ruggedadventure:
Baba I humble ooo.... I'm so honoured to be mentioned.

I'm most honoured to have you here.

CHAPTER NINE
The car screeched, coming to an halt, as everybody inside came out. Both suspect women, shielded their faces with their hands, as if protecting their eyes from the sun. They knew however, that they did so because of their collective shame, not wanting to be recognized by people in the street. It would be so much of a matter-for them to be seen with such people of affluence. Ajegunlites were wary of such inquiring personalities ever since their hub was infiltrated with corporate compainies, media houses, and private investigators aftermath the Ilaje/Ijaw crises.

Suliyat inquired from the fat woman where the house was, and she pointed a blue painted house just opposite where they stood. It was built shabilly and it shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone who heard that it fell like the walls of Jericho when a strong wind blew.

It took quite some time to cross over, as motorcycles flew past the shallow street recklessly.

They got to the gate of the house, whose color was gradually pulling off. John knocked twice, keeping an eye of the women still. If they were to become innovative and take to their heels, it would be an almost impossible task to catch them.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

There was no answer, as John kept up hitting the hard gate with his knuckles. He peeped inside, and the limited place he could see, no one was in sight, except for a bucket. The house seemed to be empty. John hit the gate in obvious frustration, still hoping that this last time, some kind of human being would approach and listen to what they have to say.
No one did.

They all turned back, defeated. John could see relief on the face of the fat woman, Ebeyo. Just as their necks were turning, seeking to cross back to where Suliyat's car was, they heard a voice from behind.

"Na who una dey find?" they all turned, and upon turning, met a pair of inquisitive eyes. A middle-aged woman. No one knew where she crept from.

"Sorry maam, who are you?" Suliyat asked the person, who wore a long, native dress, that would have swept the ground when she walked.

The woman hissed, and turn back, and was walking away, in steady steps.

"Wait!" John called. She stopped, as although John's tongue was an in-built remote. She however, didn't turn to face them. Both Suliyat and John wondered what was the reason for this strangeness.

"We are looking for Saliu" Suliyat said, hoping that the woman would respond with some enormous information. She acted earlier like an all-knowing person.

"Hmmm" turning slowly, she shook her head pitifully, as she sighed, saying "I don't know where he is. But, another might do". Putting her hands into her breast region, she brought out a tiny key, and stretched her hand forward, gesticulating someone to take it.

John went forward and opened his hands, as the woman dropped the key into his.

"Use it" she commanded, pointing feebly at the gate. John looked at the key, and wondered what he was to do with it afterwards. As if she read her mind, she said
"Drop the key by the gate if you come out. I'll pick it later"

She flagged down a keke napep, and entered it. Four pair of eyes watched as the tricycle zoomed off.

Standing before the gate with the key, John carefully inserted it into the hole it was supposed to enter. Tightening his hold on it, he turned and turned, until a creaky sound emerged and the gate opened.

"This is the house?" Suliyat asked Ebeyo, who replied in the affirmative.

The thin lady, who came across as a reserved person, and had been quiet all the while, took a very bold step, and walked into the bungalow, which possesed all the characteristics of a haunted house. Add that to the threat of a collapse, and one gets the reason why even the adventurous John, the inquisitive Suliyat, and the dare devil, Ebeyo, didn't enter at first.

Irrespective of their fears, the thin woman was inside, and was yet to die. John suspected either her weight was the cause, or she simply didn't mind her already-degenerated bones being crushed to death.

Nice one. I'll read later.
Do well to check my signature.

The strings which the guitarist plays, its sweet melodies, the joys of motherhood, the happiness of a starved husband returning home to a big bowl of his favorite soup. Yes, that feeling played in my heart, when upon chance, I met Damilola again.

It was in the school track field, and some athletic students were showing off their blistering speed on the tracks. Damilola watched, with a frown on her face, as if she wasn't enjoying the free frontrow seat to the unofficial Olympics show. I crept up from behind. Shy, was I, as I approached her, her perfumed body engulfed my nostrils. However, I didn't do that; ask for her permission to sit. After all, it wasn't her father who built it.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, once she was aware of my disturbing presence.

"Nothing" I said, "I just want to watch the guys train"

She retained whatever words she might have seeked to say, clouding them with a sigh.

Despite my efforts trying in my head to find a meaningful hook-up line, my intellectual capacity faltered, and I came up short. Totally in no man's land, realizing that it was one thing to write a poem, and another to tell it to a girl you love. My buttocks ached, I realized I had been sitting 'abnormally'. I shifted into position. As I did, the paper on which I wrote the poem fell out my pocket, unintentionally.

It was adressed 'DAMILOLA' in block letters.

She picked it, as I feared she would, for a human can only try so hard to resist its innate characteristic of curiosity.

I turned, shivering, facing the other side, my back to her.

Ashamed I was, when my ears picked up a giggle. "Was the poem bad?" "Was it funny?" "Why did she giggle?" I asked, propounding theories in my head as to how desperate and stupid I was, for thinking that a poem, could make a girl fall in love with me. I thought, that if my handsomeness didn't do the trick, then I must be most crazy for thinking that a piece of mumbo-jumbo in the guise of flowery words would do.

"I like it" she said, as I turned slowly, wanting to ascertain if my ears heard right. As I did, I tapped both, to rid it of hearing unspoken words.

"What did you say?" I asked her

She smiled, as she put in inside her black leather purse.

"I like it"

Those words became the hallmark of my existence. The pride on which I stand. The woman of my dreams, telling me she liked my piece of poetry, in reality. Confidence urgently took me by the right hand as words flowed through my mouth like I was possesed by the spirit of a casanova.

"Pardon my intrusion into your leisure" I spoke calmly, escorting the words with pleading eyes.

She laughed heartily, then said "O, don't bother, it's hardly my leisure."

"I observed something must have occupied your mind, seeing that your pretty lips were curled into what seemed like a frown"

Her slender neck bent, as her eyes watched the movement of ants on the ground. For a reason, I felt the question I asked out of concern put her in a sad place.

I immediately steered the conversation back on the intended path.

"I'm Chike Ugwuanyi, faculty of Arts, English and Literary Studies"

She smiled knowingly, parting her hair gently to the side, then said "I am Damilola Afolabi, studying Medicine"

"Nice to officially meet you" I said offering my hand for an handshake, which she took. I lifted it high, gently, to my lips, paying her the gentlemanly courtesy of a peck, and also smelt, the lingering scent of a rose in bloom on her.

"Lustful paradise?" I asked, trying my gigantic luck on the name of the perfume she had on.

"Woah, a man with class" she remarked

"It's the brand of a unique, special woman" I praised

The skies were turning gloomy, and as an anticipator, I knew that in no time, droplets of water would begin escaping the sky.

"Let's leave here. The clouds are becoming angry" I suggested, offering my hand for her to take.

She did.

Powerful story. I'm an author. Keep up the good work.

Do well to check my signature. Clicking the link will be the best decision you ever made in the past second.

I trudged back to my lodge like a defeated tortoise, dragging my foot along the ground, staring at the sand as if they would talk to me. What kind of a girl was that? Acting nice one second, and the next, assuming a deathly stare like Medusa, which froze me to my bones, unable to move. I hissed in frustration. I almost lashed out my anger at a stone but then I remembered I needed my legs to attend lectures.

As I approached the door of my room, I heard suspecting sounds, and moans. "Ah, grrrt, fvck, uhhh" were the unintelligible invalid words that came out from my room. I peeped through the key hole and what I saw was no surprise to me. Obinna, my roomate, was showcasing his masculine strength on top on a student, thrusting in with all his strength as sweat dripped off his body onto the girl's. I looked at the girl whose eyes were shut in pleasure, and to my surprise, she was quite beautiful.

I knocked twice, and waited for the reaction. I heard Obinna curse, 'this mumu boy sef'. I'm sure he kept on, until they hit the climax, as stupid shrieks from the both of them escaped from the room into my ears, and I heard a thud. Obviously, Obinna had fell to the ground in exasperation. After about seven minutes, the door opened and the girl came out, winking at me as she left. I was disgusted.

"Nwannem, you dun show?" Obinna my room-mate, a 300 level student of Accountancy, asked me.

I didn't reply, and he didn't mind too, he just laid like a dead lizard on the rug, catching his breath.

The thoughts currently occupying my mind was none other than Damilola, I wasn't even sure that was her real name. I kicked the bed in frustration, as Obinna's eyes widened, obviously surprised.

"Nwannem, calm down na, I go arrange the room" he said, standing up lazily. Obinna was one year my senior in school, but he had always accorded me my respect, as he knew I was not the average second-year, who was immersed in flexing, and maybe the respect was, because I paid seventy percent of the house rent. Obinna was from a slightly-below average family, and was studious, however, his notorious sexual activities might make one think otherwise. The truth was, the girls he slept with exchanged their bodies for his academic assistance.

"No be dat one dey do me" I muttered, as I flung my book to the bed, then sat on my study chair.

Obinna was surprised by my foul mood. I wasn't like that, and he knew, and so, he came close to me, and sat on the bed, looking into my eyes, with an hand on my shoulder like a big brother would, then he asked

"Nwannem, ogini ne me gi?" loosely translated as "My brother, what is disturbing you?"

I sighed "It's a girl I met" I said softly, so that the walls wouldn't hear.

Obinna laughed like an over-fed ogre, his thick notes echoing in the room. I wished I had a knife in my hands, I would have stabbed inside his mouth. How could he compliment such sadness with an ugly laugh?

He immediately knew that he had done wrong by my side, and he put on his normal face back, though I saw the laugh at one side of his lip, protesting it's imprisonment.

"Sorry, e just funny. Na girl make you wan comot your leg for dis bed? Fine boy like you"

He wasn't wrong. I was a fine young man, dark, and tall, the dream man of almost every young lady. I was an inheritor to the good looks of my parents, my father whom the king of our village wanted as a son-in-law. So I was told, that when he walked, several ladies fainted in admiration. The chief priest I was told, had to carry out a 'spiritual masking' operation on my father to make him look ugly to spirits, and water creatures who wandered the village, looking for handsome young men to claim as husbands. My mother, in her youth won a prestigious beauty event, for all the beautiful maidens in the village, and other seven neighbouring villages. My mother recalled the event with so much pride.

"With my beauty, I haunted the dream of every young man but, I only had eyes for your father" she would tell me.

So you see, whenever I stood at the mirror, a very handsome person with a pointed nose, hazel-brown eyes, fairly-pink lips, and a curly hair sitting upon an oval- shaped head, shown.

I am handsome right? But why was it hard to get a girlfriend, a better half, who would invariably make me a better man.

"How she be?" Obinna's question cut through my thoughts.

"I can't compare her to a summer day
Her beauty melts the gate of hatred
Her eyes, renders the admirer blind
She was beauty, and beauty, was she" I replied

Obinna clapped, saying "bravo" in the midst of the irregular sounds his heavy hands made.

"I have an idea" Obinna said

"What?" I turned, paying him more attention than how an HIV positive would, in front of a person who claimed to have a cure.

"Write her a poem" he suggested

"A poem? I don't even know her, or her lodge, only a name, Damilola"

"Damilola?" he asked, with eyes wide open in obvious surprise

"What? You know her?" I asked, his reaction to the name was unusual.

"N-No, I don't. Just didn't think a Yoruba person was in UNN" he defended his first-time reaction.

"Okay, I wan sleep"

"You no go chop?" he asked me, concerned.

"No. I'm not hungry" I replied, placing my head on the study desk.

I heard Obinna stand up from the bed, he said, in a low tone

"Could it be, Damilola?"

John scurried over to the back of the three women, not that he wanted to get a glimpse of their back sides. The fat one, Ebeyo, was simply, too fat, the thin one, John didn't know her name, was too feeble, that even looking at her buttocks with perverse thoughts might crush the bones. Suliyat wore a skirt which totally hid all the features that John would have licked his lips at.

However, he didn't walk from the back because of that. He did so because he wanted to observe the reaction and actions of both women who certainly had bad blood between them.

They all approached Suliyat's car, parked opposite the one storey building. The sun was beginning to portray its characteristic wickedness, as it hit its hot rays on the skins of everyone who dared walk under it. Suliyat couldn't wait to get into her car, as she walked hurriedly.

She got into the driver's seat, and beckoned all of them to enter. The two women at first, standing by the car, displayed a reluctance to enter. They thought that this reporter was taking them to somewhere else, a place that they would be punished.

"Enter the car!" Suliyat ordered from inside, putting her head out from the window, looking at the faces of the women. Worry and fear. The fear of the unknown, was clearly written on their faces. John stood patiently behind them, not uttering any thing that resembled a valid word. He was working his head through this, the charmed love triangle. He looked at his watch, it was 2.09pm. Time wasn't any responsible person's friend.

He hissed, irritated at the drastic action he knew these women had forced him to take. He shoved the women, their mouths almost hit the car, for they were totally unprepared for that. Suliyat's jaw dropped in surprise. What kind of a man would lay hands on a woman in such manner?. John saw the dissapointment on her face. He was ashamed, but he didn't show it.

Surprsingly, both the women put on humbled looks, and entered the car slowly, no one wanting to touch the other. Suliyat sighed, this just made her remember a project she embarked on while in the higher institution. She gathered that African women were indirectly the cause for marital abuse as their actions and inactions force men into laying hands on them, and when that happens, a calming effect, and they behave normal. This theory was rejected by one of her lecturers, who insisted, that rather, it must be told, that the mentality of women, who perceived men as 'superior', willingly submit their bodies to kicks and blows. They had been taught that your husband paid your brideprice and therefore, you are to serve him before even tasting the food for excess salt. But when the food eventually is salty, you will eat it alone, after being served the usual beating, of course.

Inside the car, the sitting formation was pre-planned in John's mind. He allowed Ebeyo sit beside Suliyat, whilst the thin lady sat at the back, with him.

"Which street does the Saliu stay?" Suliyat asked in an 'officely' tone, a question directed to no one in particular, it was one of those questions tagged 'to whom it may concern'.

"Rorobi" someone inside the car replied.

The road was bumpy, as all inside the car bounced awkwardly, the thin lady's body hit John's arm, and she looked at him.

"Direct me oo" Suliyat requested of the women, who were more acquainted with their destination.

For about twenty minutes, of intelligent driving, lanky conductors hurling curses towards Suliyat, being stuck in a light hold-up caused by an accident involving a hawker who refused to stand up, conditioning that all his goods must be bought. John coming out of the car to control traffic, and following confusing directions from the physically polarizing women, Suliyat was relieved when she heard

"We dun reach"

jeff1993:
Ur story is da bomb bro ....... u gat d pic scenario of AJ so well ..... Buh I believe AJ has changed a lot ,....... besides I stay in AJ ....... MBA street to b precise

Wow. Mba street near that police station? Wey dey around Boundary side. I de pass there well well if I wan go buy fish.

Yea. AJ has truly changed, this story is set in the early 2000s, aftermath the infamous Ilaje-Ijaw crises.

All rights reserved.

story one

"Rise of a New Dawn"

"It is the land of the rising sun. The place where the Eagle sets its nest. The pride of Africa. The only hope for the future. The giant on whose shoulders, the country stands. The place where dreams are hatched. It is here! Chike. Chike, are you not proud to be a biafran?" Father asked me, pride hitting sonorous notes as he sang eulogies, demonstrating, gyrating with sprightness, as his body moved with so much vigor to the lowered songs of Osita Osadebe playing in the background.

"Obim, go easy on your steps oo, you know you have rheumatism" mother cautioned from the kitchen where she was cooking bitter-leaf soup, whose scent floated seamlessly into the living room where I was, made to endure this masquerade show gone bad, which was my father, dancing like he had lost his mind.

Biafra. The word made me want to puke. It was so stupid to have seperated me from Damilola, the beauty on whose face, moons dangled, whose eyes shone like a sun, exuding heated rays that no body in his right senses could avoid. Damilola, on whose head, her neatly braided hair, sleek and pure, rolled down her nape, her lips, which I would have loved to kiss again, forming pictures on my mind.

I felt tormented that Biafra took her away from me, and even in the midst of the joyful african sounds of Osadebe, the terrible dancing of my father which on another day could have served as a great comic event, the addictive aroma which danced into my nostrils, I couldn't think. I couldn't think anything except, Damilola.

Love comes, and goes like a sorrowful stream
which escapes, when the drinker bends
Love is cruel, sweet, bitter, a fake dream
that eventually ends.

A sad poem, that was, and i'm sure you sang with me, even though your voice wont crack as mine did, you wouldn't feel my pain, except I tell you my story.

"Don't ever leave me" Damilola pleaded, crystal tears forming in her eyes, as she held my hands tighter than she had ever done.

I was staring into her eyes, fighting back hard, the tears. I wanted to be strong for the both of us, I needed to.

"I wont" I assured her, as she came forward, and we locked ourselves in an embrace, our bodies echoing a collective sentiment. We were living a dream.

"You cannot have anything to do with a Yoruba girl!" I remembered my mother say. But I disobeyed her, and I will continue to do so.

I met Damilola under the thick Indian Almond tree, somewhere in UNN. She looked angelic, even though I hadn't seen her face. Her ambience suggested so.

"Can I sit here?" I asked politely, stooping low, pointing at the chair she sat on with my eyes.

"Siddon na, na my papa get am?" She replied in an humuorus, down-to-earth manner, totally unlike other undergraduates, who were like angry snakes, hissing ferociously at anyone in sight.

I dropped my book first, which was Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace. She stole a quick glance at it, i'm sure, for I dropped the book first on purpose, wanting to impress her. How impudent of me!

For quite some time, we were quiet, pretending to be immersed in our books. I pretended to, but the truth was, I couldn't read, not when such an epitome of beauty, a masterpiece of God's artistic excellence and genius was sitting by my side.

"Ehem" I cleared my throat, hoping to rouse her attention. I myself, was so immersed for the past three minutes looking at her hazel-colored skin that I didn't see that students who were returning from lectures shook their heads at my 'over-ambition'; trying to woo her.

She didn't even turn in my direction. After quite some time, she spoke.

"Would you stop looking at me? You are giving these amebo people some free news to talk about"

"s-sorry" I managed to say, realizing I had shifted my brains to the back of my head, and allowed my eyes to feast on her ravaging beauty.

"I am Damilola" she said, standing up to leave.

"Chike, Chike Ugwuanyi" I replied.

"Well, Chike, nice to meet you" she offered her hand for an handshake, as I looked at it shell shocked, I guess I looked like a gay man who had been kissed by a mami water.

I calmed my nerves, and shook her hand. It was so soft, like it hadn't executed any hard work. She must have sensed my nervousness, as her lips parted, to reveal the most lovely set of teeth any human could so ever be privileged to see.

She picked her books, and turned to leave,some few steps away, she turned back, as her smile thinned to a frown, she said

"And, Chike. I hope we don't meet again"

John assumed his usual demeanour, Suliyat placed a hand over her shoulders, urging her to get a hold of her emotions, the little boy, well, was enjoying the most striking nollywood film of his life. The second suspect in the case, the thin lady, folded her arms into her almost milkless breaast, looking down.
The fat lady, spoke, after wiping the tears off her eye "My name is Ebeyo. The boys-the boys, wh-who" she stuttered, as a tear flowed freely down her eye, John could wrap his brain around the reason why.

"I know one of the boys. I-I-saliu"

"Saliu? That's his name?" John asked, paying much attention to the tone of his voice, to make sure his questions came straight.

"Yes, yes, I sabi hin mama, na wh-na-why"

John was frustrated with this persistent stutters. He wanted to use his 'position' to threaten the woman into speaking more fluently, but Suliyat touched him lightly on the arm, motioning him to exercise patience.

"Continue, madam. How do you know this Saliu?"

"Ehm, ehm, him mama na mericine pesin. I-I-last year, I collect mericine for the woman hand, I gi-give my husband, so he go love me, come dey give me all him money"

Suliyat shifted uncomfortably where they stood due to the prospect of what might be the catalyst here. Some inhabitants of the street were beginning to leave their compounds, looking at the unofficial meeting and eventually minding their businesses. Some stood like programmed owls, waiting patiently to see what unfolds for they knew, this wasn't no jolly gathering.

"You used charms on your husband?"

"Yes" the woman broke into tears again "I just want make him love me"

"How do you know that he didn't love you with his clear eyes?" John asked

"He been dey fvck that bastard winch!" Ebeyo raged, pointing at the thin woman whose head sunk deeper down in shame, as if affirming the accusation. She didn't protest, and silence actually, screamed "I did it!"

"Oh, I see, a bermuda triangle of love" John remarked cheekily, walking in clock-wise steps round them.

Suliyat sighed. This was too much. Too deep rooted.

"I would have liked to meet this very, 'charming' man" John played a pun, as he ceaselessly scrathed his chin lightly "But, time is not our best friend, or is he?" He looked at Suliyat, who was taken aback by his sudden intense stare, she wondered why John had a very ravaging interest in this.

She turned to the fat woman, Ebeyo, and said "Madam, you'll take us to Saliu's house, and you" she turned over to the slimmer woman, who had the distinct features of a starved lizard. Suliyat told her likewise "you are coming with us".

John looked down to the little boy, who was proudly showcasing the five and a half-teeth which stood apart inside his mouth.

"Oya dey go. Take this money, buy biscuit" John dipped his hand into his pocket and brought out a naira note which belonged to the lower denominations, stretching his hand forth, as the boy received the note.

"Ese oo, bros!" the boy hailed, running away, as his big head led him, his leg followed, disturbing the peace of sand lying on the ground, as dust, escorted his trail.

"Good riddance" Suilyat remarked, after a relieved sigh.

Hello. I'm fikfaknuel, author of the still-being-published "Ajegunle : The Tale From the Ghetto".

I was supposed to release this anthology after that but a lot of short stories run in and out of my thoughts so why not now?

Undoubtedly, it might be hard, but i'll keep on updating the 'Ajegunle' story.

So, be prepared to laugh, cry, and let out emotions you can't even name. The first story comes tomorrow.

abeg don't give up on this story oo. I like your narration and the humor you infuse in your writing.

Suliyat rushed to where the woman was in frantic steps, fighting her way through the others who stood, looking at the accused with awe, making faces synonymous with Nigeria, clapping their hands in disbelief, others covering their mouths, exhibiting almost the same reaction. The young journalist wasn't your 'typical journalist'. She didn't see every thing as a potential screamer headline for the papers. She didn't force news through people's mouth. Inspite of her proffesion, she still remained a human being so it was quite disgusting to see that these people had already proclaimed someone guilty, when a court of law hadn't. It was gross incompetence at the highest order.

John rounded the fat woman who made the claim, and together with the little boy, the journalist, the very thin lady, they exited the scene, and made for somewhere more secluded. Whilst they walked together, eyes escorted their steps.

They stopped when they got to Swamp street, it was just as the name implies, and unlike many parts of Ajegunle, it was quiet.

"Do you know who I am?" Suliyat asked the thin lady, reaching for something in her purse, all four of them present couldn't tell what.

The lady whom the question was directed to shook her head, implying 'no'.

John gaped wide, it was simply unbelieveable and outright ridiculous to think that this woman had probably put herself in a compromising position, and she didn't even know who the person who boxed her in was. He wondered if he was ever going to witness an end to ignorance in Ajegunle. He looked down intuitively, as he met the rosy cheeks of the little boy fold slightly, as he grinned. He must be having a very good time. John wanted to send him away but, for some reason, he didn't. His presence had an effect on the lady being questioned. Her fat counterpart didn't seem like she cared, grinding her teeth hard on a gum with recless abandon, making annoying sounds associated to the modus operandi of a call girl seeking male attention.

Bringing out slowly from her little black purse which fitted seamlessly on her left hand was an ID card, on it, was the word emblazioned Suliyat Mohammed, reporter. Alongside it was The Sun's logo, and down below on the far right were the names of the Chief Editor and his signature.

"Ehm, ehm, abeg no report me" the woman begged, after a long stare into the Identification card. John struggled hard to contain the laughter that threatened to erupt from his belly.

"I go talk, I go talk wetin I sabi" the thin woman pleaded

"You better start doing so" John said, preying further on her outrageous ignorance.

"I get shop, wey I dey sell ogogoro. Day before yesterday, some awala boys come buy meshango. I hear one of dem talk say dem wan kill pesin. I no murmur. I just sell my market, close shop. Wetin make dat woman dey coba me na because..."

John's face tightened, Suliyat prepared for the worst, the little boy face was still aglow with a hearty grin.

"She no know say I see when the boys enter her shop"

John rubbed his chin gently, pinching his beards, hoping for a sprout of wisdom. Truth was, he sucked at being a detective. He stumbled on Sherlock Holmes through Emeka Agu, his roomate at the university, who was so into the fictional character that John thought he was a real person.

Suliyat turned to face the fat woman "Maam, with all due respect, we don't want to hear anything less than the truth. What were the suspected killers doing in your shop and what do you sell?"

The initially-tough woman cracked, as she broke down in tears.

Nikkybrainz:
Hello

You have a message for the world Then we are here to help you unleash it!

A faculty press in one of the prestigious South West universities in Nigeria needs poets and fiction writers for its e-magazine. It is a rare opportunity to showcase talent and in a way, a form of free advertisement. You get to write your name and number, thus the credit goes to you.

NB:
Writers and will not be paid.

Not all entries will be selected. Only those that meet the faculty press standards will be published.

Contact me on this forum or send a text to 08179540079

I'm interested, email me the details. All I need to know.

Email is emmanuelesomnofu@gmail.com

bibijay123:
Weldone boss! More ink to ur pen

Me no be boss oo...Bibi. Email me your facebook user, make we chat.

Ulu45:
Ojo Rd

One of my guys dey stay there.

Ulu45:

D child with sand on his laps. Baba e scarce to find pikin dey drop yarnings like Dat for English joor.
No b dsame AJ we dey.
Nice job brah

Lolzz...U go still know d boy story nah.
Which place for AJ you dey?

From today, any new person that comments, gets a sweet, welcome poem.