₦airaland Forum

CHAPTER ONE

"Marriage is like a groundnut; you have to crack it to see what is inside.”

It was a beautiful morning in gidan-kowa, the land of the people, the land of deceit, the land surrounded with rich plants and healthy

animals. The household of Alhaji Basir was snared with enmity and malice. Alhaji Basir was one of the wealthiest and respected business

magnates in gidan-kowa, he was known with his largesse both in and off Ramadan period.

On the 2nd of June 1995, Alhaji Basir married his 4th wife “Nafisa”. Nafisa was the only daughter of one of the respected entity in gidan-

kowa “mallam Balarabe”. Nafisa was known with her sincere attitude, simplicity, humility, and a hardworking woman. She won her

husband’s heart with her integrity and loyalty she possessed. “You are an angel sent to me from Allah” that was what her husband

always mentioned when they are together. However, the other wives were so sad and desperate because Nafisa had won the heart of

their husband.

On the 25th April 1996, Nafisa gave birth to a baby boy who would become an heir to his father’s properties. The other wives were

unhappy because none of them had a male child. Meanwhile, on the naming ceremony, high notable, rich and famous entities were

present along with the mai-angwa (head of the community). Vividly, the sheik performed the necessary prayer, and the infant was named

“Al-Warith” meaning “The heir”. They were excess of food to eat, sufficient drinks to drink, and reasonable numbers of people of the

community were present to witness the memorable day.

On the 14th Nov 1996, a storm stroke in the household of Alhaji Basir. During that night, Alhaji Basir and Nafisa were asleep when an

unknown entity entered their room. It was dark, so dark. Nafisa heard footsteps and suddenly woke up from her sleep; she was so scared

and devastated that she quickly woke her husband. “Who are you?” Nafisa asked shivering. “What do want from us? I have money, you

can take all, please don’t kill us” Alhaji Basir pleaded. The mask man moved closer, sat on the bed and drew Alhaji Basir closer, he said “I

want your son, give me your son.” At that moment, Nafisa and her husband were uncomfortable; Nafisa quickly looked beside her but

couldn’t find her baby, she clamored, and cried a lot “where is my baby?” Alhaji Basir couldn’t hold back his tears, he then pleaded with

the mask man to return their baby if he took him. “Are you stupid? Bring your baby or I will kill both of you” the mask man threatened, he

pulled out a gun and drew Alhaji Basir more closer, Nafisa hurriedly kneeled before the mask man and pleaded with him to leave her

husband. The unknown man rebutted and pulled the trigger. Alhaji Basir and Nafisa were both shot with one bullet each straight to their

loving heart.

The death of the couples extended rapidly within and outside the community. Everyone was shocked about the news. “It’s pathetic”one

of the wakilai (elders) exclaimed. Ali, the younger brother to Alhaji Basir, an England based engineer arrived as soon as he heard the news

of his brother’s death. The burial ceremony was done islamically, and almost all the men in the community were present to witness the

burial of a magnate and his wife.

Some weeks after their burial, the wakilai (elders) gathered before the mai-angwa (head of the community) to discuss the sudden and

bizarre death of Alhaji Basir and his wife. They summoned the household of Alhaji Basir, The Wakilai asked questions but none of them

was able to give traceable response. Meanwhile, throughout that period, Al-warith had been with Mallam Balarabe, his grandfather took

care of him together with his maid who left after Al-warith celebrated his 2yrs birthday. Mallam Balarabe didn’t disclose Al-Warith ware

about except to the elders.

Al-warith grew older and stronger. He emulated the attributes of his late mother, but had his father’s eyes. Moreover, Al-warith, grew

bigger and was in jss2, he was an intelligent boy, well-loved by his teachers. On one Monday morning at school, the students were elated

when they saw their English teacher in class. Al-warith was totally at bliss because that was his best subject, until the teacher told them

to write an essay about their parent. Al-Warith knew nothing about his parent, all he grasped was that they were late. He was in tears;

his fingers were as strong as iron steel. Sadly, he went home depressed and didn’t talk to his grandfather.

Mallam Balarabe felt disturbed about Al-warith, he had never seen him that way before, and curiously he asked “what is the problem the

apple of my eye?” Al-warith uttered no word. His grandfather who looked so innocent like a dove pleaded, he wiped away the tears that

was dropping like a tap water “please talk to me son” he pleaded again. Al-warith sat on a stool and responded, he spoke in anger that

tears showed its true identity through his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me about my parent, why? I want to know”. He kneeled before his

grandfather and beseeched. Mallam Balarabe was emotionally weak; he wiped the tears from his grandson’s face and deferred the story

till night. “Night when everywhere is silent, night when the breeze will bring to you preceding memory” he stated dramatically.

written by Inuwa,Usman

note: this is the first part of the Novel " Gidan-kowa"

In the quest to protect and save his grandson from the killer of his parent,Mallam Balarabe encountered umpteen obstacles, will he prevail?

texanomaly:
Just something to help get you going:

Starting with Little Things: A Guide to Writing Poetry in the Classroom
from Starting with Little Things: A Guide to Writing Poetry in the Classroom

from Chapter 5, “Turning Abstractions into Concrete Images”

Exercise: Images of Feelings

Make a list of emotions on the board: love, hate, jealousy, embarrassment, fear, courage. More. Beginning each sentence with one of these words, write similes or metaphors so that these feelings appear as something you can see, hear, taste, touch or smell. Avoid comparing one feeling to another (love is like happiness). Write a poem about one feeling, using several similes. Or use a different feeling in each sentence. Another possibility of to begin each sentence with “When”; for example, “When (something happened), I was as (happy, sad, angry) as (image).”
Jealous
Jealous is like a planet watching
a shuttle go swiftly past it.
Jealous is like a American bomber looking
at a jet speeding away.
Jealous is like a broken down car
watching a future car in a race.
-Jeff Lewis


When my goldfish died
I was as sad as a mixedup
word trying to get spelled right.


“Self-Image”

Part of our self-image, the picture we have of ourselves, comes from our sense of place: where we were born, where we’ve grown up and explored, places we dream about. We feel comfortable in some places; in others, we don’t. Even within a fairly small place, such as a house, we may identify more with certain rooms, or corners, or objects – the individual parts of a scene. Such subjective feelings are important to our sense of individuality, as well as to our sense of community with people who share our feelings. Learning to recognize ourselves in the world around us is a step toward self-knowledge and maturity that has always been important in literature.

Exercise: Identification

Thinking of your own “roots,” write a poem titled “Born in (California, New York, Chicago, Bend, Redmond).” Begin each sentence with “I am.” Pick out images that come first to mind. Expand sentences; let the reader see as much as possible. If you are the Golden Gate Bridge, what else can you say about yourself? The bridge boats pass under on their way to China? The bridge always choked with traffic? The bridge shining golden in fog? Tell exactly what you see.

Or make a list of different things you might be. If you re an animal, what are you doing? (If a cat, are you sleeping by the fire, chasing a bird, running from a dog, climbing a tree and getting stuck?) If you re an object, where are you – in a kitchen, a bedroom, street, hospital, factory, gutter, cave? What element of nature, time of day, or day of the week? Students should sense a wide variety of possibilities, and should try for different opening words: Yesterday I was, Today I am, Some days I am, Once I was.
Myself

Examples:

I am a mountain
very snowy and waiting
to be climbed.
I am a big white horse
waiting to be ridden.
And I am the wind blowing
all the seeds.
I am just now being born.
– John Bard

I am the clock that is never wound.
I am the fish that is out of the sea.
I am like a frog that is out of order.
I am the sun that is rain.
– Stuart



You look at me
I melt like snow in the golden sun
When you talk to me
I’m closed like a door in a jail
But deep inside I want to tell you
all my wishes and fears
You have to realize that I’m like a book
You have to read between the lines.
– Yvonne M.

Hmmm, interesting

junnyjake:
Authors Without Boundaries is a consortium of independent authors and a UK publishing company that collaborates on various pieces of literary work.

And this time they are in collaboration with us at Creative Freelance writers.

The aim of this project however, is have an internationally published bestseller collection of Emerging African Writers. The anthology normally cost $650 per author but the CEO of AWB (Monica kunzekweguta) has generously offered to publish us for free. Terms and conditions apply.

If you're an author and would love to be published internationally, take this opportunity and don't play with it. You can go dust off some of your old works.


- Word length is 1,500 - 2000 short stories.

- Entries should be made before the end of this month.

- Entries should be sent as a word document attachment to Cfwpage@gmail.com

- A link would be sent accepted entries for agreement and their profile details.

PS - Author's personal profiles will be included in the anthology for promotion in international events, the anthology will be published and marketed by AWB and authors will retain rights to print and sell the anthology for profit after a given period of time.

If you have any questions, please feel free to ask. you can also join our facebook group, search Creative Freelance Writerz Group where can be rewarded for participating.

Cc: Divepen1

Okay good one, I hope it's for real...

Hy Bro can I get a design for my book?
Road to fame by Inuwa Usman

texanomaly:
I'm great Noble. Hope you are fine. Classes start on Sunday, network willing.

Hope to be free dear

Hallo poets is been a breath air, how are you guys?

Thumbs up to you dear, Good writeup.

timpaker:
The Shot (Part 2)
Ladies and Gentlemen, Khaki and silk, With a mask of shame I stand before you As a victim, a coward, A caricature and a loner.
A body of scar and pain, Deserving and undeserving, They're now mine to live with, Even the air now mock me As it caresses the bullets in my bones Like a flute it sings out my betrayal.
I loved myself more than the people I swore to protect, I have only one life And I was selfish then and I ain't now, Air no longer smells soothing when inhaled As my breath suddenly makes no perfect sense.
Two terrorist held a family hostage With guns pointing to their heads They were fretting in bondage And they seemed serious in shooting them dead. My thought suddenly elope with fear While my team were far from near; Kpa!!! My decision cost all their lives - That family and the two terrorists.
While I shot myself on my hand, hip and leg To escape 'super' questions on the mise-en-scene, My lies won me the Oscar for deceit With a misdemeanor in impatience. I spent weeks nursing my wounds But the bigger wound rest in my conscience.
Today I appear before you - My uniform in a mess, My rifle rustling away in a box, My conscience on per second pinch With laughter and smiles hard to make - Like a stoned face; with guilt Making a fountain from my eyes In regret on many strings.
Yes I fumbled with my duties And I can't pay for my deed Because suicide is painfully expensive! Besides, honour rest in thee who wields a gun, I bestow that honour in you..... Let me have my shot!

nice poem Bro