.

“I want you to leave.”

“I want you to come off this stupid fantasy of yours and have a life. That boy has nothing to offer you. I will marry you and give you a purpose.”

Jonjo studied her. Maya’s eyes fluttered between the empty doorway and the ceiling. She bit her lower lip, supported her weight with one hand on her knee, and stood.

Jonjo eased back in his seat and said, “I can give you until the end of today to decide. The offer does not last forever.”

He watched as Maya moved to the window, parted the curtain, and looked outside. The noise from outside where children screeched like bats made Jonjo squirm. He caught a whiff of ammonia, no doubt from the open urination and defecation that happened there.
He rose to his feet.

“This place is disgusting. I don’t know if I can wait another day for your decision. You inhale all this nonsense and hope to have a normal baby? I even think it is why you are thinking like this. Only animals should live like this.”

Maya did not turn to look at him. She could feel him looming over her. This was not something she expected to hear. It was crazy for so many reasons. His wife, her own sister Clementina, his persona, for heaven’s sake a baby he knew for a fact was not his because he never penetrated her without a condom! Where did that come from? Was it a game? What sort of ego did the man have?
She should remain mum until he got tired and left. But those questions were burning in her gut. She wanted to understand his thought process. The man was a psychopath.

“You are married. You are a well-known playboy. You slept with my baby sister and have now driven her into prostitution. I am pregnant with another man’s baby and you know that too well. How do you think I can become your wife? A second wife for that matter? I’m sure you do not have any illusions about what I feel towards you. I can’t even bring myself to use the word love in a sentence concerning you. You also do not love me as I am well aware. You do not love anyone! Yet you come here and ask me to marry you as if you are dangling a banana before a monkey. Do you really expect a yes? Like I would jump into your life forever because you want to save me from this place because it stinks?
She turned sharply to face him. It was as if the rare breeze that came from the open window was what spun her around. She held his eyes.

Jonjo was unmoved.

“Now listen Maya. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t touch you because you are pregnant with another man’s child. But every man is entitled to at least one mad decision in his life. I recognize that you are a good girl. How many twenty-three year olds out there can boast of having only been with two men one of whom I am? I’ll marry you because I know you enough. You will have no difficulty choosing between Ndifreke and me because I know he also slept with your sister. But you see, I have money. I work hard. I only do women as a reward. He on the other hand would choose pussy before a career while believing that one day somebody would show up and save him. I am sure he already blames his parents for his failure in life.

“I do not need you to love me. Be a good wife and your belly will always be full, you will have healthy children and you will never pay bills. That is all the love you need. If this child bothers you, you can do well to send it to him after birth and save that as a reference point for when you count your life mistakes. The child will despise you in the end at any rate. They always look for their fathers even if he abandoned them and made their mother suffer. I will give you children you will be proud of and I will forgive this mistake. I knew and liked your mother. This would make her smile wherever she is.”

Maya did not realize she was crying until Jonjo offered her a handkerchief. She accepted the handkerchief but did not use it. A normal man would have pulled her into an embrace seeing how shaken she was. But he stood there watching her. Who proposed to a woman like that?

“Your wife?”

“She is not a problem. Contrary to what people think, she will be happy to see me marry and have children. She cannot give me that.”

“My sister?”

“I see you don’t know.”

“I don’t know what?”

“She is pregnant.”

“What?”

“She came to the flat with her things and said she wanted to start a new life as a prostitute. Hook-up is what she called it.”

“And you impregnated her you bastard!”

“I talked her out of it. I gave her more money than she would have made that weekend and told her to take a full week to consider. I had them put everything in the flat from dildos to Netflix on TV and even a PS5 even though I knew she wasn’t into sports gaming. I sent a girl over to cook and wait on her. Big Brother started that weekend on TV and she became hooked. She fell ill a few weeks later and when she went to the hospital the doctor gave her the news.”

“You impregnated my kid sister!”

“I didn’t touch her. She lost her allure once she pronounced herself a wh*re. And for goodness sake Maya I never have unprotected sex! I felt partly responsible for the way she turned out, yes, so the least I could do was to try to stop her from complete destruction. She told me the only other person she’s slept with was your boyfriend. You do know the motherfucker has never worn a condom in his life!”

The floor began to spin. Jonjo caught her before she fell and guided her back into the armchair.

“What did you say?”

“It appears your white knight knocked up your sister too. She had a lot to say about him. I knew then that I needed to come get you.”

“He gave her contraceptives. Postinor 2. She told me that,” Maya said almost in a whisper.

“The only contraceptive that is foolproof is to keep your legs closed. If you must open your legs, do so with a high-value man. A high-value man knows that condoms are non-negotiable.”

“Why, Momma!”

Maya felt something. She touched herself and looked.

“My water just broke.”

“Oh shit!” Jonjo said, and scooped her into his arms.

*

Eyonyam moved the sparse furniture in the parlour to the corners of the room and placed the rubber bath in the centre, poured hot water from a kettle and then added well water from a plastic bucket and mixed with a bare hand.

She could hear the baby squirming in discomfort from the bedroom where Evae had just left him with her husband to go and take a bath. Eyonyam stopped and examined the scene she had just set. She had placed a small stool for herself beside the bath. There was a plastic basket with a baby bath kit consisting of talcum powder, baby oil, Vaseline, cotton buds, a small towel and fresh reusable diapers. Satisfied, she called on Achike to bring the baby.

“Come and carry him and don’t disturb me!” Achike called back.

Eyonyam went into the bedroom and found Achike on the bed with his son. He had placed the baby close to the wall and lay on the outside. Eyonyam would have to reach over him to carry the baby. The little boy shrieked in delight as he saw his grandmother and stretched out his arms invitingly. As she reached for them, Achike held her by the elbow and pulled her to himself.

Eyonyam having sensed his intention placed a foot on the frame of the bed and found the purchase to slip out of his grip.

She stood back and said “You idiot. You already know I want to give it to you and yet you do this when my daughter is around!”

He had started a retort before he stopped himself.

“Nne, what did you say? What language did you just speak?”

She snatched the baby and carried him back to the palour.

How did God create men? She wondered again. How could their erections wield so much power over them? “Everybody for this compound know say your pikin dey baff for one hour. Make I touch small,” he was saying. How were they always ready to throw everything away for an orgasm?

Achike came out of the bedroom and stood by the adjoining door and watched Eyonyam washing the baby with a sponge foam that produced a lot of lather. The little boy wriggled in delight and smiled toothlessly at his grandmother while splashing soapy water around the room. He liked a bath, unlike most babies. They usually turned it into a wrestling bout with their bathers. Only she could see that he was getting too big for the in-room bathing. He had started initiating games and playing with the water once the bath had lathered up, soiling the room and leaving her drenched most of the time. She sensed Achike coming into the palour. She knew he was watching her and still wondering about her linguistic ability. She could speak English as well as she could speak French when she spoke from her deeper self. The pidgin English was a ruse that worked well for them while they operated at the lower level.

“You speak good English,” Achike said.

Eyonyam pretended not to hear him. She was finding it difficult to steady the toddler in a standing position so she could rinse him with clean water. He wanted to escape her grip on his upper arm and plunge back into the soapy water. He was eleven months old and spritely.

Eyonyam had already decided that from the next time, she would be bathing him in the backyard.

“What else are you hiding? Nwanyi Togo? Because you did not sound like somebody who was learning the language.”

Eyonyam needed to do something. She still felt the premonition that something was going to go wrong soon. She did not know what it might be. Even though she did not think that raising suspicion through her superior way of speaking could be it, she did not want Achike to persist with this line of questioning. She turned her back to him and lifted the baby into a standing position in the bath to rinse the soap off him, after which she stood him on dry ground and wrapped a towel around his small body. Her large bottom undulated with every deliberate movement. When she struggled to steady the energetic toddler and her butt cheeks clapped together aloud, Achike slapped his head with his two hands like Papa Ajasco, appeared in front of the main door like a ghost, and quietly guided it shut.

Even in his forties, he still fantasized as he did as a teenager. On many occasions, while he watched her work, he thought about mounting her from behind spontaneously. He wanted to creep up behind her, shift her pant, and take her with minimal preamble. He reckoned women like Eyonyam were always ready. If now she were not, he would reach for the baby soap and sponge, douse everywhere around the glory hole and dive in. In fact, he would not speculate on her readiness. He would use the soap regardless. He never understood men who harangued about having it tight. Tight for what? If he wanted tight, he would fvck a bottle. He wanted it viscous and messy, so he could revel in the joy of those monster cheeks slapping around his pelvic area unrestrained. He knew how to find an angle should he need extra friction. Eyonyam was the kind of woman you took with wholehearted vehemence. No romanticizing.

His wife had been gone for ten minutes. That meant he had in excess of half an hour still. He did not need more than seven minutes. He could tell that Eyonyam was teasing him. Bloody wh*re! She could start speaking Latin for all he cared!
Eyonyam had him where she wanted. She eased up as he came to her and balanced the baby on her hip. The baby started squirming and reached for something behind Eyonyam. She was grateful that he was not watching his pathetic father. No one person should have that much lust in their eyes. He had his stiff penis his hands and his mouth was open and drooling saliva like Mr Ibu. He said, “Turn your back. Turn again and shake it biko.”

TO BE CONTINUED.

On this day, July 1 2017 Number 225 Katakata Street debuted here on Nairaland. It was the coming to life of a story that had been gnawing at my soul for more than a decade. Now after many ups and downs, and a number of false conclusions (I just couldn’t keep away), to commemorate the 6th anniversary, I am bringing it to a grand conclusion here on Nairaland, where it all started. This time it is ending for good fam. I’ve already written all the concluding episodes and plan to dish them out small-small this anniversary month and then call it a day.

At the start, I did not think this day would come while I still breathed. I had conceived a story that would unfold in real-time, with live characters facing problems you saw in the news every day and being as human as you and I as they went about their chaotic lives. It was a story I thoroughly enjoyed writing and it was to continue ad infinitum so long as things continued to happen!

But my present reality leaves me no choice. I didn’t see it coming at first that the day would come when my TV would gather dust and my radio would only be to serve me soul-calming music. With the need to shut off the excess noise from the world outside, the spur to do this every week, in the way I’ve always done it began to wane. What is 225 Katakata Street without the council of elders dissecting every day happening for our entertainment? But I can no longer stand the news fam. That is the subject of a future project you should not miss!

These concluding chapters are therefore almost completely devoid of current affairs. Readers would have noticed that from the 5th year, I had started reducing them and in some episodes, I left them out altogether. It’s a shame I could not cover this past FIFA world cup or the past General elections as I did in 2018 and 2019. This story among other things is a valuable anthology of recent Nigerian history but unfortunately, the drama of 2022 and 2023 would be missing from it. It may be a good thing really, because it would have been very difficult to conceal my biases. And who knows, I could look back in ten years and feel quite stupid at my takes. My motivations completely changed and I am totally at peace with my current disposition.

After now, the plan is to make all the parts of the story into a consummate volume. I will be needing the services of talented editors who would commit to this project for a fee. It's gone past 400,000 words now and I know there are gaping holes in the plot and plenty of other technical stuff a good editor would identify. If there are any such pros on Nairaland please give me a call or send an email to the contact details you will find on katakatastreet.com. I will be committing the next year to this project.

The complete 225 Katakata Street when it comes out in 2024 God willing will have changes. I have worked with editors. I know they can be brutal. But there is no good book without them. As Steven King said – to write is human, to edit is divine. This story deserves that “divine” touch I reckon. Much of it was done in a hurry to meet our Sunday/Sunday deadline and there is a catalogue of errors that need fixing. Those who bought books 2 and 3 will get a discount when the composite volume comes out. Please make plans to buy. It will feel like a brand new story trust me.

In these concluding chapters we will get to see what becomes of Nidifreke and Maya, The Undertaker and Aunty Esther, Achike and his wife and mother-in-law, Jide Falomo and Funbi and the rest of the cast. Mr Cosmas also has some interesting parting words you don’t want to miss.

Please note that it does not end here for Centino. Katakatastreet.com (the website) is still alive and it will evolve. If you haven’t yet subscribed for notifications please go and do so now. You don’t want to miss what’s coming next (as I hinted above).

Crucially, we are in partnership with Genti Media for an audio format which has been running for a while now and is available at gentimedia.com. Part 2 of the story is now out. We upload three episodes each week. Please go and download the app and enjoy. You can download the Genti app on Google Playstore, the Apple Store and gentimedia.com.

So to bring you up to speed….

• Joseph, the Spain returnee cousin of Maya’s cleans out the sensual Josephine and leaves, leaving the nurse older and wiser

• Sister Esther has a stillbirth and leaves the Undertaker and Number 225 for good.

• A new tenant – the albino Prince White and his son Carbondioxide are forcing Irikefe to consider leaving number 225 as Alhaji Sirika insists he shares his two rooms with them following his attempted sexual assault on a prospective model of Ndifreke’s in the modelling agency business that never really took off.

• Maya leaves Jonjo’s and is back at Number 225 and Ndifreke gives up his choice two-room place upstairs for her. Her pregnancy is near full term.

• Ndifreke sleeps with Clementina with Maya’s tacit approval.

• Clementina leaves the house to go into prostitution seeing that her position had become untenable as her sister becomes inscrutable.

• Achike catches Chisco having sex with his sultry mother-in-law Eyonyam on the floor of his palour and goes berserk.

• Ndifreke tries to make peace with Maya. He decides to give their relationship another shot after a long talk with Mr Cosmas.

• He goes over to Maya’s and behold...Jonjo, their opportunistic former boss and rival was there...

5991ayo:
Good afternoon to you ,pls oh is dis d end of d story

No.

NurHadejia:
Centino my guy, I bi new pesin here.. Why u con delete most of the episodes 4 ur site?

Boss I wan sell my book. Help the ministry. Book 1 free. 2 and 3 1k.