Cheriepet: Following...


d story is expressive, can't wait for more...

weldone

Thanks, more is coming

Ebube was a bundle of joy. He giggled with lively gusto at anything that amused him. His love for chicken-whether dead or alive, cooked or uncooked- was legendary. At four months while other babies were still sucking feverishly on their mothers breast, Ebube my son was already eating food made for adults. His screams were torrential almost deafening anytime we refused to feed him whatever we ate. Funny enough, his favorite meal was eba which shola feed him in tiny pieces. After eating he satisfied his thirst with milk from shola's breast and then he would sleep like an old man after a trip to the farm. You could not help but fall in love with him. Friends showered gifts on him for he was a talented performer knowing when to smile adorable and when to cry.
He easily won Doc over. Doc and christina had come to lagos for a convention. They stayed at a hotel in ikeja, with Doc refusing to see Ebube or his "swaggering fool of a father" as he often called me. One day, christina had stubbornly carried the child back to the hotel. Ignoring Doc and his threat of throwing Ebube out the window, she left them both in one room. How he did it I cannot tell but Christina said he saw Doc playing and laughing at my little boys antics. Slowly and surely a huge part of his heart was occupied by Ebube although he refused to call him Ebube or michael preferring instead to call him Shango my thunder boy- on account of Ebube's big stomach and vivacity. He frowned with anger if any other person used the name and Ebube replied with reluctance if anybody order than Doc called him Shango. He quelled with laughter, bouncing up and down on his napkin bottoms, his hands stretch out if he sees Doc or hears his voice . Thus the formed a close alliance that distance couldn't disrupt.
After I had deplained. Doc looked at me with a smile-the first since he heard of my affair with his daughter-, he shook my hands firmly.
"Enter the car"
Silence pervaded the air as we rode to his duplex house. Before now, Doc call my name with such energy, and force that I was catapulted into action even before he would speak, his voice was usually harsh and marked distinctively by irritation. But now he called my name with so much tenderness that stopped my heart beat for a fraction of a second.

They had no choice for I am an only child. My mother had given birth to me after eighteen years of marriage. They were both advanced in age and already making plans to arrange a marriage for me once I finished my NYSC. My father a professor in pharmacology whilst my mother was a professor in education. I graduated from the university at the age of twenty. Fresh right? I know. Shola too was a graduate in economics and was doing her one year NYSC. Doc had pulled all the string he could pull to make sure she was posted to kwara state. Like me, she graduated early from school. I'm six months other than her.
Doc had refused to attend our wedding which was neither elaborate or festive. But he later came staying only thirty minutes before leaving. His wife Christina was more forth coming and welcome- although I suspect that she had hoped her first daughter and last child had married from their tribe. Shola's four elder brother were the most receptive and welcoming.
I could remember with pains the look on shola's face the night Ebube was born. So calmed, beautiful and satisfied. I wanted to name him Michael but shola wanted an igbo name so we named him Chukwudiebube Michael jnr. Doc's anger was further stroked by the name. "How can you name him without consulting me. What kind of primitive and unpronounceable name is that" he had barked at me over the phone " swaggering fool" he spat over the phone. By now we had moved from kwara to lagos a move that also irked the good old doctor. He refused stubbornly to see the child nor would he call his name. He neither spoke to me nor did he shake my hands the few times we saw.

Thanks

Please your comments about how u feel about the story so far. I'd appreciate

Hold on more is coming

I really don't understand why people like james hardley chase. Seriously! D first novel I read was fatima that was in nursery school, I think Nur3. Then I read little Red hen but I found it boring bc it was simple and easily predictable- although I still read when am bored or can't find any other book to read. I spent almost two weeks trying to finish A journey to The centre of The world by Jules verne. I can't remember which one I read first btw Wale the city boy, drummer boy, chike and the river, Eze goes to school etc. Then I underwent a VC Andrew's phase, although I couldn't understand most of what she said but I plodded on with relish. It was through Vc Andrew that I developed a deep sense of empathy. When I was in primary four my teacher Aunty comfort reported to my mom that I like reading adult book that's inimical to my young brain. But I couldn't be stopped. Currently I have more book than I can remember. My favs are mario puzo- he really can tell a story with fluidity. John grisham- his story moves smoothly and he uses basic language. And Danielle steele cos she evokes beauty.
I like cyprain ekwensi and his my fav afro writer. Chimamanda is good too and I enjoy her. I honestly wish that writers would write more about the truth in a fictioanal manner. Am personaly moved by art ie music, painting, pics and writing.
D beautiful thing about reading is that it makes u appreciate things beyond the normal lenght. It opens ur eyes and draws a beautiful reality on u. N ur brain is constantly rationalizing, visualizing and planning.
I've only lived a decade and a few years but I act mature than I really am. And consequently am a little bored by my age mates. Not trying to sound eccentric or proud but am trying to say something, which I hope some one will understand. I hope to be a columnist and a novelist someday. Meanwhile, ASUU thanks for this strike.
Finally I have a big question about something that happens to me. I enjoy reading but I find it difficult to read my school work or any book recommended or if am forced to read?

Piresg24: To My Bee's knee

Game not with my heart
By your stonewalling art
That we may ourselves have a glee
Of a lasting wet dream
Which shall endure
Like a bristlecone pine.

How your yea made me gay
Having reached our bloom
Should we not enjoy our may?
Bereave me not of this boon
Anon to the partterre let's ooze.

Neither did I had a clue
Nor was I given a cue
That you are as the honey suckle
Could made me missed my orgeat and sherbet
Oh! How your caress imbued on me a salve.

Shall I compare you to the altair?
Cruising into my life in beams and rays
Glossy like a sun bird causing a stare
Sleek to my feel cutesy and fey.

You are the bird of paradise
Finely curved like the cypress vine
You smell so sweet like a fragrant pine
Even sweeter fragrance than the moon flower.

The moon and sun may fail to shine it light!
The ocean may fail to afford us water!
But my love for you shall always glow.

By: Piresg24

Beautiful beyond words piresg24. Truly refreshing n healing

Lucentbeauty babe abeg keeP it up.

I wasn't alone in the monotonous sighing. It was re echoed around the room. First her father who was sitting adjacent to her in a red sofa chair sighed. Then her mother sighed too. We all sat as if Ebube died last night instead of last month. Doctor my father in law had attempted to shake away the sorrow from his daughter, Christina her mother had also tried but it was all to no avail. Shola my wife refused to shed her cloth of sorrow.
Doctor had called me last night. He pleaded with me to come down to ilorin as soon as I could. so I had taken the first flight bound for kwara state. Usually I would have considered it a waste of precious money to fly considering the fact that the distance between Lagos and ilorin was not much and could be traveled by road at a cheaper prize. But the urgency in Doc's voice had wiped away my temperate attitude towards money coupled with the fact that shola my wife was still in kwara state. Have something happened to her" " have she succeeded in taking her life as I saw in her eye" these and many question ran through my head through out the night and as I entered the air plane.
Doc met me at the airport. He was a moderately conservative man, he neither over did or under did. A perfect average. His hair was graying around the edges and a funny patch of gray hair was forming in the middle of his head. An intelligent man whose approach to medicine was passionate and treated his family like they are an extension of himself. Doc had liked me at first, he was thrilled that I graduated second best in my class. But when he found out that I was messing around with his daughter his character changed over night.
Doc a yoruba muslim and his wife a roman catholic. He had left the option open for his children to decide what religion they wanted to adhere to. He placed them on long leash but maintained a firm grip on the leash. Shola was his last child and thus the apple of his heart. Touch shola; even if it is a pinch and the whole ground will shake. Though he was hurt when shola chose christainity over islam, but he soon forgived her. So u can imagined his reaction when he found out about shola's pregnancy. His anger would not have been so great if the pregnancy was for a yoruba boy but rather an igbo boy and a Christian for that matter. " An igbo boy whose parentage you know nothing about" he had thundered "what if he lives you and run back east or decides you are not good enough for him"
Luckily I was in the final weeks of my internship at the hospital. My parents back east though reluctant agreed when I told them of my intention to marry shola.

A child's death is often painful. Though I am not a parent nor have I lost any of my sibling but I can imagine the pain of losing a child. Eternal rest grant their young souls oh! Lord and let your perpetual light shine on them,



She refused to look at me. Her hands were cold and almost life less against mine. I can't-for the life of me- understand what I have done wrong. It wasn't my fault that he was no longer with us. It pained me to know that I would not longer see his handsome face or hear him giggle with happiness or see his beautiful mouth that had only two small sized tooth. The pain hurts and the sorrow is blinding but days have grown into weeks and weeks have turned to a month and finally the pain have turned into a blunt stud. The stud was slowing being replaced with a biting and almost sizzling pain. It was hitting against my rib cage with an unprecedented vengeance that threatening to snuff life out of my young body. And that painful bite was caused by her.
Her hair was wrapped in a black net and her face expressionless. She stared into the atmosphere in a lifeless gaze. It was as if no one else was in the room. Like magic her beauty have ebbed, physically though in my heart she was still as beautiful as the day I first saw her. That was two years ago. I was an intern at the university of ilorin teaching hospital under the department of radiography when we first met. Her father was the HOD of the department. We became fast friends but I was attracted to her in way that surpassed the physical. My life felt empty each day I didn't see or hear her voice. Her beauty and persona hunted my dream.
But now it was like we lived in two different worlds. She needn't say the word for I can hear it in every breath she takes, in every movement she makes and feel it in hands. She blames me for the death of her child; our child. Yes our child. The line between hers and mine is becoming blurry and can now easily tell the difference between ours, hers and mine. In her sorrow she had push me away, the deep melancholy of her soul has torn the veil of our love and I could hardly tell what or who she is now. I could almost hear her saying "if u haven't loved me he wouldn't have died" or "you are the cause after all you impregnated me". Hmmm I sighed deeply

Soyinka is a master word-smith. His arrangement of words, flow and vocabulary is superb, much better than most other writers. Reading his essays, poetry and drama is inspiring, interesting and refreshing. But am not impressed with his novel/prose.
Considering the fact that there were many reputable writers(most of the same generation with soyinka) of African descent at the time whose works were probably better . Why then did soyinka win the prize.




Please forgive my naiveté and contradictions but am just confused.