₦airaland Forum

Very romantic, firestar. Is the first poem about an abortion?

I enjoyed reading your story. The descriptions were detailed - love the clear-cut pic of the missing girls face - and the diction is fab too.

I'd just try to tone down the description when it comes to the environment, if I were you. The many junctions & intersections made some paragraph a bit convoluted.

I love your writing & look forward to the next post.

@Maclatunji Thanks a lot. I look forward to your critique later.

@ Myne whitman, yes it is a love story, with a twist

Thanks, Orikinla.

Ada took one glance at the mirror and nearly jumped out of her skin. The reflection that stared back at her was freaky. Her big, sad eyes popped out scarily, and her high cheek bones jutted out. The foundation and loud makeup smothered all over her face did nothing to hide its gauntness.

She was so absorbed in her appearance that she did not hear a light knock at the door, or notice her mother’s sprawling headgear peer through it. ‘Nne, are you ready?’
Ada whirled around. ‘No – no. I’ll be down in ten minutes.’
Her mother nodded then withdrew.
The intense pride and relief on her mother’s face made Ada want to cry. Why couldn’t she feel the same way? Why did she feel like a criminal preparing to face the hangman’s noose?

She looked at the mirror again and wondered where the beautiful, chubby-cheeked Ada had gone. Her thin fingers slid down her face then settled on her long, wiry neck. She shut her eyes and prayed earnestly, God help me go through with this, please.
She opened her eyes and then tried to smile. Her cheeks refused to cooperate. They were as static as steel.
Dark threatening clouds pushed through the window and hovered right above her head. Billows of raw, unadulterated fear multiplied in her stomach.

It was her wedding day.

In less than an hour she would become Mrs Onuoha.

The journey to the altar began three months ago when an acquaintance at church asked Ada if she could introduce her to one of her brothers who lived abroad. In the past Ada would have walked out on her but things had changed. She had just turned 34 the previous month. It was the worst day of her life. She could not go the office where she worked as an administrator that day. She wept disconsolately all through the day. Why me? She asked herself again and again. Why could she not meet a decent man? All her mates were happily married with children. She was the odd one out. Very soon people would start calling her agadi nwayi babe; old mama youngy.


So her church members request was music to her soul. She readily agreed to the introduction, and th they exchanged numbers.
Three days later Mike called from Austria. He sounded pleasant and had a deep sexy voice that she fell in love with immediately. They did not speak for long but he said he would be in the country in a week’s time, and would call her when he arrived.
Ada grew excited. A gate of hope opened in her heart. Suddenly she could see herself walking down the aisle in her chiffon wedding dress. She could picture her children surrounding her table like olives – their beautiful voices ascending in laughter; her husband’s strong steady presence consummating her sense of fulfillment.

Mike arrived in Nigeria, as promised, and they arranged to meet up three days later in front of the city mall at Onikan in Lagos. Given the distance and traffic bottlenecks, Ada would have preferred it if he had come to her side of the island in Ajah. But Mike said he was not familiar with Lagos, so she decided to make the sacrifice.

By 5pm, as agreed, she was waiting in front of the mall dressed in a simple tanned dress that complemented her yellow skin and a pair of brown stilettoes that accentuated her shapely legs.
Twenty minutes went by before a black Toyota camry slid through the gates and parked in front of the shopping mall.
That is him, Ada thought as nerves and excitement mingled.
He opened the door and eased out of the car.

Oh my God! Oh my God!! I’ve got to have this man!!! Ada’s mind reeled. He was too good to be true.
His long slim body was sculpted to perfection, like the carving of a Roman god. His skin was a mouth-watering display of milk chocolate. He strode towards her wearing an air of reckless confidence.

Ada smiled broadly. ‘Hi,’ she greeted somewhat nervously.
‘Hi,’ he replied in his deep, alluring voice. His face was placid: there was no note of recognition or pleasure at meeting her. She was about to offer a handshake but he cut her short. ‘I just need to get some cash from the ATM machine,’ he said then swaggered into the mall.
Ada stared at his back. He looked stylish in a polo shirt and pair of jeans, but she couldn’t help feeling let down. She was expecting more warmth from him. However she quickly reminded herself that she must not be too hasty to pass judgment. That was one of her weaknesses.
‘If you weren’t so picky, you would be married by now,’ her mother would often say.

She disagreed with her mother.

Her first suitor, Eric, was twenty years her senior.
The second, Metus, was a primary school leaver.
Chuma was morbidly obese.
Douglas was five foot tall.
Innocent had the disgusting habit of eating like a dog.
Abraham was okay but she had no feelings for him.

Mike returned from the cash machine. ‘I just need to refuel before the filling station closes.’
‘That’s fine.’
He let her into the car and they drove out of the mall. The air condition was on at full blast. Vanilla air freshner wafted through the car.
They drove in silence.
Ada was expecting him to break the ice but she could see his concentration was on the road, so she let him be. Maybe he needed time to re-adjust to the roads and environment. She stole a glimpse at him. He was so hot. Where had he been her whole life?
After he had filled the tank he drove back to the mall and parked the car. He turned off the ignition then turned to look at her for the first time. ‘Sorry, I just needed to fill the tank before the filling stations closed. I’m Mike; the stranger you spoke to last time.’
Ada smiled broadly eager to impress him, despite a sinking feeling that was taking root. ‘It’s all right. It’s nice to meet you.’
He smiled back. ‘It’s nice to meet you too. Right. Where would you like to go? KFC –‘
‘KFC is fine.’
‘Great.’

The first few moments were a bit awkward. But Ada managed to break the ice when she asked him why he chose to live in an obscure place like Austria, of all places. He laughed over her statement then went on to tell her about his ‘Gulliver travel’ to Europe. How he sneaked into Italy from the Libyan border; stayed in a detention camp for two years then managed to escape to Austria with the help of a kind young lady who he later married. They have two children – a boy and a girl – but divorced after seven years of marriage.
‘My life is great’, he said conclusively. ‘I have a good job and, you know, all the things I need. But it can be depressing returning to an empty house day after day.’
Ada tried to look sympathetic but she could not hide her true feelings. Her church member never mentioned her brother was a divorcee. But what did she expect? A rich, handsome 39-year-old man who had never been married?
Mike sensed her disappointment. ‘You don’t look too pleased.’
I’m just shocked that you’ve been married before.’
His neck snapped back cockily. ‘You have a problem with that?’
Ada shrugged. She wanted to say that she had never dated a divorced man but kept it to herself.

They sat in silence.

She waited for him to ask her about herself. He didn’t. His eyes were fixed on the television screen. She wasn’t sure what to do. She really wanted them to have a good conversation; to click.
‘So,’ she said rather loudly to recapture his attention. ‘If you were asked to sum up Mike in two sentences, what would you say?’
Mike grinned. ‘He’s a simple guy who isn’t out to please people. He does what’s right for him.’
Ada nodded. ‘Sounds good.’
‘What about you?’
‘I’m also a simple girl. I have a mind of my own but I’m very agreeable.’
She smiled sweetly. Mike smiled back at her. She noted that there was a twinkle in his eyes and that encouraged her to keep talking. She told him more about herself – her family and educational background but she pulled the stops when she noticed that he was staring at her vacuously with glazed eyes. She quickly steered the conversation back to him. She asked him questions about himself, like his fondest childhood memories; his favourite music and past times. The twinkle returned to his eyes.

They spent the evening talking about him. At the end of it he asked her out on a second date. She agreed.

(To be continued).

Ha ha ha! Don't worry, my next story is sooo feminine

It's possible to write an amazing story but then choose a lousy title that doesn't grab the reader's attention. Unintentionally you sell the story short. I'm always stuck after writing because I'm terrible at choosing eye-catching titles. How can I improve?

‘Mechanic no far’, meaning the mechanic isn’t far, was the nickname our neighbours gave our old Peugeot 504 because it could never start without helping hands. Every morning Dad, Mum, my brother and I, and sometimes our neighbours, would push the old white car to kickstart the engine. We often pushed till we were shiny with sweat and breathless. Sometimes it would take an hour for the old engine to cough and then sputter into life, groaning and farting thick smoke as it jerked along.

The car was a source of embarrassment to my brother and me. How on earth could we hold our heads high at school? We pleaded with Dad everyday to buy a new car but Dad was the stubborn type. ‘Do you know this car has traversed every state in this country?’ he’d claim. We didn’t care what miracles the car had performed. For me, I needed a new car if I was to realize my ambition of becoming head boy at school. After all, who would give such a prestigious position to a boy who comes to school in a scrap car every morning? Besides how would Onome ever take my advances seriously?

At the same time I wondered if life would ever be the same if ‘mechanic no far’ exited our lives for good. I was fifteen years old, and the car had always been a part of my life. Indeed, I had some good memories in the car, like when we visited Shiroro dam in Niger state or Yankari game reserve in Bauchi state. But it was time to say goodbye, or so my brother and I thought.

One day Dad came back from work looking so sad. His rugged face drooped to his chest as he informed us that he had decided to trade in ‘Mechanic no far’ for a small Japanese car. He wouldn’t tell us why and never did even years later. My brother and I couldn’t believe what we were hearing. We were overjoyed and fantasized about the new Japanese car endlessly.

One Saturday morning a high-pitched horn sounded at the gate. When we ran to answer it we saw a small tortoise-like car staring at us. It was disappointment at first sight. We flung open the gates, silently daring Dad to tell us this was the car swap. Dad parked in front of the house. He switched off the purring engine and emerged from the car. ‘This is the new car.’
‘Eh?’ went my brother but Dad had already turned his stony face toward the house, beating away. We encircled it observing every detail. It was indeed an ugly tortoise: blue exterior; grey interior. Outside it was dented and looked lopsided, as if the tyres were ill-fitted. Inside it looked cramped, claustrophobic and tattered.
Dad must have read our thoughts because afterwards he told us, ‘It may not look so good but it starts good.’

That wasn’t good enough for us boys. We set to work washing, dusting, polishing, and shining until we transformed the car into an attractive beauty. Monday morning came and going to school didn’t seem so daunting. We hopped into the tortoise eagerly, praying the neighbours will come and check out our new ride.
At school, I slowly climbed down from the car hoping my classmates would take note. Nobody did, or appeared to care. I was waiting for the comments to pour in in class but nobody said a word. Finally I had to nudge Obiora, my friend. ‘Have you seen my Dad’s new knock about?’ I asked as casually as I could. He paused for a moment, and then nodded no.

Back at home we drove in unnoticed. It was three days before my neighbour, Papa Ejiro called me aside and asked what had happened to our old car. I replied Dad had sold it. His reaction baffled me. ‘Chei!’ he exclaimed causing the bitter cola lodged between his teeth to drop to the floor.
What was that supposed to mean? Why had everyone suddenly lost interest in our car? When we had ‘Mechanic no far,’ we achieved near-celebrity status. Now with Mister Tortoise, nobody appeared to care.

Ten years on, Dad now drives a Nissan Armada. Our pushing car days are far behind us, but neighbours still tell anyone who cares to listen about our ‘Mechanic no far’ days. Even the Armada has not elicited that much recognition. I drive a sleek car of my own now, but I still ponder: ‘what was it about ‘mechanic no far’ that made it such an icon, and why has no other car we’ve had ever since achieved such recognition?

'We come with nothing but we leave with a lifetime of memories' - love it. Deep and  melancholic.

'We come with nothing but we leave with a lifetime of memories' - love it. Deep and melancholic.

Thanks Orikinla. I'll do that.

@maclatunji, I think I have my four brothers to thank for that. Thanks.

In his next life he'll be a rich bobo. Maybe Juliet go give am face then.

Engaging conversation.

Things fall apart was a response to Joseph Conrad's Heart of darkness, according to Achebe. What he tries to do is paint an unbiased picture of life before colonialism through the eyes of an African.

His use of proverbs and vivid descriptions of traditions makes Things fall apart unique. It is not necessarily the best book in Africa, but it is one that has great significance.

Which other Nigerian or even African writer has given such a rich description of village life?

As for the killings, he was simply showing all aspects of the culture both good and bad.

Thanks, Yield. I'm glad u enjoyed it.

Thanks, Raregem.

Lol. Thanks.