https://penastory.com/2017/10/23/bonnie-and-clyde/

I woke up that morning feeling listless and particularly homesick. It was August and the morning had fully unfurled out of the foggy night, with the painful sun piercing through the window panes and tearing the light curtains to strike my soggy eyes. I could hear the other boys in the block snorting at every heave of the dumb bells in the gym house. Saturday mornings were always ponderous; the boys were usually abuzz with indiscriminate chatters of their salacious fantasies with the girls in the blocks as they queued up to use the gym.

I had planned to wake up much earlier than I did but I had slept too profoundly, so that not even my fortissimo tones could beat me out of sleep. Realising the day had fully dawned, I had reached for my phone which lay close to the figurine that cradled my bedside. My chat with Bonnie was still open. Bonnie and I had had several disagreements at that time, and we had tried to patch up our endless fights and frictions. In the middle of a one too boring conversation with her last night, I reckon I had drifted off to sleep. Oh well, it was Saturday and I imagined she was the least of my problems. I had planned to cook a nice dish, probably with chicken, drink to my fill and flake off all day, giving Bonnie a wide berth.

Fighting with the temptation not to lazy around, I realised my room was cluttered in books and dishevelled clothes flung to different wavelengths of the room. I dribbled some chilled water into a mug, sipping selfishly with one hand over the panes as I watched the little birds across the field pecking in search of worms. After a short while, I’d looked round the room again imagining Bonnie’s face all over the wall like some funny graffiti. Bonnie liked interesting things – she had transformed my room with her thoughtful touches- the silver candlestick holders, the ivy mirror and the warm cashmere blanket she had given me only a fortnight ago. Maybe I needed to come to grips with the fact that I had missed Bonnie for a while too long. I had blamed our friction on my being overwrought with studies and that her busyness also had taken the better part of her time too and so, I looked forward to the holidays. “We’d get along as always “, I relieved myself. Strangely enough, she had remained unruffled and calm in spite of my mulish attempts to overemphasize our differences. “I should call Bonnie today”, I soliloquized. But, no sooner had I decided to call her than the thought of my culinary adventure overwhelmed me again.

I hadn’t prepared chicken on my own before but I deemed I could give it a try. It was noon already. I had started boiling the chicken in a kettle filled with water and chopping the vegetables to make a stew with. With every step I got rightly, I’d lift up a knuckle in an arch arm to the air as though I had won a trophy. In between one of my inelegant screams was a knock at the door. Taye! He always had a knack for my dishes. I was sure it was he who knocked as he always got the cues I was up to some kitchen delights! I opened the door to find Bonnie in front of me. It was awkward as I moulded a huge smile on my face to dispel the planned look I intended giving Taye as a sign that I disapproved of his endless visits at opportune times of my culinary endeavours.

“Why are you so happy Clyde?” she warmly enquired with a corresponding smile as she mildly pushed my arm away from the door and let herself in.

“Nothing actually. I’m just happy you’re here” I had said, noticing she was wearing the usual look she gave whenever she was sure I had told a fib. I was a bit excited to see her, yet angry she had not been moved by our apparent strain as I least expected her visit. She was brightly dressed with her beautiful skin radiating as though the heavens sprinkled gold dust on her body.

“I’m cooking by the way, you could come help me out” I said accompanying it with a grin. “Clyde, I only paid a flying visit to check up on you, I do not intend to stay up long” she had retorted. I could sense she wasn’t exactly happy either at the way things had been but I also knew she didn’t come all the way to say a brazen hello. I was silent for a while and I noticed she shuffled round my rack of books. I walked silently to her and spontaneously lifted her up my shoulders. She screamed and laughed at the same time. She had once told me she loved it when I did that and I knew I had to entice her to stay. I landed her safely on the settee with an intent to appeal sensually in order that she’d let things slide.

“I’m sorry Bonnie. I know I’ve been really insensitive towards you and for blaming it all on you”, I regretted.

“Clyde, we can’t keep doing this. One moment we’re hands in glove, the other we are at loggerheads” she bluntly retorted. It pretty saddened me. I reached for her arms and squeezed her gooey palms warmly. She sweated in her palms when she was nervous or pissed.

“I know I’ve routinely misbehaved. I’m sorry. I want you to smile baby, more than ever” I said, and she did smile. She dragged off her hand from my grip, followed with a grimace, characteristically in an attempt to prove that she’d forgiven me and still wanted some more apologies, a game we both had learned to play very well, given our incessant disagreements lately.

I left for the kettle which had already steamed. I pulled off the lid, tipping it clumsily and nearly scalding myself. I fiddled with the pot I had placed to boil rice and watched her from time to time with the side of my eye as she battled to remove her top. The room was stuffy and Bonnie wasn’t the type to keep a stiff upper lip when she felt uncomfortable. The static bands in her top made it stick it to her body and each time she attempted to pull it away, the material leapt back, holding more tightly to her breasts. I walked behind her pretending to be unmindful of her mesmerizing figure. My hard back brushed against her ass cheeks and she paused for a while. I gently undid her blouse, smiling mischievously. I waited for a minute before I pulled her hair from her shoulders to plant an ant line of kisses down her neck. She twitched and slowly, she turned towards me to engage me profoundly in our typical French kisses like two turtle doves. I pulled her up a bit and kissed her neck and cleavage. Her hands palpated my head as she raised her head up high causing me to imagine the feeling that tore through her nerves.

“I love you, Bonnie”, I had whispered passionately. She pushed me away with a broad smile. I reached for her again but she snivelled her waist away like some oiled ball bearings. She kept flirting with fetching smiles patching her cheeks. While she flirted, she kept coming closer till she dropped her thighs on my trunk, wrapping her hands over my broad shoulders. Only then did she allow me wrap my hands around her waist. She kept on lifting her hips from side to side as she beamed with smiles. She was happy, I had supposed. Gosh! Although she didn’t like smiling often, she had the best I had ever seen before hers. I spontaneously raised her up, kissing her softly. I had led the way backwards, on and on until we retired into the sofa. We tugged hungrily at each other’s clothes and this time, nothing mattered to me; not my pot of rice, not the kettle that kept whistling with steams and certainly not the furious chicken that kept spitting angrily through the kettles’ nozzle.

“Are you expecting anyone?”, She asked after some heated moments of inexplicable intimacy, knowing how ungainly I could be with cooking.

“Not anyone to interrupt this”, I had muttered. I pushed my head up some more, greedily reaching for her lips as they were slowly leaving my lip’s care. She pushed back my face teasingly and stepped out, heading towards the kettle at the end of the room which was now screaming. The boiled water had rent the chicken into several vanishingly small amounts. She had helped me with cooking that day and I could bet I’d have made a mess out of the meal given my lousy attempts at preparing plush delicacies. It rained heavily thereafter and it orphaned her plans of going back home.

Dusk befell us much more than expected. Rainy evenings eh? There was no electricity but it didn’t matter. It was drizzling outside and the droplets showered the roofs like blunt arrows, hitting hard but unable to break through. We both fell into bed, serenaded by the crickets and toads. There, in our dimly lit room illuminated only by a candle light and enveloped in the piquant smell of dusty books and insect repellent, we made love.

It’s been ten years and the memories haven’t eluded me. Not even for once. That night! I remember how she had gasped for breath as I shrank her beneath my weight and also how she pulled me to herself each time I tried to relieve her. In the coolth of dawn, we lay close to each other with beads of sweat still cascading down our bodies like scarlet rain. I had cradled her beneath my chin as she raced her fingers through my chest to my groin. We had remained silent for a long while, communing only with the thumps in our heart beats. The sounds of the crickets and chirping morning birds stole the silence and just then she cleared her throat.

“For how Long, Clyde?” She had asked once again, on that fateful moment. I had always squirreled away from answering the question for too long and that day was the final nail in the coffin. We’d known each other for a couple of years and still, I didn’t know what to do with Bonnie. I loved her so damn much and I didn’t want a relationship with her, even after the long wait; strangely so. She meant everything to me, even forever. I feared dating her would be the end of my loving her and at the same time, I was convinced I was never going to stop loving Bonnie. Because she was it Bonnie – everything I ever wanted in a lady. That moment, I had felt like a genie trapped in a small bottle drinking my sorry past fulsomely. I feared I had allowed my fears gotten the better of me and I was going to lose her. My pasts had always haunted me by why her? Why torture her? I had asked myself.

“Clyde, You told me to stay on the phone even if you fell asleep but you’ve been sleeping and I just wanted to be part of your dream. For how long more Clyde?” She had asked again and again. Confused, I sought to reach for her lips and kiss her but she turned her face and the kiss landed clumsily on her cheek.

“I don’t Know, Bonnie”, I had replied cowering in wait of deserving tantrums.

“You don’t know? How Can you not know! Why can’t you just man up Clyde!” she had yelled that morning with her eyes already gooey. I was so pained. I had the option of popping the question and making us what we desired but I knew I’d just have been taking another leap into what I was sure was not only dark but also deep – something I never wanted to make her go through. Yet, it hurt so badly.

“All I know is that I love you and I’ll always do” I had bravely muttered in tears burying my head. I had raised my head to find that she was gone already, slamming the door behind her and only vaguely aware I was chasing after her. The morning haze wearied me and as she trudged away, I could imagine the stabbing pains in her heart and somewhere around the blocks, some one was playing Ellie Golding’s “Love me like you do”

The sight of Bonnie today made me remember everything again. We had not kept in touch all these years because when she said she was done, she wasn’t speaking with her tongue in cheek. As I turned to walk away from the parking lot where I kept my Car, I saw Bonnie! Good heavens! She had grown into an amazing lady. Everything as I have narrated above all played in my head in split seconds. I continued gaping at her until she noticed a man staring awkwardly, gesturing a clumsy hello. She walked away from her car, heading towards the cafeteria as her driver sped off. My flight was in 2 hours and I supposed she was in a hurry.

“Bonnie“, I called out behind her and she turned swiftly. She squinted to have a clear vision of me or probably captured my voice. As I drew closer, she screamed and held her chest as she smiled uncontrollably. That smile! Nothing much had changed. I raced towards her and we hugged each other like the prodigal son did his father. I was so excited to see her.

“Bonnie, I missed you so much”, I could hardly find the words. She laughed courteously maybe in a bid to explain she couldn’t say she missed me. We walked to the cafeteria together with our hands bumping awkwardly into each other. She was excited to see me; she teased my head for suddenly developing an interest in baldness. It bothered me that she seemed calm and happy but I didn’t know why.

“Bonnie, I don’t even know where to start from. It’s been 10 years since we graduated. Tell me everything” I requested so she’d do the talking, as I was too nonplussed.

“Everything?” she repeated, raising her eyebrows feeling suddenly irritated by my request. I could understand anyway. I mean, did I really think I could just waltz in and out of her life and asked whatever I wished? Those days were over, quite understandably. And, in that understanding, I felt a sharp pain comb my heart again. I really missed her. She was even more beautiful than I last saw her. Her hair glowed and the furrow that ran across her forehead spread like fine cat’s whiskers. We grabbed two cups of coffee and chatted as we chased every gulp after the other down the hatch. We did well to avoid personal questions as we tried to catch up, and I appreciated that. As a terrible pretender I imagine how my countenance would have appeared if she told me about her husband. The pretence of wild laughter and the excitement of seeing each other after a long time soon wore off.

“You’re still angry with me right?” I ventured with all the courage in the world, trying to hold her arms again. She diverted her attention to the coffee and her affectation exuded the silence that swallowed us both for a while. She touched my hand, half clutching at my fingers and half stroking them.

‘What would be the point being angry? It is too late for that now” she said. Uncomfortable with the absurdity of our discussion, she got up. I walked close to her and told her how much I’d miss her if she left again. We both had our flights to catch up with.

” I missed you a lot and I’ll miss you too Clyde. Take Care of yourself” she finally said and just when I thought that was all, she pulled me back and hugged me deeply again. I reckon a tear or two falling on our shoulders as we tore ourselves to part ways.

I haven’t seen Bonnie after the last time and I probably never will. But, each time I remember Bonnie, I am reminded that love exists; that there’s always that one person we’ll never stop loving but sadly, we can’t have a second chance with… Or, they are not what we envisage anymore…

© This is dedicated to all those who have their hearts with some persons they once loved, still love but may never have again… You’re not alone.



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Source: PenAStory - www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2017/10/17/the-devil-in-him-part-2/


Excerpt from Part 1:

“You have been drinking again,” she said amidst her sobbing but he didn’t answer. He gave a high pitched laugh and discarding his clothes, stepped into the bathroom and drowned her sobbing with the noise of the shower.

To read part 1: Visit profile or www.penastory.com

Rose curled into a fetal position on the floor and continued sobbing silently as she heard him barfing in the bathroom. There was the sound of running water and then he was back in the room.

“So someone cannot play with you again? Ordinary small push and you are acting like someone that has just been beaten by a mob.” The irritation in his voice was evident and as he staggered past her, he gave her an annoyed kick before collapsing on the bed.

Rose kept on weeping silently as she wondered what kind of life she had gotten herself into. To imagine that everyone thinks she has the best of life with the fancy gifts Daniel is known for showering on her, the exotic parties where she felt more like a mannequin and the walk in closet filled to the brim with designer clothes, shoes and accessories. Was any of it worth this humiliation, Rose wondered to herself. The sound of Daniel’s heavy snoring coming from their king-sized bed was the only reply to her silent question and shakily, she stood up and went to clean herself up.

The next morning, Rose woke up earlier than usual and began preparations for breakfast. When Happy, the maid who was usually the one to start breakfast came into the kitchen, Rose sent her out and said she wanted to continue last night’s celebrations with her husband. Happy smiled at her in envy and did as her madam had instructed. In a methodical manner, Rose fried Daniel’s eggs just the way he liked it and put water to boil for his tea while making sure she started on the toast as well. When the kettle went off, she looked around the kitchen to make sure nobody was watching her and undoing the tied end of her apron, brought out the colourless liquid she had bought from a drug store two weeks back. The liquid was in a little bottle and when she had emptied all its content into the steaming water, she turned it into a jug. Ladling her tray with Daniel’s breakfast, she made her way back to their bedroom where he was still asleep.

“Honey, your breakfast is ready,” she cooed in a sing-song voice. Anybody watching her would find it hard to believe that she was the same woman who had been sobbing with an open gash on her head last night. Save for the ugly gash which she had carefully hidden with her hair, there was no testimony to last night’s abuse.

“What is it you want, I have a hangover, all I want is just some hot tea. I don’t think I can have any breakfast.” Daniel grumbled from the bed and burrowed deeper into the covers.

“I thought as much, after all the stress of last night, I knew you couldn’t possibly have any appetite. I made you some toast and there is jam and hot water for your tea. Come on dear, just get up and have a bite.”

Daniel slowly sat up and eyed the tray she was holding in her hand. There was a flash of shame in his eyes and Rose felt for a minute maybe he was going to apologise for hitting her last night. Daniel never apologized after hitting her, the closest he always came close to doing this is to usually bring her an expensive gift. Sometimes it would be a diamond brochure or a fancy gold chain, each gift a little usually more expensive than the last. Rose wished he would understand that trying to bribe her for the violence she has to endure doesn’t make up for the things she was going through.

She poured out the water into a small tea cup and began preparing the tea while he grumbled about having a splitting headache but needed to be out of the house for an important meet. Rose smiled mirthless to herself as she realized that he was going out. The poison she had slipped into the tea water was one that no coroner was ever going to find and she felt glad that she wouldn’t have to watch him die. The man at the pharmacy had told her that it usually took about two hours for the poison to work and that it would affect his heart. With the way Daniel worked hard, it wouldn’t be hard to believe that he had suffered a heartache and simply slumped and died. With an eagle eye, she watched him sip the hot tea gingerly and she felt most of the tension she had been feeling for the last few years ebb away. It was as if the sudden realization that Daniel would soon be dying was relieving her of the inner turmoil she had been battling with. Daniel took a bite out of his toast and gulped the rest of the tea before getting out of the bed and dashing into the bathroom to get set for his meet.

Humming happily to herself, Rose began her own preparations for the day and began singing some of the songs she had always loved as a spinster. When Daniel was dressed, he came to where she was brushing her hair by the dresser and planted a kiss on her lips.

“Have a nice day today honey,” Rose said and he smiled at her. They were like two actors, each playing a role of pretense and trying to ignore the fact that their marriage wasn’t perfect.

“I will see you later tonight dear,” Daniel said when he got to the door.

“Goodbye Daniel.” There was a note of finality in her voice as she said these words and she felt a sense of satisfaction. She knew that when next she would be seeing him, he would be too dead to hit a woman again and she began humming the tune of a funeral song to herself as she continued brushing her hair.



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Source: PenAStory - www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2017/10/04/black-love-diary/

The journey from Iwo, Ibadan to the city of Benin was by no means an easy one. Although I was no stranger to this kind of trips, being a third year student of the prestigious purple and gold citadel of academic excellence, the hours seemed to stretch far beyond what I was already used to. All the same, I could never have felt more idyllic by the time I arrived at my lush two-storey hostel overlooking the expressway. With swift deftness, I turned the key in the lock of my condo, pushed the door open and barged right in.

Apparently jolted by the sudden arrival of the looming party popper, the tiny little pests turned and ran; slipping and slithering into the dark corners of the very expansive one- self-con as I myself stood, frozen and rooted to the spot. These annoying little things never ceased to give me nightmares. I could already feel the thin lines of my brow getting up-close and personal with themselves. Gingerly, I tip-toed further along into the corridor separating the kitchen from the toilet, turning right into the lavatory, my olfactory nerves were instantly churned by the odiferous scent emitting from within. Through the dim light that filtered in from the mottled window frame above, I could see the carnage lying around me, littered on the toilet seat, on the sink, everywhere you could look at – dozens of dead, decaying cockroaches, desiccating earthworms and millipedes. A putrefying mass of lifeless organisms; it was as though these insects had warred themselves all to death.

“Oh no!” I cried in disgust. “Not Theresa again.”

Theresa is a distant cousin I had to lodge when she was to write the University of Benin post-ume, a week to my departure from the city. She was a sweet little teenager, lively and inquisitive – the type that reminded me of how I was during my teen years. From the looks of it, she had failed to heed my instructions which were; to tidy- up the house (with special attention given to the lavatory) and keep all windows tightly shut. I myself failed to remind her of it despite our numerous online chitchats. Grudgingly, and with a deep frown still tattooed on my soft-sheen face, I quickly retrieved the long brush from its corner in the corridor and set to work. Just under an hour later, my condo was cleansed – clean and crisp yet again. By this time however, I was pretty weary and exhausted and after I had taken a quick, cold shower, I scampered into the coziness of my bed, abandoning my unpacked bags and half- eaten snacks I had purchased on the way; snugging deeper and deeper into the sheets, seeking to fraternize with members of the elusive world.

It was on the 15th day of November, 2015 that I awoke from dreamland – a very bright Sunday morning, so calm and peaceful it was as though all the evil in the world had faded away, far from the brightness of the irradiating sun. But for me, this day could only represent bleakness,, sorrow and nothing else but pain.

My deeply intuitive elder sister Annalise, once told me, “Amanda if you ever begin to feel sad and lonely, pick up your pen and write……….pour out your feelings onto the paper and leave them there. And so, I write as if this is going to take all the pain away with fair hope that these words of mine would capture my feelings wholesomely – in fluid-like tranquility.

I was born into the home of Mr. & Mrs. Adeleke, a small family of four on the 6th of June 1995. As a young child, I prided myself as the favorite of my Dad. I was in fact his carbon copy – a chip of the old block as some would say. He was a fair complexioned, tall burly man. So fair, that some people often wondered if he was a half-caste. Without any reservations, I had inherited all his beautiful features; the eyes, nose and considerable height. Dad always took a special liking to me. To him, I was his jewel and treasure; his very own “little sisi”. He would buy me lots of gifts and toys – and this usually made Annalise a little jealous. I remember on one occasion, while I was six and she was ten, she snapped the head of my doll right out of its neck, hurling it to the ground and stamping on it as her face puckered into a sardonic smile. I couldn’t help but burst into a fit of tears as my Barbie was cruelly dismantled beyond repair. Anyways, we made up soon after that as we always did. Annalise was my only sibling and although I hardly let her know, I love her to bits and pieces. As a family, we weren’t so rich neither were we too poor but things weren’t so good overall. At the age of eight, I was already old enough to know why the stoutly built landlord often knocked on the hard wooden door of our apartment.

“Go and tell your father that I am waiting outside” he would say in his thick ijebu accent once the door was opened.

But as fate would have it, God smiled upon us and soon enough my father was entreated to a deluge of lucrative business contracts sweeping their way into his hitherto shriveled enclave like sea gulls after a wounded prey. His firm grew drastically in size translating into more disposable income for us. It didn’t take long before we relocated to one of the posh areas of Ibadan – GRA to be precise. Finally, fortune had turned its good side to us.

Life sometimes has a way of wowing you. One moment you could be struggling; sweating it out; barely managing to make one’s ends meet, and another you could be swimming in a sea of opulence. For the family of the Adelekes – my very own beloved family, this was the story. Friends and neighbours alike were left severely stunned and while some chose to grace the housewarming of our new residence with their presence, some preferred to sit back and gossip; a good number of them concluding that my father, the blossoming chief architect of the much vaunted Tophill Architectural designs Co. Ltd, had “gone to do blood money”.

For the following years to come, we lived in pure bliss; changing clothes and cars more frequently than necessity demanded. Mother had in fact gone through some stunning transformation, her skin glowing and sparkling now more than ever – a befitting upshot of her frequent visits to the spa, coupled with her recent employment of expensive creams and skin toners. She had started socializing with the crème of the southwestern society, herself hardly failing to steal the spotlight of most social events she attended, hypnotizing her gawking male admirers with her luminous beauty. The house itself never seemed to get rid of the endless list of dignitaries and “big men” of society that traipsed into and out of it. Obviously, my dad was about to make his debut into the political scene. Little did we know, that the joy and happiness that once defined and delineated the very heart of our family’s existence was about to slip away and never to return again.

On November 13, 2006, I returned home from school to find Annalise sulking in a corner of our room – head bent over raised knees, looking glumly out the large glass window overseeing the garden below. It was quite easy to see the displeasure registered on her face.

“What’s wrong?” I softly inquired of her.

“Everything is!” she bawled out; her eyes dark and glossy with pain. She turned again to face the window. “There was a huge fight…….Mom and dad……it was horrible…you wouldn’t believe…..” she trailed off again.

“Please tell me,” I pleaded with imploring eyes.

I listened avidly as Annalise recounted the worrying details of a fracas that had ensued between dad and mom. It was somewhat hard to gulp down due to the fact that that both of them never had a quarrel over anything as far as I could tell. Dad was always the understanding, easy going person while mom was equally cheerful and submissive. I often thought their love was one made in heaven as the chemistry existing between them was so palpable, even a child as little as I was could tell. Annalise, still looking out the window spoke again; unknowingly snapping me out of my short reverie.

“She said that we’ve been betrayed…”

To be continued…



Get updates on our posts by joining our BBM Channel via C00396EEB, The journey from Iwo, Ibadan to the city of Benin was by no means an easy one. Although I was no stranger to this kind of trips, being a third year student of the prestigious purple and gold citadel of academic excellence, the hours seemed to stretch far beyond what I was already used to. All the same, I could never have felt more idyllic by the time I arrived at my lush two-storey hostel overlooking the expressway. With swift deftness, I turned the key in the lock of my condo, pushed the door open and barged right in.

Apparently jolted by the sudden arrival of the looming party popper, the tiny little pests turned and ran; slipping and slithering into the dark corners of the very expansive one- self-con as I myself stood, frozen and rooted to the spot. These annoying little things never ceased to give me nightmares. I could already feel the thin lines of my brow getting up-close and personal with themselves. Gingerly, I tip-toed further along into the corridor separating the kitchen from the toilet, turning right into the lavatory, my olfactory nerves were instantly churned by the odiferous scent emitting from within. Through the dim light that filtered in from the mottled window frame above, I could see the carnage lying around me, littered on the toilet seat, on the sink, everywhere you could look at – dozens of dead, decaying cockroaches, desiccating earthworms and millipedes. A putrefying mass of lifeless organisms; it was as though these insects had warred themselves all to death.

“Oh no!” I cried in disgust. “Not Theresa again.”

Theresa is a distant cousin I had to lodge when she was to write the University of Benin post-ume, a week to my departure from the city. She was a sweet little teenager, lively and inquisitive – the type that reminded me of how I was during my teen years. From the looks of it, she had failed to heed my instructions which were; to tidy- up the house (with special attention given to the lavatory) and keep all windows tightly shut. I myself failed to remind her of it despite our numerous online chitchats. Grudgingly, and with a deep frown still tattooed on my soft-sheen face, I quickly retrieved the long brush from its corner in the corridor and set to work. Just under an hour later, my condo was cleansed – clean and crisp yet again. By this time however, I was pretty weary and exhausted and after I had taken a quick, cold shower, I scampered into the coziness of my bed, abandoning my unpacked bags and half- eaten snacks I had purchased on the way; snugging deeper and deeper into the sheets, seeking to fraternize with members of the elusive world.

It was on the 15th day of November, 2015 that I awoke from dreamland – a very bright Sunday morning, so calm and peaceful it was as though all the evil in the world had faded away, far from the brightness of the irradiating sun. But for me, this day could only represent bleakness,, sorrow and nothing else but pain.

My deeply intuitive elder sister Annalise, once told me, “Amanda if you ever begin to feel sad and lonely, pick up your pen and write……….pour out your feelings onto the paper and leave them there. And so, I write as if this is going to take all the pain away with fair hope that these words of mine would capture my feelings wholesomely – in fluid-like tranquility.

I was born into the home of Mr. & Mrs. Adeleke, a small family of four on the 6th of June 1995. As a young child, I prided myself as the favorite of my Dad. I was in fact his carbon copy – a chip of the old block as some would say. He was a fair complexioned, tall burly man. So fair, that some people often wondered if he was a half-caste. Without any reservations, I had inherited all his beautiful features; the eyes, nose and considerable height. Dad always took a special liking to me. To him, I was his jewel and treasure; his very own “little sisi”. He would buy me lots of gifts and toys – and this usually made Annalise a little jealous. I remember on one occasion, while I was six and she was ten, she snapped the head of my doll right out of its neck, hurling it to the ground and stamping on it as her face puckered into a sardonic smile. I couldn’t help but burst into a fit of tears as my Barbie was cruelly dismantled beyond repair. Anyways, we made up soon after that as we always did. Annalise was my only sibling and although I hardly let her know, I love her to bits and pieces. As a family, we weren’t so rich neither were we too poor but things weren’t so good overall. At the age of eight, I was already old enough to know why the stoutly built landlord often knocked on the hard wooden door of our apartment.

“Go and tell your father that I am waiting outside” he would say in his thick ijebu accent once the door was opened.

But as fate would have it, God smiled upon us and soon enough my father was entreated to a deluge of lucrative business contracts sweeping their way into his hitherto shriveled enclave like sea gulls after a wounded prey. His firm grew drastically in size translating into more disposable income for us. It didn’t take long before we relocated to one of the posh areas of Ibadan – GRA to be precise. Finally, fortune had turned its good side to us.

Life sometimes has a way of wowing you. One moment you could be struggling; sweating it out; barely managing to make one’s ends meet, and another you could be swimming in a sea of opulence. For the family of the Adelekes – my very own beloved family, this was the story. Friends and neighbours alike were left severely stunned and while some chose to grace the housewarming of our new residence with their presence, some preferred to sit back and gossip; a good number of them concluding that my father, the blossoming chief architect of the much vaunted Tophill Architectural designs Co. Ltd, had “gone to do blood money”.

For the following years to come, we lived in pure bliss; changing clothes and cars more frequently than necessity demanded. Mother had in fact gone through some stunning transformation, her skin glowing and sparkling now more than ever – a befitting upshot of her frequent visits to the spa, coupled with her recent employment of expensive creams and skin toners. She had started socializing with the crème of the southwestern society, herself hardly failing to steal the spotlight of most social events she attended, hypnotizing her gawking male admirers with her luminous beauty. The house itself never seemed to get rid of the endless list of dignitaries and “big men” of society that traipsed into and out of it. Obviously, my dad was about to make his debut into the political scene. Little did we know, that the joy and happiness that once defined and delineated the very heart of our family’s existence was about to slip away and never to return again.

On November 13, 2006, I returned home from school to find Annalise sulking in a corner of our room – head bent over raised knees, looking glumly out the large glass window overseeing the garden below. It was quite easy to see the displeasure registered on her face.

“What’s wrong?” I softly inquired of her.

“Everything is!” she bawled out; her eyes dark and glossy with pain. She turned again to face the window. “There was a huge fight…….Mom and dad……it was horrible…you wouldn’t believe…..” she trailed off again.

“Please tell me,” I pleaded with imploring eyes.

I listened avidly as Annalise recounted the worrying details of a fracas that had ensued between dad and mom. It was somewhat hard to gulp down due to the fact that that both of them never had a quarrel over anything as far as I could tell. Dad was always the understanding, easy going person while mom was equally cheerful and submissive. I often thought their love was one made in heaven as the chemistry existing between them was so palpable, even a child as little as I was could tell. Annalise, still looking out the window spoke again; unknowingly snapping me out of my short reverie.

“She said that we’ve been betrayed…”

To be continued…

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Source: PenAStory - www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2017/10/02/lousy-joints/

My granddad dislikes rainfall. Not just it, he dislikes everything that comes with it; the chilly breeze, the mist, everything. He hates the fact that he has to be reminded once more of the leaking roof that never quits dripping down on the only mattress in the house, forming shapeless obscure pictures in the middle, like the urine of a little baby. The rain doesn’t bother about how he feels nor does it care how I do. It however, hears the curses we yell, which, perhaps is the reason it sneaks on us each time. It doesn’t just come when we are around to place empty buckets on top his priceless mattress he said his wife bought him a long time ago or to place little bowls at another corner near the cupboard where some bags near. It comes with so much intriguing style and it makes him think the rain makers have their eyes on him.

When the rain comes, it drips, pours and muddles into little pools that can drown a little baby. It is awful. It leaves me to dry the entire house clean with special rags he cut out specifically for this operation, made from old cheap clothes. This part I detest most. Most times, in other to play wise, he reminds me to serve the bowls and buckets under these spots, especially before leaving for school, before the rain brings down its full rage on our remaining properties.
It gives him concern. It also gives him sleepless nights. When the rains come during the dark nights to trouble our sleep and catches him slumbering, he springs to the droplets damping his body and he manages to slide to another side till the morning comes, muttering silent curses to the night.

In general, the house, as little as it is, gives us concern. The tree, from which we collect shade in the afternoons, never forgets to drop down its fruits on the rooftop, reminding us, even in our sleep, of the very need to cut it down before it one day falls on us and slaughters everyone under it. But my grandfather has warned he doesn’t want to hear of it. Despite he knows the risks it plays, he resolves, saying the tree was planted for some damn reason only he knows- a very concrete one he fails to share. And he never fails to add that the tree has children.
‘How can one kill a mother who is froth with children, all because she spits on you once in a while. You don’t. It is sinful and barbaric. You allow her to give birth before you decide her fate’.
And so we did, we waited, for he always failed to realize the logic behind it; the tall udara tree spits on our roof, which makes way for droplets of rain to seep through to his bed. And yet he forgives it? How can one forgive such for a long, long time.

Soon, the raining season faded upon us, precipitation exhausted its temper, making way for the dry season. We experienced a bit of relief after then, deep into our bowels, we felt it shred away from our pale skin as the damp smell of everyday percolated water, which our things harbored, diminished, letting only fresh air and soothing calmness which brought about a certain kind of nearness to myself and grandfather. But it didn’t leave us stale and empty handed, at least, not unless with some bottled up memories, mostly mine, which cannot be hidden from my young head. One was when I misjudged the weather, without realizing a heavy downpour lurked. That day had scarred my back from lashes from my grandfather’s koboko, as he returned late to find, once again that his mattress was cloaked with every drop of rain that heaven could spill.
Now, with the absence of the rain, came the carpenter’s tools, blockading holes and lousy joints in the ceiling. With it came silent sleep, embracing us through each night. But there was one more thing it didn’t take away. And it was the shapeless brown insignias of harvested water on my grandfather’s costly mattress.

Source: PenAStory - www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2017/10/02/the-devil-in-him/

Rose came awake with a jerk and she rubbed her eyes with the back of her palm in a disoriented motion. The high pitched laugh that had woken her up came again this time right outside the bedroom door and she knew Daniel was home. He rapped on the mahogany door with heavy blows and cursed loudly.

“Open…I said open the goddamn door Rose, you don’t want to keep a man away from the comfort of his own bed.” His voice was slurred and she knew he was drunk again. Her eyes darted to the bedside clock and the 2:32 a.m. on the screen seemed to mock her. She had been asleep for roughly two hours after getting tired of waiting up for him. It was supposed to be her thirtieth birthday last night and unlike last year’s celebration, Daniel had said they were going to have a private dinner. She had made the servants prepare his favourite meal of grilled chicken dipped in peanut sauce, served with rice and assorted grilled vegetables just the way he had shown her at the beginning of their marriage. She didn’t let the servants help her with the meal because she wanted it to be special and they had only helped her in setting up the table. By 6:00 p.m., she was sitting at the dining table in her purple sequined half gown; the very one he had bought her on his last trip to France.

The minutes soon turned to hours and anger gave in to worry. The food was getting cold. What if the coldness of the food made him not enjoy it? What could be keeping him? What if he was hurt? What if something had happened? Could he be in another woman’s arms? Had he gone drinking again? Unable to bear these thoughts any longer, she began to try reaching him on his cell but he wasn’t answering his phone. The time was 8:22. p.m. and sick with worry, she called his secretary only to be told he left the office around 3.30 p.m. in the company of some friends who came on a visit. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she realized it was either he had forgotten about her birthday or simply chosen the company of his friends over an evening with her.

By 10.55 p.m. she had lost any hope of getting across to him and with a defeated sigh, she had asked the servants to clear the table as she went to prepare for bed. As she stepped out of her dress and began the process of wiping her face free of makeup, thoughts of the last few months had run through her mind.

She had met Daniel five years ago at a listening party of an upcoming rapper. She clearly didn’t belong there because everyone reeked of money and she was only here because her friend, Natasha who is a model had given her an invite. She had gone to the balcony of the party venue to get some fresh air and also escape the lewd stares and sneers of some of the guys in the room. All her life, the only compliment she had gotten was about her stunning beauty. She was the definition of a black beauty with her flawlessly smooth dark skin, ivory white teeth, oval face that housed almond shaped soft brown eyes. Her long lashes gave her a doll like beauty and her rich raven hair fell in loose waves around her shoulder without the need of a human hair extensions. Not that she could afford hair extensions since she was as broke as a church rat having being born to a petty trader and cobbler. Her beauty was all she had and many a time even that felt like a curse. She was swaying softly to the music that was drifting her way on the balcony from inside when Daniel walked up to her. He was a older than most of the other guys at the party and she had found out he was thirty-six when they got talking.

Unlike most of the other guys, he wasn’t lewd in his approach and had seemed genuinely interested in her. It was a whirlwind romance because three months later, they were tying the knot in a grand wedding as she took his last name. She knew Daniel was rich but she hadn’t realized how rich he was until they were actually married. He was an oil magnate with all the luxuries of the world, a private yacht, a towering mansion in the city, fleet of cars and all the other things that define wealth. From being the girl who wore hand-me-down clothing, she was soon dripping in diamonds, sipping on champagne and sleeping in feather beds. Her role as the news Mrs. of his world also meant she was holding parties for wives of the people he rolled with and attending high society events. She had a perfect life for the first one year then the troubles started. She had a miscarriage and it changed Daniel. He took to drinking and started keeping late nights. Two more miscarriages and he started hitting her, it was as if the Devil was suddenly living in him. Now she was stepping out for events having to cover the bruises from the previous night’s beating in makeup and hiding swollen eyes behind dark sunglasses.

“Fucking…open this door.” Daniel’s voice came again angrily followed by a heavy kick against the doors.

Rose sighed and got up from the bed to let him into the bedroom.

“You are home late…” she began but the rest of her words were cut off as he rushed into the room in a staggering haze and grabbed her by the throat.

She saw stars as a slap landed on her cheeks and his face bore down into hers with the smell of alcohol assaulting her nostrils. She was finding it hard to breathe as his grip on her neck tightened and he sneered at her as she struggled to be free of his grip.

“Don’t you ever fucking lock me out again! You hear me!” he snorted in her face before throwing her backwards as if he was tossing away a worthless toy.

Rose landed with a hard thud on the carped floor of their room with a scream and her head hit the wooden frame of the bed. A flash of pain coursed through and her hand went instinctively to her head. She felt the warm liquid on her fingers and knew it was blood even before she saw it. She stared at her bloodied fingers and began crying softly on the ground, her tears mixing with the dripping blood from the gash.

“You have been drinking again,” she said amidst her sobbing but he didn’t answer. He gave a high pitched laugh and discarding his clothes, stepped into the bathroom and drowned her sobbing with the noise of the shower.



To be continued

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Source: PenAStory.com

https://penastory.com/2017/06/09/the-graduates-story-true-life-experience-episode-6/

Excerpt from episode 5:

I thought I still had Ella until I noticed how carried away she was by the talks of this man. She laughed and was smug. I was angry and depressed at the same time as I gazed from afar. It’s hopeless, she’s gone, something said within me. Just when I thought it was a mere evening date, this man brought out a small white box which seemed like a talisman given by a local witch doctor. On a closer look, it was a beautiful white box. Oh my God!. As he made to the floor with his knees, I shouted.

This was the beginning of my story as a married man, a husband and a Graduate.

To read episode 5: Visit profile or www.penastory.com

I fixed my gaze at them. They were seated and gorging themselves on cupcakes and tiny shreds of chips in ketchups. The bar was pretty noisy and but grand decor. It was a perfect site for the love story that inadvertently wrote. The gala swathes of ivy that decorated the large hall and holly curtains on the bay windows, the lighting; the enormous chandeliers with serrated nozzles that buried luminous lights hanging above the ceilings and to top it all, the place was brightly-lit and people were abuzz with animated chatters.

Despite the distractions, I tried not to miss a step or two in the romance set before my abashed eyes. As the frumpy looking man reached for her hands whilst holding the small white box, I scurried off to their seats pliantly passing through the rowdy persons who strewed about in the hall. He held out a small ring from the box and that was when I descended into the arena. Impulsively, I slapped the black out of the man’s face. He blared furiously and reached for one of the bottles in the table but he was intercepted by some young men who watched the way I nimbly ran into the “couple” in the cool of their enjoyment. It was a hard decision to make, trust me. As much as I wanted to slap Ella, my anger buoyed up to brandish him with a slap.

As he struggled to be let loose, I kept yelling furiously back at him “Stupid man, shameless man! You are busy looking for married woman to remarry them. God punish you!” I cussed him endlessly.

As I turned to Ella, I wasn’t even afforded the luxury of respect befitting of a nodding acquaintance. Before I could mutter anything, Ella responded sharply with a slap in my face and somehow, maybe by impulsive, she let out the remains of her wine in the mug right into my clothes. She told me never to ruin her life as I already did. She insulted me in public glare and pushed me out of her way as she made for her revolutionary lover who had been dragged out by the security officers in there. I cupped my face in shame. Ella exposed me to public odium discourteously. As I managed to leave the scene with the tinges of ego left in me, the exasperated security officers came to expunge me from the hall. They took turns to drag me out and by this time, it seemed as though I were the villain. People looked at me as I walked past them with mortification written on their faces. I overheard a bevy of ladies sitting round a table prattling in hushed tones, “Shameless man” one called out with a look that dramatized more of hatred than even disappointment.

As of the time I came out of the hall, Ella had left for home. Perhaps, with the man. I still had no clue as to her whereabouts but this time, I was already too angry to continue in search for her. ‘That was bullshit’, I convinced myself. I concluded that she was a lost cause. I’ve never been that embarrassed by the same person I love. I regretted not having to slap her first before reconciling my anger for the man with an equally thunderous slap. I was in pains. My ego was squashed like mesh for the toothless and the suckers to feed on. That night, I slept like an injured beast. I kept grunting intermittently, spreading my legs and throwing my face to both sides of the bed in pain, anguish and desolation. I woke up to a firm resolution that I would train Opeyemi without her mother. There’s no way you can hold onto something that wants to go. You can only love what you got while you got it.

One evening, I sauntered into the house after boozing heavily on my way home. The vehicle was a mess; I dribbled into mud and kept blaring the horns inconsequentially. When I finally alighted from my car after managing to pass through the gate, I staggered out and fell to the ground, puking inordinately. I was as pissed as a newt; heavily drunk. With the help of my gateman and my maid, I was able to find my way into the house. Much to my surprise, I entered the house to find Ella and my daughter in my sitting room. With a worn out make up and a discomfited mien, it was obvious they had been waiting for my return for a long time. She could tell effortlessly that my lifestyle had been deeply buffeted by her abrupt departure and consequential disregard in the pub the other day. What she saw in my eyes were shards of pain and anguish and rage.

Meanwhile, I was unable to tell that Ella and my daughter were the persons right before me. Tipsily, I said hello to them. I could bet I mistook them for maids that night. I lay on my bed alone. Actually I needed it. The bed was sizeable yet my persistent turns on the bed coupled with a trail of pathetic snores required that had the entire bed to myself. I only woke up to see that Ella had returned.

I woke up in the morning and realised that the house was quieter than it was when I staggered into the house with fuzzy understanding indicative of tipsiness. I looked around and gathered that I had at one point ruffled my blanket and bedsheets. With whom, I had no idea. Perhaps alone. As I reached for the kitchen, I saw blood stains all over the floor. Oh my God! What have I done? He memories were flushing into my mind just as fast as they eluded me in the first place.

I remember now. I had had a fight last night with Ella who accused me of being irresponsible. I had hit her with the figurine I placed on two of the glass table in the side of my room. While she bled, I scurried off to sleep, totally unmindful of the harm I had done to her. Panicky, I cried out to my gateman who rushed down to help me with Ella into the car. I called my mother and narrated my ordeal as I drove to the hospital. I was ashamed of myself.

On getting to the hospital, I hurriedly brought her out of the vehicle and called the attention of the nurses around. I was still aghast how I had gotten into such a mess. Her heartbeat was faint and was constantly frightening. I spent hours in the hospital waiting for a positive response from the doctors who had already begun to effect treatment on her.

This entire mess was my undoing, I blamed. What is she dies? What will I tell Opeyemi? What will I tell her family? Who would have thought that just a single mistake would debilitate my life?

“Mr. Ade,” a voice cried out.

It was the doctor. He just came out of the ward Ella was dragged into for treatment. “Doctor, Doctor, How’s my wife?” I asked spontaneously. This time my voice was already incoherent given my previous wailings. While the doctor came out seeming to be in good fettle, he wasn’t exactly happy. As I asked about Ella, he flung his head to both sides of his temple in a sorrowful manner.

“Doctor did she make it?” I asked. He said nothing. He looked blue.


To be continued….


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https://penastory.com/2017/05/15/the-graduates-story-true-life-experience-episode-5/

Excerpt from episode 4:

Tope and I still communicate once in a while. She still vows to wait for me no matter how long it takes. I know what happened was a mistake and it still remains a secret but for how long? Two years and Ella still wasn’t properly guided on my sexcapade with Tope. Somehow, someday, as I showered in the sink, a message dropped in my phone. Ella was close-by so she checked it. The look that followed after she had checked scared me. Is she now “properly guided”?

To read episode 4: Visit profile or www.penastory.com

I kept my head down in pain and anguish. The slap that landed my cheeks didn’t give much of a choice what to do next. No reprisals, no words, I just kept mute. When I finally regained my voice I muttered, “Ella it’s not what you think, I’m so sorry I should have told you”.

Ella kept crying huskily. She tried to explain her pain but her voice had been seriously spoilt by the mix of sobs and intermittent hiccups. I felt terrible. Tope’s message was short and simple, it read: “My love, Tosin can walk now and he already knows how to mutter one or two words. When will he know his father?” This is the message Ella saw on my phone.

I know you all may not know Tosin. Do you remember the last time I slept with Tope two years ago when she said she was safe and has passed her ovulation? It was untrue. Tope became pregnant that very last day we had sex and I ejaculated into her. She gave birth to Tosin in London. It has been our little secret for about a year now. She never told me of the pregnancy period until she was delivered of Tosin. It came as a shocker and left me in stitches but what would you have me do? I couldn’t tell my mum nor could I, Ella.

“How could you do this to me Adeoluwa? Was it Children I could not give you? Was it love? What else did I not do for you? Why didn’t you tell me about her all this while? I thought we were best friends.” Ella kept sobbing innocently.

Every wail she let out smeared deep into my head and banged it. I couldn’t control my own tears anymore. I was already in a quandary; a mess I didn’t know how it all cooked up. Sometimes as they say, the truth is better not said because people cannot always handle it but what becomes of you when people know the truth without you telling them? Trust me, in my case, Ella knowing the truth externally did more damage.

“Ella I’m sorry. I can explain everything to you I promise,” I tried to calm her pulse but no, she flourished another slap on my face again.

If it were just slaps, I had no problem. I felt damned and destroyed from my innards to my externals. I felt wicked because Ella truly wasn’t supposed to be in the middle of this mess. She knew nothing, did everything for me as a wife but as much as I tried to keep it from her, she knew anyways.

“Ella please it’s not time to call Mama, let me explain to you. I’m sorry I never told you. Please sit down and let me explain,” I persisted.

Ella slithered to the floor and kept sobbing. I managed to raise her up to the chair and set out to tell the whole story but there was a problem; Ella knew only about Tosin. She had no idea whether there was another, but there is – Junior. How would she feel if she got to know the whole story? Wouldn’t she be all the more besmirching that I kept the tale this long? Again, I had no choice. I had to make a clean sweep of the story by putting all my cards on the desk for her to see.

“Ella it happened many years ago when I was serving as a graduate in Kogi State. There was this girl, Tope. We were in love with each other then. She was the First girl I knew in a biblical sense. When I left Kogi, some years at about the time I knew you, she located me and told me she was pregnant. Remember those times I went for incessant travels, didn’t pick your calls, returned with feigned bouts of headaches? It was Tope I was visiting. Then, she had a son for me already, Junior. That was my first son.”

As I explained, she severed my speech by saying, “Who the hell is Tosin then? How many years are you talking about?”

Apparently, she was confused but I had to calm her down to hear me out. I continued, “On a particular occasion, I went to the apartment I rented for her to stay with my son. One thing led to the other, he had sex again and I mistakenly let it out into her. I had no condom and I didn’t know what to do. She hypnotised me! She told me she was in her safe period and I was happy. My mum and I arranged to ply her out of the country and we did. She took Junior with her and since then they’ve been together. Sadly, she told her over there that she was delivered of Tosin after nine months of her departure and her last sex was with me; the misguidedly safe intercourse. I was too scared to tell you. I feared it would jeopardize our marriage. Please understand and bear with me.” I pleaded with compunction. She was speechless to the tonsils.

After my narrative, Ella wiped her tears. She silently went into the room. She lay on the bed with her eyes glued to the racks above. Her silence was loud. Her silence made me feel guiltier. Her unexpected quietude blighted the hopes of a rapprochement between us. Maybe the story tore her completely. Just that moment there’s nothing left to cry or complain about.

That night, it was frustration meeting with sleeplessness. I tossed about in the bed carefully avoiding a convergence of our eyes. She didn’t sleep either. She had her back raised above the edge of the bed and placed a pillow in between herself and the wall. She was pensive. What she had in mind was unfathomable to me. Perhaps she would get over it, I assured myself. The flowing blanket meant for the both of us broke at the middle because she wasn’t in it.

By morning, I scurried out of the house to go to work. I left her at home because she was still on bed. At work I barely spoke to anyone. When I finished from work, I went home to Ella but she was no more. She painstakingly packed to the minutest of her belongings out of my house. She left all the presents I had bought for her on different occasions. She left her ring on the reading table in my room. Everything we shared, she dropped it. Worrisomely, she took our daughter, Opeyemi with her. I had no idea about her whereabouts. I hurried to my mum’s to check on her but she wasn’t there. My mum, needless to say would always ask me authoritatively what has transpired. After narrating the ordeal, I received the third slap for the whole drama I had caused. Thanks to chatting with Tope.

I went to Ella’s parents’ house but she wasn’t there as well. Confused, I started visiting all her friends in fits and starts and I knew them. Some asked the whys and wherefores of my abrupt visitation. To some I confided, to others, I rebuffed. Ella had gone far away and she wasn’t taking her calls. Two months and counting, I was still searching for Ella. I searched hopefully that fatefully I would chance on her and keep at apologising until she agreed to be with me again. Indeed, it was another fateful moment, one I will not forgive in a flurry.

I called at a bar after work to have a beer or two before I would saunter back to my house. I wasn’t drunk. I knew what I saw. It was Ella sitting opposite one particularly homely man dressed in a suit with stubbles incongruently matching his completely shaved head. I managed to subdue a gale of laughter. They both looked very unbefitting. I thought I still had Ella until I noticed how carried away she was by the talks of this man. She laughed and was smug. I was angry and depressed at the same time as I gazed from afar. It’s hopeless, she’s gone, something said within me. Just when I thought it was a mere evening date, this man brought out a small white box which seemed like a talisman given by a local witch doctor. On a closer look, it was a beautiful white box. Oh my God!. As he made to the floor with his knees, I shouted.

This was the beginning of my story as a married man, a husband and a Graduate.

To be continued…



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https://penastory.com/2017/05/11/a-letter-to-her-alabi-ayomide/

Hey you, yes you!

It was an amazing journey with you but it was also the longest eighteen months of my life. Yes I know it wasn’t bad at first, but then came the nagging, the continuous shouting then of course the cheating. I’m actually not sorry we ended things the way we did, if anything I’m glad I was able to put both of us out of our miseries as soon as I could.

What I don’t understand is how things went so quickly from awesome to terrible, yeah I get, “couples have issues and misunderstandings at one point or the other”. But we had just one misunderstanding that changed everything, you stopped calling, you stopped texting back even when you did it was two or three days after, you became so distant, it was like you were actually here but you felt so far away from me and then you gave up on us completely. I don’t think words can describe how much I loathe you for making me think I was the problem. What you don’t know is when I think about you I think about you with so much anger wishing I never gave you chances to hurt me over and over again, wishing I didn’t wait this long before I pulled the plugs of this failed and terrible shenanigans called a relationship. The truth is that it hurts because it’s real, it hurts because it mattered. Am I not worth an explanation or a little respect, you left me hanging like a desert waiting for rain?

I want to cry, I want to fucking cry, I say to the stars in between sighs. I imagine the stars saying back to me “she ain’t worth it, wipe those tears even before they come”. You know, one of the cruelest things a person can do is to awaken someone’s love without the intention of truly loving them, turns out you’re a specialist in that aspect.

Thank you for making me understand that I don’t need anyone to be happy. Falling in love with you was a big mistake, a mistake I hope I’d never ever make. Above all our relationship was like a burnt bridge a path I pray never to cross again even if we tried.



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Source: PenAStory - www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2017/05/11/a-date-with-the-beasts-m-m-suleiman/

The wind stood still. Somehow the trees still danced, the palm trees waved from one direction to the other, as though they listened to a jazzy beats played by the bland weather. Kasuwa was full that day, it was market day. The Hausa music coming from a distance mixed with the sonorous tune of the beggars on the streets made the perfect melody.

I used my veil to wipe a string of sweat trying to make way into my mouth, it did still, and the salty taste took charge of my mouth. I wished it would rain; I wish the rain will fall heavy and cool off the steamy sun; I wished it would rain the kind of rain I heard fell in the south, the kind that comes with Wuthering wind that the rain hits the wall of the houses and not the roofs, the kind that Bisi said left Warri cold for days, the kind that always made the sun too dizzy to shine and just when it was about to regain its strength it will rain again. But it didn’t, hence the sun was getting hotter by the day. Then I imagined that perhaps the sun was mad that it couldn’t shine nationwide, it was mad at how it always rains in the south, in Warri and Port-hacourt hence, it sends all of its rage to us here in Kaduna, I guess if it shines at same time nationwide, perhaps the sun wouldn’t be this hot here in Kaduna.

Maryam had picked that day for shopping, of all the other days, she had to pick this one, the day it seemed like the sun was at its hottest, I had protested but she had insisted, and Maryam can be persuasive, very persuasive, same way she had persuaded mother to give us the 10grand for the brocade we want to sew for Aunty Sefiya’s wedding, mother’s kid sister. She had her ways with words.

“How about that one?” Maryam said, pointing at the red brocade with white stripes.

“It looks too Scottish,” I said, still going on through the pile of clothes.

“And that one?” she asked pointing at the one with green and black.

“Nope, not that one, it doesn’t speak our personality, it looks too drab, imagine us in that, we will look like grand ma’s house help.”

She let out a little smile before it ebbed into a scowl. “Well, I am done picking, maybe you should since everything doesn’t seem to satisfy you well.”

Shopping hasn’t always being my strongest suit, Maryam knew that, we’d been family-friends since like forever, we like to think of one another as twins, a fraternal twin, since she seems more cute than I am; light skinned, pointed nose and a very slim face, am talking Fulani slim, her shoulders always stood high when she walked, and her hips dangle from side to side like a runway model. Her lips were always red from how generously she applies her lipsticks, such a beauty. Most times I get jealous of her at how my chocolate brown skin wasn’t as fair as hers, couldn’t even be as fair, I have tried, used several creams and all attempt, futile. I get jealous of how soft and silky her hair was, how my kinky hair couldn’t make those well standing ponytails hers does, like those Fulani girls in the car park I heard they sold their hair for us to braid, her hair danced with the wind like the palm trees on the roadside. She smiled easily not having to practice or try hard as I did on the car windows parked on the roadside most times when we walked the pedestrian route. I wished I had her looks though, I envied how perfectly her breasts formed from behind her clothes, how they curve at each end, perfectly aligning with the width of her hips, each curve appealing to the other as though the angles were measured by God with a ruler, to ensure that she was perfect. I stared at her for a while, how could she not be sweating even, Hmmm, I wished I didn’t feel so jealous of her though, but I did.

“We will take the black and white,” I finally said

“I thought we agreed no black and white?” Maryam asked as she dragged the brocade from my grasp.

“Well, you know how I am with black and white; I just can’t find anything else that goes so perfectly together.”

She hummed and shook her head, in a fit of mild irritation, I stared at her trying to phantom what she was thinking; how could I pick a black and white yard again, we already have too much of that, almost all of our wears had black or white or both.

She smiled to the Hausa man who was already growing rather angry, if we didn’t buy the yard from him, heaven will let loose in that shop that afternoon.

“Na wa ne?” Maryam asked and placed the yard across my shoulder. My chin made contact with it; it’s soft silkiness, cold and smooth and I wish I could lay on it and become as cold as the cloth, and make away with the sun. I folded the cloth and placed it on my head, trying to shield the sun away from my face.

“Dubu goma,” the Hausa man replied, trying to arrange his yard the other and manner he had before we came. We had offered, actually, Maryam had offered to arrange it back but he refused, he said he had a “fattern” he arranges the clothes with.

“Ah, Mallam, dan Allah mana, kasan kai mutumina ne kwo.”

“Toh, sobo da kai, ku bani Dubu tara da dari byar.”

“Zen baka Dubu tara.”

The negotiation was taking longer than anticipated, I wanted to be done and get home, get out of these clothes, take a cold shower and sit directly under the air-conditioner in the sitting room.

The Hausa man finally nodded and Maryam signaled for me to hand her the purse.

“Aina su ke? Where dem dey” a man shouted from the market. A group of Hausa boys made their way through in shining cutlass, it reflected as they waved it in the air. One of them brushed his on the ground and it let out some sparks.

“Kai,” the Hausa man exclaimed “ki gudu fa” he said turning the Maryam and me, “Wana masala ne, I run follow back, I take lept I see road there, I take bike, I go house. Kin ji kwo?”

“Na’am” Maryam answered and snatched my hand and made way for the back entrance the Hausa man had pointed earlier on. What was wrong, I wanted to ask, but I didn’t, Maryam was walking too fast, calculating route with her hands, counting the building maybe before making any turn.

“It seems like the Hausa boys are angry again over something” Maryam said, still calculating route.

“Over what?”

“Well, I rather we find out on the news and not here at the scene,” she replied and turned left. I agreed with her, well, that was the only logical thing to do. She made a right and we saw a group of men pounding on a man.

“Arini ne,” they were chanting, “ba sun da hankili,” another man shouted from the crowd and then in matter of seconds large black smokes made their way up the skies. The man screamed, trying to run, each time he made it to one end of the crowd, he was sent back to the center. The man shouted, but no one heard a thing. I couldn’t hold the vomit so, I threw up, the sound drew the attention of one of the men in the crowd and he tapped the second man.

“Kai, ku zu nan,” one of them screamed and soon, more attention was drawn to us. “Ina magana da kai” he said again and drew a bit more closer pointing us with his shiny cutlass and muttering something to his friend. Very soon their walking was fast becoming running, Maryam grabbed my arms and ran, she stopped calculating, now she was just running to survive, taking whatever direction her guts told her, houses were already set ablaze, the dead corpse of men and women butchered lied on the streets amiss the dumps, some of them were burnt, burnt beyond recognition, cars were in flames and at the end of every junction was a burning tyre. We managed to stop a bike man.

“Ina zuwa?” the bike man asked as he pulled a quick stop

“Mando, angwan snooker.” Maryam said and she hopped in and I followed, the man revved his engine and zoomed off, even in his speed, the wind still seemed still, my heart was pounding, I could feel almost pulling out of my chest, the man took a left off the main streets “people burn, like you, there, so we go inside village and commot for Kawo,” he explained in his deep Hausa accent.

The motorcycle came to a halt when we arrived at another crowd lynching another victim. They turned to us and the Hausa driver made a quick turn.

“Kai Mallam ka Kawo arna nan,” one of them screamed. “Carry dem come, infidels”. The Hausa drive sped off leaving smokes behind as we drove past huts and mud houses, the road washed in erosion, the motorcycle kept bouncing for each bump we fell into and we were cornered, there was nowhere to go any more, the Hausa stopped the motorcycle, turned and looked at us, he felt pity for us, his eyes spoke goodbye to us.

“Ku sauka, come down,” one of the Hausa men shouted, he seemed like their leader. His eyes were red, he held cutlass in one hand and a stick of cigar in the other. “You infidels” he said, he didn’t have a deep Hausa accent like the others, his English seemed polished.

You’re the one with the cigarette, you are the one taking lives like that’s your job, you’re the infidel, I wanted to say, but couldn’t, I tasted my own blood running up my throat, Maryam still looked calm, she still had her generous red lipstick on and her face was still smooth, but now, she was sweating, she looked at me and locked her fingers with mine.

They dragged us to the center of the crowd and made us kneel, this was it, this was certainly it, I thought to myself. I thought of my mother, and I wished she wouldn’t know of how I died, burnt to ash, burnt beyond recognition, I rather she thinks I was missing, kidnapped or ran away as I always threatened her I will whenever she became a thorn. I thought of my beautiful white brocade, how I will not wear it ever, that was when it struck me that I had lost it. The poured fuel on us, chanting and calling us infidels and how we deserved to die, some of the fuel escaped in to my mouth and I could tastes death looming around, I wondered if I would go to heaven or hell, I began to think of all my sins and good deeds, I wanted to judge myself before I get there. I thought of Mallam Ibrahim and how he had interpreted the Qur’an to us and I wondered if these people read a different Qur’an. I shot my eyes, if this was it, I wouldn’t want to see it coming. I saw myself running in flames and screaming and being sent back with stick strokes to center whenever I try to runaway like the man we had seen earlier. Maryam stared unblinking a wink where knelt, she stared directly in the eyes of the Infidel man. He sipped his cigar again and held it between his fingers.

Everything became silent and still, the trees were still dancing, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and made a silent prayer, and a tear rolled down my cheek and also escaped into my mouth mixing with the fuel. I locked my hands in Maryams and she squeezed in tighter.

“Dan Allah, sobode Anabi Ku kyale su, dan Allah,” a strange voice came from the big house behind us. Amiss the seeming silence I had created, the voice stood out.

“Ina Danalami?” the woman asked and the man with the polished English answered. I opened my eyes and I saw the slim slender woman in red lace whispering to Danlami. He came over to us; “na Hajia una come visit?” he asked.

“Yes,” Maryam answered quickly as though she was already in on the plan with the woman from the start.

“Toh Ku tashi,” he said, he dusted the sand off from Maryam’s purse and handed it to her. “Kai, Hajia sobo da ki ne fa” he said turning to the lady, “ki san sun arna bas u de sorron Allah.”

“Na San ni. Na gode ko, na gode so sei,” she smiled and she exposed her gold teeth, proof that she had been to Makkah. She dragged us with her and opened her gates and let us in.

Her compound was big enough to land two choppers, the sitting room had very high roofs and a chandelier dangling round, she had blue bulb in the house. She shut the door behind us and gave us a smirk,

Later she offered us water for bath, I sat under her air-conditioner and I still was sweating profusely. She made food for us to eat, she later told us of how ungodly these killings were, how it will disgust God and then I remembered Mallam Ibrahim, she spoke like him, perhaps he had taught her Qur’an also, I wanted to ask but I didn’t. She smiled more often when she spoke and her dimpled cheek sunk in like the holes Ahmed my kid brother made on his semolina before he ate them.

She offered us bed and said she will take us home the next day when the all killing spree might have dropped and army from Jaji cantonment would have been storming the streets already in other to restore order.

Later after our bath Maryam requested that she calls home to tell them we were fine. She never told them about how we were almost lynched; she said our parents only needed to know that we’re fine and alive. We agreed to not tell them. My body still smelt of fuel and I couldn’t sleep at night, most of the night, I imagined that the woman would open the doors for them later and in our sleep they will finish the job they had started.

The next morning came really fast, I had stayed up staring at the fan, counting with my eyes how many times it rotated, I was still jittery, still scared to go outside, scared to even see the sun, the few times I had closed my eyes I kept seeing myself running in flames, me and Maryam, and she still had that perfect smooth skin, she wasn’t even getting burnt, she was too cute to be burnt. Maryam raised the curtains and I yelled that she closed them back, I wasn’t quite ready to see the sun yet; “are you okay” she asked putting down a cup of tea she and biscuit she had bought from down the road. Of course I wasn’t, I wanted to tell her, how each time I so much as blink I keep seeing myself running in flames and she not getting burnt, but instead I gave her a slight nod that of approval that I was fine, and then faked a faint smile.

Hajiyah was seated at the dining table, sipping coffee from a small tea cup and reading through the day’s newspaper, her bifocals hung on her nose like a University Professor. We exchanged good mornings, my legs were still light and shaky, and I wished mother would come sooner, but she had said that she will be branching over the office to pick a few things before coming over, since Maryam told her that we were fine where we were. Hajiyah smiled and I wondered if she had a family; a husband, kids, relatives, someone, I wanted to ask but I didn’t, hence, I smiled back.

“How was your night” she asked putting the tea cup and the newspaper down, she folded her bifocals neatly cleaned it with a small cloth piece in the case before putting it in. she has a chubby jaw, and smiled very often, her face was smooth, not as wrinkled as her hands, she had grey hair on the side of her hair that arranged itself neatly like they had been painted there, the room was cold, the whole house was cold. Or maybe it’s just me, I still don’t trust her though, I sipped my tea nodded that I was fine.

“Your sister has been helpful,” she continued turning to the kitchen where Maryam was, “usually I get these yaro boys to do my house chores, but she had offered to do them all, such a darling, I pray she gets a well deserving husband” she added and let out a smile and turned to me.

“Maryam says you school at ABU.”

“Yes I do,” I answered and sipped my tea, I wish wouldn’t try to create a conversation, I wish we could just sit there in silence and she would continue reading her newspaper and I would finish my tea and mother would walk in take us home. Maryam was still fetching water in the kitchen, I wanted to get stand up and help her out but my legs were still shuddering. I could hear the water as clatters as she fetches it from the tap and pour it to a container, she hummed a song, I will survive I think. I wished I had the strength to actually work like she did, so Hajiyah will also approve of me and pray for me to get a good husband as well, I wish I had even thought of it, but I didn’t and I couldn’t even go help I still feel jittery and every scream from outside or within threw me off.

Mother came around later and Maryam did all the talking, she asked if I was okay and I shook my head, Maryam told her what happened except for the part where we were chased by a group of angry mob who seemed to have issued with everyone who didn’t look like them. I looked out the window all through the drive; there was a peaceful tune to the way the wind bathes my face, how the birds chirp, jumping from one branch to the other on the dogo yaro trees planted along the roadside; how the hawk circulates the skies. Then I start to wish I was a bird soaring to endless heights. Mother and Maryam laughed occasionally, I didn’t know why, I didn’t care, she turns to me and asks; “isn’t that so Aisha”, and I shook my ahead in agreement, let out a benign smile and turn back to continue staring at the skies.



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https://penastory.com/2017/05/10/this-memory-must-be-sketched/

Mazi Ejike has departed us and this is too painful to bear. So on Saturday , hopefully the rains would be resting in the clouds , gazing down, silent at his funeral and it wouldn’t forget to pay its last respect with a smooth wind. Hopefully too, the sun would not skin us dry, the village leaders would pay their respects and perhaps, hopefully, we won’t feel the enormous weight of Mazi’s absence. If he hadn’t died, ‘Saturday’ would fade unnoticed, like any other day, it will flaunt away without causing us pain and wicking long tears from our eyes, but it will come and it will leave its clinging touch in our dampened hearts.

They would bring him home in an ambulance, wailing in the distance, inch by inch, drawing closer to the family compound and Mazi’s first daughter would wield in pain and agony – Mazi’s enlarged portrait of him, and for the last time in the world, through his static eyes, he would gaze at the unmade roads from his paternal and maternal homes and like the undead, faces would stare at his picture a last time and some might ask who he is, and what killed him. At their puzzling heartfelt questions, the ambulance would slowly drive away to his home and behind, a long line of slow-moving cars would follow. We would gather about the arrived car and welcome him home. He wouldn’t utter a word to us, or approve our yearnings; he would but engrave his body behind the now-silent ambulance and just listen to our voices.

‘A minute of silence please!’ his first son Obika Ejike would echo. As mute as limbo, the noises would quench and a tear would pamper Obika’s eyes. He would enigmatically, as a man, fish for his kerchief in the folds of a pocket and mop his face off tears. We would take notice of this and wish for him that it never happened this way and then, with swollen hearts, we would curse on death. In our minds, we would gather our bleeding hearts and ready it to see it too, when our time drew close.

When one minute is elapsed, the women’s guild of St Anthony’s church would begin a funeral song. We would drown in their sorrowful voices, singing praises of a true hero, a legend, an icon, who upon all the negativities of the world, remained true to his course on this earth.

All about us, pale faces would then murmur and swing their heads. They would say, “Mazi was a good man”. Some would say, “He lived a fruitful life”. And others, his unknown enemies would contort their faces, inwardly excited at his departure. The women would sing on and our arms would wriggle about our chest and in our minds, forever, we would acclaim ‘this memory must be sketched’

At last, there singing would sojourn, following a lengthy prayer from a leader, as the sun begins to crawl out the shadows. And since we’re close confidants of the family, an extended version, we would march to the back of the black Volvo; six able bodied youths, wearing papa’s adieu polo, to carry our brother, our father, the oldest voice we once had in the family, our kinsman and when the trunk pops open, we see his golden casket. Anxiety would grip us and with strong hearts, carefully, as the crowd gathers about the long automobile, we would pullout the coffin, ‘Gently!’, Obika would warn, ‘gently please!’, he would add with fuss. We do just that not because he said thus, nor because we carried a dead body but sincerely because our kinsman has died.

‘Where is his wife?’ someone in a small group would ask. A finger would point to a flaky 60 year old woman, sobbing on her dead by a side, being consoled by two younger women. ‘Those are her daughters’, a third man in white flannel would say. And silence would gape at them because their chins would fall on their bunched fists and perhaps too, they would think: when we depart this world, would our children do so to us, by burying us in golden caskets and renovating our faded little abodes and would they in grand style, bid their eternal farewell to us? They would shake their heads and throw out saliva to the earth and say ‘Tufiakwa’.

Sure! There would be questions. The elders would ask if Mazi Ejike died in his sleep. It is the best way to die; they would say and nod to one another. In your sleep, you wouldn’t feel pain and stress, just your soul drifting away from your body and you would see the world no more, but a happier place. And the women, they would be behind the compound, hurrying about with food, packaging entertainments for the guests and they too would mourn silently in their own way because they all knew Mazi Ejike and because, when he walked this world, he felt their lives with an inerasable touch and their children would lurk about doors and peek at us as we carry Mazi into the now-white decorated parlor. The white clothed table would be his temporary resting place where his nine children, distant relatives, siblings, the entire community would emerge to see his cold wrinkled face one final time before six feet swallows him. And from his white sitting room, we would heave him on our shoulders to his open grave, where a black clothed Reverend would stand in wait. Reverend Nicodemus would, as he sees as approach the newly dug out earth ready his chaplet and his Holy Bible and he would say to us, from his deepest experience about life and about funerals and about the strange ways of death and from his wise book, he would say to us that as we all have come to this world bare, so we would leave it behind, to rest bare in oblivion. After that Saturday, we would see Mazi Ejike every day, only in the portraits he left behind for us.

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https://penastory.com/2017/05/10/james-the-proposal-adekanbi-ademola-m/

It was the evening of Christmas Eve, the sun has crawled to its abode leaving the stage for the moon and stars to light the path of the creatures and creations. PHCN as usual had seized the light but the atmosphere was still blooming. There’s this fragrance that comes with Christmas. It gets all exciting and in a joyful mood as everyone prepares for Christmas. The children eagerly awaiting the dawn of the new day to wear and exhibit their new clothes to their friends and even enemies, mothers busy shuffling between the market and kitchen trying to get things set and the young ladies and guys involved in different activities in preparation for the street carnival.
In spite of all the merriment in the air, James, wearing a nice multi-colour first grade, Hackett polo on a blue jean had relegated to one corner of his room weeping like a new born baby and in deep thought. He wished rapture could just take place now and all that happened could be erased and forgotten or he could just reverse all that had happened earlier in the day. With hot salty tears forming long crooked lines on his face, his heart doing ziggy zagga, hands shaking, he couldn’t stand still, he slowly brought out a piece of fabric from his wardrobe to wipe his tears.
James is a young, brilliant and handsome guy working with one of the leading logistics company on the Island in Lagos State. He’s a certified Accountant, Risk Manager and a professional event planner. He’s currently undergoing his doctorate programme at the University of Lagos.

…2 hours ago
It’s obviously a season of merriment, when friends wine and dine to shake off the stress gathered over the months. James had called Debby to meet him at the popular bar close to his house for routine hangout. There’s this hidden agenda he had in mind which he had planned with his kins and goons unknown to her.

The bar is one of the coolest bars with almost all accessories expected of a standard bar located at the heart of an estate on the Island. Smiling, beautiful waitresses, hefty bouncers and amazing jazz band were on set. The saxophonist playing a popular Lionel Richie song, you could imagine an atmosphere full of romance on a cool evening. Quite heavenly right? The photographers were on standby, friends and family anxiously waiting for the scene. The bar man already arranging the drinks on a tray ready to serve.

Grin! Grin!! Grin!!! Debby phone rings. ‘I’m sorry, Debby, I cannot make it again tonight, I need to catch with some things,” said James at the other end of the phone. Debby felt disappointed and unhappy but the melody of the saxophone glued her bums down to the chair and she decided to listen to more of it before leaving for home. Some minutes later, James walked majestically towards Debby and tapped her at the back. Who could this be? Debby thought! Looking back, it was James!

”Oh! James dear, you made it!” She exclaimed as she gave him a big hug. Wasting no time, James signaled to the photographers to grab their cameras and to the band to soften the sound of their music and he went down on his knees, brought out a diamond ring and said “I have been nurturing my love for you for a while. I think there’s this chemistry that works between us. I am not just emotionally attached to you but I see us building a wonderful and amiable future together. I love you Debby. Would you marry me?”

Debby was shocked. She never expected this from James! They stared at each other for minutes, the unspoken words passing between them.

“Oh! Baby, please don’t this, could you please stand up. I love you as a friend and I don’t see us building a future together. It’s a NO!” Debby said as she assisted him to his feet.
A sad smile plastered his face. It was like he was in a haze. His head was jammed, his thinking was clouded, and his eyes were blurry and misty. At that moment, he stopped being a man and broke into tears. He couldn’t imagine this happening in front of those he had invited to witness the proposal. He thought about all the good night messages? How about all the care and affection she had showed. How about all the hugs and pecks? He tried to recall the sweet words he heard from her every night, words like ‘Goodnight, love’, ‘Hope you’d dream about me?’, ‘Do take care of yourself for me’. How about the peck she gave him the very first day they met? He tried to recall how they met. It was at the regional conference of the Association of Logistics Companies. Debby was sent to represent her boss while James represented his company as the head of the
marketing department. The wonderful smile Debby wore as she approached the event coordinator for her souvenir got his attention.

‘Wow! What a beautiful lady with a very nice smile?’ he murmured in his heart. He
wasted no time, he approached her, got her contact and they became good friends. They had attended different occasions together, wearing same clothes, eating from the same plate and doing other cool things together.

”Are all these not enough for her to say YES!” He thought as he wiped his tears.
*Moral Lessons: The moral lessons are inexhaustible read over and over again and begin to identify them.


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https://penastory.com/2017/05/09/bolas-tales-part-3-queen-izuwa/

Excerpt from part 2:

I knew better than to let my guard down around madam busy bee, ”They are just so beautiful together,” I said in response.

She hissed, took her phone and walked out, going into the next office to spread her gossip. She clearly wanted a bitter response from me so she could also spread what I had said. Right now that was the least of my worries.

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After my shocking discovery of Emeka being married to Sandra, I tried to stay away but somehow I found myself playing the role of detective. Out of my curiosity, I discovered few things about her. Like how she likes taking coffee in the morning, the fact that she kept to herself most of the time and had very few friends and even the ones that felt they were close didn’t really know much about her private life. She had a beautiful singing voice and she is a God lover, I deduced that because I had walked past her office few times and caught her reading a bible. She is also a natural beauty, does everything in moderation. I even started paying her compliments and her shocked expression the first time I did was priceless. I knew I came off as a workaholic that didn’t care to know about what went down in the office beyond work, madam protocol officer of HAMILTON LLYOD AND ASSOCIATES LTD, always playing the role of the busy bee. My most amazing discovery was the fact that Emeka made it a habit to always drop her off in the morning and pick her up at night, at 7pm. Not a minute late. I loved the show of love and care, but I bet the routine life must be boring. I also wondered if he had been doing this while they were dating and why I didn’t notice it any sooner, shrugged that thought off. The Emeka that bleeped my brains out at the back seat of his car didn’t strike me as a routine kinda guy. But then what do I know, he married a routine lady and me madam spontaneous that threw my legs in the air begging him to put it deep inside is single.

I always went home late but today I promised Sade I would come back in time so we could catch the LOGAN movie at 8.15pm, that means driving all the way from Chevron back to the house at the tail end of phase 1 to pick her and then to The Palms Cinema. I just wondered what the traffic would look like considering it is close of business time and everyone would be in a hurry to get home, it was already 6.55pm. In my frantic state of mind, while I was rushing into the parking lot I hit my foot hard on some metal that lay carelessly on the ground and fell down flat on my face. The content of my bag spilled and the right heel of my beautiful Gucci shoe broke into two. I screamed and unconsciously started cursing out, sat up on the ground holding my bleeding toe. The pain was so much that the tears poured freely from my eyes, I couldn’t even bring myself to get up. Then came a male voice behind me.

“Sorry lady, I heard you scream but I wasn’t sure where the sound came from, what happened?”

I knew that voice even from my sleep, that strong, rich and soothingly masculine voice that replayed in my head all day and night long. Through the weeks that followed my discovery, I had tried to avoid seeing Emeka and totally stay in my lane, knew it was inevitable but my heart was still too fragile to see him now. I couldn’t bring myself to face him. I Just sat there with my back to him, then sniffed and wiped my eyes with the back of my palm, said I was fine without turning to face him and hurriedly stood up, meanwhile foolishly forgetting that I still had the other pair on and was barefoot on the right leg, I fell to the right hand side and was about to hit the ground again when he promptly caught me.

He held me, staring like he just saw a ghost. Oh Lord the scent of him and that warmth I could remember feeling in his embrace. Men like this should be quarantined by the government for their effect on ladies is a disease in itself. Because I could bet I wasn’t the only lady he had this kind of effect on. This guy must have broken a lot of hearts and still is. Finally I broke the silence.

“Hi Emeka, I think I can stand on my own now. Thanks for catching me in time.”

He let me go then and without waiting for him to give any response, with my shoes in my hand, I started walking barefoot to my car. He doubled up his steps, pulled me to his hard chest and started kissing me. It was warm and sensual at first and I could not help but be responsive to my inner yearnings, but when his tongue dived slowly into my mouth and his hands started squeezing my butt, I knew if we continued at this pace we would end up having a repeat session of the club incidence right here in the parking lot with a man I knew was married to a colleague of mine. Anyone could walk in on us at this very moment. I shivered at the thought of being publicly embarrassed.

Okay!! In my head I’m thinking, to slap or not to slap, to scream for my freedom, Nah! Push him away before it gets too far. I went with the last option leaving him staring dumbly at me. I knew it was going to be awkward when we finally saw again, since he was his wife’s personal uber driver but I never imagined it was going to be this intense. He was already getting a hard on, the bulge was there glaring at me. Ahnahn this is someone’s husband oh, didn’t madam prim and proper Bleep him hard enough or I’m just too sexy. I laughed at the thought just then.

He looked confused at why I was laughing

“You must think I’m a joke right?”

“That thought never crossed my mind. I was particularly thinking of something else”

“What are you doing here Bola?”

“OH!! You remember my name. Well, I work here, You?” I said the YOU in funny way and I could tell he caught the sarcasm in my voice.

“Well, my wife works here, Came to pick her up”

Hearing him say my wife out loud just tore my heart in a million places. Few minutes ago he was busy kissing and grabbing me with reckless abandon knowing he came to pick up his wife. Typical male specie to be entirely selfish, what if THE WIFE had walked in on us.

“Well Mr. Married Man, I was on my way out before this whole incidence. I can’t say nice meeting you, because there was nothing pleasant about this meeting”. I lied.

“Please can I have your number? Haven’t stopped thinking about you since the last night at the club.”

“Then you could have dropped your number along with the unwanted cash I didn’t ask you for in the first place if you wanted to keep in touch. Oh sorry, you thought I was a prostitute right?

“Please babe this is not the right place or time for this conversation. We could talk over dinner and clear things out.”

“No way I’m having dinner with you.”

“Okay, lunch then please. I beg of you.”

“Alright, alright,” I handed over my card to him.

“Your leg is still bleeding, should I help you to your car?”

“No thank you, I’d manage. I have to get going now” I zoomed passed him straight faced without a word or wave.

On getting home, all I had to do was show Sade my bleeding toe and broken Gucci heels and the movie was off, with her motherly and ever so nurturing nature coming to play. She cleaned up the wound and served me dinner in bed. I felt so pampered and spoiled.

The thing is I couldn’t bring myself to tell her I ran into Emeka today and what transpired because I could just imagine what her reaction would be and how she would tell me I should not have encouraged such an attitude in the first place, also seeing him to talk things over was so off the table. I so wanted to see him again, I got wet off the thoughts of him. Even if it was just for a night, I wanted another episode of I got that night outside Vapours night club. I wanted the whole of him deep inside me. Loving and stroking every corner till I burst out loud, screaming and begging. And if getting that meant keeping Sade in the dark then so be it.

My iphone 6 plus blinked a white light indicating I had a message, opened it and it was Emeka. He had added me on whatsApp and sent a “Hi baby” with a smiley and love emoji. The way my heart started beating fast and I rushed to save his picture, I knew I was in trouble. Jesu Christi!!! This guy has me hooked on him.



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https://penastory.com/2017/05/09/pillow-talk/

It was a sleepover, it started like any other normal one we’d had in the past. I was the only single person there so when they started loving up, I had to turn my music up. Music goes everywhere with me like everywhere i.e. bathroom, kitchen, lectures, church. I usually have just one earpiece plugged in church and during lectures but I usually turn the volume down a bit so it feels like background noise; whatever the case maybe my music never actually stops.

You can imagine how I felt being the only single person in the crew. There are seven of us, four ladies and three guys, so three couples and one single girl. Anyway they started getting all loved up and stuff so I had to turn up my music till I couldn’t hear them whispering sweet nonsense to each other and laughing. The loud music was to take me out of that place and the sad feeling that building up in my head, so I was basically in my own musical earth or in another cosmos made up of music. Then I went out for a stroll, I really love strolling, it’s like my happy time; walking the streets of Lagos at night, loud music playing so I can’t hear all the night noise. You know; car horns blaring, traders ringing their bells, music from bars, Hausa men selling suya conversing loudly in their dialect, bus conductors screaming out their destinations, sound from roadside TV sets from people selling pirated movies, that’s a whole lot of noise so that’s where my loud music helps me.

Picture the typical Lagos night life, it’s very beautiful especially when you’re listening to Nigerian songs like – Gidi Love or Mad Over You or Daddy Yo – it usually feels like I’m in a movie but the actors don’t notice me. And the night breeze GOSH!!! The night breeze is everything. It’s a very beautiful experience for me anyway, and it’s what I do when I need a break. So while I was on this particular night stroll, I saw Annie walking down the road with a bouquet of red flowers – no they were not roses they were hibiscus, I’ve not seen hibiscus flowers since I was a kid, grandpa used to grow them till he decided to cut down all the flowering trees – she gave the bouquet to me and I threw it up in the air and jumped up as high as I could. I met the flowers mid-air, they were like a thousand flowers raining down on me with Zayn Malik’s Pillow Talk playing and all the beautiful street lights; that moment felt like forever. I still couldn’t hear anything but my music and then it was raining yellow flowers too, I think the butterflies in my stomach migrated to my brain and I exploded into a hundred butterflies IT WAS ORGASMIC.

When the whole flower experience ended I went back to the apartment but no one was there, they probably went out too so I lay down and fell asleep with my earpiece still plugged in and music playing. MORNING!!!! I woke up and pillow talk was still playing in my ear, I pulled out the earpiece and I could still hear Zayn. I said ‘good morning’’ and I couldn’t hear my own damn voice. It was like there was water in my ears or a bubble because I couldn’t hear a thing, except pillow talk of course. I reached for my phone and stopped the music but it didn’t stop playing in my ear. At this point they were all trying to talk to me but I couldn’t hear them, then Nike screamed. I heard that but it sounded so distant, I reached for my phone and I put it on silent then turned it off hoping it would stop the music from playing in my head but it didn’t. I looked at them and the pointed at my ear then waved my index finger trying to communicate the fact that I couldn’t hear. I guess they got my point because they started doing weird things like Josh checked inside of ear to see if something was physically obstructing it, Annie started hitting a spoon on pots, they tried everything but I still couldn’t hear a thing. I was DEAF!!!! I asked them to take me outside to a place not too far from the apartment with white flowers……….
…..THEN I WOKE THE Bleep UP.

It was a dream. Funny thing is when I woke up, Pillow Talk just played to the end and a new song started. I pulled out my earpiece and the first thing I heard was water rushing downstairs, then I heard birds chirping and my fan whirling. I’ve never been more grateful for my sense of hearing like I was this morning, every sound I heard was like music to my ears and I appreciated that.



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Source: PenAStory - www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2017/05/08/the-graduates-story-true-life-experience-episode-4/

Excerpt from episode 3:

The following day, I drove to pick Ella so we could go to church. She noticed I was not myself and she asked, “What is wrong Adeoluwa? You have been acting strange.”

“I am pretty ill, but I will be fine.” I insisted it was a flu.

After church service, I dropped Ella at her place and I went home to get some stuffs for Tope and Junior. I got Tope a new Phone and Junior, some of my old toys and lots of candies. I got to their hotel room and she appeared more relaxed.

Next thing I heard was. “Daddy!!”

To read episode 3: Visit profile or www.penastory.com

​

I saw the excitement on his face and it sent a cold chill through my spine. Then Tope said, “Junior, come on stop that. He is uncle not Daddy.” The little boy corrected himself and said “Uncle!” I smiled, for he looked so adorable.

I gave him his goodies and he said, “Thank you uncle.” I was amazed and there was this urge inside of me to spend time with him.

“Tope, try and relax today, tomorrow you will go shopping with Junior. Here is N150,000 for the both of you. The driver will come tomorrow in the morning; he will also help you open an account. I have told him to secure an apartment for you in a very good environment. It will take you guys three days at most to furnish and set up the place to your taste.”

“Are you not going to be around?” she asked.

“I told you I will be traveling this week and will be very busy. I may not see you till I return from my trip. But I will always call you…” I assured her. She took a deep breath and looked downcast.

I continued, “I know you have suffered because of the decisions we made in the past. I cannot erase the past but by God’s grace, I can make your future and Junior’s better. You will write JAMB again, you will pass and you will gain admission, Junior will go to the best schools and he will make us proud but you need to keep to your word and I will keep to mine.” I hugged her and then I left.

At home in my room, I was deep in thoughts. I was wondering if my plight will remain secret. Ella and I had our wedding penned in a few months, our families were involved and the planning had begun. Days later, I was in Port Harcourt and I was kept abreast about the progress being made regarding Tope’s accommodation. I was very impressed at the development. I just wanted her to have a place she could call home and raise our child. Ella noticed something different about me and I was tired of giving her the excuse that I was ill. I later told her I developed cold feet regarding our planned wedding and that I will be fine.

I returned to Lagos after my official assignments and the first place I went to was Tope’s new apartment. I made sure it was a far from my place to avoid any trouble. I got to her door and I rang the bell. She opened the door and she was looking more gorgeous than ever. She had her hair done and she looked like she had just gotten her nails fixed as well. She was also looking like she had added some weight. She had on a smile and I just stood there looking at her. she was wearing a bum shorts paired with a half top. She was amazingly sexy and I couldn’t help but stare or should I say lust after her.

“Are you just going to stand there?” she queried.

“Oh sorry,” I said and quickly enter the apartment.

The sitting room was beautifully painted in different shades of purple. I was very impressed by her taste and luxury. I knew she had it in her… “I know you must be hungry.” She said with a smile.

“Yes, I am starving but where is Junior?” I ask.

“He’s asleep, come let me serve you dinner.” She said and sat me down at the dining section and she served me a dish.

I opened it and what I saw took me through memory lane. It was rice, dodo and three pieces of meat just like the old days. I looked at her and she was smiling. Something told me she was up to something but I didn’t want to think hard on it. Flashbacks began to flicker in my thoughts, visualizing faded images in my memory that was once clouded. I began to fill a little spark. After the lovely meal, she took me round her beautiful apartment, and the last place we stopped was her room. It looked cozy and very calm.

She then stood before me and asked, “Remember the first night we spent together?”

“Yes I remember. How can I forget?” I smiled back at her.

We both stood there looking at each other. All I could see was a lady I once loved with all my heart and she buttressed my thoughts with a touch on my face. Her hand on my face felt like those times. I heard voices in my head asking me to kiss her! I took a step closer and kissed her, she kissed me back and we started kissing aggressively. I pulled off her shirt and then, her bosom. Oh my God! I had missed them. I haven’t been intimate with anybody else and my cup was more than full. I grabbed unto her boobs and began to caress her. She was still as pristine as I knew her.

“Oh Adeoluwa , there hasn’t been anybody else apart from you. No one has touched me and no one will but you. Take me Adeoluwa,” she urged.

She had always loved the idea of calling out my full name whenever she was ecstatic. I began unbuttoning my shirt and she was pulling off her bum shorts. We were soon naked and kissing, catching up from where we stopped years ago. I went into her and she moaned. It was like the first night all over as a feeling of ecstasy rushed over me. We made love like two fierce animals.

When we were done, she complained that I ejaculated inside of her and I was sorry about it. I apologized penitently, knowing the consequences of such in the dire times I had found myself. “It’s okay, I am safe. My ovulation has passed,” she said with a laugh.

We both laid down on our backs in silence. She broke the silence and asked “Is she more beautiful?”

“Come on Tope, don’t!” I responded sharply. She ignored my warning and continued bombarding me with questions.

“Is she better than I am? Does she satisfy you the way I do?”

I kept staring at my son as he slept, trying to put off her questions. She then asked. “Do you still love me?”

“I can never stop loving you Tope.” I answered her,

She paused for a while and then asked, “Then why can’t you marry me?”

“My family and her family are already involved.” I said with a deep sigh.

“I love you with my life, and I understand you have moved on. I cannot ask you to leave her for me. I want to ask you one last question Adeoluwa . Will you choose to marry a lady you love or a lady you are trying to love?”

If I really was left with a choice, I would have chosen Tope but as I already told her, families were already involved.

“Am I not worth fighting for?” She kept asking.

I became bewildered and completely helpless. I couldn’t answer her questions. We soon slept off. In the middle of the night she woke me up by holding my manly organ, the dispenser of the milk of human kindness. I was completely lured and ignited. Overwhelmed by the flame of passion, my flaccid member quickly grew in her hands. She posed in a position and her bum was just right in front of me. I stood to make love to her and rammed into her till we were both wasted. The following morning, I left for home. Unfortunately I met Ella at my place, she was seated in the sitting room and my mom was comforting her. She was in tears.

“Where are you coming from Adeoluwa? Your chairman said you guys arrived last night.” She asked with an exasperated tone.

“A friend of mine was having a party I had to attend,” I replied sourly.

“Is that why you switched off your phones Adeoluwa?” She asked cynically.

I coaxed her into believing me by telling her my batteries ran down. My mom then said to Ella. “You see everything is fine, I told you…”

I went to my room and Ella followed. I had to pretend to be happy with her to erase the doubts she was having, so we played board games and watched TV. When it was dark I dropped her off and came back home. I was going to my room and my mom called me.

“I gave birth to you, I nurtured you, I took you to the best schools in the country. I made you got the best job a graduate can have. I have always looked out for your interest. I am your mother and I have been good to you since the day you were born. Now Adeoluwa, tell me the truth. What is going on?”

At that moment I knew I couldn’t keep it within me. I told my mom. I told her everything that happened.

“I am totally disappointed in you. I brought you up well, only for you to be bewitched by that girl. I blame your father for making you serve in Kogi state. Now Adeoluwa , you will take me to where you are housing them.”

“Now? It’s late mom.” I objected but my mum when determined could be very intractable.

“Who else knows about this?” she asked.

“Nobody, just you and I,” I assured and you can bet her response was that it should remain that way.

Her driver then took us to Tope’s apartment. I knocked and Tope opened the door and said. “Sweety, I was just …….”

“Who is your sweety?” my mom interrupted.

Tope was scared to her teeth and she said. “Sorry mummy, I didn’t see…”

“Don’t call me mummy. You mother disowned you because of your treachery.”

We all stepped into the apartment. “Do you know who I am?” My mum asked with a panache of intimidation.

“No Ma” Tope replied in apparent fear.

“I am a Judge in Lagos. I can make life very complicated for you if you try to destroy what I have spent almost all the years of my life to build.”

Just then, Junior walked into the sitting room and cried out. “Mummy, Mummy…”

He stood still as he saw my mother and I.

“Oh my God, Adeoluwa!” My mom said as she saw him.

The room was silent for about a minute before my mom found her voice again, “The deed has been done, but if you truly love my son you will have to let him go. I was very angry but now I don’t have to show it because of him. He is innocent and does not have to suffer from your recklessness. I will make arrangements for you two to relocate to the UK. That is where you will spend the rest of your lives. You will have to get your educational documents and necessary documents for that effect. Tomorrow, you will leave for Abuja and you both will stay there till your visas are ready.”

Tope was sobbing and didn’t utter a word.

“My personal assistant will come tomorrow morning to facilitate the arrangements. This is the best I can do not for you but for him. Adeoluwa you have two minutes, I will be waiting in the car.” She left for the car and I stood there looking at Tope.

“I fought for us Tope and now see what it has led? I don’t think I will ever see you again. Good bye Tope.” I said and took one last look at Junior. I carried him and kissed his cheek before dropping him back on his feet and walking out of the apartment. The drive back home was done in silence and when we got home, neither of us said a thing.

The following morning I went to work and resumed my life the way it was before I went to see Tope at Kogi. I knew I would learn to love Ella but can never love her the way I loved Tope. But I later came to understand that what transpired between Tope and I was lust, lust was the basis of our friendship and what reshaped our destinies. Love builds but lust destroys. Tope lives happily in London, she got enrolled in the university and she’s almost done. Junior is almost done with his primary education, he loves football and likes to play drums. Ella and I are happily married and we have a daughter, she’s two years and she looks a whole lot like my mom.

Tope and I still communicate once in a while. She still vows to wait for me no matter how long it takes. I know what happened was a mistake and it still remains a secret but for how long? Two years and Ella still wasn’t properly guided on my sexcapade with Tope. Somehow, someday, as I showered in the sink, a message dropped in my phone. Ella was close-by so she checked it. The look that followed after she had checked scared me. Is she now “properly guided”?

To be continued…



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https://penastory.com/2017/04/26/musings-of-a-heartbroken-girl-2/

It’s almost a year since we broke up but for some reason everything still reminds me of you; my playlist, my lipsticks, my clothes and certain locations. At first I didn’t regret meeting and falling in love with you, but right now I think I do. I’m still hung up on someone that may not even be thinking of me and just thinking that sucks so much.

In the last year, I have met so many people. Some you would approve of, some you would be jealous of and others you would plainly hate. I have met people that are better than you and I have met people that aren’t half the man you are but for some reason I am still here thinking of you.

I thought deleting our pictures would work but I can’t seem to delete my memories. At some point, I thought I was almost healed but I just realized I am still the same bruised, battered and broken girl.

I have tried to completely alienate our mutual friends and dated a few people, all of which I hurt in the end. These days, I warn guys off that I am a “love experiment gone bad” and they take a look at me, shake their heads, smile and see this girl with the most beautiful smile ever and every time I wish I could see myself through their eyes but the truth is I am just a heartbroken woman.

I guess the whole point of my musings is that I’m a hot mess and I desperately want to say “I am fine” and mean it. I know you may not see this but I need to let it out. I may just still be in love with you and it hurts so much. I need it to stop.



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https://penastory.com/2017/04/25/first-battle-for-love-john-doe/

Making the last right, my heart fell as Siri uttered, “You have arrived at your destination Oluchi.”

Her voice was always so sweet. When I do resign myself to building a woman, her soothing pitch would be high on the must have list. Turning into a free parking spot, I switched of the engine, looked up out the window and sighed. I suspected it was too good to be true. I’ve never been fond of these sort of places. Strength left me, my head falling and hitting the car horn. I did not care, mind blocking the sound and drifting back to the previous night.

Brash, bullheaded, beautiful, three words flickering through my mind as I went down; legs buckling beneath me. Gravity refused to be denied no matter how much I pleaded. I waited expectantly for a life flash that did not come. I wish it had. If losing my existence would save me from this humiliation, I would have met my maker gladly, solve one mystery of this world. Before darkness enclosed me completely, I marveled at the escaped wisp of hair which had found freedom from her ponytail. It hung there at the mercy of the slight breeze toying with it.

Sharp knocks on my car window brought me out of my reverie, the sound of the horn roaring back to my senses. Lifting my head I turned to the offending knuckle. It was attached to a parking attendant. Plastered on his face a smug look I did not like.

Power tends to bring out the worst in us. In this parking lot he was King. At least his face seemed to portray this particular haughtiness. I waved him of to continue ruling his kingdom elsewhere. Taking a deep breath I counted to ten as he walked away to torment another poor soul. There was now nothing left but to open the door and step out of the familiar safety of my vehicle. The gentle sun felt sweet on my dark skin. Lifting my chin I let myself enjoy its bounty for a few seconds, the sight of white fluffy clouds floating lazily through the deep blue sky bringing a moment of jealousy. Falling back to earth, I faced the short walk to the entrance. More than enough time for my mind to wander back into the ring I’d found myself stepping into the day before.

Unbelievable was the word I kept mumbling as the perfect stranger strapped unfamiliar gloves to my hands all the while relaying a stream of advice he must have given countless times. I remember none of it as my mind was better occupied with how to escape the situation I was currently in with whatever shred of dignity I had left.

“Goodluck.”

The perfect stranger uttered these words with a tone which failed to mask his doubt in my survival regardless of how lucky I was. With the swiftness of each event leading to where I was now, much of my wits had been left behind. What little I currently had finally worked up the courage to pry open my lips to call this strange sequence of happenings to a halt. Before I could relish the small victory and begin a flowery speech of why all proceedings must stop, the perfect stranger jammed a mouth guard in. Not a pleasant experience. A head guard followed in quick succession, fastened securely by the deft hands of this perfect stranger.

“Alright, get up and get in there.”

Barely able to process all that was happening, I found myself obeying his words, or at least the first couple. My feet refused to propel me forward after my seat left the low stool. A predicament the perfect stranger quickly solved with a helping hand I did not ask for nor expect. With a strong shove I stumbled unwillingly, uncontrollably to the center of the ring unable to stop my forward momentum. That is until I met a warm body, her warm body. Her back to me, she did not see me coming. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on what side of the aisle you’re on, my gloved hands were not raised. This led to them landing squarely on her bum and my gawd I could feel the softness even through the gloves. I looked down barely believing what was happening. Lifting my head, I prepared my most apologetic look, giving myself credit for remembering I wouldn’t be able to speak through the mouth guard. My eyes reached hers just in time to see the fire burning within her deep brown iris. Her right hook came moments later.

A sharp pain hit my nerves as my toe made contact with the first step. Strong enough to bring my mind back to the present but not enough to make me cry out in pain. Pain, with the thought my hand gently rubbed my jaw. I hesitated, looking at the vastness within the open doors. Simple in design, they stretched far above what I could reach. My eyes could not but follow them to their peak. Flanking the doors was a design resembling two clasped hands meeting above the door in prayer. In there, I hoped to find her. Why she chose a church would be the first question, no, it would have to be her name. I crossed the threshold the door swallowing me whole, one step closer to her. A cool wind washed over me, the entrance sealing itself. A clear message, there was no turning back.



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https://penastory.com/2017/04/24/the-graduates-story-true-life-experience-episode-3/

Excerpt from Episode 2:

I was so pleased to see everyone smiling and having a good time. I was busy with my phone and next thing, I looked up and I saw Ella coming my way. My heart beat began to accelerate faster as she approached me. She had a smile on and I knew I was in trouble. She pulled out a seat on my table and sat down, “Look who we have her, Mr. Loner.” she said with a sheen smile.

To read episode 2: Visit profile or www.penastory.com

You haven’t really changed have you? Hi Ella, it’s so good to see you.” I complimented in awe.

She was really dashing and to think that I had always had a thing for her kept burning down the walls of my heart.

“Oh, Adeoluwa the guy I liked so much but never had the balls to walk up to me,” she teased with a smirk.

I was really startled by the gale of emotion she displayed. Really? How could she have never made me know?

“Wait, you don’t mean it. You are kidding right?” I quizzed.

“You never knew I liked you? Why did you think I was always in your class hanging with Chioma?” She asked with a tinge of annoyance for my naivety.

“Oh my God, but you ended up dating Osas, how should I have known? Chioma was a scare crow to me so there was no way going close to Chioma would send the message,” I explained with the hope that I could spur up something.

“You are pathetic Adeoluwa. If you knew how long I came around your class hoping you would act. You know, I knew you have always been serious minded, focused and very dedicated. You were not just man enough,” she kept teasing and chuckling.

“Are you still with Osas?” I asked.

“Osas and I broke up during service year, he wasn’t serious at all,” she said.

I wasted no time in asking if it was already too late now? She laughed and shook her head. “Adeoluwa you are still pathetic. You haven’t changed but it’s still cute though.”

I then asked her, “How about your craft business?”

“It’s doing well, I use my house for now but I really need a place because sometimes I get large orders and no space to work. I am thinking of getting a job so I can save up to get a place for my business.”

“Okay… Ella, I know I messed up in the past. I am sorry about that; I was very shy and immature. I have really changed, trust me on this. I have always admired you, always patronized your crafts even though I never needed them. If there’s nobody you are seeing, please consider me. I am begging you.”

“Aww, how sweet,” she expressed happily, “you know what? Let me have your number. Meanwhile, let’s go meet up with our friends over there.”

I gave her my business card and she was like, “Wow!!! Adeoluwa, you here. I have always known you were special.”

After the reception, I dropped her home and called her as soon as I got home. We spent over an hour talking on the phone. We kept on talking for long over the week and the prospect of Ella and I starting a relationship grew by the day. We decided to fix a date the following weekend and we chose Saturday. On the appointed day, we went to a nice restaurant to have lunch. We cracked school jokes and talked about old times. It was a wonderful moment. I was so much in awe I asked her about her business and how much it would cost her to relocate and restructure everything. In her estimation, it would cost her three hundred and fifty thousand naira. I reached out to my small bag and brought out my cheque book and wrote her a cheque of the sum she needed. We battled for hours as I wanted her to have it but she refused and insisted it was too much of a favour for her. I jokingly told her it was a loan with interest, she laughed, hugged me and that was it. I really wanted to do something very important in her life, so she would know that I was very concerned about her future.

When I got home my mom called. She wanted to know my next move. Obviously marriage, I told her about Ella and she wanted to see her the following weekend. I told Ella if she would like to pay my home a visit and meet my family. She delightfully welcomed it. She came over and my mom really liked her. They talked for over an hour and I even felt left out. It was a good thing. She had lunch with us and she also helped in washing the dishes, my mom was so proud of her, even though it was their first meeting. After I had dropped Ella off at her place, I got back home and my mom called me.

“Ella is a good lady, she will make an awesome wife. She’s creative, she’s got her own business, she’s going to have time to run and maintain her home, have time for the kids. I mean what else do you need?”

“I know Ella is wonderful.” I agreed.

“When are you proposing to her? You better do it soon before someone else does.”

“Well, we will be traveling to Calabar in three weeks for her friend’s wedding. I think I I will do it then.”

“Good, make sure you do your thing.” My mom said as she rang off.

Ella and I became so close, I went to see her family and they gave me a warm welcome, her siblings were so friendly. Things were getting more and more interesting. We travelled to Calabar for the wedding. I had the engagement ring with me and I was praying she would say yes even though a part of me was sure. She decided we stay in different hotel rooms because she told me she was still a virgin and she needed to keep it that way until the special night of her wedding, I felt so lucky. After the church ceremony at the reception, I gave someone my phone to make sure he captured the moment. I then called Ella’s attention.

“Ella,” I said as I knelt down with the ring.

“Oh my God,” she said obviously swooning.

“Will you marry me?” I asked.

She covered her eyes and screamed. “Yes!! I will.”

To my surprise, people around were clapping and that made me very uncomfortable.
After the event we headed back to our hotel rooms and I called my mom telling her the good news. My mom was really glad. That night, I went on Facebook to post the proposal picture. I noticed I had several unread mails so I took my time to read them. There was one mail that took my attention the most. The sender didn’t have a profile picture byt I went ahead to read the mail. It read: “Please are you the Adeoluwa that served in Kogi over a year ago? Please call this number ********** Tope.”

I felt very disturbed and I called the number immediately. Unfortunately the phone was switched off. I checked when the message was sent and it was about four months ago. I got back to Lagos and kept on trying the number with no success. On Wednesday morning it rang. I waited to hear the voice and it was Tope’s.

“Oh Jesus, Tope I just saw your mail are you okay?”

She began to sob. “Adeoluwa please come and help me. I need your help now more than ever….” She pleaded.

Worried, I retorted “I don’t get you Tope, is everything alright?”

“Nothing is alright, please come I need your help.” she said bluntly.

“I am at work now, I won’t have the chance to travel.”

“How about Saturday it’s very important,” the line then went off.

Memories of Tope came back. I was confused and very bothered about her situation. I kept on calling but the phone was switched off. I sent a text message to her I would come on Saturday, but will leave on Sunday morning because I had to prepare to travel to Port Harcourt on Wednesday on an official assignment. She responded the following day with the address and her location. I made arrangements with a driver to take me there with my car and I told Ella I was going on a business meeting to Abuja. I left very early in the morning and I got there around 11:30am. The location was a church far inside the town, it wasn’t easy locating it. I saw Tope by the gate of the church, standing. She looked pale and mucky, she had lost weight and she looked very unpleasant and troubled. I came down from the car and she ran towards me. She embraced me and said. “Oh Adeoluwa,” she was weeping.

I held her back by her shoulders, “Tope, please talk to me, what is wrong?”

“Come to the church with me and you will know everything,” she held my hand and led me into the church.

I didn’t know what to think or expect, I just needed to know what was wrong with her. We got into the church and what caught my eyes was the sight of children playing on a mat spread on the floor.

“Okay Tope we are in the church, tell me what is going on and why did you decide to blank me out completely?”

“I thought it was the right decision, ending everything we started two years ago but I was wrong and I am sorry.”

“Okay, now tell me why are you not in school? Is your mother okay?”

She burst into tears again. It was becoming irritating and I grew impatient and I heard a tiny voice of a kid saying, “Mummy sorry.”

The little boy embraced her by her leg and she carried him up. I was shocked the baby looked very much like me when I was little. He had the shape of my eyebrows and my droopy eyes.

“Is…Is…Is that your child?” I stuttered. Sweat was dripping from my face.

“This is our Adeoluwa, this is our son.” She replied with a sob.

“How come, how is it possible?”

“He is two years old, you are the only man I have slept with, he even looks like you.”

“Oh my God!” I said, sitting down as my knees became too weary to support me. “Tell me everything Tope.”

“Three weeks after you left Kogi, I became ill and I was vomiting. My mom asked me if I was seeing any man. I told her no. She took me to see the doctor, he ran some tests and the result was that I was pregnant. My mom beat me in the hospital with her slippers. When we got home, she threw my stuffs out and disowned me. I went to meet my closest relative and in spite of all the pleas, my mom refused to take me back,” she was sobbing as she told her story and unconsciously I reach out and held her hand to comfort her. “My relatives insisted I tell them who was responsible, but I refused. I didn’t want to implicate you and I know you didn’t mean it. You have always wanted to help me. So I did not tell them. Four months later, they started maltreating me and I decided to leave. A pastor’s wife took me in and I was there for one year. That was where I gave birth to junior and started working with the church’s primary school.”

“You mean this church?”

“No, I came to this church about six months ago. I had to leave the other place, the pastor made some advances on me, I reported to the wife and she threw me out. I have been here since. It’s been terrible Adeoluwa.”

She began to cry again. My mind was heavy and I knew I had to do something about her situation. She has been suffering because of me, her education stopped because of me, her family disowned her because she was protecting me. I felt indebted to her.

“Tope, I know everything can’t be okay, but I will do everything possible to make sure you get the best in life. God has blessed me with a good job and money is not a problem. I will get you an apartment here in Kogi and every month I will send you two hundred thousand naira for you and Junior.”

“His name is Adeoluwa.”

I took a pause and looked at him, he was already asleep. I didn’t know whether to touch him, carry him or something. I was just too unprepared for these before me.

“I cannot stay here in Kogi.”

“Then where do you want to stay? You can’t come with me to Lagos.”

“Adeoluwa, I have nobody, nobody. I have been rejected by my family, friends and relatives. The only person I have is you and my baby. I can’t stay far away from you, Please.”
“Tope, a lot has happened these few years. I have moved on and you being close could affect everything my mother has established for me, everything I have worked hard for recently. It can destroy me Tope.”

“Adeoluwa, I understand but I need someone to run to, someone to depend on. I will never interfere in your life again. I just need a new place to start all over, I don’t want my baby to go through what I went through. I need to further my education, you helped me once and I know you can help me again. I can’t provide for and protect our child Adeoluwa.”
I started to reflect on everything she said. I looked at the child, my child and I felt so sorry. I knew I can’t deny them solace, can’t deny them what they want. That’s my blood she’s talking about. I was hasty in conclusion. I looked at my watch and it was almost 1:00pm.

“Tope, if we have to go to Lagos we have to go now. Go pack your things, I will be waiting in the car.” It took us about five hours to get to Lagos. I lodged them in a hotel and handed her fifty thousand naira in case she needed anything urgent that night. I then left for home. I avoided everyone and went straight to my room. I was very unsettled and completely in distress. Ella had been calling me but I was too weak to pick her calls.

The following day, I drove to pick Ella so we could go to church. She noticed I was not myself and she asked, “What is wrong Adeoluwa? You have been acting strange.”

“I am pretty ill, but I will be fine.” I insisted it was a flu.

After church service, I dropped Ella at her place and I went home to get some stuffs for Tope and Junior. I got Tope a new Phone and Junior, some of my old toys and lots of candies. I got to their hotel room and she appeared more relaxed.

Next thing I heard was. “Daddy!!”

To be continued…



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Source: PenAStory - www.penastory.com

Momoh7:
Mention me if you post again

Episode 2 has been uploaded

Timson01:
no update again ba

Episode 2 has been uploaded

https://penastory.com/2017/04/25/daphnes-diary-of-depression/

They were all gathered together crying over her lifeless body wondering what to do. I was furious, another pepper-them-gang has somehow managed to kill their friend and yet they stood there crying; totally unaware of the role they played in her death. I grabbed the arm of the first girl tight and pulled her away from the rest. Her tears stopped, she was obviously confused; I stopped a good distance away from the scene. I didn’t let go yet, I looked into her eyes red from all the tears with mine stinging from the tears my anger held back.

“It’s your entire fault, you’re all to blame she’s dead, just because of you.”

Startled and with a shaky voice she replied me after some seconds, “What are you saying?” Teardrops rolled down her eyes, “How? I mean why would you say it’s our fault?”

“Just because it is” I replied.

She started drifting to anger, “Who are you sef? What the hell are you saying? Are you mad? What sort of human being are you? That’s my friend lying over there dead and you’re saying it’s my fault. I didn’t throw her off the balcony, we were all asleep, how would we have known? Ehn? Leave me alone!”

Obviously angry now, still crying she tried to wrestle out of my grasp; we wrestled and struggled for some minutes, she eventually grew weak and I held her to the wall.

“Now listen to me, I know you. I know all of you and I know Daphne a little more than you know her. I saw her trying to throw her diary away last week, she was crying so I asked her if she was well. She gave me the diary and asked me to read it. She said I’ll understand. I don’t know why she did that but throughout my travel I read the diary…”

The story of another depressed youth that decided to end her life, Daphne’s case hurt a lot because it was very typical and could be avoided. From being a victim of child abuse at an early age to being on suicide watch at the age of eleven and living with depression for as long as I can remember and counselling people for the past four years; I’d just say my bit on depression.

Friends: Probably the first to notice when something is off with you, now their reaction to your feelings of depression goes a long way in determining the eventual outcome of your depression. Let’s take Daphne for example; her diary had stories of how she had spoken to her friends about how she felt. Their reaction? They thought she was seeking attention, they told her that they had problems worse than hers and they didn’t go around discussing it, they told her to learn to deal with it, they swept it under the carpet and left it there. The consequence? She learnt to hide behind a fake smile, cry in the dark and self-mutilation when it became too much. When they found out she was cutting herself, it got worse, they felt that she had gotten to a point where she would do anything to gain attention. She was alienated and treated like a psycho. She didn’t talk to other people about it because she felt she’d get the same reaction.

“Why talk to anyone they won’t understand, even my friends who should care don’t understand. I don’t even understand what’s happening with me but I’m sad, very sad. I want it to end” -Daphne’s diary.

Family: Now usually they should be the first to notice but seeing how most modern homes run and how a lot of young adults have severed relationships with their parents the family knows second or last when it’s too late. Here’s what I’ve noticed in a good number of cases; when the family knows and they’re supportive the prognosis is usually good. Let’s look at a case with a bad outcome first: an 18 year old totally sold out on becoming a doctor, already working towards it and getting good grades. Ideal child right? Not to his father though, his father wants a dentist. Why?

“I don’t trust your capabilities as a student and medicine is a tough course go for dentistry instead,” his father’s words. Another case that you’d think shouldn’t exist in this century.
Consequence of his father’s statement? He began to doubt himself and to think he was adopted or his father hated him. He got some adults to talk to his parents, his father told them all to mind their business and leave his family. He eventually dropped out of school, and began to lose interest in everything, he refused counselling. He eventually zoned out of the world totally refusing to participate in everyday activities like waking from sleep, eating, communicating, he eventually shot himself.

You, just a little advice for you: people have different threshold for pain and different coping mechanisms in life, just because they can cope with situations and emotions that are difficult for you doesn’t mean you’re faulty. Remember you can do things they can’t do.

Don’t get comfortable in it. It’s very easy to get settled in. It would feel perfect locking yourself indoors all day, listening to music and shutting out the rest of the world for as many days as possible because life without them feels like peace. But you’re not stuck, there’s always a way out and you’ll find it.

Be happy. Happiness means different things to different people but find your happiness and hold on to it no matter what. Most depressed people I know get their happiness from making others happy, they do it so well a lot people who know them find it hard to believe they’re depressed. If you decide to do this you have to remember that you’re doing it for yourself and not them because the truth is not everyone will take time out to appreciate you. Be happy no matter what.

They don’t understand you? No problem. They don’t have to, most of them don’t even understand themselves. Try and understand you. Compliment yourself, pamper yourself, show the world how to treat you by treating yourself how you like and they’ll learn. Remember it’s not about them it’s about you.

DON’T DIE! Death is not the opposite of depression neither is it the solution. Nobody knows what happens after death so don’t be too sure that it takes the pain away. If you’ve lived this long it only means you’re strong and you can face your fears and live the life you want. Strong people don’t take their own lives. Death even has a hard time trying to take it from them.
If you do find someone you feel good talking to then talk to them. Get medical treatment too. But remember the fight against depression comes from within you, if you’re not willing to fight it then there’s hardly anything all the help in the world can do for you.
P. S: the world needs you here unless we’ll be 7billion minus one and that’s incomplete.



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Source : PenAStory - www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2017/04/24/zainas-nightmare/

Ruquayatu elopes with death. She does this sin, despite the fact that she once made a pact with life, death came and she took its hands, calmly, with a furtive smile that her mother wasn’t happy of. She was the type of young girl that a mother prayed, in earnest to the maker for and on account, several years ago, she had received Ruquayatu as a parcel from endless and countless pleas to Allah. Her birth is what Zaina, her mother would never forget. The agonizing pain of childbirth, the abstract techniques measured, that posed as the pains she was plunged and immersed into, before the precious tiny shape of the unnamed girl saw the world in a twinkling white light test tube filled room at the general hospital, Zaria. She had grown with so much joy and abounding happiness and her mother , being a single parent had thought she had eluded the feeling of disgrace and the portraying image unwanted pregnancy bestows.

At the time, there was a grey colored bungalow, lined with blue aluminum plates on the dancing rooftop and there was an empty room which undoubtedly had no sign of life until Zaina and her child made its walls exciting. Zaina worked as a nurse in the general hospital, double shifts; one partly accomplished in the day, long and hectic and another in the endless tiring night. She worked to meet the demands of herself and her companion and by the look of the smooth charismatic path, life was heaving them to; her effort was paying off extravagantly as Ruquayatu and her lovely self began to grow into a very elegant girl. She had been enrolled into a nearby private school two poles away from where they lived and her mother’s struggle surfaced about all she did and how she did them and the huge sum of tuition tortured her, enormous it was, seemingly impossible to pay, while the child, on a more different base struggled too, so as to meet the demands of society. The girl’s only flaw was her mother’s love and little of it more, would have spoilt her. Then as the world soils her name with bad news, Zaina’s source of livelihood wounds up adrift, caught in twines between the fowl ego of a doctor. She had been basking in the glory of him, a reputable single doctor, responsible for her round belly years ago – unknown to the world.
After a long time, she grows, and her thin legs elongate, her hair darkens and when it becomes astoundingly difficult for the young mother to satisfy her needs in forms of three squares of sweet meals; as a child deserves, it becomes obvious that her world , all In one little girl was falling apart into bits and pieces. Mother begins to surrender to her plight. Daughter begins to react cowardly. The two begin to react differently to the sudden change of events. The gap between them spreads like a virus, a disease that has no cure. The gap widens and a bridge of solution is to be the salvage of them both. There seems no remedy for this sudden turnout of escapades which lingers till the frailness of Ruquayatu gets addressed by the promises of her dark sunken mother saying to her it was going to be alright in the end. She grows, living with her mother; she gets to know that the world is not a mere one, which should be inhabited by the frail. Time parts ways as seasons change and as morning comes and retires into lengthy evening where mother and child would meet together again in their single room at Oriakpata Street. The girl is on a plastic chair. Her mother fondles an envelope, skimming the lines through a letter which jutted from the door’s entrance when she had returned from afternoon break. Her face was naked and distorted her round nose sweating, her eyes somewhat bloodshot, and her left leg crossed on the other on the floor. A glass of wine on a side table and at intervals, the brown affectionate eyes of Ruquayatu was caught perusing her mother’s face. Zaina’s entire world, in a single moment, was on a leash, right before her wet face. She didn’t know what to think as a profound solution, her mind and her brain were warring on a see-saw. Sounds of clashing steels exploded in her ears. Her daughter noticed her mother’s mood was not the same; apparently, she could not grasp it as naivety knew her earnestly well. Barely eight years of age, does she not understand what her life would be. She, in all her bright dreams –real or unrealistic does not yet know of the deepening hallowed ground her fate was entwined with. She never knows that her childhood days, as halcyon would soon fade into what her mother fears.
Zaina in all her query about life, was scared, as any woman her age would be if her level in life was attained by several other women surrounding her. Living alone with her daughter was what she thought impossible. She had finally settled down before she got the letter which turned everything towards the negative.
Today, as the heat drowns everything, Zaina kneels on the side of a bed praying to Allah to retain the life of her sick child. She wonders why things happen, why Ruquayatu would come to her, why Allah would bless her then let this happen. It was cancer the doctor had said to her. There is no cure. Not even time can heal her.
Zaina was someone to never lose hope. It was her curse. She continued to be hopeful, visiting places, celestial churches; at one not too distant from her street, there a priest resided. She had gone to him too, relinquishing her religion. Ruquayatu had been bathed with salt water seven times and sprinkled with holy water. She had cried from the itching of her eyes and fervently Zaina prayed along too as he sung praises and spoke in confusing tongues. That had not worked. In fact, as she noticed it when they returned after hours, the fever had intensified in her daughter’s body. She feared death, loneliness. She feared to return to her place far away Katsina to meet her parents and listen once again to their tiring voices of mockery. She was always strong and all she did was planned from the first detail, but this, this was to be the biggest blow she was ever to get.

It was the third month and at the same hospital Ruquayatu had first seen, it was to be her last because there was nothing to be done by the world. She is lying in her mother’s arms, laboring in her breaths. Zaina’s face is wet with tears as slowly she loses her, she loses her world. How would she see tomorrow? If finally she leaves this world, would she also live in it alone? She has seen and lived with reprise, loneliness, how it stinks, how deafening it is. She worries too and as the last beep of Ruquayatu’s heart echoes, she springs with fuss from the dream, soaked wet with sweat, drenching, breathing profusely, she feels next to her side and touches the sleepy Ruquyatu, alive and well. She faces the moon and prays to Allah to never let this nightmare come alive.

Source: PenAStory - www.penastory.com

iyerenath:
Pls sir are u still continuing dis story??coz it seems nice...

Yes we are

https://penastory.com/2017/04/17/graduate-story-18the-graduates-story-true-life-story-episode-2/

I didn’t have condoms with me and it was late to get one. After about fifteen minutes, she came out from the bathroom wrapped in my towel. She then put off the light switch and lay beside me. She apparently didn’t have any clothes on. Before I could say JAY-EEE-HESS-YOU-HESS, my embarrassing erection had manifested. I am naturally huge down there. My dick is eight inches in length, not to mention the size. No matter how hard I would try to hide it, it was always embarrassingly noticeable. She noticed already but I vowed not to make the first move. About ten minutes passed and no move was made.

She then rested her head on my chest and put her left laps on my leg. And I thought to myself. “If we spend the night like this it won’t be bad.” I then put my left hand on her left shoulder and began to handle her shoulder a bit. Next thing I felt was a grip on my dick.

She said, “I have never held one before. You are the first and you will be the last. I love you Adeoluwa I came to give you my body, please be easy on me, I am still a virgin.”

I was put in a quandary, I wanted her and I didn’t want her at the same time. I couldn’t think of what to say to her than. “Tope I love you too.”

It escaped me quickly before my thoughts. I was letting my heart speak not my head. I damned the consequences of tomorrow and embraced the passion of now. I had just less than a month to wrap up my service year and I needed to hold on to something to linger in the archives of my memories. She began to kiss my chest, sending electronic signals to my hormones, unleashing the demon within me. She kept on kissing and using her lips to clinch my tip, this was the last straw that broke the camel’s back.

I took charge and laid her on her back. I stroked her tits tenderly and caressed it with ravishing interest; she moaned embracing my head while at it.
Although I had read about it in books: How to deflower a virgin. With no practical experience I knew it was going to be a long night. While I was stroking her tits, my penis was handling her labia. She was so wet with squishy stuff escaping the orifice, but I didn’t mind. I knew I had to play with that place too. So I later decided. It was really a difficult task and I didn’t know where the orifice was, not that I could put on the light and search for it. In the ultimate search for the center of gravity, I mistakenly started forcing my way into her clitoris and she said, “Ah Adeoluwa that’s not where it is, it’s a bit below it.” Embarrassed by the lecture, I decided to exude some masterly control of the situation but then ignorance needed to be cured eeh…

“Raise your finger up a bit…. No a little bit down….Yes there.” She directed me to the spot but it didn’t seem like an opening. I then applied little pressure in putting the tip of my finger inside, She closed her eyes and said. “Be careful, it hurts a bit.”

The tip of my finger finally got in, so I started taking it in and out continuously. She then said. “Adeoluwa please I want you on top of me. I need you to do the real thing.”

I refrained a bit insisting that I didn’t want to hurt her but I didn’t know what came over her. She was determined to consummate our ‘friendship’ by having us jump each other’s bones. “You deserve it Adeoluwa I love you.” She encouraged. I couldn’t decline her, so I mounted her and I said. “Tope you have to help out here, you have to use your hand to align it to the position.”

She then assisted me to it. My cap was just on the surface of her vagina. I started to apply little pressure on it. I really didn’t want her to feel much pain. I couldn’t push it in, I felt it was going to hurt, it was just so tight. While I use still applying pressure, she tilted her waist towards me, causing an abrupt intrusion. She screamed and held me tight. There was a snap inside of her, I felt it. I knew it was better I remained inside of her. It was very obvious she was in extreme pain, I could tell by the grip she had in her embrace. She then said, “Continue, Adeoluwa, continue. Don’t stop no matter what.”

I started thrusting… She closed her eyes pretty tight trying to bear every pain she perceived. I was sorry for her but happy for myself. The feeling inside of her was soothing and mind blowing. Her tightened grip on me enthralled me to an ecstasy I had never experienced before. After about ten minutes I climaxed inside of her. It was so compelling I had to lie on top of her and remained inside till I shrunk out of her. I then put on the light and the bed sheet was stained with blood, it was a gory sight. She helped removed it and washed it that night. We both showered and laid on the mattress and started talking.

I said to her, “What came over you?”

She said, “My friend Bimpe got deflowered last week by a guy that never truly loved her. She gave it to him because she wanted him to stay but I gave it to you because you are truly caring, loving and supporting. I have written JAMB exams four times and because of you I made it this time. My life would have be nothing without you.”

I said to her. “Tope, I truly care about you but don’t you think that was too extreme?” She said. “It had to be you. It would have been with a guy that doesn’t deserve it. We have known each other for three months and you never asked for it. I have no regrets Adeoluwa even though we don’t end up together.”

I then said, “You are a sweet girl Tope.”

She said, “One more thing, we have to do it one more time in the morning, my friend told me the more I do it the more I enjoy it. I need to enjoy you Adeoluwa I know you are finishing service soon and I won’t see you again. Please let me have the privilege.”
“Okay Tope, no problem.” I said after pondering but for a minute.

We had hot sex that morning, though she was in pain but she bore it all because of me, because of her love, her commitment, her passion for me. I knew in my heart that if her circumstances were a bit better, I would vow to marry her against all odds. I loved her. I loved her and I had become fond of her. We became more carnal and grew in intimacy. Every day, we engaged in lascivious delight and Tope began to enjoy the pleasurable ecstasy each time we entangled in the overwhelming act. After my service year had ended, I decided to stay back for a week so as to bid farewell to Tope. I knew everything we had was going to end as soon as I departed from Kogi state, and she knew that too. She couldn’t help but cry all through the last few days I spent with her. I felt for her, I was moved but I couldn’t change what fate had put before us. The day I was leaving, she saw me off to the garage. As I waited for the vehicle to be filled, she was sobbing inordinately, her face covered in tears and her nose licking. It was a sorry sight, I hugged her close and she cried out loud.

“No! My life! My life! Oh what am I to do now?” She kept ululating. “What will I do now? Where will I start from? I cannot love anybody again. Oh God please…”

I was able to calm her down by telling her I would miss her a whole lot and that I would always try to reach her. She soon stopped sobbing. We had already created a scene and people were beginning to say things. “Tope, please I need you to have this money, it is N12,000 get a good phone so we can keep in touch.” I said but she burst out almost spontaneously, “Of what good will it be Adeoluwa? When I know I cannot have you for life” she wailed.

I then importuned, “Please Tope, I just need to know how you are faring, to know if I can help you with anything, to hear your sweet voice again. Please Tope it means a lot to me.”

She took the money and she started sobbing again and she bade me goodbye in a gale of tears. I stood and watched her fade away in sight. I had tears in my eyes and felt an emptiness within. The vehicle got filled and I embarked on my journey to Lagos. As I journeyed, I reflected on the sweet moments Tope and I shared. I then realized they were the best times of my life and I felt privileged to have had such memories. I got home and met my family, everyone was happy to see me again. I sure did miss home and all the comforts, but nothing compared to Tope, whom I missed dearly. I knew I would probably not see her again and everything we had would only linger in thoughts till they grow dim with time.

A week passed and I didn’t hear from Tope, as I suspected. I knew she must have taken the decision to stay aloof, it must have been very hard on her. I had no option other than to move on and face the reality before me. Through my mom’s connection, I was able to secure a very profitable job in one of the biggest oil companies in Nigeria, in just three weeks after my youth service. The company made arrangements for me to travel to the U.S for a ten months managerial course. I only wished I could tell the good news to Tope, but there was no means, she didn’t have a phone, she wasn’t on social media and not even an email account. Few days later, I travelled to Texas, U.S. It was a wonderful learning experience and I was well taken care of. I met people from different parts of the world and I had a great time.

At the end of the exercise, I returned back to Nigeria and the following day I was assigned to the position of an assistant manager. I had my own office and desk, it was too good to be true. My salary was wow! My life was beautiful. After three months of working I was able to acquire a brand new car. I could afford any luxury that I wanted. My fashion changed, I got lots of cool natives and suits, expensive wrist watches, perfumes. I didn’t know how to spend my money, every month it kept on growing in numbers and since I wasn’t really an outgoing type with only few friends, I had a huge savings.
A former course mate at the university was having a wedding. I was invited and I felt it was a very good opportunity for me to meet up with good old friends. I came late for the church wedding so I took a back seat and shortly after the church ceremony ended and we all dispersed to the reception not too far away. At the reception I took a secluded seat. I never really liked to mingle and I decided to just observe from a distance. I saw lots of old faces that made me smile. It was really good seeing their happy faces again. But a face I would never forget was Ella’s. I had a major crush on Ella for two sessions and a semester, until she and Osas started dating shortly before we all graduated. Ella never reciprocated the feelings and it was difficult to open up to her. She’s a beautiful fair skinned lady and very decent. She was into crafts: She made beads, shoes, bags and cloths. She carved out a name for herself on campus.

I was so pleased to see everyone smiling and having a good time. I was busy with my phone and next thing, I looked up and I saw Ella coming my way. My heart beat began to accelerate faster as she approached me. She had a smile on and I knew I was in trouble. She pulled out a seat on my table and sat down, “Look who we have her, Mr Loner.” she said with a sheen smile.

Source: PenAStory - www.penastory.com



S

https://penastory.com/2017/04/10/a-yoruba-girl-lost-in-translation-the-university-debate-oluwakorede-akinkuolie/

University, the third tier of education in our society, the most important part of your education actually, because we all know that your WAEC and NECO distinctions and credits are pointless if you don’t get a B.A or B.Sc with it. In fact, attempt to tell your parents you’re not writing JAMB or you don’t want to go to university, I dare you! Or better yet, if you are already in university say you want to drop out. You will get phone calls from relatives you didn’t even know you had, all trying to talk some sense into your “stupid” head *insert eye roll here*

How do I know what the result will be you ask? I tried it. And the result, maybe 50 phone calls, 10 sit down conversations and 2 arguments. Now I’m a 200 level student of Mass Communication. *sigh* Don’t get me wrong, it is an awesome experience and I’m getting a lot out of it but why do I need a degree to be successful and why are vocational schools so underfunded and stigmatized? We constantly complain about the rising number of unemployeed graduates in Nigeria but we frown upon them ditching the degree to learn a skill that could start an empire.

What is the obsession with the 8-5 for God’s sake? Do we really want to wake up in the next forty years bored with our jobs? I don’t know about you but I do not. Frankly speaking, my mind was not built for a mundane routine. So my question is why does a degree matter so much? I kinda got an answer to this recently, a friend basically blasted me for saying that after my B.Sc I was done with school. (Rude right?) Anyway his take was that the higher the qualification, the bigger the advantage you have over your competitors because you know more. (So by now, I’m sure you have figured out that I hate having to concede to someone else’s point, yes? If not then thank you for thinking that I am a sane and completely reasonable person)

So, I concede that point to him, the more you know the better you are, but I ask this in return. (See too stubborn for my own good… I need help *sigh*) Where was I? Oh yeah, my question… Why can’t we put some focus on the Polytechnics and Vocational schools? They still give you a degree right? And the issue we have here is the certificate right? So why is the Almighty Bachelor’s degree so essential to the survival of our society? I mean by the logic of just get a degree, a HND or (Wait what do you get from a vocational school? I should look that up.) Anyway that should be enough right? Oh it’s not? Wait so is this another pride thing? *narrows eyes* Kinda like being able to say my child is a doctor, lawyer or engineer?

Speaking of professions, why do I have to have a white collar job? And please do not say job security because I can give you a long list of people with a degree that don’t have a job in the field of their darling degree. What do they do then you ask, some of them (smart people or just impatient like me) learn a trade and Behind it up, BOOM means of income and what didn’t help them? Yes, yes that piece of paper they spent four or more years in a university trying to get. The others keep looking until they find something. And frankly, I dabb for them cause I can’t imagine the amount of patience that would take.

In conclusion, please, please and pretty please with a cherry on top, do not belittle other forms of education because going to a university is not the only way to ensure that you will have a good life. Also I’m not saying drop out or rebel against the system oh before someone tracks me down just to say Koreey advised them to drop out. I’ll deny you quicker than Peter denied Jesus bruh no jokes. I’m just giving my own two cents that’s all. Hopefully in years to come our culture will be over the hype of university (I probably shouldn’t hold my breath on that though right?) Anyway, back to my confusing culture I go cause I could have sworn one of my aunts mentioned marriage to me earlier, so I have to go figure out what that was supposed to mean. *sigh* Wish me luck.

~Koreey.

Source: PenAStory - www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2017/04/11/just-five-minutes-a-story-on-depression-and-suicide/

Kimberly parked her 2016 Range Rover Sports car and stepped out of the car barefoot. She was parked in a corner of the Third Mainland Bridge, and she stared at the long stretch of road before her unseeingly. She automatically pressed the car control to lock the car even though the safety of her car was the last thing on her mind.

The night was windy but she didn’t feel the chilliness of the air around her as she began to walk blindly. Cars whizzed past her with some eagle eyed passersby noticing the well-dressed woman walking alone on the lonely bridge. The cars were moving too fast for anyone to take notice that she had no shoes on and that there was an unseeing stagger to her gait. Unconsciously, she was walking close to the edge of the bridge, her hand trailing the railings as she moved on autopilot.

The events of the last few months passed before her eyes as she walked. She was an award winning writer who had her debut novel, The Princess In Rags, released four years ago and with the release of the book had come the beginning of her problems. At the time it didn’t feel that way though, how could gaining international recognition become a problem? Her book was so successful that her agency arranged a book tour for her and she soon found herself moving from one country to the other speaking at important events. She signed two ambassadorship deals worth several millions of naira and in the twinkle of an eye, she was suddenly richer than her husband, Juwon.

Juwon was the love of her life, the man who supported her career even when she wasn’t making any money. Juwon’s income as a graphic designer for an insurance company sustained them when added to the little amount she was able to garner from her freelancing gigs. The release of The Princess In Rags changed their story and suddenly, she who had all the time in the world on her hands before was suddenly too busy for her man and marriage. They had gotten married after three years of courtship and agreed to start a family after five years of marriage but the book changed that. They had just one more year to go before starting a family but Kimberly wasn’t ready to be impeded by a pregnancy, she had after all just released a bestseller and signed a deal with an international publishing house to release another.

The task of combining attending events that raked in money and trying to come up with material for her follow up book was one that she couldn’t add the pressure of starting a family to. Juwon became just another facet of her life, an unimportant facet so she didn’t even know when he began to recede into himself. It was as if she didn’t need him or his money any more especially now that she was making more than him. She would sit at her laptop clicking away, preparing her next speech or working on her book or any of the other things that needed her attention. Sex became a burden to her and Juwon would beg for hours on end to get her to come to bed.

If The Princess In Rags had been a bestseller, the follow up book, Cocky Blue, was a smash and the divide between them widened. It was like a gulf had been opened between them and there was no crossing the chasm. She had no time for him or their marriage. Daily, he would plead with her, his popular phrase being, “Just give me five minutes of your time Kimmy.” She would dismiss him casually and tell him she had work to do and he should stop being so inconsiderate. The talks of children were no longer on the table as she made it clear it was the last thing on her agenda.

When Juwon first started drinking, the part of her that cared was a bit bothered but she pushed it aside by convincing herself it was just him being a man. All men drink, why shouldn’t he? She would tell herself. Coming home to the smell of cigarettes, weed and sometimes used syringes bothered her as well but since she didn’t ever meet him doing or using any substance, she didn’t bother to ask questions. She was about her next book, her next project and Juwon seemed content to have her slip into bed at 3:00am after working all night long on her laptop and refusing his pleas of leaving work for just five minutes.

How could I have missed the signs that were there? Kimberly asked herself bitterly as the tears streamed down her face with no move on her part to wipe it away. Juwon had been lonely and depressed about the gulf between them and despite being under the same roof, she had been blind to it. The drinking, smoking and drugs had been his cry for help yet she had been unbothered all in the name of chasing money so that their unborn children could have a comfortable future. How could she not have noticed the happiness he exuded whenever she conceded to have sex? For her, sex was an obligation, fulfilling a marital role without actually being a part of it. She would mechanically suck him till he got hard and comfortable enough for him to thrust into her while she lay there like a log of wood, thinking about what needed her attention. He had even asked her if she never got Hot enough to desire him one night after a round of one sided sex. She had shrugged off his question and gone into the bathroom to clean herself. Persistently, he followed her and she finally responded that she wasn’t just a sexual being but they both knew she was lying. During their courtship and the early years of their marriage, she was the one with the insatiable sexual appetite, she had been a tigress in bed but now she was simply a robot.

That she could be cheating never crossed his mind, he trusted her that much. He knew the millions she was making had replaced him in her mind. She was more concerned about signing the next deal or working on the next story or book to care what happened to them. The little delights he took in her cooking, making the bed and cleaning the house were taken away when she employed a maid to attend to the mundane house chores she was too busy to do herself. Further and further he slipped into his depressed state without his life partner noticing the pain he was in. He couldn’t talk to anybody about it because as a man he had to fix his marriage and the fact that Kimberly was now a celebrity meant their marital woes would become a media circus should it get out. To the outside world, he was a happy man with all the money he could possibly need, he smiled next to her a red carpets or events she needed him at but at home she discarded him like a used condom, a tool that had served its function.

His depression affected his work because he couldn’t keep his mind on the things required of him and the addiction to his new found love, cocaine was making it hard to function. Unable to bear the pain any longer, he took an overdose of pills, filled the bathtub and silently climbed in. The idea to go in the Whitney Houston style came to him after he read of Bobbi Kristina’s death. He left the note by her work desk where he knew she would be sure to find it. Sure enough, that was the first place Kimberly resumed that night. She saw the note but when she saw his handwriting, she tossed it aside and made a mental note to read it later as she began to click away. It must be Juwon trying to be romantic or something, she thought, I don’t really have time for this now.

Three hours of productive writing on her next novel, she finally deigned to look at the note and she froze when she read the words. Was he playing a prank or something? She ran into the bathroom and screamed at the sight before her. He was lying in the bathtub face down and unconscious. She ran to him and touched his cold body but he had been dead for hours. Unthinking, she ran out of the house, pausing only long enough to grab her car keys. Now as she walked barefoot, she wondered what she could have done differently to save him. She realised she loved him more than life itself but hadn’t even known about his depression because she had been too wrapped up in herself.

But I was making the money for the both of us? Kimberly cried silently. He fucking had access to my credit cards, he could have said he was unhappy or something? Even as she said the words, she knew he had said it many times but she chose to miss the signs. She hadn’t thought it would lead to this. She stopped in her tracks and stared into the dark water under the bridge and something in her told her to jump. I deserve to feel the kind of pain that would come with being swallowed by the cold water, she thought. Mechanically, she began to remove her clothes. First her jewelries came off, followed by the expensive lace wrapper she had tied and then the blouse. She was in her lingerie now and she put one leg over the railing. She stared at the water and it seemed to beckon to her, she put her second leg over the railing and sat on the steel, feeling its coldness against her bare skin.

She couldn’t hear the noises; her mind was bent on what she about to do. She deserved to die. She deserved this, for pushing Juwon to take his own life. She didn’t deserve to live. Just as she made the leap, she felt two sturdy hands grab her and she leaned precariously in the air and realised someone had grabbed her before she could plummet into the waters below. She didn’t struggle, she didn’t fight to be set free, she simply went limp and began to cry.

Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2017/04/10/the-graduates-story-true-life-story-episode-1/

My name is Adeolu. There’s a saying to the effect that “What can’t kill you only makes you stronger.” But this time, I don’t know how strong I will be coming out from this predicament that I have found myself but then, I want to share it with all and sundry, at least perhaps a problem is half solved when it is shared. Let’s see how the cookie crumbles in my case after sharing… Just read.


This all started about two years ago the very year I embarked on my youth service in Kogi state. There was this very good canteen not too far from Yagba East local government council, where I frequently visited for my CDS. It was the aroma that lured me to the place, the acrid savour of scented stew and fried pieces of assorted meat; it was irresistible. I couldn’t extricate myself from the luscious captivity that overwhelmed me. Perhaps, a simple restraint would have changed the mores of history, would have saved me from all these.

As I entered the canteen, I grabbed a plate and stood on the queue salivating and waiting for my turn. When it got to my turn, before me was something more compelling than the meal that I expected. My eyes got locked in contact with the young lady who was serving the meal. Your guess is probably as good as mine. It had to be a woman, yeah? Naughty mind. Anyways, let’s go on.

She was beautiful beyond expression. I could hardly compose myself and it took me some few seconds to reboot. She asked, “What food do you want sir?” in fluent English. I stuttered. “Ermm, give me. rice N50, dodo N50 and three pieces of meat.”

She, with a practiced hand, served me the food and added a winsome smile to ensnare me completely. Her skill showed nothing less than culinary adroitness. I was going to pay and she refused to collect the money. I didn’t understand the kind gesture, I then insisted and she smiled at me and said. “It’s okay, it’s on me.” I then took a seat and started eating.

While I was eating, I noticed her looking at me intermittently; she was stealing glances. I looked at her with roving eyes and noticed she also had a leer on her face. It drove my curiosity wild and I was eager to know her. She sounded quite polished and she looked more dignified than running a local canteen, I knew there was more to it. As I was done, I went to meet her and said to her.

“Thank you very much. My name is Adeolu, can I know your name?”

She giggled and said, “My name is Tope.”

As we both smiled at each other like teens gripped in some high school crush. So I left the place hoping to return the following day. I got to my rented room and I was still thinking of Tope. She was average height, dark skinned and very attractive. Her curves were at the right angle and her bursts were an eye candy. I mean, she was just a sight for sore eyes. I knew I needed companion to quench my lust while I served my country in the beautiful state of Kogi and Tope just happened to fit into the picture. Being a nerd, a dweeb and a slacker isn’t a thing to be proud of. I had only had sex once. Thanks to Seun who took me clubbing then some chic agreed to get down with me and at the end made me pay N4,000. I regretted the fact that my first sexual experience was in a club, with a girl I never got to know her name, and in the most slovenly and uncouth manner. That wasn’t funny. I felt I needed to lay claim of my very own pet, a decision I soon regretted.

The following day I went to the canteen, but this time around I went there late. Unfortunately food had finished, but the good thing was that Tope had time to spare. She was busy preparing to wash the dishes and I didn’t hesitate to assist her. She didn’t want me to get my hands dirty but I insisted. I helped her in getting water and she was thrilled that a corper would stoop so low helping her with the dishes. Well, why wouldn’t I? It granted me the avenue to view her heavy kegs that jiggled as she was washing the dishes. Suddenly her mother appeared from a distance, Tope sighted her and she said to me, “Please hide, don’t let her see you.”

I then hid behind the canteen and after about fifteen minutes she left the place. Tope then came to meet. “Sorry about it,” she apologized.

“It’s okay, no sweat. Your mom is strict right?” I inquired at least to know if something would encumber my lustful desires.

“No she’s not. I am preparing for JAMB exams and seeing me with a guy would upset her,” she claimed.

“Then why are you here working in the canteen? You should be attending lessons now” I curiously asked.

She said, “My elder sister is not feeling too fine and she’s the one in charge of the canteen. Yesterday was my first day here.”

I asked her the course she intended to study and she gleefully said it was Biochemistry. I added, as a way of dabbling my panache that I graduated with a first class From Chemical Engineering which was true, “if you need any assistance I will be glad to help you.” I added calmly.

“Wow, you must be a genius!” She exclaimed.

She gladly accepted my gentle offer, mentioning that she had found Physics and Chemistry as a closed book to her.

I laughed and said. “No I am not a genius, I just love to read my books a lot. It takes hard work and persistence to be successful. My dad is a Professor and my mom is a Judge, they really encouraged me.”

We finished cleaning up and I decided to walk her home which she agreed. As we walked, we talked about our families and she opened up about the challenges she faced gaining admission, being the only child amongst her siblings privileged to attend higher institution. I was so bent in making her pass her JAMB and I promised her I would teach her through. I convinced her to tell her mom she needed to prepare for her exams and that she won’t be able to continue with the running of the canteen. The mom eventually succumbed and she got a replacement. I made an arrangement with Tope, for her to be coming to my place 4:00pm Mondays to Fridays and 1:00pm on Saturdays, which she agreed. My intentions were sincere, but with a little thoughts of side attractions. In spite of being attracted to her, I wanted her more than anything to pass her JAMB exams this time around…

Her first day at my place was an amazing one. She brought me rice, dodo and three pieces of meat. I was really touched and I felt she truly cared for me. The most enthralling thing she did again was, she washed all my dirty clothes, including my boxers and she swept my room and arranged my stuffs. No lady had done such to me except my mom. I was moved by that and felt more obliged to her. We couldn’t do any reading that day. So I walked her home around 6:30pm. I got to my room and it looked quite different; neat and very organized. I lay on my neatly made bed and I thought to myself. “Is it possible something real can happen between Tope and I??” But I considered the years she would spend in the university and all.

She came the following day. This time she wore a fitted gown. I knew I was going to be in trouble if I didn’t caution myself. I then told her to list out the most difficult topics she was facing. I put her through and she was quite intelligent in grasping, I was really impressed by her keen interest in understanding.

After studying she then looked at me and asked, “How is your girlfriend?” I laughed hysterically and assured her I had no girlfriend.

“I don’t believe you,” she quizzed.

“Tope, I am not lying to you. Girls don’t find me attractive, it’s not that I am good looking. Even while in school, I never had the chance to date any girl I admired.” I explained.

She said, “Adeoluwa, I know you are special I saw it in your eyes the first time we met at my mom’s canteen. You are a special man.”

I was moved by what she said. No lady had ever said that thing to me before. I began to feel for her and that was when I started to really care for her. She looked at my feet and shouted in consternation,

“Aaah.. Adeoluwa. Look at your toe nails. Don’t you cut them?” I felt a bit embarrassed.

I hadn’t cut my toe nails for a long time. I just wriggled out of the question by saying I lost my nail cutter and I hadn’t gotten a new one.

She then said. “Do you have a razor blade? Let me help you cut it.” I resisted at first but she insisted that she wasn’t maladroit in the art of cutting nails. I got her the razor blade and she meticulously cut my toe nails. She then took a napkin soaked with water and she cleaned my feet. No lady had shown me much compassion and care. Immediately I erased the lustful thoughts I had on her and I decided to do everything to make her succeed in her JAMB exams.

Our friendship grew and I found out how remarkable she was. I began to love her but I fought really hard not to reveal it to her. I respected her and I knew she was a good lady and I didn’t want to start something I couldn’t finish. I was aware we both had feelings for each other, but I was afraid it will lead to nowhere and also I didn’t want to make a promise I couldn’t fulfill. It was a tough decision for me, cause I had to fight every temptation that came my way. She was really improving in her preparations towards her examination. She was able to solve all the difficult problems she once faced and I was proud she was making headway. The JAMB exams came and she smashed it. She scored 250 and I bought her a wrist watch for doing so well.

It was Friday night around 9:30pm. I heard a knock on the door and it was Tope. I was really surprised seeing her there. She flung a smile at me and svelted herself like an anaconda revealing her sexy hips.

“Why are you out this late?” I muttered. “I told my mom I was going for vigil” she replied.

Indeed, a vigil would have saved me from all these. Why really didn’t she go to a vigil? I invited her in and queried her as to why she lied to her mum. Embarrassed, she wiped the smile off her face and sat down on the bed without uttering a word. I understood she couldn’t answer me. I made her noodles and she ate. We both lay down on the bed, I knew what I feared the most was revealing its head. I had just my boxers on and I don’t like sleeping with many clothes on.

She then asked “Do you have water in the bathroom, I want to shower.” I then knew that night was going to be an intriguing one. I replied her low-toned “Yes there’s water in the bathroom. You can use this towel it’s clean.” She took the towel and went into the bathroom…

I didn’t have condoms with me and it was late to get one….

To be continued

https://penastory.com/2017/02/27/how-my-first-marriage-failed/

One of the hardest things to ever do in life is to close a chapter in a book that you thought you’d be writing forever. It’s so difficult to do but then we assure ourselves that the excitement that comes with writing a whole new book is worth it. Quickly, I remember my grandmother’s favourite old saying, “Son, the Devil you know is better than the Angel you don’t know”. I swear her words never made sense to me until I was seated in front of my lawyer about to sign the divorce papers just barely two years after my marriage.

Two years ago we vowed to love each other until death separated us. We vowed to forsake all others, to stand by each other through good and bad. On that day I made those vows with my heart, knowing at times it would be hard, but believing our love was strong enough to make it. We saw our share of trials and at some point our paths began to separate. I held tight to what we started with, doing all I could to fix it, change it, perfect it. It wasn’t my fault neither was it yours then whose fault was it? We played the blame game for as long as I can remember. Gradually, I turned elsewhere, partially shutting the door to my heart, letting someone else in again. I can’t seem to figure out how but she was different. She just seemed more real to me. She made me begin to wake up to reality. Please my love, don’t see this as some sort of comparison but like they always say, the truth is bitter.

For months, I tried to make sense of it, wondering daily why you just weren’t enough. I know as a wife there’s never a good enough explanation to ease the pain and the loneliness that a husband’s betrayal brings and no one gets it unless they’ve lived through it. I know there’s no recovery from the emotional depth of betrayal, even though for months I could see how badly you tried. I’m sorry my betrayal has taken everything you are and leaves you doubting yourself every single day. Last time, I looked into your eyes, all I could see was guilt, even when you weren’t the one to break your vows and turn to someone other than your spouse. I saw your eyes roll, I could feel your heart spin and your mind question what kind of person you are, inside and out.

My love, I know this divorce is hard on you! I know how much it makes you question your worth, your value, your identity. Because it doesn’t matter how hard you try or how badly you hope and plead for a miracle, the fact is that you’re just not good enough. Not enough to fulfill desires, to meet unmet needs, not enough to make me happy and satisfied. How do I know all of this? It’s simple. My new soon-to-be-bride brought me out of my illusion. She made me realise that what we had was way impossible. In fact, our marriage never existed. The last two years of my life was lived in deceit. We both lied to ourselves. Despite knowing how impossible it was and still is for us to ever get married, we both enjoyed the fantasy. How could we have ever thought that I, a living thing would get married to something as abstract as you? What was I thinking when I proposed to you “Sister Career”. I can’t possibly get married to a part of my life but I understand what exactly happened. The heartbreaks prior to that time were just to many and so I only needed some sort of “escapisim”. Thanks for coming in handy. Above all, thanks for keeping me away from the fake babes until I finally met the real one. She is a great girl, someone you would love as she would contribute greatly to you (career). I call her Iyawo.

Source: PenAStory - www.penastory.com