₦airaland Forum

WOW . . .

This is fantastic!

Dude, do you know you are an amazing writer? I wasn't too sure about this story in the beginning, but by the end, I was totally sold. I also never realized that you were the one who wrote the one of the landlord. Both pieces were hilarious.
I love the fact that you were trying to show what everyone was thinking at the same time. It made me laugh. Especially the mother of the son when she thought to herself that the dressing combination of the brides mother was a disaster.
But maybe you should have used other parts of the wedding vows so as to show the tension leading up to the point where chaos erupts? Because if everyone was thinking different things at the same time (when the 'speak now or forever hold your peace' comes up ) Mama Taiye will not have enough time to walk down , meet Baba John and have that little chat with him. Everything sort of crashes when too many things are going on at the same time.

Also, is this story set in 2010 or 2007?


Overall, I would give it and 8 out of 10. You did well. Post more stories please !

morzook:
“How many daddies do I have”?
The little girl asked her mother as they walked the unpaved road towards the expressway. The mother walked fast and the little girl scurried after her. Her mobility was being hampered [b]by her sandal which was torn [/b]and had lost both buckles. She dragged her feet and the sandal stirred dust from the earth; her legs were covered in dust.
They’d been walking for only ten minutes and their legs were already dusty. The road they walked was a nightmare and it was the only one they could use. A smart politician vying for a post as a federal representative had promised to repair the once decrepit road and the gullible populace gave him the go ahead. He brought huge tractors, the road was levelled and smoothened waiting to be tarred. The politician was elected to represent the constituency and the tractors disappeared. The road was left as it was.
The now levelled road is covered in clay which sticks to tires and soles in the rainy season and hardens in the dry season. It sends out clouds of dust in the dry season, repainting the entire house in the area in a shade of red. The woman didn’t know which one was worse, the slippery mud in the rainy season or the dirtying dusts of the dry season.
She heard her daughter’s question but pretended not to. The question was preposterous yet she knew what the little girl meant. The woman quickened her steps and the little girl increased her own speed, she caught up with her mother as they were about to cross a gutter.
The little girl was undeterred by her mother’s silence, the question she asked was one that had been piquing her for a while.
“Maamaa” she called out to her mother. “How many daddies do I have”?
“You have only one” the mother answered. “Everyone has only one daddy”.
The girl looked at her with a questioning look. Her teacher had told her that old people didn’t lie yet she knew her mother was lying. The girl knew she had more than one daddy, her mother had introduced her to all of them. She refreshed her mother’s memory.
“You know that man that comes to our house, the one with the big tummy”?
“What about him”? The mother questioned.
“You said he’s my daddy”.
“Yes he his”.
They continued walking on, the expressway was now in their line of sight. There were a lot of people already at the bust stop. The woman looked around for a tap or well where they could wash themselves off the dust from the road.
“The man that comes with a bike that smokes all the time, you also said he’s my daddy”.
“He is also your daddy”. The woman answered, she found a tap just before they got to the bus stop and pulled her daughter towards it.
The girl still had a long list of daddies to ask her mother. Her mother washed her legs and they moved on to the bus stop afterwards.
“That man that always buys me sweets, is he my daddy too”?
“Yes he is and he is your real daddy”.
The girl was unconvinced, she continued talking “what about that tall man that has a mousta…”. The mother cut her off, moustache she wanted to say.
“That is enough, I don’t want you asking me questions about your daddies again. Ever”
“But why? Why do I have many daddies when all my friends have one”?
“Count yourself lucky” the woman told her with a smile. “You have many and they have one, you are a lucky girl”.
They got to the bus stop and soon boarded a bus. They were on there way to the little girl’s school, the mother had been summoned by the head teacher. Left to the mother, she wouldn’t have gone to the school. She had to be at her shop early but her daughter had refused to leave the house without her mother in tow.
She was rest assured that whatever it is she was summoned for was not a bad incidence, her daughter never made trouble. She was intelligent and as gentle as a dove. She wondered where she got her intelligence from, the mother knew certainly that it wasn’t from her nor from any of her ancestors. She had to have gotten it from her father, whoever he his.  
The girl was a mistake on her part and she tried everything she could to abort her pregnancy. She didn’t know the father for one and a pregnancy would ruin business for her. She worked at a brothel then and she often didn’t use a condom if the price was right. She didn’t discover the pregnancy until the third month which was almost too late.
She used the pills they used and the pregnancy refused to be expunged. She went to a doctor and was advised against aborting it. She’d had too many abortions in her lifetime and that one if aborted could result in the loss of not one but two lives. Hers and the unborn child’s.
She continued working till customers started avoiding her due to the bulge in her tummy. She moved out of the brothel and rented a room in town. She managed to take care of the pregnancy and herself till she gave birth.
The baby when it came was a beautiful little girl with a mass of black curled hair. The hospital staff took turns in cradling the baby because it was the most beautiful they’d ever seen. The new mother didn’t share in their joy, she had been praying for a still birth.
She looked at the baby like it was a piece of rag when it was first handed to her. She was both relieved and angry at seeing the baby. She was relieved because she could return to her trade and angry because she had to take care of it till it was old enough to fend for itself.
She said no word till she was discharged from the hospital. She didn’t feed the baby as often as she should, and after three weeks she decided to do away with it. One early morning, she wrapped the baby in a blanket and left it in a refuse dump far away from where she lived.
She was about leaving for home when the baby bust out into a wail. The baby’s cry pierced into the serenity of the early morning. The cries touched her, touched her heart and for the first time, she felt compassion for it. She went back and picked it up, maybe taking care of it wouldn’t be a bad idea after all.
She had been alone since she was seventeen and the baby would be the only family she would have. She returned to business the next month, she did home service this time around and often the baby cried when she had a man on top of her. She always ignored its cries and faced her work. The baby cries itself to sleep and she bosom fed it when it wakes up.
The baby grew up into a beautiful little girl that everyone loved. The woman would look at the girl and thank her stars for having not abandoned it. The girl was the one good thing in her life, the only important thing to her. She always went out of her way to please the little girl.
The girl didn’t only looked lovely, she had a very high IQ. By the time she was seven, she could speak grammar that her mother didn’t know the meaning. She was good in mathematics and a very fine athlete. She has it all, looks, intelligence and patience. She is a sharp contrast to her mother.
The girl is now eight years old and taller than most of her mates. She’s the best student in her class. The mother looked at her as she sat next to her in the bus, she was very proud of her daughter. She held her close to her side and stroked her hair, they were almost at the girl’s school.
The girl sat close to her mother and looked into her eyes, she still had a thousand and one questions to ask her. She would wait till they got to the school.

Firstly, I like the way you began the story. The question the little girl asked is indeed a thought - provoking question and one that would embarass most mothers in public.

But you seem to be a little verbose sometimes and at other times you use very simple ways of getting your point across. The latter works fine for most people, but where you say "Her mobility was", you could just have said "Her movement was". Also, saying "by one of her sandals which was torn " is better than  " by her sandal which was torn ".  


Therefore, the whole sentence would be ;

" Her movement was being hampered by [b]one of her sandals which was torn and had lost both buckles".[/b]

Instead of

" Her mobility was hampered by her sandal which was torn and had lost both buckles ".

Apart from a number of grammatical errors, such as " The girl didn't only looked lovely" (rather than "The girl didn't only look lovely" ) , or "incidence", ( instead of incident  ).

Refrain from repeating yourself. You had already mentioned that she was intelligent. And then you later said that she "had a very high IQ". And you went on to repeat that in another line. You could just say " She was / is a very  bright and pleasant child. "
Also, try to say " She had the gift of making her mother burst into laughter even if she was on the verge of tears " .

If you want to portray how important the girl is to her mother, make sure you demonstrate it in a way that people will always relate to.

Also, you said "She had it all, looks, intelligence and patience". You are seeing through the eyes of a mother and her child but you seem to be injecting things that a guy would say when admiring a beauty queen. To say that she has "looks" is a bit inappropriate for a child her age.

There were other things but that's the most I can do for now.

Overall,  I thought it was a good theme, and it would be better if you could decide whose point of view to see from. Are you looking at things from the mothers view, the view of weary wisdom or that of the child , the view of innocent intellect? Or are you describing them as you would describe 2 strangers walking down a dusty road? Try to decide whether you would like to see things from your angle, the mother's , or the child's.