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Three days later, Mama Nkeonye came to the house at midday. She came with good news: Mama Emeka had risen. It sounded more like dead Lazarus rising from the dead. “Eh!” Mama Nnukwu exclaimed. “Daalu Osanobuwa” she said raising her hands to heavens.
What happened
Mama Emeka was trekking down what she described as the most beautiful road she had ever seen in her life. The road was like a sweet meal. She was enjoying it. Then suddenly she saw a big beautiful gate at the end of the road and was heading towards it happily. Out of the blues, this old woman suddenly appeared. “Hey! Where do you think you are going?” She asked Mama Emeka who replied that she didn’t know but heading towards the beautiful gate. “Shut up!” The old woman rebuked her. Mama Emeka was shocked. “Go back” she commanded. “It is not yet time for you to travel this way”. Mama Emeka had taken enough from the ‘intruding’ Old woman. Ignoring the old woman, she hissed and continued her journey. But the woman stopped her again saying. “It is not yet time for you to travel this road”.
“But I have travelled for long I can’t go back anymore. Please allow me to just complete this journey”. Mama Emeka half pleaded. “I know a route back home. I will show you”. The old woman said. “Look at your hand”.
“Chim oo!!” Mama Emeka screamed. Her hands on my head, she raced towards the way she had come. But then tripped and felled. She awoke.
Something was in Mama Emeka’s hands. Something that had the power to pull her back. Funny and unbelievable as it may sound, something that was able to give her life.

Mama Emeka was the young petty trader under the third Udala tree away from my grandmother’s house at Issele-uku. She was a friend of my grandmother who was like a mentor to her. She lived in the shack right behind the Udala tree with her husband, the firewood breaker and ‘drunkard’ and their six little boys. Mama Emeka was always in her shop no matter the hour of the day you need something. My grandmother and her friends would always say Mama Emeka loved money too much, adding that of course Igbo people don’t joke with money. But then, that was all jokes because the neighborhood knew her condition. Without her, her six children would starve to death or grow up illiterates or worse than their father. Her life situation had unconsciously made her fall in love with money (if that also could be called love of money). Without money, there was no life for Mama Emeka, if there was for someone else. People say when you come to her and not talking about things that fetches money that she won’t listen. The only thing she listens to is what will give her money. She will do anything for her customers to keep coming even if it means staying all night at her shop. Hard work had made her look twice older than her age. In her last trimester, things had gotten tougher for her. Market wasn’t good as it use to be and she hadn’t saved enough. She began to travel to the next village, Onicha Ugbo early mornings to buy maize from farmers. She would boil some during the day and roast the remaining in the evening. The maize became a source of major income for her as it saved her disagreements with her husband and the tormenting whining from her children. We had arrive the village two weeks earlier after the school vacated for the long holiday and saw Mama Emeka all swollen and heavy. Surprise and pity are understatements.
Mama Nnukwu came back just before dinner time with her friend mama Nkeonye. Their demeanor heavily veiled the atmosphere. I wonder what the situations of things were but I couldn’t ask. It would be doing more than myself. The weak oil lamp was shinning at its brightest- illuminating dimly only Mama Nnukwu and her friend’s faces. In the darkness beside the kitchen door, I sat on the rickety kitchen stool, my little hands supporting my little head. Amara, my little sister who loves body contact like nothing and normally gets enough from Mama Nnukwu was even seated on the little stone beside me. Thank God she even understood moods. We both, looking at them and listening to so many of the things we don’t even understand. Poor Mama Emeka, I thought. We won’t be seeing her anymore and who will be selling things to us now? I was sad. Mama Nnukwu didn’t say anything to us about Mama Emeka until the next morning. She told us Mama Emeka wasn’t alive and yet not dead. A strange thing. My ten year old mind fought to understand what she meant by ‘wasn’t living and yet not dead’, yet it wasn’t successful. I simply gave up, more scared.

THE POWER OF LIFE ET DEATH
There is a saying: the power of life and death are in the hands of God. I think something was omitted in that statement, something that has the power too. Here is an event from ‘yesterday’.
It was 2003. The news came hermaphroditic in state- good and bad. Mama Emeka had given birth to the 8th world wonder- a request from her husband and her late mother-in-law; a bouncing girl but then a problem aroused; a big and complicated one. An unheard kind of problem at that time in the locality. We were confused on exactly the reaction that was suitable for the news – to be happy or sad. The latter eventually won. Mama Nnukwu took her mobile phone and quickly dialed Papa Emeka’s mobile phone number. After several attempts to reach him, she finally said a ‘Hello’ to the voice at the other end of the phone. She dropped the exchange of pleasantries protocol (for nothing much was pleasant to inquire about in the moment) and went straight to what she wants to say. “Papa Emeka, what happened? How did it happen? What is happening now?” she inquired on intervals. Amara and I were kneeling before her, pilgrims before the statue of a revered god, looking straight at her face as it displays different shades of sadness in between several “Ewo!” and “Ki buzi ifeh ndi wo?” She got the name of the hospital – Ukpai General Hospital. The conversation ended the next minute with my grandmother’s “I will be there soon”. We quickly jumped up as Mama Nnukwu made her usual little struggle to stand. “Unoma, come and take my slippers and clean for me. I want to go the hospital now” she said to me as she walked inside the house and to her room. Minutes later, she reappeared tying one of her favorite damask scarf which had obviously seen more days than my sister and I on her head and tightening her wrapper round her waist afterwards. Amara and I were quietly standing at the door looking at her. “I will be back before dusk and will make dinner when I arrive”. She said to us. She turned to me “I don’t want to hear you touched Amara while I’m away” wagging her skinny finger at my face. “Yes Mama Nnukwu” I replied. Wobbly, she walked out of the house to the dusty road and towards the village center and the hospital.

Thnx all. @Sir Lakes. I'm Lizzy not man. Lol. Thnx too. @ twentyk. Thnx too. I wll definitely do dat nice time.

Divepen1:
Wawu...Brilliant..
Most times, we are always outwitted by the simplest of things.

Meanwhile, don't stop writing or posting your stories here. We would like to always read more..Next time you can just mention my name alongside that of others.

Lol.. Thnx xo much dear. As 4 ur name, I will surely do thnx again

Ese had gotten her eyes on the handsome young man seated at the table located at the south wing of Truth Lounge since the very moment she entered there that night. She was seated some tables away from him nursing her glass of wine and assessing him. He looked rich - the Bulgari watch, the designer shoe, the solid gold cufflinks. This indeed was the way she likes them, she thought with a smile and then got to work. She started giving him the signal- the eyes and the body languages- playing her cards as the pro that had turned the past few months, scarcely aware of the other young man seated behind her. In few minutes, the handsome young man began to look at her direction at intervals. Ese was happy. In the past few months, she had come to realize that Hustling is an art which the mastery of leads to unimaginable achievements. When you master the art, things fall unbelievably into place for you in awe of people around. As the master she had become, the handsome young man she targeted had simply felled into her hands without much stress. Just that moment, he winked at her and Ese winked back excitedly. Today won’t be bad at all, she thought. The night is still young and yet so fruitful; all pieces of her game are gradually falling into place. She adjusted the cape of her skimpy dress seductively baring more flesh. Her aim: to give her potential client, a view of the future. In a few more minutes, Mr. Rich and Handsome stood up, his glass of wine in hand started towards Ese. Hmm… Mission accomplished. She congratulated herself. She relaxed into her chair with her glass at hand looking seductively at Mr. Rich and Handsome as he approaches. But then, the unexpected happened. Mr. Rich and Handsome walked pass Ese to the table right behind her and joined the young man who was seated, all smiles. Her jaw dropped.
Ese was confused. She didn’t understand what just happened. The eyes, the winks had all been to the other young man It’s so unbelievable. She had no idea this was possible too. No one told her. She picked her jaw off the floor then managed a look back and saw the smiles, the connection, and the romance between the two young men. Then it dawn on her. She had just been outwitted by a hustler. A MALE HUSTLER! Ah! She wept.

HUSTLE
She had entered the rich big city, her little bundle strapped at her back like an archetypal mountain climber with the word ‘Hustle’ tattooed on her mind and flowing through her veins. Since pepper no wan rest foram, Ese had decided to go meet pepper like in the mountain and Mohammed style and she is going after it with everything within and withal. She had left the small city where she had lived all her life with her parents and siblings and travelled miles just to make a better life and she must make it, she vowed, legal or illegal.

Ese got down to business ‘as soon as possible’. First, the legal way- searching and picking up minor jobs she was able to get. Starting with a waitress in a popular Thai restaurant in town where the pay was so much that she can hardly afford a proper three square meal after the first two weeks of collecting her salary. She had hoped for connection to a better life but she only got the opposite- degradation in all shades of it. She had moved on to a school as an auxiliary staff and then afterwards as a sales personnel at a boutique. Eight months after, the money she came for, she wasn’t seeing -no personal savings, still a squatter, no good cloths, no beta boyfriend sef. This is not like been saintilicious, for Ese was far from a saint. She had simply wanted to take hustle with her church mind but who church mind epp? Not her obviously and equally not her friend Omolara, who invited her over to the city to hustle or her younger sister who they live together with. It was crystal clear that money wants it hard and her blood is already pass boiling to take it the hard way.

She quitted her job to chase money the other kind of way. Her friend, Omolara was already on it so it wasn’t hard to blend in as Omo told her it was for her. “There are certain qualities you must possess in other to excel in your quest. You must be bold, outspoken and most of all, daring. The future belongs to those who are able to dare. Chasing money is no job for the ‘No liver individual’ Omolara lectured Ese who in turned listened attentively, ready to burn whatever bridge necessary to get to her dreams. “This is not prostitution. It is not runs or those things the society says young girls do. This is HUSTLE; PURE HUSTLE!” Omo continued, the perfect motivational captain to her team. “You go out there, you smart it out and you make your money. You got the perfect body, one problem solved already. The rest is for you to play your cards well. Most ladies in this city hustle for a living. That’s how they all made it. You have to step on the game or you go back to where you came from empty handed or worse. So wise up” Ese resurrected the Delta girl in her and kept the hustle only on the tight level. Truly, hustling had really paid her. She had met a whole bunch of the country’s high personalities and living her life.

But apparently, Omolara omitted a very important aspect of ‘Hustle’. The very aspect staring point blank at Ese right now. The aspect that had left her jaw right on the floor and had her eyes popping like Tom’s that moment when he sees Jerry escaping with his Victim(Jerry’s cousin).

thewritingtodo:
I love it...i just kinda got sucked in to it

Thnx dear

U r a fine writer. This piece, I love.

Thnx dear.

Nice piece. I Like

Please I need u 2 say sth. Don't just read & go. I need ur opinion please.

DREAMS AND REALITY
For my childhood friends

We were much younger and happier
Life was us and the precious moments we shared
Relaxing, sipping cocktails on time’s rendezvous
Inwardly vowing to ourselves to always carry each other
And forever wear those precious moments in our hearts
No matter the direction the waves of life threw us
Oh memories, sweet memories…

Little knowledge, we were humoring time and life
We, our dreams & hopes, all subjects to time and life
Nothing near our imagination lies ahead
There will be basking in the sun
But the storm will come hard afterwards
You & I bashed against the rocks of life
And only the strong among us will survive

Now time has danced far away
And you & I left here, owning the moment
The sun had gone under the shade
The moon forcefully drawn upon us
It brightens the path ahead
And yet again darkens it

It had put some of us to sleep
While locked in fierce tussle with others trying to keep awake
Memories slowly fading away
Our hands now loosely holding each other
If not entirely slipped already

Connection, the desire to keep our vows nags our souls
Yet life disapproved of it
It kept its fortress tall against us
We fight to no avail to break out
To connect, to draw strength & life from each other
Yet only able to make holes
Holes through which we peep at each other

Say something please. I need 2 hear u

HOME
Appearance seems ordinary
But within lies the extraordinary.
Outside pleasures nothing but auxiliary.
And fulfillment, peace only but momentarily.
Within thy walls, everything exceptionally.

Treasure Island.
My treasures so far harbored within.
Security, assurance all within.

Canaan land.
Happiness, peace, care and love overflows.
In you, in-wars and out-wars all lows.

Lighthouse.
Drawing me incessantly to your endless peace,
Where life’s hopelessness cease.

I, the journeyer, the fugitive
Run back to you.
A prodigal, hungry for you.
Nurse me back to life
As you have in moments of strife,
Which I unrepentantly hold onto for life.
…

I am in

Perhaps it’s kinder to live with no knowledge
And be content in the cage
Than to know it all
And not pour it all

It would be harsh to have it bustling
And neglect it without hustling.
More harsher to grow comfortable in the blankets of doubts
And ignore that tug at heart.
More harhser to ONLY TRY to get it out all right
When all it actually needed was a big fight

It would be tragic if this gift of greatness turn burden
And I live each day burdened
Weigh down, mightily handicapped by the harsh reality
Unable to cast it all off my shoulders
From me, greatness evaporating uncontrollably
Till the day I finally fall.

Please don’t let me die
With this great gift of thy
Please don’t let me die; an unfulfilled dream
Washed away from the shore of this realm
Don’t let me die, the same as I came
Rather let me depart with gain

It would surely be kinder to go back exhausted; all out and empty
Than back, a luggage full of untapped greatness; futility
Much kinder that eyes should close and blood stiffen with light of fulfillment at heart
And smile on lips for dues duly paid
And lines of square neatly met

So let me rather be a burnt offering;
Redemption to the world suffering
Smile, joy and pleasure to hearts
Fulfillment and inspiration to generations unborn
The torch bearer of darken souls
Rose to bring light to the farthest poles

Please don’t let me die, a victim of time
Whose great flight is on high
Please don’t let me die, a casualty
Cut down in the war between dreams and reality
Don’t let me die, the same as I came
Rather let me depart with gain

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