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Chapter 7

After trying to get in touch with Gloria for the last 5 minutes with no success, she decided to try and reach Mr. Ade’s son she had spoken with earlier in the day. Her right hand shook as she scrolled through her phonebook and she switched the Samsung to her left hand. She kept her eyes steady on her phone screen and on where Wole slept under the electronic billboard.

Ngozi thought it was best to make a video call to get her point across faster. When the line connected, a bottle with Johnnie Walker was all she saw on the screen. And then the whisky bottle was slowly withdrawn, till a smiley face appeared. “Hello pretty woman.” He said with a little laugh and sat back in a chair. Ngozi sighed when she realized he was drunk. “Have you found my brother?” He said and took a swig from the bottle in his hand.
“Yes, I have.” She reluctantly answered.
“So…pretty woman found prince charming?” He said with a little disdain in his voice.
“I thought you could help…”
“Girl, I don’t have a spaceship.” He barked out and startled Ngozi. A female voice could be heard laughing in the background. “I need a spaceship to get to you from where I am right now.”
“Can you give me your Dad’s number?” Ngozi said after a prolonged silence.
“Sorry pretty woman…I have to go now.” He said and winked at her. His gaze left the phone screen to focus on something else in front of him. After a while, the line got disconnected. It was difficult for her to believe he was the same person he had spoken with earlier. She had even been looking forward to see him in person. But now he was just an asshole to her.

She looked back at the people in the bus terminus, wondering if they were thinking she had gone crazy. She sighed and put her phone back into her laptop bag. She looked back again before she proceeded to move closer, and was surprised at how happy and peaceful he looked in his sleep. For some reason, she thought of the kind of dreams insane people have when they slept. Since sane people sometimes have insane dreams, does it mean insane people would have sane dreams? She thought to herself.

She looked back one more time, and noticed two men from the bus terminus looking at her and saying some things between themselves. They probably thought she wanted to use one of the homeless men for blood money or sleep with one of them, or some other absurd thing. When she turned back around, a man sleeping next to Wole was staring straight at her. Her heart started to beat fast as she took a few steps back. The man got up all over a sudden and she moved backwards a bit quicker. From the corner of her eyes, she saw bright lights and froze; standing there in the middle of the expressway as a car approached her, top speed.

Wroxxane:
I think it's majorly because it takes pain to know joy.It's like staring into the black and seeing different shapes and forms, when you're down so low, they say you can never fall. Most of the songs and hymns we love were birthed that way. My two cents tho.

Okay.

Guys, you can read thi article to get a better picture of what I am talking about- http://mentalfloss.com/article/64852/scientists-tortured-artist-real-thing

bibijay123:
Kay I'm sorry abt all that happened to you. I dont knw if it was a coincidence that everything happened while you were writing a story bt from your write up it seems you always experience misfortune whenever you are writing a story. Personally i've only suffered from migraine,insomnia and writers block. Sometimes we get too caught up in a story that we tend to neglect other important things or people in our life but i believe what will be will be whether we are working on a story or not. Some writers,me for example start working on stories when things are not going well for them at a particular time just to get the problems out of their minds. What they forget is this: the problem won't go away if you do nothing abt it.

Hmm! Thanks for this response.

colik:
Bibijay123
Creeza
Lleigh
Swann
Twaci
Skarlett...Awon writers,we need your input oh.

Thanks.

Lala can you please take this to Front Page for me. A lot of people will learn from it.

The theory of the tortured artist has been studied for many years and claims and counterclaims have been thrown here and there. The theory is all about claims of most creative people having a level of mental illness. You know...the mentally unstable writer, the suicidal actor, the musician that creates great music and is successful but is always depressed...etc. I believe this theory cos it applies to me too. I just want to know if other people feel this way too.


I have spoken to people in real life, but I haven't met people that have agreed to this fact, except maybe a few on Facebook, because it wasn't a one-on-one encounter. So, I decided to bring my research to the Literature section of Nairaland. I believe I will find more open minded people here.


From personal experience, I have found out that when I am most creative (working/writing a very compelling novel), my personal life, and mental health is always messed up. It is like the theory that great art can only come from great pain. Anyone can claim to be a writer, but I want to hear from people that write consistently. I mean, people that throw themselves into their works for days and weeks, with all their passion.

Like when I was writing my last trilogy on Nairaland (which I abandoned because the pain became unbearable), I went through a lot of personal griefs. A lot of personal relationships went sore quick, I got robbed on the highway by armed robbers, I got broke and went without food for three days at one point...etc. I gave up being creative for a while. Then I started again last month...and as people were demanding more chapters, it started again...anger management issues, alcohol abuse battle, and then I got into a bike accident 5 days ago that left my face messed up.


Enough about me. I hope you get my drift now. I have read a lot of similar occurrences with foreign writers too, but you know we Africans don't open up like white people. So, I am begging you guys to help me with this research...If you are creative person and you use your creative juices a lot, do you notice any difference in your life when you are not being creative compared to when you are creative?

Ikdbabie:
Oh.! So sorry about what happened to you. Hope you are taking your drugs religiously.? Wish you quick recovery.

Yes I am. Thank you.

trevolady:
Nice story u'v got here .....waiting for more update

Hi...I just updated. I will update again tomorrow morning.

Chapter 6

The sun was scorching hot as they searched the ins and outs of the motor-park. They showed people the pictures Ngozi had mistakenly taken, but no one knew his whereabouts. Mr. Ade had called her phone more than a dozen times since they left the house, and as she saw his incoming call again, she muted it. There was nothing she had to tell the man and hearing the hopes in his voice and not being able to help hurt her soul.

When it started getting dark, the search party returned to the where they had parked the car next to a hotel. They all looked exhausted and disappointed. Ngozi thought of the fact that the day was over and she hadn’t been able to do what she was sent to Ibadan to do. She didn’t even know what to do next as she sat in the big black Mercedes Benz. Her reflexion in the car rearview mirror showed a tired face, badly affected by the harsh harmattan weather. Rabiu, the teenage driver said something to Gloria in Yoruba and started the car.
“We will try again tomorrow.” Gloria said after a long sigh. “I’ll prepare a room for you at our place.”
“No. Don’t worry. I made plans already.” Ngozi said sharply. “I’ll be staying with a friend at University of Ibadan.” She added.
“Oh! That’s not too far from the house. We can drop you off on our way home.”
“Okay.”

………………..

The Benz came to a halt at the University of Ibadan gate around 7:15pm. They concluded plans on where they would meet the next day and she waved at them before walking into the University. When she felt they were out of sight, she turned around and started heading back out. While outside the school premises, she walked over the ATM gallery she had seen earlier as they approached the school. It was just beside the school wall. Ten Automated Teller Machines, all working, and there was still long queues at each on one of them.

She withdrew ten thousand Naira and slipped it into her laptop bag which had now started feeling like a bag filled with heavy rocks. She walked to an intersection a few meters to the right of the ATM gallery, contemplating her next move. Her boss had advised her to appear as attractive as possible on this trip. Now she was regretting listening to him, as she felt awkward looking for a hotel room alone, dressed in her overly sexy red gown and black pumps. She pressed the side of her phone, and the display screen showed it was 19:30. On impulse, she waved down a bike man. He zoomed pass her, slowed down, turned around and headed back towards her.
“Where?” The shabbily dressed man shouted out.
“Iwo road.” She said.

………………..

Although it was a very risky thing to do, she just felt a strong urge to go back to Lagos that night. Ngozi didn’t care if she lost her job, she just wanted all these to be over, and having to wake up in her beloved bed, with her giant teddy bear beside her.

It was 8:20 p.m and the bus she was seated in still had two vacant seats. She bought a cold bottle Team drink from the lady that had been making noise in her ear since she sat in the bus. She thought that would make her go away, but the lady went and brought another bucket of biscuits and kept asking her to buy. Ngozi was about losing her patience when a couple appeared. They took up the vacant seats and the bus driver started collecting money for the trip. The cost was a thousand Naira, so there was little problem of getting change for the passengers. In no time, he was done with it and driving out of the bus terminus.

Ngozi breathed a sigh of relief and took a sip from her lemon drink. Just when she was about to settle down and take a nap, she saw something outside the window that caught her attention. Underneath the giant electronic Billboard she had been admiring earlier in the day was a bunch of homeless people sleeping on the grass. One of them slowly lifted up his head. Ngozi cursed underneath her breath before shouting out, “Please stop the bus!”

[quote author=trevolady post=52527077][/quote]Thank you.

Bj5all:
[b]This is one of the reasons i don't read stories on nairaland, [/b]i have plenty abandoned stories that the writer will never finish. I pray this one is not one of them

I was in a motorcycle accident two nights ago. My face is all messed up as I type this...I look like Kanye West after his car accident in 2003. Anyway, I just want people to know it wasn't my intentions to abandon this story. I am feeling a bit better now, and I am home, so I might start posting. I can't promise much though, but I appreciate you guys. Thanks for reading my story.

Ikdbabie:
alright no problem.

I just posted a new chapter. I am going to post another chapter before the day runs out.

empress101:
no update til tmoro??

Tomorrow is here.

Chapter 5

The thin lady came into room searching Ngozi’s eyes for answers, but Ngozi was as clueless as she was. She walked over to them and collected the tab from the old man’s outstretched hand. Her face went from an expression of fear, to that of cluelessness, and then her eyes popped out. “Oh my God!” She said out loud as she studied the pictures on the iPad. “Where did you take these pictures?”
Ngozi looked from the lady to the old man, wondering what was going on. “I…It was actually a mistake. I had actually just dropped from the bus at Iwo Road...”
“When was that? What time?”
“I don’t know…probably like mid day.” She said and the lady kept staring at the pictures and occasionally glancing at Ngozi with a quizzical look on her face.

The old man had stopped shaking now, and a smile was on his face as he nodded his head. A ringing phone broke the silence in the room, and the man pulled it out of his pocket. He looked at the screen for a second and then said, “Video call from Tunde.”
“Come, let’s go outside.” The lady said to Ngozi and the two women walked out of the room, giving the man privacy to answer his call. They stood close to the four metal bars that held up a water tank beside the man house. She studied the pictures a while longer in silence before handing the tab over to Ngozi. “You have to take us to the exact spot you took this pictures right away.”
Looking lost, Ngozi said, “Please, can you tell me what’s going on?”
“The…the man in the picture with you is Wole.” She said and studied Ngozi for a while before adding. “That’s his room we just came out from. He is Mr. Ade’s first son.”
“What!!?”
“Yes. He disappeared about two years ago. On Christmas day”
“But…I did a lot of research on Mr. Ade, and nothing came up about a missing son.”
“That’s because few people know that Wole is his son.”
Just then, the old man came out of the house with his phone in hand, “My son wants to speak with you.” He said and handed the phone to Ngozi. She was wondering why the man would think she would want to speak with someone she didn’t even know. Staring back at her was an extremely good looking man with a black tuxedo on. From his background, she concluded he was probably in an expensive hotel room.
“Hi…my dad said you found my brother.” The young man said.
“Hmm! Well, let’s just say I stumbled upon me.”
“Oh, my, I can’t believe this. Are you on Whatsapp?”
“Yes.”
“Great. You can get my number from my Dad’s phone after this call and send me those pictures. I need to see for myself.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just so excited. My name is Tunde, what’s yours?”
“Ngozi.”
“Okay. I got to get back to this wedding I am actually the best man…” He was saying and was distracted by a knock at the door. He looked back for a second like he was contemplating answering the door, then looked back into the screen. “Nice talking to you pretty woman.” He said with a smile.
“Ngozi.” She said.
“Yea. I forgot. Ngozi, don’t forget to hit me up on Whatsapp.”
“Okay.”
“Can you please give my Dad back the phone? Thanks for everything.”
“Okay.” Ngozi said and handed the phone back to the old man, who was beaming with excitement now. He hurriedly walked back into the room and she faced the thin and tall lady and asked, “Ma, I want to understand something…”
“What?”
“I don’t know how to say this, but, was…was Wole mentally ill before he disappeared?”
She was silent for a second before answering with, “Yes. He had a mental illness that could be managed with pills.”
“Okay. I was wondering why you all don’t seem to be too shocked seeing him the way he is”
“We are just happy he is alive. Come on let us go and get the car ready.” The lady said and pulled Ngozi along towards the front of the house.

Ikdbabie:
Still waiting for the update.

Oops! Sorry. So many guests and distractions this season. I will start posting more often after today.

Ikdbabie:
Gosh. Why do you have to stop there?. Please continue. Because suspense is my enemy.

Okay. I will post later today.

Chapter 4

The thin and tall lady let her into the compound. Judging from her look, Ngozi could tell she was in her late twenties. When they had spoken on the phone, she sounded a lot polished and Ngozi wasn’t expecting to meet a plain looking lady in Ankara dress with no earrings on. They walked to the back of a duplex, and the lady led her into a boys quarters. Ngozi stopped in her strides for a second when she saw him, but when she noticed the lady didn’t look shocked, she walked into the room.


In the center of the room was the man; sitting directly underneath a ceiling fan which was off, wearing just trousers of a Yoruba native wear, with nothing covering his upper body. Apart from the rug on the floor and the two other chairs opposite him, the room was empty. Another thing that felt odd to her was the fact that the expressionless look on his face didn’t change when she greeted him. Without saying anything, the lady left Ngozi in the room with him.


She felt really awkward, standing there in the silent room, clutching her laptop while the man occasionally fanned himself with a News Paper. “How old are you?” He finally said without looking up at her.
“24. I’m 24, sir.” Ngozi said and Moved slowly into his view. He waved the news paper in his hand at the cane chair opposite him and Ngozi walked over to take the seat. She was seated facing him now, thinking of how to start the interview. The man looked like someone that must have been muscular in his youths as flabby flesh was here and there around his arms and his stomach area. He had a lot more grey hair than black hair and it made his afro look unattractive.

Her stomach made a growling sound as she went through her laptop bag. She had a rule of never eating before long trips, but she thought she would have been done with the interview before noon. It was 1pm and the interview hadn’t even started.

The man didn’t look like someone that wanted to talk at all and she wondered why he had agreed to be interviewed. She pulled out her iPad and went to the mock shots the graphic arts guy at the office had made of how the interview would look in the magazine.

“Sir, you can take a look at how…” She was saying as she got off her seat and walked towards him. “This is how the story would look in the magazine when we are done.” She said with a smile as she handed the tab to the man. He collected it and nodded his head as he inspected the colorful magazine layout. Then he pressed the back button on the iPad and was about to hand it back to Ngozi when he froze. He tapped the screen of the tab and she walked over to his back to get a clearer view of what had caught his attention. “Oops! Sorry. I thought I deleted that.” Ngozi said and stretched out her hand to collect the tab but she noticed the man was shaking all over now. “Are you alright?” She said with worry in her eyes. She walked around to his front and the man looked her in the eye for the first time before shouting, “GLORIA!!!”

Chapter 3

The journey that was meant to take not more than two hours had taken 4 hours. Apparently, a lot of people were still traveling to their villages for Christmas and majority have to go through the Lagos-Ibadan Expressway to get to wherever other part of the country they were headed. Ngozi stretched as she got out of the space wagon at a very busy place called Iwo Road. Susan had advised her to take a motorcycle ride straight to the man’s house to make her trip faster. She yawned and looked around as people came and went. It was almost like she was still in Lagos. The only difference she noticed was the dozens of little white cars all over the place used as cabs.

There was a really big electronic Billboard in the middle of the highway showing a Milk commercial over and over. The little girl in it brought a smile to Ngozi’s face as she crossed the road. The white colored cabs parked side by side and their drivers had their heads out the car window, shouting the different locations they were headed. She clutched unto her laptop bag as she took in it all, moving here and there as she got out of people’s way.

She brought her iPad and positioned it up in the air to take a selfie. The little box like cabs behind her looked like Lego blocks in the background, and they served for a great artistic background for petite looking Ngozi in a red dress. Just as she was about to take the picture, she felt someone’s presence behind her. With her hand still up in the air holding up her phone, she turned around and almost screamed when she was face to face with a madman.

The fear that traveled through her body made her press down on the phone and it took multiple shots; capturing her facial expression of fear and that of the smile on the face of the mentally ill man in rags.

She took a few steps back and the man stood there smiling at her. His hair was in thick dreads, and the rags he had on barely covered half of his tall lanky body. Ngozi looked around and saw no one had really noticed what just happened. She took a deep breath, turned around, and slowly walked away, looking back every now and then, praying silently the man didn’t decide to follow her.

NikitaNike:
I want more of ur tori....2x

Tomorrow morning.

Chapter 2

December 24th, 2016

Ngozi was excited when she got a bank alert on her phone early the next day. She had never gone out of town to conduct an interview before, but she didn’t expect she would be getting twenty-five thousand Naira for the job that was going to take just one day. That was actually a quarter of her monthly salary. It made her feel a lot better about working on Christmas Eve.

She was in a blue Space Wagon at Oshodi bus terminus, waiting for the vehicle to get filled up. The driver kept looking at her and trying to spark up a conversation. She was used to the effect her beauty had on men. ‘You are like Kim Kardashian without the curves.’ Her friend Susan used to always tell her. Today, she was wearing a red gown, and it really complemented her light skin complexion.

Ngozi kept checking her phone screen clock every minute and doing mental calculations of how long it would take to get to Ibadan, do the interview and travel back to Lagos. Her friend Susan who had attended the University of Ibadan had told her it would take her about an hour and forty-five minutes to get to Ibadan if there was no traffic on the road, and she couldn’t just wait till her trip started.
At exactly 8:08 am, the last passenger got into the space wagon, and after a few modalities, the journey began.

……….

Ngozi was seated at the front passenger seat with another lady and she enjoyed how the fresh breeze hit her face as they sped along the express way. She was carrying out more research on Mr. Ade. He was a very famous billionaire philanthropist till he disappeared from the business scene two years ago. All his businesses had almost gone under in that short while and people wondered what happened to the Lion of Ibadan has he was fondly called. Ngozi’s job was to get that out of him.

This was the first interview he was granting in years and people at the office still wondered why he had chosen to be interviewed by them instead of a bigger media house. She thought of what her boss was going to tell her about the man yesterday and many thoughts ran through her mind. Could it be that the man liked younger ladies…or maybe he had a daughter that died and he had a soft spot for females her age? Ngozi sighed, put her phone in her bag and leaned back in her seat.

Chapter 2 coming this night.

An Unusual Christmas in Ibadan

By

Kayode Odusanya

Chapter 1

She held her breath before opening the door and rehearsed the lie she planned to tell in her head. Even though she had entered this office many times, the painting of the goat-head on the wall behind where her boss sat still freaked her out. There were rumors around the office that the man had recently joined the Illuminati. “Yes!” An old man with square shaped glasses barked-out from where he sat. “Oh! It’s you.” He added as he smiled up at Ngozi. His smile made the long horizontal tribal marks on his face more visible.

“Sir…” Ngozi said and moved a few steps closer to the old looking desk her boss was behind. She coughed before saying, “I usually get really sick when I travel long distance.”
“Come on! Ibadan is less than two hours from Lagos.” He said and he removed his glasses. “Ngozi, you should be glad you are getting this. Do you know who he is?”
“Yes sir, but…”
“Look, this really means a lot for us. Magazines don’t sell like they use to, but this will guarantee we stay in business for at least another year. “The phone on his table started to ring and he quickly picked it up.

Petite looking Ngozi stood there, thinking of her next lie as she fiddled with the wrists buttons of the blue denim top she had on. She shifted from one foot to the other and almost lost her balance. She placed her hands in the back-pockets of the blue jeans she had on and wiggled her toes here and there in the high heels she had on.

It was two days to Christmas and her boss was asking her to go out of town for an interview. Her mind went back to six months ago when she was jobless and frustrated with life for having to depend on her parents for everything till she met Mr. Ojo at a friend’s house and found out he was looking for an investigative journalist.

Ngozi straightened up when he noticed her boss had ended the phone call. He slowly put the phone back on the table before looking up at her as he rubbed his brow.
“Okay sir. I will go tomorrow morning.” She finally said.
“Great!” He said; sounding really excited. “I am sending you because people warm up to you well and the man…” He was saying and stopped himself. “It’s a 2 hour journey; if you leave pretty early tomorrow, you can be back in Lagos by evening.”
“Yes sir.”
“Ngozi.” He said with a low tone. “We are counting on you.
“I’ll do my best sir.”
As she walked back to her cubicle, she kept wondering what her boss was going to say about the man before he had quickly changed the topic.

This is a short story, but I have written the story in chapters for my own convenience. There will be ten short chapters in total.