₦airaland Forum

freshyoladipupo:
very funny piece u have there

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Lol. Thanks

mitchelljnr:
Truly hilarious

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Lol, yes and what a MESS-age sent out to her, funny the doctor couldn't stomach it with all her years of experience. Lol

It was my stomach.

This infernally sensitive pouch in my midriff.

That tormented me.

Since my last two days in Paris, my flight to Toronto and the days since then.

It wasn't the sharp pain, or the hideous roaring and grumbling.

It was the gas.

Which had progressively gotten worse.

That invisible hideously noxious whispering.

So silent.

You unconsciously opened yourself to it without condemnation or protection.

Until it hits you with all its infamy.

And your life flashed right before your eyes.

Even I the whisperer was taken aback by the misleading nature of its quiet innocence.

So it was I had to go to the doctor to complain.

"... maybe it is something you ate in Africa."

"I was fine when I left Lagos. It started in Paris."

"Paris? Hmmm. What kind of food did you eat?"

"The normal European fare and some African food."

"It must have been the African food."

"I eat African food and the gas has never been this bad."

"How bad is it?"

"Very bad."

"How bad is very bad?"

"Very, very bad. Like Unbelievably inhumanely putrifying bad."

"Can you give an example to help me understand what you are dealing with?"

"There are no words to describe it."

"You are a writer Jude, words are not your problem. Try..."

I let it go.

A sweet relaxation.

Noiseless.

Soothing relief.

The doctor continued.

"... use something that relates to the sense of smell like it smells like an open drain, a dead decaying rat, a broken sewer. I am being dramatic here, forgive me. I know it can't be that bad..."

Then she stopped.

Her head turned left and then right.

Her nose cringed.

I watched.

She spoke.

"What is that?"

"What?"

"That smell. Oh my god!"

It came out peppered with horror.

Both of her hands flew to her face and cupped her mouth and nose as she rose up and continued speaking.

Her voice coming out muffled.

"Did you just fart?"

I nodded.

"What the hell!"

"That is the smell I was talking about."

"I told you to describe it not to fart."

"There was no way to describe it, I had to get you to smell it yourself."

"Get out! Please, get out of my office!"

Her muffled cries seeped from her enclosed mouth as she hurried out of the office.

Her steps short but fast as her tight skirt restrained her, so much so, she waddled.

I kept sitting there.

Whispering.

Noxiously.

As I finally remembered my friend in Paris telling me -

"Jude, you have to be careful with this soup o. I don't know if my experiment will work. I couldn't get the right leaf from Naija so I used this leaf that they showed me at the farmers market in the next village. They usually eat it raw as salads, but the farmer said it can be cooked, even though he has never tried it before..."

Toronto.

From Mr. Jude's collections

mismore:
Wow, this is a very nice piece.
So touching and educative!
kudos!!!

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Thanks

Chevronstaff:
Being left handed is so tough in a world full of RIGHTeous people

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RIGHTly said and I'll give you a big HAND for the pun.
However, I'll advise you should be openHANDed and continue to act RIGHT, so you don't feel LEFT out.

And she said.

Beauty and brains.

Over the telephone.

From Abuja.

"Jude, I am tired of waiting. I mean I have done so well for myself. Great job with a fantastic salary. A personal business I run at the side that even makes nearly as much as I earn working for this multinational. I have six properties. My health is excellent. I am at peace with my God and my family. Why will my not yet having a husband give me heartache?"

I listened.

"All I want now is a man with a good heart, good brains and good genes to give me a child thats all. He doesn't have to be involved in the child's life. I can even pay him off after the deed is done and never set my eyes on him again."

"You could go to a sperm bank for that and conceive via IVF."

"I thought of that, but no, that is too artificial. I want the good energy that comes with conceiving a baby naturally. If my child will not have the good fortune of being raised by a father, the most I can give the child is actually have a penis do the insemination and not some cold glass test tube. I hear it makes a lot of difference in the spiritual foundation of the child. That moment when there is a spark of life in fertilisation is the moment of imprint of the father in the life of that child forever. That moment when the Father is still in the mother and the sperm and ovum meet and join together is a holy union that sets everything on the right path. It is a recreation of creation. Let there be light. I want that for my child."

"And the father has no say?"

"Well he can submit two names before he vanishes. One if a boy comes out, and the other if a girl."

"And if he doesn't want to vanish?"

"Well he can be there, but he cannot claim to be the father and want equal rghts or any rights over the child. He will sign an NDA. He can simply watch from afar."

"Is this if you pay him off?"

"Yes."

"And if you don't?"

"Then he needs to understand that I do not want to saddle my child with the idea of an absentee father, who does not want to engage in the life of his child. I do not want that negative spirit of callousness and irresponsibility around my child. It is better the child knows that I had them because I wanted them, and I got a man to get them, but not to father them. So that right from the onset there is no emotional baggage to deal with. Instead of the feeling of abandonment that comes with knowing that the man who conceived you dumped your mother and you like thrash because he didn't want you or her or both of you. Simple, mommy wanted to have a baby so bad, wanted to shower all her love and attention on a child that came from her own womb, so she got a man, paid him or explained what she desired, and he was openminded and generous enough to help out and we had sex, beautiful sex and conceived you. He went on his way, knowing that he didn't have to do anything more, and mommy is here to always be both parents for you. Finito."

"And what does he get out of it?"

"He can get paid."

"I mean if he does it not for money?"

'That is for him to answer. Why do I want to help........ get a baby since I am not willing to get paid for it?"

Silence.

She continued.

"Jude, you have to ask yourself that truly. Because I know you won't do it for money."

Shocked.

"Me?"

"Yes. You. Why would you help me have a child?"

"I never said I was..."

"I never asked you but now I am asking you to help me. You are a perfect fit for what I want. And then you are my friend. And I also know that if you give your word that you won't barge into our lives, you will keep to it. Please can you help me. I can fly to Toronto. Spend three months if that is how long it takes. You are a charitable man. A giving soul. You live to make people happy. You work to give. Please give my life a meaning. Help me have a child."

Silence.

I spoke.

"Why didn't you ask me all the while I was in Nigeria?"

"I wanted you to leave all the backward thinking in Nigeria and return to a place where people are mentally and socially evolved. I wanted you to go back to a place where the heart and mind are alive. And where there is compassion, love and true charity. What I ask of you now is normal in Canada, but it is taboo here in Nigeria."

"And when you show up at work unmarried, pregnant, no father?"

"You see what I am saying. You are thinking of my well being. Showing compassion."

"I am trying to make sense of it."

"Don't worry about me. I can deal with whatever society throws at me as long as I am happy and I have what I desire. It is you I want to be at peace with the knowledge of helping me and having no part in the life you helped bring into the world."

Silence.

She continued.

"I know this is not the first time you have been asked to do this. I know you said no before. And I want to believe it was because you were young and still idealistic, but now Jude, you know the world and the unfairness that is in it. You know it is not black or white but very grey. You also know I will make a wonderful mother. Help me."

"Why don't you adopt?"

"I know me. I need the connection of blood to let loose the awesomeness of my love. I am just being truthful to myself. I will adopt later on, but for now, I need my own and I am tired of waiting for a man to love me enought to marry me, and then for him to then want to build a family with me. Why do I have to keep my life on hold and give the key of my happiness to some man who doesn't even yet exist in my reality. Why can't I just take charge and make a success of motherhood as I have made a success of every other thing I have put my hand to?"

Silence.

"Jude, you are openminded enough to understand that the world has changed and in this new world, we all have the power to create the life we want for ourselves. Please lets do this together. Just think of it. You are not yet married, at this rate, you just might not get married. But wouldn't it be fabulous to know that you did bring a child into this world and your genes and your briliance and your talent would stand a chance of being carried on from generation to generation. I am giving you a chance to propagate yourself without worrying about the burdens of fatherhood and if somehow along the road you desire to have come into the child's life, we can sit down and talk it over and decide the best way to introduce you into our lives. You and I have all it takes, let us not waste time waiting for others who may never come"

Silence.

Toronto.

From Mr. Jude's collections

And we chatted.

Me here.

He there.

"... I won't ever forgive you o if you don't show for my wedding. Make I remind you again. September. Asaba Trad. Lagos. White. Colours . Azure. 15k for cap."

"But why you go vex if I no show, when I no vex for you when you no show for any of my invites?"

"Which invites?"

"My plays. Sankara for Felabration
No show. 3some at Freedom Park. No show. Sankara at Museum. No show..."

"Haba, you dey compare my wedding to common play?"

"Well for me to come from Canada in September na money I go take buy ticket."

"Money, no be your problem na. A whole bigger boy. Dollar is talking."

"Well na my common play dey give me the dollar na. But sha since all the invites I send you to show for my common play na free ones, I promise you if you send me flight ticket for your wedding, I swear I go show."

"Jude, you don change o."

"Na so we see am. Foolishness get lifespan."

Toronto.

From Mr. Jude's collections

And I am spending the day with my mom.

We are waiting for a call from Nigeria.

She is righteously furious and hell bent on having her way.

It is about an ardous verification process.

Multiple stages.

On multiple platforms.

Designed to fail.

But she has refused the benefit of failure.

It is about her pension.

She grits her teeth and her words come out with a hiss.

"It is my hardwork. No one will cheat me and take it."

She doesn't have amnesia.

She continues.

"They deducted money from my salary for over 35 years and now they have to pay up, they are trying to pay tricks. Even my car loan, 15 years after I finished paying it back, they were still deducting from my salary until I caught them and they stopped."

"Mummy its okay."

"No its not. Imagine that small boy at the pension office telling me over the phone - mama you are in the abroad na, chopping life. What do you need pension for. Naira that has no value when dollar is plenty there. Leave the pension for us here let us be using to manage. Hmmm, he is lucky I did not swear on him with this my grey hair."

"Don't worry. They will pay up."

"I will worry. What they did to me before they will not do to me again. Over my dead body. 2012 they stole my N1.5million arrears in pension. I went there and saw with my own eyes that someone had signed for me and collected it. This was when dollar was less than N100. So that is more than $15,000 dollars someone just stole like that. They told me to pay N10,000 to investigate. Until today not a kobo did I get."

"Mummy relax. It is in the past."

"Look at Jude o. I will not relax. This people are not human beings. Weren't you there when they caught the boy at the pensions office that had been collecting my pension for over five years. Using my money to bleach, wearing gold teeth and gold jewelry. Calling himself Alhaji. You saw him kneeling down and begging me. Saying it was the Devil. Did he give me back one kobo? No."

Then there was silence.

Before she sighed in wonderment.

"How can a person just sit there and be a thief of other people's sweat? Those local government people are born criminals. Worse than even their fellow thieves in Abuja. They will see something today."

"Mommy don't stress yourself. They have automated it to stop all these thieves from cannibalising the process for their own benefits."

"If they like they should be cannibals, let them not just come near my money. You don't know them. It is all yahoo yahoo. They have brought this complicated process to make sure some of us old people give up and walk away. Android phone, web cam, finger print machine, ten digit passcode, 6 digits alpanumeric password, this and that. How many old people even have cell phone talk more of finger print machine. It is designed to fail so they can continue chopping."

"But mommy this one has a finger print and photo grabbed via internet, no one can impersonate you."

She laughs.

"Ah this your 7 months you spent in Nigeria did not teach you anything. You are doing suegbe. Look how will they know the fingerprint is fake or the photo they take is my own?"

"It is foolproof, they..."

"It is only foolproof to fools. If you don't have my real photo and real fingerprints in a database, how can you crosscheck it with whatever nonsense is presented? If they could submit fake signature which couldn't be crosschecked with a real signature, why can't they do the same thing with a fake fingerprint?"

"It is not that easy, mommy."

"It is. All they need to do is send this call out. All pensioners come out. They stress us out. Wait for call. Bring your this. Buy that. Book an appointment. Postpone the appointment. Fill this. Submit that. Buy this thing. Wait for another call. Record this. Jump up. Lie down. Remember this. Why didn't you remember that? On and on. They make most of us, especially the ones abroad give up. Then they jejely supply the fingerprints and photos of their own old relatives in place of ours and the thieving continues. Look techonology is also common sense.
All this grey hair you see is not a sign of stupidity."

Toronto.

From Mr. Jude's collections

Hauwa sat with her mother outside the hut. Her sister was cradled in her mother’s arms. She had just finished suckling. The air in the village was calm. There was no moon to peer at.

Her father had gone into his own hut to rest after a hard day on the farm. Baba, had not been happy lately. She had heard him shout at the damage to his crops. He, came in with a sad face all the time.

She did not like it when Baba was not happy. He would not throw her up and call her pet names. She would not be able to eat from his food. Her brother, Danjuma would tell her to leave him alone.

Mama, was also feeling the strain on the farm. She was not as happy as she used to be. The whole village felt different. She wanted the joy that used to inhabit their community. Young as she was, it touched her.

Mama said to go inside. It was late. They put off the lamps and went in.

At some point she woke up and felt like peeing. She did not want to wet herself. Baba would reprimand her. She opened the door quietly to go to the “bayi”.

She was there when she heard the noises. She saw men attacking the village with cutlass and arrows. She heard cries. She heard gunshots. She heard pleas for mercy. She hid in the corner. Someone pushed the door open. Peered inside and went off.

She waited there afraid and confused till the day broke. There was a smell that came through. Burning and putrid. She made her way through what was littered with corpses.

People were huddled. Someone recognised her and swept her up. It was Aunty Aisha from the next village. She started to cry from relief and fear.

They were packing things to go to a shelter. She did not see Baba, Danjuma, Mama and Hadiza. She started to cry again. The women wailed loudly. The men swore vengeance.

She saw people being brought out with gashes on their torsos. She saw one that looked like her mama, with a slit through her body. She saw the lifeless body of Hadiza with her head twisted.

She had become an orphan. She did not know why. Her life had taken a new shape at an early age. The madness had twisted her life.

The papers would report the next day that 16 people had been killed in her village from an attack. No one would mention her name as a survivor, the beauty of mama’s laughter, the joy Danjuma took from playing in the fields. Baba was just a number.

Politicians would debate the $1b release from the safety of their abodes. There wouldn’t be an enquiry. It would be mass burial for those that died. It would be sources of arguments on social media.

The way we are!

From Akeju's collections

A pint cannot hold a quart; if it holds a pint, it's doing the best it can.

My friend should be called - The Angel of Paris.

Never have I seen a being created by God so generous of self, spirit, love and resources.

And then to behold how blessed she is with a wondrously loving family and incredibly smart and well behaved kids was something heartwarming.

It made you say.

'Sometimes life gets it right. It judiciously rewards the deserving."

So she picks me up from the airport at 6am in the morning.

Takes me to the hostel fusing that I should have stayed at her house.

Then she takes my two 'yuge' boxes to her house while leaving my carry on with fresh change of clothes and toiletries, insisting it was safer that way.

Then she sends an Uber to pick me up and drop me off after a sumptuous dinner at her home.

Where I first met her Filipino maid and Portuguese caretaker and groundskeeper.

Before I met her incredibly intelligent and passionate husband and her marvelously precocious daughter.

After they returned from riding their bicycles around the neighborhood.

Father and daughter bonding.

Then we sat down and ate a delicious dinner prepared fullheartedly and solely by friend.

Her maid simply looked on.

Jollof rice, Dodo, roasted chickens, peppered stew filled with orishirishi, watermelons and orange juice.

After we ate.

We chatted.

And I found out that her daughter had read my book - Didi kanu and the Singing Dwarfs of the North.

I had autographed a copy and sent to her 2 years ago.

And she had read it 4 times.

She quoted copiously from the book.

Asked me the most incisive and intelligent questions about the book and my writing in general that simply left me in awe.

To watch my friend and her husband look at their daughter with such pride.

In their silence you could hear their thoughts gush out pleasantly.

Saying.

"We did well. Thank you Father for giving us the wisdom, patience, love and diligence to have raised her right."

It was pure bliss.

And then her daughter said she wants to be an actor.

And I asked her to read an excerpt from my book with a British accent and then a Nigerian accent.

She bravely did so.

Splendidly.

And as her words fell on my mesmerized ears.

I fell in love with her.

Over and over again.

She is nine years old and already has a library.

Of books her parents encourage her to read.

At the end of her reading her mother said to her.

"Okay hon. Its time for bed."

Her daughter stood up and walked to her dad.

"Goodnight Daddy, I love you."

Hugs.

Kisses.

"I love you too............ Sleep well."

She went to my friend.

Hugs.

Kisses.

"Goodnight mama. I love you."

"I love you too Darling. Set your alarm for 6.45am."

"Yes mama."

And she turned to me.

"Goodnight Uncle Jude. Thanks for writing such a beautiful book. When you make it into a film, because it will make a fantastic film, please remember that I want to play Didi Kanu."

"Goodnight ...... I'll remember that."

"Yayyyyy!!!"

And she ran off, book in hand.

I turned to her parents.

Both smiling broadly.

And just as we were about to speak, her daugjter returned.

"So sorry but I forgot to ask one question."

She opened the book to the foreword page and read the words I had written.

"May we dream, dreams and may all our dreams not come true."

Then she looked up at me and asked.

"Was that a typo?"

"No."

"Why shouldn't our dreams not come true?"

"You have nightmares?"

"Yes I do."

"Are nightmares dreams?"

Her eyes brightened.

And she laughed.

"Now I get it. You are such a brilliant writer Uncle Jude. okay now this is a real good night. Good night everyone."

And she skipped away.

Great children are not born, they are diligently raised in love, with love and by love.

I am a witness.

Paris.

Over the weekend I took my entire family to a photo studio in Lagos.
The photographer shocked me with these words
"Sir, we can SHOOT your wife and FRAME your mother-in law, if you want we can HANG them too".

I shook my head and said "NEGATIVE Mr. Jude, FOCUS on the bigger PICTURE, you must CAPTURE my father-in law as well"

Lol

And my friend sent an Uber to pick me up to have dinner with her and family.

She lives out in the suburbs.

A village.

The Uber driver was bliss.

His name is Hassan.

From Morocco.

A doctor.

He works as an anesthesiologist.

In Paris.

And drives Uber during his time off to make some extra money.

He is single but sends most of his money back to Morocco.

To take care of his parents and his four siblings.

Accommodation, feeding, health and education.

He said.

“When I go back home, I see my younger brothers and sisters living good life. I am very happy that my money is helping. But my brother, the one after me, immediately, he don’t want to work. He sit smoke Shisha and eating. With friends. laughing. looking at girls, morning to night on road. He drives nice car. Which I buy for him by the way. I tell him. Go get work. He tell me. Government of Morocco is bad. No jobs. I say. Drive Uber. He say. Me drive Uber. Are you crazy? Everybody will laugh at me. I tell him. I drive Uber to send you money. He say. Ahhh you are doctor. You are in Paris. You drive Uber. They call you hardworking. Me. I live good here already. I drive Uber here. They say I am crazy. They say I am shit. No. You work. Send money. We live good. All is for your honour. They look at us as rich family in Morocco. They look at you as big man. But if we work bad jobs here while you are doctor in Paris. They look at you as bad man. They laugh at you. They say you no good to your family. So you see why I no drive Uber or do bad jobs? It is for you. Because I love you.”

I laugh.

He looks at me through the rearview mirror.

“Is like that in Nigeria? In Lagos?”

I nod.

He shrugs.

Sighs.

And says.

“Africa people want to live life that is bigger than their pocket. They always think about what people think. They think only office work is good. Money don't care. Money makes things happen. It don't ask you, how you make me? Tell me before I agree you spend me. But Africa. They don't think like that. They go to farm to harvest when they know they did not plant nothing. It’s crazy. They have big heart but small brain.”

Paris.


From Mr. Jude's collections

Yesterday I met a ravishingly beautiful lady who Love found under the over populated metal gazebo known as the Maryland bus stop in Lagos.

It was raining.

And Love was driving.

From the myriad of wet faces that stared out into the car filled and rain beaten street, Love picked her out and offered her a ride.

She was running late for a job interview, and it was two o'clock in the afternoon.

So she threw caution to the wind and accepted the lift.

Love dropped her in front of the six-floor building of a bank on Allen Avenue in Ikeja where the interview was to take place.

And after the hour and a half of hell, which the interview was, Love was waiting for her.

Love was parked in one of the parking spaces in front of the bank.

She was surprised that Love had been waiting for her and even stupefied when love asked...

"How did the interview go?"

"Horrible."

"Maybe the job is not meant for you?"

"I should have been better prepared. I am madder at myself than the man who was so mean to me."

"Do you want to feel better?"

"A job is what I want."

"How about I give you a job."

"As what?"

"A co-traveller."

"Co-traveller?"

"Yes on a tour of Europe."

She went silent as she stared at Love.

Love had a well-cut gathering of grey hair and was cleanly shaven. A slender well-toned body hid inside the black jeans and white polo shirt that hung so beautifully In front of her.

Seriousness and good intentions oozed out of the smiling iridescent eyes of Love. She could feel the good intentions rush towards her like a fast running tsunami. She wanted to flee but she couldn't, so it swarmed over her. And when she surfaced for air, all she could whisper was...

"I don't have a passport."

"Do you want to be my co-traveller?"

There was no fear neither was there confusion. Just a feeling that said to her in the innermost vaults of her being that right at that moment she was right where she was meant to be, and at that place, her destiny was unfolding.

So she nodded.

It was imperceptible.

Love reached out for her hand and led her back to the car.

And in a week.

She had become a co-traveller.

It was just the beginning.

The world became her oyster.

As she traversed country after country with Love.

She watched Love give to others and volunteer his time, money and knowledge to others without asking for anything in return.

No expectation.

It was a marvel to behold Love in action.

And Love enraptured her through the works of his hands.

It was a time of wonder and laughter. Joy like she never knew existed. Peace like she had never felt before.

So much so that she flourished outwardly and bloomed inwardly.

Yet Love never asked for anything else from her but her company and her words and her silence and her laughter.

Love puzzled her and intrigued her.

Because Love would always get a different room for her.

Love would hug her and hold hands with her.

Love would clean the edge of her lips when a speck appeared and massaged her feet after their impossibly long walks.

And would always ask her in Love's smooth baritone that rushed over her ear drums like a calm evening breeze...

"Is there anything that you need?"

She had grown tired of telling Love what else she needed since Love had met all her needs save one...

And apart from that one need unmet, were those needs met that spanned from completing her parent's house in Satellite Town right to paying for her sibling's school fees and all that existed in between.

Love wanted her to do a master's in finance. Love wanted her to learn new languages. Love wanted her to learn to swim. Love wanted so many things for her.

But all she wanted from Love was simple.

The one need Love had not yet fulfilled.

Was to make sweet love to Love.

To unfurl and accept the wholeness of l
Love into her innermost self.

To feel Love pulsate in the nesting cavern at her molten core.

To be one with Love.

But Love would only smile and avert the luscious lips which she craved so much to graze hers anytime she attempted to kiss them.

She had fallen completely and hopelessly in love with Love.

Love was an enigma.

Love barely opened the curtains behind which Love was hiding the story of love.

She could see that Love was nothing less than fifty. She could see that Love was very cultured and educated since the five languages and the sheer breadth of topics that flew off the tongue of love paid credence to it. She could see that Love was a Christian because of the crucifix that hung on the neck of Love. She could see only what Love chose to show.

There was no mention of a family. There were no calls that came in on the passworded phone, only calls which were made out. There were no names called when Love spoke to others seen and unseen, it was always a - Dear - Sir - Ma'am - and other terms of address.

She googled and searched but came up with nothing.

It was as though Love didn't exist.

And when she asked Love...

"I know your name and your age, but I don't know you. Tell me. Who are you? Why did you choose me for this?"

Love would smile in that way that always soothed her before the words will flow...

"When the time is right, you will know me, for now, live fully in the moment."

And she waited for that moment of full revelation that love had promised.

And it arrived one clear morning in April when a knock on the door of her condominium in Ikoyi which Love had bought for her brought forth a letter from Love.

She read it.

And the last words of the letter read...

"... the doctors gave me three years before this cancer kills me. And in agreement with my wife and three children, I decided to pick one person and show true love to. A complete stranger. It was you. I don't know why I picked you but when I looked out of my car that day and saw you amongst that crowd something drew me to you. I want to believe it was God. I am glad it was you I chose. For you are so much deserving of love. I hope you see the world as it should be seen and that you will pay it forward. And I thank you so much for your time and your willingness to trust and share the best part of you with a stranger. Please live your life to the fullest and squeeze as much joy out of every day as you can because nothing is guaranteed and the worst of things happens to the best of people. Make your dreams come true by living it as though it has. Take control of your happiness and forgive yourself and others always. This is the last you are hearing from me, my dear. You will receive a transfer of money today. It is more than you will need to maintain the life you now have but it is enough to change the lives of others you come across. I go now to spend the last months of my life with my family who I love so much and I ask of you to not mourn me for my death is not about sadness for through it I have found the true meaning of being alive. It is to love sacrificially and unconditionally. To love the gift of life and share it in goodwill with others. I will not die. I am simply being promoted to a higher consciousness. Be happy always. Please do not search for me, let me go. It will be tough at the onset, but every pain subsides. Take control of your reactions each passing day, love without fear and regrets for life and it joys and pains is a school. Learn the lessons pride or shame and always remember I love you even from the hereafter..... Your, Co-traveller."

And her life stopped for months after that.

She mourned Love.

And she searched for Love.

Because she is human.

But she did not find Love.

Yet she lived each day even as Love had taught her to.

Even as she prayed and believed for a miracle.

Until one day she received another note via courier.

It was from the wife of Love.

And it read...

"... It is with deep sadness but with hearts filled with the enlightenment of love that we invite you to the funeral service of..."

She fell into a bottomless pit of sorrow. So thick was the sorrow that all she could see was darkness. A black darkness. A deep black impenetrable darkness that could only be penetrated by the light of love. The love of Love. Which pierced it like a bolt of lightning with the words.

"Remember what I told you. Grieving so deeply is for people who have no hope. For the ones who do not know that love is the map of the journey through existence. I do not die, my dear, I live. Indestructible. Just like love."

And those words saved her from falling deeper to that depth from which one can never rise out of.

The words of Love gave her the strength to attend the funeral.

And it was at the funeral and the months that followed during which she became close to the family of Love that she found out who Love truly was.

And she fell even more in love with Love in death than she had in life.

Today she lives her life as Love had shown her to.

As a true disciple of love.

Touching and changing lives.

As a stranger, an employer, a friend, a sibling, a daughter...

And even as the wife of the last son of Love with whom she had fallen in love with nineteen months after the interment of Love at the Vaults and Gardens Cemetery at Lekki and who she now sat next to, telling me her story at the Protea Hotel on Isaac John street in Ikeja.

Love had truly sown the seeds of love in her.

And that love, of Love, which Love had sown in her, glows even so much brightly today than it had that rainy afternoon in Lagos when Love had first seen her standing under the over-populated metal gazebo at Maryland bus-stop.

From Mr. Jude's collections

Some years ago, I remember vividly my wife complained about her phone which was not working well anymore due to battery 'ish' and distaste, so she was stylishly demanding for a new phone.

Each time the phone make a mess, she get sad and i always feel like getting her a new phone forthwith

I was using Q10 she was using a Techno phone, to her it's like I should have compassion on her and give her my phone. She didn't say it but the body language did.

So I decided to surprise her with a Q10 which was on her birthday.

She was so glad, she threw herself on me and I felt relieved because she was happy to the extreme.
I said to myself, at last I will have a rest of mind.

Little did I know that the phone will barely be for a while

Hmmmmmm, that phone was stolen the following day.
She almost fall sick, she locked herself up.
Initially I was not happy with the fact that the phone just disappeared just like that.
I had to squeeze myself, denied some of my personal need budgeted to get that phone.

That Night, I gave her my own Q10, I searched my wardrobe for my long abandoned small Nokia Touch light tied with rubber-band

Why did I share this?

I attended a seminar a friend invited me to about 3 days later or so. During the seminar I was making lots of calls not aware that my friend was caught with the kind of phone I was making calls with. I was receiving calls almost every minute. (He was sha staring at my Nokia touch light)

He really made jest of me, and after the seminar he told me to follow him home, that he has a surprise gift for me. On getting to his place he went in and brought out an IPhone 5s gold brand new, his Aunt had sent him an iPhone 5s while he was using iPhone 6 before the arrival of the phone. So he planned selling the iPhone 5s.
But God touched him,Miraculously he gave it to me free.
I never believed it!

When I got home I told my wife what had happened, she was so surprised and was really happy. Immediately she started taking pictures with it
You know then 5s Na big phone oo

You know what I did?

I gave her the iPhone 5s, collected back my Q10 and she was so speechless. 'She prayed sote prayer wan almost turn another thing, she prayed for me like say Na 1million I dash her'

To me, my wife must look good! She must use the very best if I have what it takes in my possession, my wife must reflect my wealth, she must be happy which is paramount.

Folks, That month I got a car.
We were presented a car

•
The secret of unlocking doors of progress. This is just one of it!

Two years ago; Nigerian football Player Victor Anichebe got a new car for his girl and the following weekend he scored 2 Goals for his club, he added another double the following weekend. Of which he had been on a goal drought for months. Am just citing another great example.

Give your wife the best because she deserves the best.. AT ALL TIMES!
You're only doing yourself a favor

What I have come to realized is that when you make your wife happy, she will go extra miles to make sure you have the world at your feet even if it will take her 'sweat and blood'

Be truthful, with one heart, love your wife, if you give her A, you will get A,B,C Learn this


From Akeju's collections

She told me with hot tears running down her cheeks that her mother came to her house fuming.

And in that anger her mother spat out these words.

"Mgbo, you are no longer opening your legs for your husband?"

"Mummy!"

"Don't mummy me."

"Did he come and tell you?"

"No o. You want the poor boy to be suffering in silence se?"

"Ah mummy it is too painful!"

"Pain kini?"

"He is too big."

"Too big? If is bigness that will kill then I would have run away from your daddy."

"Mummy don"t be..."

"Don't be what?"

"He does not even get me ready."

"And your Father gets me ready? You think it is for enjoyment that we lie on our backs? You think you are still doing boyfren and gehfren? Come on go and buy vaseline and start behaving like a married woman."

Lagos.

From Mr. Jude's collections

At the event, I went to today.

The sound went off.

Microphones dead.

Music player dead.

As we idled away while they tried to find the sound, two voluptuously proportioned, well-dressed women who were sitting on the white leather couches away from me talked with a mixture of hushed words peppered with ladylike laughter.

"Don't tell your husband I have a crush on him o."

"Am I a small girl, why will I tell him that."

"You know all you lovebirds that are forming I must tell my husband everything."

"Openness is not stupidity na. But you sha, do you seriously have a crush on him?"

"It's an innocent crush."

"Which one is innocent crush?"

"It's the kind of crush that you have from a distance. That kind of crush you know nothing will ever come from. The kind of crush you have on the person that is making your bestie happy. Like you are wishing the same happiness for yourself."

"So if my husband says you should do, you won't do?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"I will tell you first."

"You will tell me for what? Permission or you are reporting him?"

"Me I will tell you, it is left to you to decide if it is permission or reporting."

"And if I say you should do him, you will do him?"

"Yes na."

"Is a lie! You will do my husband if I say you should do him?"

"Why will you say I should do him if you don't want me to do him?"

"It is to test you na."

"Which kind of test is that? Me that I came to tell you nko, doesn't that show that I value our friendship? Why will you be toying with my emotions and playing mind games with trust? That means you don't value our friendship."

"But you said you will do my husband."

"Yes. If you ask me to. I will do him for you. It is how you support a friend. You do what they want you to do."

"But he is my husband!"

"You are my friend!"

"I can't believe you will do my husband."

"It is just to do him na. It is not like I am taking him from you."

"Ahhh. You are not a friend o."

"Is it because I am opening up to you? What is doing you?"

"You are telling me you have a crush on my husband and you want me to take it lying low?

" Don't vex me o."

"If I vex you nko?"

"Then you will see what a crush can do."

Lagos.


From Mr. Jude's collections

My friend is notoriously mean to his three daughters.

And exalts the very ground upon which his son walks.

Two of the girls are older than the boy.

The first girl is twenty.

The rest in their teens.

The girls slave on household chores.

The boy is forever playing games on his phone.

Most of the words that he flogs the girls with begin with -

"Don't you know you are girl..."

And the words that end the sentences he defends his son with are -

"... leave him alone, he is a boy."

He hits and curses out the girls on the slightest provocation.

But his patience and love for the boy is beyond human.

And when the girls bring up his favouritism, he retorts angrily.

"You have to learn to respect your brother. He is the man."

And when they attempt to argue, he cuts them shut.

"How dare you teach me how to raise my son! You think I want to raise him to be a man who will be controlled by women?"

And in between all of these is his wife.

The bread winner.

She pays for every bill.

While he starts and abandons unlimited projects and businesses.

All funded by her.

She cries in silence.

And when her daughters beg her to stand up to their father.

She says in deep sorrow.

"It is easy for you girls to say it. You are his daughters. I am his wife. You will never understand until you marry and see that this is the only way to behave if you want to keep a happy home."

When the boy refuses to wash his plates or clothes.

She says to him.

Sorrowfully.

"Please don't become like your father. My prayer is that God provides a good, quiet, hardworking and God fearing woman to marry you who can cope with this your bad behaviour."

Lagos.

From Jude's collections

chivera018:
And later one idiot will say we are lazy.




Nice post op.

.
Thanks.
By our fruits, they'll know us globally ... may the Almighty bless our hustles.

kay29000:
It's so true what she said... girls really buy books... especially second hand novels of American authors. There is one man just outside University of Ibadan gate that sells second hand novels; there is no day/time I pass there that I don't see at least 2 girls buying books from him.


I guess the books are cheap... maybe 200 Naira or so. It is good, but I have to say it affects the sales of Nigerian authors books. The girls would rather buy very cheap used foreign books than buy a new book by a Nigerian author that probably cost like 500 Naira and above.

.
Second hand foreign books right?
Reminds me of secondary school days, even uni, most of us bought our text books from such vendors.

hisgrace090:
So many Nigerians can really hustle.

.
You can say that again!

It's in our DNA, may the Almighty bless the work of our hands.

I ran into her today.

She must have been in her sixties.

Sitting stolidly behind the neatly arranged sheaf of books.

Novels.

Beneath an improvised cabana.

Along the dusty weary road.

In.

Anthony village.

I stopped the Taxify I was in, got out and walked over to her.

Impressed by the books and their titles.

"Madam I hail o."

"My son, I hail you too."

"Dis your books don enter my eye o."

"I pray e enter your pocket too."

Laughter.

"I happy as I see you dey sell dis books for outside here."

"Me I go happy pass you, if you follow me buy dem."

"I go buy na. But other people dey buy too?"

"Well well o. Plenty plenty. All dis young girls dey waka come here dey buy sometimes two, sometimes even four at a time. The boys na miss road. As no be ashawo book I dey sell, dem no dey buy. But as you come so, e kon mean say hope dey for the boys."

Laughter.

"You dey read dem before you sell dem?"

"Pesin wen dey sell coke, e dey taste am before e sell?"

Laughter.

"But tell me na, which one of these books you like pass?"

"I no know o, abeg help me buy my market."

"Tell me which one you like pass na, make I buy am."

"How I go like wetin I no dey read?"

"Why you no dey read wetin you dey sell madam?"

"Because no be everybody lucky go school."

Surprised.

"You no go school?"

"School for village na farm e be."

"Ahhh! You for go adult class na when you enter Lagos."

"No be husband go allow im wife go enter school?"

"You get pikin?"

"You be journalist?"

"No o, I just wan know you."

"Why you wan know me? Dem send you?"

"I wan tell your story."

"You go pay me money?"

"I wan tell people make dem come here come dey buy your market."

"Na so. Why you wan dey do dat one? Na zara or abi wetin?"

"Na love."

"You no get wife?"

"No be dat kain love, madam."

"Ahhh I be sisi o. If you see me wear cloth enter church na, you go dey gbaske for your trouser. Na all dis sun make me black like dis, before I be yellow funfun, all the men dey eye me, until Devil kon send my husband kon spoil my market."

Laughter.

"How come you decide to dey sell all these books wen you no fit even read them?"

"Because na di tin wen I wish say I fit do, na im I dey sell so oda pipu fit do am."

"E never late to learn how to read na."

"Abeg my pikin if you no the problem wen I carry for head, you no go tell dis my suffer head say make e fine space for book to enter. I don retire. Make God bless me for the people wen I don help to read."

"God bless you."

"Na your pocket e go use bless me o, no be your mouth."

Laughter.

"Oya, I go buy three books, but first pose make I take you pisure with your market."

Laughter.

Running.

"No video me o!... Before you go kon use am go do juju."

Lagos.

From Mr. Jude's collections

kayceerilyn:
Is Kunlesehan same person as Jude Idada?

.
No ma'am

My niece called him the god amongst gods.

The Pablo of Pablos.

This garishly looking guy we ran into at the Marco Polo Chinese restaurant in Lekki.

He was there with his posse.

Equally garishly looking.

Guys and babes.

They commandeered a large table and tried unsuccessfully to blow the roof off the building with their ostentatiously loud voices.

The waiters fluttered around them like Hot butterflies as the dim lights cast ghoulish shadows around them.

It looked like a feast of gargoyles.

My niece leaned over and whispered.

"I know that guy."

"Which one?"

"The tall slim one with the bright yellow shirt sitting in the middle."

"Who is he?"

"He finished from my school, just when I was leaving. Same department. Just five years senior to me, add law school and youth service. So say seven years. Now he is soo rich. Owns houses all over Lekki, flashy cars, record label, supermarket, pharmacy, just name them he has them."

"Banks and airlines?"

"I don't know about that one. But I won't put it past him having investments in them."

"What does he do?"

"He is a Pablo."

Flumoxxed.

"Who is a Pablo?"

"Ah Uncle Jude, you don't know who a Pablo is?"

"Forget all this - I am a stepping guy - I am trying to form. I am old. Who is a Pablo?"

Laughter.

"Okay. A Pablo is a guy who earns a living supplying party favours to private universities."

I feign confusion.

"Party favours?"

"Haba, Uncle Jude you know what those are na, stop forming clueless. You are not Uncle Jonah."

Laughter.

"Indulge me."

"Okay. You heard Olamide's song - Science Student?"

"Yes."

"Thank God."

"Ofcourse I was just kidding. I know what party favours are."

"Okay, what are they?"

"See you o. You thnk I am lying?"

"Tell me na."

"Codeine, Tramadol, crack, cocaine, heroine, meth and loud."

"You try, but there are many more than that one o. Things that will put permanent comma in your brain. Your life will constantly be in slow motion. Colours no one can see, you will see. Sounds no one can hear, you will hear."

"Have you tried it?"

"Ahh ahn, Uncle Jude. I am an Idada na."

Laughter.

"So how does he get them in? I thought you guys are all locked up in those glorified secondary schools?"

"We are universities. Thank you very much. Expensive to attend. Assured graduation in the expected time. Educated, cultured and wild."

Laughter.

"Still not as great as UI."

"All your lecturers are now at my school in the Ekiti bush. They have ported."

"Story. But seriously, how does he get them in?"

"He uses fly boys."

"Fly boys?"

"Yeap. They are special forces. Their skill is flying fence, smuggling in stuff, doing abracadabra. Magicians. Now you see, now you don't."

"So they are his couriers?'

"Yeah. Like those two there. They are fly boys at ........... The other one is an aspiriing musician on his label and his music video is on rotation right now on Hiptv and all dem dem, but he is an ex fly boy from ........ I heard he now uses him to supply "coolers and uppers" to awon celebrities?"

"Coolers and uppers?"

"Yeah. Pills that make you calm and make you hyper. You take one to hype you up before your concert or event and one to calm you down after it. It is called juicing."

"Hmmmm. So he has made all that money from it."

"He is balling. Baby mamas all over the place. He is like 28 or even less, but he rolls with the big cats."

"But why does he need to make money like this? Didn't they say it is only rich kids that attend your "assured to graduate in record time" secondariversity?

Laughter.

"Secondariversity. Uncle Jude has killed me!"

Our meals finally arrived.

Our waiters were not as fawning as those around the other table.

We still said our thank yous.

They left.

We started eating.

Still talking between mouthfuls of food that was pretending to be Chinese food as we in turn pretended to enjoy it.

"His father is loaded. He was a former minister in ........... government. So he uses his father as a smokescreen. Like it is his money he is living up, but those who know, know."

"Does he know you?"

"Me? Know the devil. Laye! Let him stay on his lane o, before all the blood he has shed land on my head too."

"Blood?"

"Yes na. Do you know how many people overdose in school? Constant. They die like flies. Even in my class, we lost like four people in our final year. They juice, they sleep and they never wake up. Even last year during graduation, one guy stripped naked and ran out of the hostel right into were the convocation was taking place. His mother who had come for his graduation was screaming - What have you people done to my son?!"

"Woow. What did the university do?"

"Do? You first have to agree you have a problem before you do anything about it na. It is silence o. They hush it all up."

"Naaa come on. Rich kids dying and no one hears about it?"

"It is the people that it concerns that hear about it na. But it is a shame game na. How many parents want people to know that their dead child was a drug addict? It is like people saying who died of a brief illness instead of saying who died of AIDS. The school uses it against the parents uses it against themselves. And when the press is happy with brown envelopes and the bloggers know where their daily bread is coming from, no gist will leak. They will kill it or kill your career. Money talks. Bull shit works baby."

The noise was still coming from their table.

"Uncle, you see the girl in that black camisole, sitting two people away from him?"

"Yes."

"Her father is a big gun in the oil industry. Her brother was part of this same crew. He overdosed last year. They buried him at Ikoyi Vaults. But his sister is here balling with the same guy that gave her brother poison."

"Woow."

"Well, he has her hooked. She cannot vex for her supplier. If she dies now. Her younger sister who is a freshman in my school will take her place. It is like along with the wealth they are getting from their parents, they are also inheriting stupidity or maybe it is God punishing the parents through the children, like he did to Pharoah, the Egyptians and the killing of their first male kids."

Silence.

Whisper.

"How have you been able to stay clear of this crowd?"

She smiled.

"The same way you stayed away from joining secret cults."

Lagos.


From Mr. Jude's collections

Charminee:
I love this

.
Thanks