₦airaland Forum

https://penastory.com/2016/07/02/unilag-for-humanity-pic-fic-series-awws-and-awes-miracle-okpala/

Bola woke up tangled. More tangled than her natural hair that had become as hard as a rock because air had freely occupied spaces in it. Combing was not an option right now. The last two combs she used had sustained broken legs in the process. She would leave her hair that way till her stylist (who also happened to be her sister) would bring a magical touch to the scary hair.

The previous night was really ‘nighty.’ The wood supporting the unevenly chopped, weak bed had caved in, and for the first time in her life, the physical and spiritual seemed to unite against her. She was in a dream where she tripped in the mud and landed on her back. In reality, her back had hit the floor because the wood supporting the fragile bed had bowed after over twenty long years of service. It was forest dark as the candle light had died a slow death, it was indeed a hero. What could she have done without it all these years when electricity was not an option because this part of the world where she lived was deprived of the joy of Thomas Edison’s invention? Finding her way in the dark would have been an issue if her eyes had not mastered the darkness. She tiptoed trying not to wake her sleeping sister, at the same time being careful not to step on her only sister who was a huge fan of sleeping on the floor. Remi’s answer had never changed when asked why she would not join her sister on the bed.

‘I love the floor. It is really cold, a natural God-given bed. In fact, it is way better than these spring beds, you know?’

Bola knew that her sister did not mean what she said. Who would prefer the concrete floor with holes all over to a spring bed? Even a mad man would go for the bed. Remi had only given that answer for two reasons: firstly, the only bed they had was weak and would not carry two people; secondly, she was the older one so she preferred to take the pain of the hard floor so that her sister could enjoy the ‘luxury’ of the half-dead bed.

Well, that luxury was no more. Bola would be joining Remi on the floor now. She reached for the old mat that stood lame behind the door. The door itself was more like an ornament than a security device. It was moist from water sweeping into the house when it rained. It also had segments. There was a part of it that hosted rats, rats poorer than church rats due to starvation. Another part hosted wood-eating insects that lived larger than the rats because they had food to eat. The last part was for mosquitoes. Bola could bear anything but mosquitoes. They left red spots on her fair skin after each feast on her blood.

She lay the mat and put a shabby wrapper over it. Sleeping on the ground was not something she was used to so she kept tossing and turning till daybreak. She smiled as the first ray of sunlight hit her, temporarily forgetting that she looked like a mess. Remi, who was the hard working one, had already left for her hairdressing salon. This was what kept them alive ever since they lost their parents in an accident. ‘Remi Beauty Salon,’ which was the name of her shop, was a stone’s throw from the house. Bola joined her sister about an hour later to have her hair styled.

***

Hassan woke up at 8.30am. He made for the kitchen to prepare breakfast but stopped halfway and drifted to the bathroom. He picked up his white toothbrush that had funny looking, hard bristles. He applied the red toothpaste extravagantly but dropped it and headed back to the sitting room. There he picked up a blue shirt and began ironing. A lot was going through his mind. Why had Bola declined dating him? He was a polished young man with a degree from Harvard. Why would a girl turn down a guy working in Chevron, living in Banana Island, and driving a Ferrari? Bola did not seem to care about his financial status. This was what actually stood her out from the tons of ladies that bugged him daily.

He recalled how he met her. It was on a rainy day. He had splashed water on her long gown while driving home. He parked his car on the left side of the wet road and hurried towards her.

“I am really sorry. The road was free so I doubled up my speed. I did not ever think I would meet anyone let alone a beautiful girl like you.”

He added the last phrase not because he noticed her face but to reduce the insult he expected to receive from her.

“It’s okay. I am not angry.” She replied with a soft voice and continued walking.

“Do you mean that?” Hassan stammered, still in shock that she did not shower invectives on him. He offered her a ride and she hesitatingly accepted.

He hissed upon realizing that he had burnt his shirt. He picked up another shirt which was not surprisingly blue and tried to iron without having the thoughts of Bola. At 10am, he was looking like a contestant for Mr Nigeria. His hair was overgrown and needed a haircut; he would fix that later today. His cologne filled the air with lovely fragrance. He straightened his back and put a call across to the only girl that had been on his mind for the past few weeks.

“Good morning, Bola. Please hear me out, I need to see you. I can’t seem to get you out of my head. Text me your address, I will come over.” He paused to take in some breath.

The text came in fifteen minutes later. It read: 15, Shittu Orija, Dustbin Estate, Ajegunle. He sure needed directions. He was used to driving in Lagos but somehow, he had never gotten close to Ajegunle. Google map was a buddy and in a few minutes, he had a semi-clear idea of where he was headed.

Dustbin estate was a place where heaps of debris occupied vast areas of land. Here, humans and animals lived like siblings. The potholes swallowed his tyres hungrily and at a point he had to park his car and continue on foot. He walked past naked children playing in the sand, looking inexplicably excited. He had never seen children this happy. He would have begun figuring how this children were playing happily in front of weak and bending houses, but Bola stole his thoughts once more.

“We are from two different worlds. Nothing serious could come out of a relationship if we tried.”

That was Bola’s opinion. Well, he agreed with her on the former. They were indeed from two different worlds. He never thought a place like this existed in the world, let alone Nigeria. It was crystal clear why Bola had turned him down. She felt she did not measure up to his standard. Who was she to decide that? He could make decisions himself.

He knocked at the moist door and watched two small rats race out of a hole in it. He observed no one was in and asked a little child building a sand castle for help. She pointed at a salon and resumed her construction.

REMI BEAUTY SALON was finally in sight. Bola was sitting on a wooden chair, having her hair retouched by her sister. She smiled as soon as she set her eyes on him. Her sister smiled more although they had the same smile.

“I never expected you to come. How did you find your way?” Bola asked still smiling.

“This was the only place I could find my joy.” He said, smiling at her, “I must confess that those residing in Dustbin Estate are the strong ones. Driving here has taught me a lot of things. I intend starting a project here.” His eyes wandered to the yellow kegs in front of the shop. His love for Bola could fill them to an overflowing point. He stared into Bola’s brown eyes and felt a glimmer of hope. Something told him she would be his soon. After conversing with her and her sister for a while, he walked into the barber’s shop just beside the hair salon to have a haircut while Remi continued styling her sister’s hair.

Source: PenAStory - www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2016/06/28/abominable-tobi-davies/

“Foluke! Foluke!! Foluke!!!” Mr. Timi shouted to get the attention of his wife. She refused to answer from the backyard where she sat piling groundnuts to sell. She knew it was Folarin’s usual noise whenever he began to have his usual attack. He did not desire to help in the finance for his respiratory problem, always complaining about little from his earnings. Although, the main reason for this is because he considered his constant expense a waste of money. He would lament every day and night:

“I will not allow you to ruin me. Just look at my bank statement in the past four weeks, I earn N18,900 and spend close to N17,000 within a month. Yet, I have house rent. I have PHCN bills. I have clothes to buy. And you tell me to spend if not stupidly on the continuous medications of this boy.”

He would hiss and stare at the boy with an outburst of disgust. Not that he would cease to nag like the market women of Onitsha, who complain bitterly about having unfortunate mother-in-laws; he would rant excessively as if to say he were the only one frustrated with Folarin’s condition. He would sometimes scream as though he were about to cry, “Why have I gotten myself in this situation? Why did I marry this unlucky omen into my family? All the children I know have the credentials of providing hope for their parents. This one, this filth, this burden, this wrath of God, this gloom…” he would bite his lips “…is just a predicament for me. He has nothing related to hope-intellect, physique, health or looks.” Then he would face Foluke, who is already holding her son to comfort him as if it could shield him from the harsh words that reduced his self-esteem. Expectant of the very next words, usually with drops and mucus, both mother and son would stare bitterly into each other’s eyes. Without compassion, Mr. Timi would yell, “You are abominable. You are not my son. You are some specimen that failed in a science laboratory.”

Eventually, with groaning and grunting, he would walk away and sit on the bricks outside their compound filled with eleven other families, including mine, living in their one rooms facing one another. Foluke, a forty-two years old woman with flappy breasts, long legs, and wild eyeballs had always been the beautiful damsel of the Bajulaye community every man wanted. They desired not just her beauty but the kindness that formed her inner beauty. She took everyone to heart and helped the grief of the poor with the little she had from the cassava sales. Taking Mr. Timi as her beloved was not her initial plan but he persisted in his charm. She fell for his persistence and diligence. He never stopped loving her even when he said he would move to the city to take her out of her mud house. He left and returned as promised when she was about thirty-six. Her delight on his arrival stooped him so much that he asked to marry her immediately. Her parents, having gotten tired of her presence in the house, gladly handed her to him since he did not refuse to bring yams, wine, honey, cassava, and a token for her bride price.

Her marriage became immediately fruitful with Folarin. The happiness from when they met till his birth diminished as she embraced her son to see, what she called “an ogre”. He looked nothing like the children her mother always bore as the midwives of the community. She almost flung him out on that day but the midwife explained it wouldn’t matter. But as she stared at his small mouth, slanting eyes, flat face and small ears, she screamed “Timi, ewo labi… Wetin be this? Why our boy be like this?” Tears rolled down her eyes as she held him as though intending to squeeze the life out of him. She couldn’t breathe as she panted and hugged her pending hope. The midwife encouraged her that it is probably because of the drugs she took while she was pregnant but she protested on not taking any drugs. Then she told her it could be malnutrition, “You know, maybe the things wey you dey chop cause am…No worry he go change by one year old.”

She shook her head in acceptance of this cross she is to carry and hoped his change at one. However, instead of change, he began to have breathing problems. She went to the hospital this time not wanting to depend on any midwives. The registration took processes. The child grew ill as a result of childhood growth. She couldn’t wait anymore for she still anticipated that change for her child. She went to the nearby chemist and was told of the child’s illness. He had asthma. Although she was advised to go back to the hospital after the Bentolin and continuous use of the inhaler had been used. She couldn’t make out time; she was also ashamed of her child. He was different from the rest.

She lived her life buying inhaler and drugs for Folarin. His condition did not change neither did his academic excellence. Sometimes, the little boy will come back crying about being called an slowpoke. She would cry and encourage him, then whisper in his ears “believe in yourself, okay.” She sometimes confided in me as I did not treat her like most women. Many of the wives in the yard had stopped their children from playing with the boy like he was some disease. Even those that played with him took him as an inferior and ordered him about wherever they pleased.

Folarin was faced with that attack again. His father was tired so was his mother. They hardly have enough to feed on. They had to feed his illness like some god. They did not know the cause but his mother hoped that one day he would change like the midwife told her. She rendered the inhaler to her son and waited earnestly for that day and I waited with her, feeding and rendering my help whenever I could.

On this faithful day, as we sat outside the yard discussing the state of the nation that has affected most market women from feeding their families. The petrol price had risen so high that the transport has decided to use this as an opportunity to exploit the passengers. We talked funnily as our children mingled with their games that we did not remember the many problems on our plates or the presence of the visitors with white garments that caressed Folarin’s head. The boy in his scribbled voice had been moaning for help until Mubarak came to me to inform me about the people.

We looked up to see their smiley faces. They did not seem like they meant any harm. Fortunately, our instincts were right. They called themselves the non-governmental organizations that aided children like Folarin to improve their self-image. Not very sure on the details they gave so swiftly, as they realized, they endeavoured us to visit their office three streets away.

Foluke was naïve and afraid that for five days, she bluntly declined following me to the place. I then asked her to escort me to my brother’s place after we had dropped our children at school, unknown to her my real intent. Trying very hard to act familiar about the surroundings, I surveyed the huge blue building with glasses everywhere. The security guard asked our reason for being there, I replied in English so as not to reveal my intentions. He let us in and we skipped the procedures of questions on “who do you want to see?”

It was clear Foluke was amazed at the people around her and even commended the wealth she assumed my brother owned. Luckily for my plans, the young man that attended to us immediately recognized us. He ushered us into the waiting room. That was when I told Foluke about my intentions. She stood up to leave but the young man that introduced himself as Dr. Samson came with other men and a woman. She calmed Foluke down and told her she should not worry on whatever worries she had regarding the child. She started crying again, remembering all things that had gone the last six years. She shed the tears of happiness of that hope she waited for. As expected, I consoled her and asked the people to explain to us what was wrong with the child. They looked at one another and smiled. And we were told to follow them.

They walked us to the house built behind the office. This house was filled with children and adults that looked almost like Folarin. We saw a little child that could hardly speak a single word. He just sat there playing with this little yoyo. And the adults were worse. Some were trying their best possible to read, while some while learning vocational aptitudes that were being taught. Now Foluke was crying more than the usual. Her eyes obviously told her, her lost hope in her son was recovering. She grew silent many times when she saw children that were being taught sign languages. She wasn’t sure why this had to happen to her. She whispered, “I think say nah only person wey sin this kind thing they happen to. Sugbon, oti ye mi. I don dey sure say nah all that thing wey go happen for life.”

The doctors and I nodded. They offered us drinks but we refused and promised to come back the next day as we needed to go to the market. That day Foluke did everything with thankfulness. She cooked for her child and husband with smiles. She hugged him till he fell asleep. She talked with me till I announced my retirement. She waited for Mr. Timi till midnight when he knocked as usual drunkenly at the door of their room. She did not usually do this but she helped him to get his meals and pulled off his clothes for him. The next day, she told me she had talked to her used to be compassionate husband and he decided to go to the place as well. Their home that morning was joyful, though they had little to eat. She quickly rushed me out to sales as she told me that we needed to meet the appointment by 2pm at the office. Her husband, though promised to meet us at home could not, but he met us at the address. We entered altogether. Dr. Samson welcomed us and led us into that same room. We sat but instead of gloom, we were excited and glad. We were about to discover the cause of all the mystery. The lady introduced herself and switched on what my husband had called a projector. Mrs Ogunbiyi started by consoling the Gbayo family for the troubles they had been through over the years. They both shook heads and held hands. I smiled and hoped that this meeting enlightened them and provided hope. Then the lady began,

“You see, Madam what is wrong with your boy Folarin, is it?” They nodded in affirmation. She continued: “…is what the medical association regard as Down Syndrome. It is a set of physical traits caused by a gene problem that happens before birth.” She looked at us and realized we were lost. Then she turned to the projector and said as she pointed at objects on the screen that seemed like faeces in different colours. She called them “tissues”.

She continued, “Down syndrome is caused by a problem with a baby’s chromosomes. You see, normally, a person has 46 chromosomes. But most people with Down syndrome have 47 chromosomes. In rare cases, other chromosome problems cause Down syndrome. Having extra or abnormal chromosomes changes the way the brain and body develop.” She glanced at us to see if we were focusing on the lecture. We were but we did not understand most of the words she spoke. Then suddenly she asked Foluke,

“Mrs Gbayo, when did you give birth to Folarin?” Folarin wondered at first what that had got to do with the lecture and her son’s cure. Nonetheless, she answered: “thirty-six years old ma.”

Mrs Ogunbiyi looked down and raised her head while she adjusted her glasses. Then she said, “The reason why Folarin is like that is because of your late childbirth.”

Foluke and her husband seemed puzzled. I was surprised myself because I gave birth to my last born at 39 years old and she is fine. She explained further that: “It is because you were older when you got pregnant. You see, the risk of having a child with Down syndrome increases when the woman is age 35 or older.” She sighed. “I know this might seem too much and surprising but do you have any relatives that look like this?”

They both chorused “No.”

“Then it’s the age issue,” she persisted. They both sighed and hoped that she had more to give asides the cause of the illness. But she concluded that the illness is a lifelong condition. However, with care patients can grow healthy, happy and productive lives. She added that the features of children with this illness are flat face, short neck, slanting eyes; low muscle tone and loose joints, short arms, a degree of intellectual disability and these children could be born with heart, intestine, ear or breathing problems.

All these did not encourage them as the problems were evident in their son’s life rather reduced their morale from when they got there. Until they told them they had decided to take Folarin’s condition into their hands. They said something about a scholarship and how they would watch over him. They were happy. Not sure what they decided but with the way they thanked the organization, I could tell that their only job now is to care for the boy and hope that the change they desire will not be physical but much more.

Source: PenAStory - www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2016/06/27/now-that-you-are-here-episode-thirteen-a-tale-of-deception-betrayal-and-murder/

Excerpt from Episode 12

“I can explain Halima, just listen to me, please.”

She wriggled out of his embrace.

“Get out now! I don’t want to see you Muyiwa, get the hell out of my house,” she screamed. Muyiwa tried to protest but Anu pleaded with her eyes for him to leave. Taking an exasperated breath, Muyiwa walked out of the house. His world was crumbling around him and it was all because of one person, Damilola.

To read episode 12: Visit profile or www.penastory.com

His heart was beating fast in his chest as he ran out of the house. What have I done? He yanked open the door of his car and got in hurriedly. He sat down and turned the key in the ignition but didn’t drive off, instead the events played in his head. He had left Halima’s house filled with rage and hate in his blood. Seeing Halima look at him that way had filled him with so much hatred for Damilola, there was no other explanation, she must have sent the tape and then sent her best friend for the finishing blow.

So she sent her best friend to do the dirty job for her. The manipulative, self-centered bitch cares for no one but herself. That much is apparent now and it is time to end her little games, he had thought to himself, driving out of the compound in a blaze of fury. I regret letting myself get into such a mess.

His hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly they hurt but he couldn’t feel the ache. Like a mad man intoxicated on cheap alcohol, he drove through the streets of Lagos, each moment heightening his hate for Damilola. How he managed to get there without getting into an accident, he could not explain. He had pounded her door with the craze of a man ready to pull it off its hinges and her voice had sounded annoyed as came to the door.

“Who wants to break my door, can’t people learn manners?”

“Open this damn door Damilola,” he bellowed, rapping on the door even more fiercely. Damilola recognized Muyiwa’s voice and with a puzzled expression on her face, she unlocked the door and fell backwards as he rushed into the room and seized her.

“You insufferable spoilt bitch!” Muyiwa said between clenched teeth, grabbing her and shaking her ferociously like. Her eyes widened in surprise and then fear when she saw the anger and hatred on his face. She struggled in fear to escape from his grasp but he held on to her tightly, his fingers digging into her skin.

“What is going on Muyiwa? Let go of me, you are hurting me.” He laughed derisively and smacked her hard across the face. Her cheek smarted from the slap and her eyes rolled in their sockets in shocked disbelief. She closed her eyes as his palm descended a second time. Muyiwa flung her away after the second slap and she landed on the ground with a thud.

“This is what is going on you common slut, you are going to stay the hell out of my life. I don’t want to have anything to do with you or your circle anymore. Your messenger has delivered your message to Halima and I hope you are happy now, she won’t have me anymore.” Damilola rubbed her hurting cheek, looking at him with a dazed expression on her face.

“What have come over you Muyiwa, what messenger are you talking about? Has the devil possessed you?”

He laughed mirthlessly as he looked at her curled up on the ground. She was regaining herself and staring at him defiantly from the ground.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what this is about. Or you want to tell me you didn’t send Anu to Halima. Well I am happy that Halima knows now. I am going to spend my last drop of blood to make sure she forgives me but look at you; you have lost a good friend in me. Now that I am here, what does it do for you? I can’t even bear to look at you because when I see you, all I see is a disgusting animal. Yes, you are nothing but a lowlife animal. Manipulative, self-centred, without scruples, shameless, slutty…” He stopped when she began to cry softly.

“I only wanted your love Muyiwa but if you say it’s over then I might as well accept it. I swear to you, I didn’t send Anu to Halima, I still have the sex tape, I never sent it to Halima, Anu isn’t even aware of it. She believes she is doing what is right for both us by telling Halima about us.” She stood up from the ground and continued, “I would get you the remaining copies of the tapes now so you can destroy them. Consider them my goodbye gift to you.”

With that she walked into her bedroom and emerged about three minutes later with a small blue bag. There was a jut to her chin and a determination in her eyes like a fighter in a ring who knows he has been defeated and is trying to lose with as much dignity as possible. He moved closer to her to collect the bag and then it happened. Just as she handed him the bag, he saw the glint of a knife as her arm rose into the air and came crashing down, aimed for his chest. He deflected the blow with his hand and he cried out in pain as the knife sank into his arm. He lunged at her and they both stumbled backwards, he yanking out the knife, pain and rage coursing through him like a gushing waterfall. She fought back like a wild animal, stronger than he could ever have imagine. She was like a deranged beast of the field, as she attacked him with her teeth, sinking it into his neck. He blew her and followed it with a heavy push, trying to get her as far away from him as possible. She doubled over with the blow and then went hurtling back as he pushed her, hitting her head against the drink cabinet. Bottles came crashing on her head and he watched in horror as she slumped to the ground in a pool of blood and alcohol. He rushed to her but there was nothing even he as a medical doctor could do to save her, she was gone.

That was when he had run out of the house in fear and sitting in the car now, he cried as he realized he had ruined his own life. He wasn’t just a cheat anymore, he was now a murderer. He knew it was going to be only a matter of time before the police would find him even if he ran and he was too weak to run. How can I face the world?

He got out of the car and headed back towards the house. There is only one thing for me to do and I have to.

To be continued
Source: PenAStory: www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2016/06/24/unilag-for-humanity-pic-fic-series-dumbulus-fear-a-salt/


Dumbulu stared angrily at the fading shadows of the visitors whose mild arrogance made her eyelashes stand defensively. ‘What do they know about this community?’ She thought cynically.

Do they know about many women who had been made artificial surrogates because their children have been taken out of the estate to some better places for refinement? And how those children have grown refined beyond reconciliation to their biological mothers?

Hassanotu won’t stop weeping. Jameela won’t stop wailing. Sadness was all over their faces. They took the wrong risks and believed the wrong people. What amazed them all was Adijatu’s wisdom, and she won’t stop bickering at the foolish women who allowed the NGO to take their children. She wanted her son to be a professor, and her dream was sure coming to pass each time she sees Prof. Sai’s picture hung on the wall of her shack.

One very hot afternoon, after ransacking the welfare bag, Adijatu took a yellow jacket, a brown sunshade and oversized blue trousers. She kept them carefully to surprise Prof. Sai, as her son was fondly called. It was his birthday, his eighth. When the NGO began talking to prospective mothers about the refinement of some community children, her son’s name was mentioned. She quietly excused herself, dressed Prof. Sai up in what looked more like some 80’s fashionista, and took him to Papa Photo for his best birthday shot. Thereafter, she gave him the meal she prepared and asked him to continue reading the rat-torn books his late father left. It’s a poor thing she couldn’t read. It’s been said that she loved her husband because he spoke big big grammar and played on big big fields. Prof. Sai’s obsession to the rat-torn book made her glad. Unknown to her, Prof. Sai was living the true dream of his late father: to be the most successful football player from Dustbin Estate. He wanted to be a football star. Every heap of dirt in Dustbin Estate knew his legs and the uncommon tricks he did with them, and they all rejoiced with the wind the first day Prof. Sai kicked ball on the playground. He could molest his opponents with legendary skills known of Pele and watch them crawl in the dirt, especially when it’s muddy. Unknown to Adijatu, Prof. Sai’s rat-torn book was a soccer book he reads in guise of his school books. But at least she had her son close to her.

Now they had come for Dumbulu’s son, Isaac. Was she the next mother to part with her child? Her heart paced like a fowl watching her egg about to be smashed by a duck. Her chest palpitated with the freestyle of jazz rhythm; and the visitors are the players. They had come as usual, during the rainy season when they can convince mothers of the vulnerability of their children in the mosquito-infested, stinking and damp environment with quagmires here and there. It was a dangerous season that wet all faces and dried the hope of families. You can be sure of tears from every shack in boula. Cries of children suffering from one ailment or another, and the loud wailing of their sickening mothers. That’s the reality of families in Dustbin Estate. It’s an estate dominated by women who worked very hard in nearby cities, peddling basic needs to cater for their children. That’s why the visitors must get the permission of the mother before helping her child. They never bothered the fathers. Those ones think less of their children since each of them have at least two baby mamas. The men in the estate, apart from Adijatu’s late husband, were all dogs. They passed the night in any favourite shack in boula.

Dumbulu’s heart kept pacing as the shadows of the visitors faded one after another. She remembered Angila, the most brilliant boy form the neighbourhood who had been taken out the estate by several NGOs but each time returned with stolen accessories that he showed off to other boys in his gang. The stench from the environment greeted her again. This is the season most of the children were prone to deadly diseases. She was swollen with rage and confusion.

An unusual sun shone that afternoon of Isaac’s birth – an afternoon mixed with tiny drops of rain. Her own grandmother had told her the superstition, the myth of a lion begetting a cub whenever there’s an admixture of sun and rain. Was she about to give birth to her cub? She had wondered. Isaac was everything to her. The thought of ever parting with him for some greener pasture made her sad. They had told her that he would be very outstanding if she allowed him to leave the poor environment. She knew they were right, but her fear was anchored on the loneliness of other women whose children never made it back, not physically though. The thought of being a repulse to a child she loves haunted her.

The sun was fast setting, and faded with the shadow of the last visitor and she felt a drop on the skin. It’s going to rain. She feared if Isaac would convulse again this season. And why did the visitors not bring their doctors along for the past two weeks? They were making it obvious that the children needed a better environment.

She was furious this time. She remembered how she would have afforded a better community if not for the blind love she had for Isaac’s father. He had put her in the family way some weeks before her final exams in junior secondary school. That ugly discovery by her parents had put her out of her family’s will. She became a mother before really grasping what it meant to be one. Isaac’s father had brought her here to boula, and had her raped by his gang to scare her away from him, but she was found by Mamamia, the oldest woman in the estate, and had lied to her that she’s an orphan. Now she was afraid. Afraid that her own future had become too distorted. Afraid that the one child she had and had hoped to reshape her own future will eventually die of convulsion. Would she now rob him of this chance to live?

She kept staring angrily at the fading shadows of the last visitor and was sincerely wondering if that was her child’s hope fading or her own antagonist. She knew she had traded her son’s future when his right hand rested on her shoulders. She wept secretly.

Get updates on our posts by joining our BBM Channel via C00396EEB, if you are reading from mobile click: http://pin.bbm.com/C00396EEB
Source: PenAStory - www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2016/06/23/twenty-episode-sixteen/

Excerpt from episode 15:

“Uncle Osas, I know it’s you… you coward… I know it’s you,” Chioma cried out as she felt herself lifted off the ground by two sturdy hands.

“Somebody should call David to come now.” It was the voice again and this time it was distinctive enough for her to identify her uncle’s voice. So David and Uncle Osas were working together and had decided to kidnap her, Chioma talked. It had to be inheritance, there could be nothing else.

To read episode 15: Visit profile or www.penastory.com

The room was dimly lighted and Chioma looked around. She was alone. There was a look of desertion around the place she wondered how long she had been there. There was no sound except for the ticking of a clock behind her, and her own heart which was beating fast as it had been doing ever since she was brought here. She moved her head around the room, hoping something would have changed but she was still bound by ropes to the chair one of her captors had roughly shoved her into. Was that days ago or hours ago? She could not tell from the dark room.

She felt a twitch in her abdomen, a sudden discomfort around her lower abdomen and thighs. She felt hungry and needed to pee, she struggle on the chair sniffing, “Uncle Osas! I will kill you!”

“Such boldness you have,” a voice came behind her. She stopped her movements, she had not seen anyone else in the room before. She tried to crane her neck around so she could look at where the voice was coming from but the ropes limited her movements. It was the same voice, the voice she suspected to be Uncle Osas’.

“Why are you doing this?” Chioma asked, “what do you want?”

“Are you hungry?” was the sarcastic reply followed by a petty laugh.

“No, I want to go back home” She was like a lost little girl crying for her mummy.

“That won’t happen dear, not any time soon,” the voice said receding and she could tell he was leaving.

“Wait! I need to pee,” she cried frantically. “Please, I am hungry?”

“Have you ever been deprived of what you wanted?” The man asked.

“No, I mean, yes. A few times, but please whatever you want I’ll give you.”

“Do you think I’m wicked Chioma?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Food you will get, but you are never leaving this place. At least not yet,” he said and left.

***
Mrs Ugochukwu sat to the left of Maryam in front of the company’s building with Grace by her right. They were waiting for David to arrive.

“How long does it take to get here sef?” Grace asked turning to Mrs. Ugochukwu who didn’t even hear her,

“He should be here any minute. Just chill,” Maryam said without even looking at Grace. Each one of them was avoiding eye contact with the other. The sober silence descended again on the trio and it was Mrs. Ugochukwu’s beeping phone that broke the silence a few minutes later but she paid no attention to it. Maryam’s phone went off next and she brought it out of her bag to read the text message.

“Death is only the completion of life. Don’t cry much, for God is loving.” An involuntary gasp escaped her lips and Mrs. Ugochukwu looked at her sharply.

“What is it Maryam?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly. The arrival of David in one of Mrs. Ugochukwu’s jeeps saved Maryam from answering further.

“What’s going on babe, I got your text to come quickly.”

“Baby I don’t know, we can’t find my baby girl…” Mrs. Ugochukwu’s started and broke off distraught. “Maryam, tell him everything.” Mrs. Ugochukwu said wiping the tears off her face.

“Everything what?” Maryam what is going on?” Maryam glared at him and turned her face away. It was Grace who answered.

“I don’t know…we don’t know where Chioma is. She and Maryam came here to see Gift…” “Where’s Gift?” David asked.

“She’s inside.” Grace replied.

“We came to see her about some ideas I have for my birthday dress, but she was not there at that time. So…..so we were heading out and I was replying a text after she spoke to Mrs. Ugochukwu and I think with Mrs. Beebs on my phone, by the time I got back, she was gone.” Maryam completed seeing the question on David’s face.

“Has anyone tried calling her or asking Gift as well?” David asked.

“She left her phone at the house this morning when she left with Maryam.” Mrs. Ugochukwu said. David put his hand to his waist deep in thought.

“You said Mrs. Beebs called you?” His question was directed at Maryam.

“Yes, after she spoke with her mother.”

“What did she say? I mean Mrs. Beebs.”

“I don’t know.”

“We should call the police. I just wanted you to be here. You know, I need strength for all of this…” Mrs. Ugochukwu trailed off in tears again.

“That was what I said but you said we wait for David,” Maryam said disgustedly, watching Mrs. Ugochukwu rest on David like someone in pain.

“We should wait and see if something turns up first. What if she was kidnapped and we scare her abductors by contacting the police?” David said, meeting Maryam’s gaze evenly.

“It is still the right thing to do.” she retorted back.

***

Chioma felt sticky, she had had to pee on herself. The room was deserted and she could not tell whether it was night or day. Someone had brought her food earlier and fed her. She had been hoping her hands would be untied to eat but that had not happened. She must have dozed off while singing softly to herself.

In her sleep, there was Matthew again. He was lying on the floor beside her somewhere in a garden that looked familiar. They were talking and kissing when suddenly, David, the twins and Uncle Osas gathered and all four of them stabbed Matthew but didn’t touch her.

“Kill me too,” she yelled in her dream. “Kill me too! Matthew!” That was when she woke up.

Source: PenAStory - www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2016/06/22/rethinking-feminism-female-men-in-buchi-emechetas-the-slave-girl-emeka-jonathan/

With no intention, whatsoever, to disregard feminist critics and scholars on their holds and ideologies, the concept or theory of feminism is an overrated issue. Thus is so in respect to the knowledge that (even) from time immemorial, women have proven to be problem solvers and strategic thinkers behind successful men. For instance is the tragic play of Shakespeare, Hamlet, where a character of same title is “motivated” into fulfilling prophesies by his strategic and thinking wife. Or in the Nigerian tragedy, Once Upon An Elephant, where an old woman, Iya Agba, serves as the problem solver in a village wrecked by havoc. Indeed, behind every successful man is a woman. But, what then do feminist critics propagate? In short, why feminism?

Wise to say that different theories and definitions of feminism surface; however, my definition of feminism is like that of Marie Shear: the radical notion that women are also people. Some have considered it as a bid to voice the injustices and unfairness meted out to women by men in society. One thing to consider is that both men and women are products of a society (which is made of both men and women) where gender roles are being ascribed to them. What then happens when a man begins to perform the roles ascribed to a woman? Preferably, as is the focus here, what happens when a woman begins to “be” a man? Exactly what is a “female man”?

Basically, and in its simplistic form of simplicity, a female man is one, a female, who performs the roles of a man in the home or in a society. That is, she has, in every sense of the word, become the breadwinner of her home, while the man has become the bread-eater. In effect, she is the thinker, the strategist, the money-maker, the risk-taker, the figure in the home. The man, who is now the “male woman” or one Okonkwo and his village people refer to as ‘effeminate’ in Achebe’s Things Fall Apart. There are indeed, certain things a man must do as stipulated by society and culture. But what happens when a woman does them? This is the situation of things in Emecheta’s The Slave Girl.

This portrayal is encapsulated in two major characters, one of which is Ma Palagada. To begin, Ma Palagada cuts across as the breadwinner of the home in every sense. For instance, we find her as the decision maker in the family, while the man, her husband, Pa Palagada, performs ceremonial roles. Also to that is that she is the provider of the family. Traditionally, men are to provide for their homes while women are to cater and look after the home. In essence, while men are family providers, women are expected to be home nurturers. But that is not so in this novel. Ma Palagada has become so wealthy (owing to the amount of stores/shops she has) that the major income comes from her. It is for this reason that even when Ojebeta wants to leave the home, she must take instruction or leave of absence not from the man, but from Ma Palagada.

Also, the stereotypical role of women as being too emotional and weak as evidenced in many cultures and literatures are debunked as we see the women in this novel as rational and strong. Indeed, they have come to play as men (probably in other to survive in such a Patriarchal society). It is of note that it is the men characters, Okueku Oda, Okolie (the man who sells his sister to slavery because of a dance), and PA Palagada who take arbitrary decisions out of emotions. Why, for instance, will PA Palagada love to whip the girls for no reason at all? Or Okolie sell his sister for a price just to partake in a dance. The women, on the other hand, appear to be strong emotionally and physically. Ojebeta and the other girl slaves receive the beatings of their lives in the hands of Pa; yet, their faith isn’t weakened. Chicago, a young girl, also toils with the feelings of PA Palagada (an older man). That these young girls can do all these things reverberates the female masculinity in them.

If we were to consider other factors that society has labelled “manly,” one will find its representation in at least one of the female characters. Is it Chiago’s maturity and leadership charisma? Or Ma Palagada’s physique and strength? Or even Ojebeta’s resolve? One thing is certain. That even though the novel ends with an idea that the female will always be slaves to men, even in marriage, women have become men themselves in order to survive in such hard times. Does thing not have something to do with what Akachi Ezeigbo called “snail-sense feminism”?

Get updates on our posts by joining our BBM Channel via C00396EEB, if you are reading from mobile click: http://pin.bbm.com/C00396EEB
Source: PenAStory - www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2016/06/21/behind-the-walls-nwobi-stanley/

If you are reading this, it means my cell mate stole my dairy and obviously published it. Am Kola Robert and yes, i’m in a cell or better still am behind the walls.

Life has been…..well, not entirely helpful. It has thought me lessons that no living being can ever do. Death would have been a preferable punishment. When a person dies, his soul goes to a better place….or so it seems, but behind the walls it’s just absence. It’s like being in a coma but your eyes are wide open.

The jailer beat us so hard our tears leave scars. Our only sense of escape is in our dreams. Grown men sucking their index finger and dreaming of ponies and little mermaids, just to survive. It’s like the word love didn’t exist.

Pain now our daily bread. The only difference between you and your jailer apart from the 5 inch steel bars is the gun at his back, and the fact that there is a high chance of him been soulless. No escape, no breakouts, no riots, only countless numbers of deaths and some cases where inmates are put in straitjackets and sent to the asylum. They take even your inner peace, by playing a broken record over and over again.

How I got here? I myself sometimes wonder. Just as the moon hides till it’s night, we hide our sanity for as long as we can.

I’ll love to continue, but it’s almost light’s out and am sure you don’t want to know what happens when the lights go out. Remember, because you don’t see, it doesn’t mean it’s not there.

July 19th 1833

Get updates on our posts by joining our BBM Channel via C00396EEB, if you are reading from mobile click: http://pin.bbm.com/C00396EEB
Source: PenAStory - www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2016/06/20/letter-to-my-husband-to-be-read-by-nurse-titi/

Dear Husband,

Where you come from, I know. Who you were, I am not sure. Who you are, I do not know. Who you have become, I fear. If you are reading this, I AM DEAD AND GONE. Five years ago, letting my fears go, you became my alter ego. My walls you broke not just with the words you spoke but with every stroke of your balls. It was no surprise when you ducked the price, bought the ring and popped the question. Happiness made me hop around like a water deprived frog. Finally, I get to be with the man that knows my soundtrack and makes me crack. My life was like Beyonce’s Halo just that I saw no risk in this photo. You were my Halo. Mine.
The wedding day drilled a hole in my brain. I felt my ex’s pain. My bridal train was the typical chain. Popping champagne without brain. I remember how you hung on my every word and your kiss like soft fruit. You may kiss your bride was like ping pong. “Get a room” separated us. We were the perfect bond. Taking over my body, you became my wheel. It became nothing as long as it was not your will. You became my eyes, ears, legs, hands. You owned me. I couldn’t feel. You did the feeling. You claimed to love me. There was no need to do some complaining.

Two years and a half into our supposed marriage, the witches of Oz opened our page and possessed you with unfathomable rage. Rage that led to envy, jealousy and hate. Rage that led to immaturity and intolerance. Rage that led to few then more canes. Rage that led to staying out late. Rage that led to BDSM and rape. Unabating rape. If you were to be paid for being Mr. Rage, you would be more than Bill Gates. I remember how sober you would be in the morning. How any reasonable conservation will lead me into mourning because of your newly found sport; raping. Ah! When did rape become the new way?

Society frowns at failed marriages and single motherhood. Society defines our livelihood. Curse be on society; the fake hood. I complained to my mom. My only boom. She said; “What will my friends say now? Don’t make me a laughing stock now. Go back to your husband now”. Thanks to my photographic memory. I remember vividly. Naively, I told you about my encounter with my beloved mommy. Then you beat the living darkness out of me. You called me a prostitute and a brute. Said I wanted to flip the page and end the marriage. Then you caged me. I had no friends. No family. Just my shadow and me.

No more apologies were tendered for your demonic rage. The rape continued. The battering continued. The spiteful words continued. I became a walking dead until my body got tired and I landed in the comfort of the hospital. Thank Nurse Titi for me. She fully understood me. She became my voice and nursed me back to life. My beloved mother never visited me. Going home with you was risky but I wanted your full attention. Your attention in exchange for a piece of my mind. The words were barely out of my gutter as you described it when you opened the car door and pushed my soul into the real gutter. Then everything became black.
Waking up to Nurse Titi’s sonorous voice, she told me I had spent thirteen days and how there is a blood clot in my brain and how surgery is a 86:14 situation. She told me everything even though you threatened her not to. She told me I had barely two months to live. She told me how my beloved mother and you have been miserable. Ah! May the misery follow you for the rest of your lives.

Tell my mother that I now know why daddy left her. For you, I had two miscarriages you were quick to describe as carelessness. I forgive you but may you never father a child till death locates you. I curse the day I met you. May you never be forgiven until you forgive yourself. Mind you, I have nothing against you. I blame me.
To all the ladies in abusive relationships, I am very much aware that every man is a work in progress but the very moment he raises his voice at you, be alarmed. Get ready to run. Don’t wait to die for your voice to be heard. Find your Nurse Titi. Domestic violence is not just about physical abuse. It covers emotional, moral, social, psychological and every aspect of life. Run the very moment he violates you. Keep in mind that Society is a big fat lie and should not define how you choose to be happy. A failed marriage is better than a failed mental health and wellbeing. I was not lucky. Ronke Shonde was not lucky. I pray you get out alive so you will not be as hateful and suicidal as I am now. You are lucky. R U N.

As for my husband and my beloved mother, may Karma haunt you for the rest of your lives. Amen. God bless you. Nurse Titi, I pray you find your Prince Charming. I love you. Thank you.

Yours Deadfully,

Your Brute.

Get updates on our post by joining our BBM Channel via C00396EEB, if you are reading from mobile click: http://pin.bbm.com/C00396EEB
Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2016/06/20/now-that-you-are-here-episode-twelve-a-tale-of-deception-betrayal-and-murder/

Excerpt From Episode 11:

“We really shouldn’t do this Damilola.” He protested in a weak tone. She silenced him with a kiss, taking his hand and placing it on her breasts. He kissed her back. Mission accomplished.

“Let’s go to the bedroom, I don’t want to forget this last time.” This time around, he didn’t argue with her, like a lamb being led to the slaughter, he followed her.

To read episode 11: Visit profile or www.penastory.com

It was three days since his meeting with Damilola, Muyiwa was lying down on the sofa of his apartment with Halima watching the news when a knock sounded on the door.

“Who is looking for you at this time of day? It is almost 8pm.” Halima grumbled, lifting her head from Muyiwa’s chest.

“I don’t know. Check the door, I am sure it is one of those neighbours or something. Pele dear, just get the door.” Halima stood up with a pout and she was about to walk towards the door when he pulled her back and planted a kiss on her lips.

“Let go of me,” she giggled girlishly. Muyiwa smiled to himself, wondering how lucky he was to have a wonderful woman. Thank God the situation with Damilola has been put under control, he thought to himself.

After the sex and the heat of unadulterated passion had blown over, he had tried talking with her in the most reasonable tone he could muster and surprisingly, she had been calm and nodded with a dreamy expression on her face. He was surprised that she would keep to her word and she had even offered to cook for him before he left. For the remainder of his visit, they talked about life in general and he felt assured that he could still have the old Damilola back. Maybe she isn’t as bad as I thought so he had agreed that she could attend the wedding since she seemed to have now given her full blessing.

“This came for you,” Halima’s voice brought Muyiwa out of his reverie. She handed him a brown envelope and his frown must have shown his surprise as he collected it from her.

“I wasn’t expecting any delivery. It has no name on it. Are you sure it is for me?”

“Yes, the person said for Muyiwa,” she shrugged, walking away. “I need to start dinner if I am going to get home early today.”

He opened the envelope and dipped his hand inside, bringing out a compact disc. He looked at it with a puzzled expression on his face and went into his bedroom to get his laptop. His blood ran cold when he saw the too familiar room of Damilola come on the screen and a few seconds later he and Damilola appeared. He watched in horror as their last encounter played on the screen and for a moment his heart stopped beating. He quickly shut the laptop in fear. Damilola made a sex tape? My God! His hand was shaking as he quickly removed the disc from the laptop and picked up his phone.

***

“Have you gone nuts Damilola? What is the meaning of this nonsense, why are you out to ruin my life? You have to stop this madness Dammy.” Muyiwa paced the room angrily and hit his fist into his palm to curtail his frustration. Upon seeing the video, his first thought had been that someone was trying to blackmail or expose his affair with Damilola and he had tried to maintain his cool till Halima left. He was however shocked when he called Damilola and she calmly informed him the video was from her.

“I am not your toy to be used Muyi. You have to learn that. A copy goes to Halima if you threaten to end what we have again. Trust me when I am doing this for both of our sake. We have something good together. Why throw it away?”

“Can you hear yourself talk? You sound like a lunatic? What happened to you! Damilola you have to stop this, you can’t do this. It is absolute madness. Nothing but pure madness.”

“So now I am mad as well? Good night Muyiwa. I love you.” With that the line went dead. He had thought of rushing to her place that very minute but something in him told him to wait till the following day. Maybe he could still reason with her and not act like she had him but staring into the beautiful face of Damilola now, he felt like wringing her neck.

“How can you be so cold Damilola? What sort of demon has possessed you?”

She sat there with a nonchalant expression on her face, looking at him like and watched him rant. Muyiwa cursed himself for the umpteenth time for having gotten himself into this.

“What exactly do you want Damilola? I can’t marry you for sure, I love Halima and she is going to be the mother of my child. This new you is just so strange, how can you be so filled with hate as to go to this extent?”

Damilola scoffed, disdain in her eyes. She stood up and went over to the drink cabinet.

“Who said anything about marriage? Don’t flatter yourself Muyiwa, I wouldn’t marry you even if you were offered on a platter of gold…”

“Then what the hell is all this about” Muyiwa interrupted angrily. “We had a freaking good time, let it go dammit!”

Damilola’s eyes narrowed into slits.

“What I want is very simple, despite your marriage to your Miss Perfect; we are going to continue us. This is not over until I say it is, you can’t just waltz into my life like some prince charming come to rescue the damsel and then plunge a dagger into my heart a second time, that is cruel. You are the monster not me. You don’t act the hero when indeed you are the villain that is nothing but deceit and betrayal of the highest order.” She took a sip of her drink.

“You knew there was no future in this for us Damilola. I didn’t mean to get involved with you but it happened. We are both grown adults to be able to move on.”

“The heart wants what it wants my dear, and this girl’s heart is set on you.” She moved close to him and tried to lay her head on his chest. He pushed her back and stared at her with venom in his eyes.

“You can’t ruin me Damilola, this madness is going to stop. I am going to tell Halima all of this myself.”

***

“I am sorry Halima, I just couldn’t hold it back anymore, I tried to tell you the other day at the restaurant, that was why I asked to see you that day.” Anu said, consoling the weeping Halima. Halima’s tears were coming down hard and fast, making Anu question the logic of her action. She had not been able to hold it back anymore and she had finally spilled the truth.

“You should have told me sooner Anu, I understand you were trying to keep the confidence of your friend but what about me? What about what they were doing to me? What about…” Halima’s voice trailed off and she started crying. Anu hugged her close, not knowing how to console her. “What is going on here?” Muyiwa asked as he entered the room. Halima raised her head up, her face was tears streaked.

“How could you Muyiwa?” She flew at him in rage. She slapped him on the face and pushed him violently. “How could you? I trusted you! You were my every thing! Was there something I wasn’t doing right? I defied my family for you you bloody rat!”

Muyiwa didn’t need to be told what she was talking about. He deflected her next blow and pulled her to him.

“I can explain Halima, just listen to me, please.”

She wriggled out of his embrace.

“Get out now! I don’t want to see you Muyiwa, get the hell out of my house,” she screamed. Muyiwa tried to protest but Anu pleaded with her eyes for him to leave. Taking an exasperated breath, Muyiwa walked out of the house. His world was crumbling around him and it was all because of one person, Damilola.

Get updates on our post by joining our BBM Channel via C00396EEB, if you are reading from mobile click: http://pin.bbm.com/C00396EEB

Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2016/06/15/dilemma-elisha-seyitan/#more-3108

Why would I be birthed in this world
Yet I will be left to define myself
In the midst of conflicting dragons
Will I try to emerge king
Will I take charge of my jungle
Having gotten my heroic capture
Will I be glorified

Then the pangs of nature
The discord of flesh
That has defied word and cure
Will come calling
It comes in ways that pleases it
I am just meant to answer the call
Journey finished or not
Mission accomplished or not

Whichever ways will I give my remark
On my actions, in actions, and reactions
Then I realize
Am just a creature
Whose life has been scripted

Get updates on our posts by joining our BBM Channel via C00396EEB, if you are reading from mobile click: http://pin.bbm.com/C00396EEB

https://penastory.com/2016/06/15/who-man-without-a-woman-damilare-hoseni/#more-3100

It is generally believed that men and women are inherently distinguishable, yet amidst this encompassing thought lies a certain uneasiness.There tend to exist the impossibility of thought and wits as patriarchal laws solely grounds the initiation of our nature. Back in the days as a boy, the observable trend I could muster was limitless, “strong boys; weak girls, boys take the lead; girls follow.” Centred around this depth of logical muse, I could fathom the mystery of nature that holds the belief of the stronger sex.As I peered into nature, I found this order violated and manhandled by the weaker sex, their terrestiality as created by the stronger sexbecame an oppressor unto human kind as they stood to claim what was rightfully theirs. Politics, Media, Education, Oil and Gas, Bankingsector became overtly flooded with them, their twin chest ball attribute overwhelmed the global kingdom as their contributions attained tremendous heights.Dejected and humiliated felt we! Lost and dumped we hoped and tarried with Unclad hope. Must we stand aside and look? Has karma gotten us? Yet we fail to discover that noinjustice is greater than Man to Woman in his oppressing soulful zone. Have we ever paused to think of how life would be without woman? Empty as a ghost town, dreadly as a grave yard.We have them all around us: at home, in school,in the office, in church, in the community and the globe. They deserve to be loved. Are they weak without us? Are we stronger without them?Yet, the lost and not so taken cognizance thought we have forsaken is that “we have not realised the value of replication God has blessed her with.” She wallows in pain for 9 months; uneasy and troubled, she bares with dignity the stress of pregnancy. You and I would not have existed without her, I would never have had the joy and pride of being an aspiring father without her – yet we complain!If you call yourself a stronger sex,let me see your hands in the air? Maybe you should harbour a foetus in you for few months. Haha! What a sight that would be to see man in labour. Let us ponder and criticise our thoughts, let us bring ourselves to the bank of the river of rationality as we retrace our steps back into her arms.Yes! Her arms is the home I long to be. Home in her physique.Get updates on our posts by joining our BBM Channel via C00396EEB, if you are reading from mobile click:http://pin.bbm.com/C00396EEB

Dear Murray:
I haven’t been able to stop crying since I heard the news of your death Ray. I was in the kitchen making your special dish of semovita and vegetable soup when I heard of the fatal plane crash. I didn’t need to be told that you were gone from me, the flight number was the one you had sent me just a few hours before take off and immediately I saw that wreckage and billowing smoke of fire on the TV screen, I felt an emptiness in me and now I realize it must have been you departing from me; leaving me hollow. The tears won’t stop coming because I feel like if I stop crying now, I would go totally numb and not feel anything again. The kids ask about daddy every day, waiting patiently for you to walk through that door, but how do I tell them that daddy is never coming back? Daddy is six feet under, or would you come back?

I am falling into pieces and the pieces are so tiny that nobody can actually help pick them up. It was you who held me from jumping off the ledge and now you had to go die sky high where I couldn’t reach you. Dearest Ray, did you have to go, I need to know? Tell me you just took a break and you are still coming back. You told me you would never leave me and you said it so sweetly that I believed you. I should have kept you with me, made you stay a bit longer but you needed to go and even though it killed me, I knew you would have been sad if you didn’t hit the road.

The damn lawyers won’t quit bugging me about your estate but the money doesn’t matter, please just come back. I will give every dime of it to hold you tonight. Just tell me where you are, I will be on my way, I can’t bear this thought of you so far away. Somebody misses you daily; somebody wishes you were here and that somebody is me. But I know deep down there is no coming back, I just have to hope there is an afterlife where we can reunite again. Wherever you are, I will find you. Please don’t go too far because I will be on my way soon but for now I have to try hold things together; guard the fort you left behind. So I will dry my tears and be strong for the children.

Till we meet again, keep resting and keep those arms wide open.

Lovingly Yours
Your Lonely Half

Get updates on our posts by joining our BBM Channel via C00396EEB, if you are reading from mobile click: http://pin.bbm.com/C00396EEB

https://penastory.com/2016/06/14/the-night-godwin-ayomide-ogu/#more-3091

He walked past a white building at the corner, the same one he passed every day. The same one with the cats, about eight of them in number. The night was the same as every other, some cats ran into the bush next to the house, three into the dumpster. Few sat still, like a man who peed in his pants awaiting the opening of the ground.

His steps were slower this night or not? It all felt so different, it all looked the same. Same route, same night, same cats, same houses, same person who incessantly ignored the periodic, infuriating ‘Don’t walk at night,’ speech.

“I have to go home this night,” he thought to himself. He had an exam the next day, he had to battle calculus; his nemesis. He needed to prepare, his last preparation before war. Something told him to turn back, he was only a few minutes away from his friend’s house. They weren’t sleeping, he just left there. Was it instinct? Was it fear? Was it reasoning?

“It’s the same as every other night, nothing to fear,” he reassured himself over and over as if repeating it multiple times would convince him of it. He had taken more than just a few steps from George’s house now, he couldn’t go back anymore; he would look stupid. He kept putting one leg in front of the other, every step, a little more anxiously than the former, every step became anticipatory. He stopped, looked around, up at the sky, down and around again. He now had enough courage to go, he took two steps more before he could take the next, his heart missed a beat. He saw it running at him.

He turned his face away in fear. He didn’t feel the need to run, if this was going to be it, let it be. But he was really scared, his heart beat changed to a completely different rhythm. Time seemed to stand still as if he was in a trance and he waited. Nothing happened, he slowly turned his head back to the point of the imminent doom. Clang! The dog was pulled back by the metal chain that bound it, a mere inches away from him. The dog barked, ran around, barked with more vigour and then started growling.

It was but a chained dog, something Phillip would have known had he not been swimming in a pool of fear all night.

“It’s that stupid dog,” he said, more in relief than anger.

There was a moment of silence, then clattering. The dog was trying to break free. It moved around in circles, giving itself momentum, then ran at Phillip again. It really didn’t like Phillip, the feeling was mutual. Phillip hated this black beast, with its eyes always glowing at night. He walked close to the dog with confidence, induced by the fact that he knew it was chained.
“c’mon, come!” he said in a loud voice that was swallowed up by the emptiness of the night. He stamped his right foot hard against the hard concrete ground and continued his journey.

He smiled, putting his hands in his pockets. If this was the danger that loomed, it had been averted.
Few minutes later, as he walked, lights from the headlamps of a fast approaching vehicle blinded him. He turned his face away. As the car came closer, it decelerated and finally came to a halt right in front of him.

“Hope this dude isn’t going to ask me about any place, I really don’t have time for that this night,” he said, almost inaudibly. The window rolled down and a man’s face appeared out of the rolled down window. A black man, a really dark one. He would be virtually unnoticeable in a dark room. He was that dark. The man thundered in a voice that had a hint of South African accent,

“Get in!”

“Huh?”
“I said get it.”

The back seat’s window wound down to reveal a nozzle, a gun’s nozzle. Then another voice, this one sounding Nigerian, saying softly yet sounding so intimidating,

“You wouldn’t want him to repeat that.”

Writer;s Contact Details:

Facebook: Ayomide Wayne

Instagram: Longwayne_

https://penastory.com/2016/06/14/the-night-godwin-ayomide-ogu/#more-3091

Get updates on our posts by joining our BBM Channel via C00396EEB, if you are reading from mobile click: http://pin.bbm.com/C00396EEB

https://penastory.com/2016/06/16/earth-to-earth-dust-to-dust/

Good things don’t happen to good people
Last month I heard, like a ghost in the staple
The resonate of hollow trumpets and sad beats
Saw Lagos parading in its heat
Through Sango-Ota to Ebute-Meta
On a Sandy road filled with broken people
I cried when their words pelts my ear
Both pains: their message and the wound
Broke me and ran me into fear
My nights grew colder and frigid
The floors soaked from the rains of my eyes
Leer glances made me quiver
Still the hollow trumpets and sad beats
Trudge us silence to eternity
Only the hymns will revive the sad beats
And memories revive your life
Harmony, and calmness comforts the weary souls
Think only of the little memories shared
Think only of the light that guides us home
In the mourning hearts of love when we too arrive
Earth to earth, dust to dust as you journey home
Make sure to look through the window at souls rooting for your rest

Caroline.

Get updates on our post by joining our BBM Channel via C00396EEB, if you are reading from mobile click: http://pin.bbm.com/C00396EEB

https://penastory.com/2016/06/14/pressured-owoeye-jesuloba/#more-3088

Pressure! It’s all around us, we all have it, we all deal with it, some of us better than others. There comes a point in your life where you will come to something that’s more than what you can bear. The society says be yourself and when you are doing just this, they go ‘not like that.’ Do you smile always, greet people cheerfully and act like all is perfect but nobody knows you have got a bonfire on your head? Do you keep taking more responsibilities, giving more and more of yourself without taking account until you get to a point where you are tired? Or perhaps you are the hero in your family, workplace and among your friends, the Olivia Pope everyone looks to fix everything and you don’t know if you can go on. Are you sick and tired of always being on duty? Are you secretly suffering and wondering if anyone cares? Life itself is pressure: age is pressure, love is pressure, power is pressure. We keep asking for “stuff” and “stuff” is pressure.

Pressure comes when there is no release so to handle pressure effectively you have got to find a release. To start with, if you are a people pleaser, you have got to learn to say no and refuse “too much.” No. I can’t do it, no. I’m not coming, no. I am tired. You have just got to be honest with yourself. There has to come a point in your life where you stop living to other people’s expectations. It’s crucial to understand that you can’t be everywhere all the time.

Pressure builds in silence. When we feed way more than people are feeding us, it creates pressure. It is important to look at how many people you got looking to you and then count how many you have got giving to you. How many people are giving as much as they are taking? How is your head? Are you despairing of life itself? Are your pressures so great that you can’t tell nobody? Your inability to cut things off will definitely overwhelm you because you can’t let go of it and it’s killing you. This is your breaking point. The tipping point where you can’t stand it anymore.

Perhaps you are at this point, perhaps you are approaching it, I don’t care how deep you are intellectually or how smart or tough or spiritual you are, pressure is a big deal that we can all relate to. If you are pressured beyond your strength and you are secretly crying till no sound escapes your lungs and secretly wondering if anyone cares, remember someone cares. Cast all your cares and burdens to he that cares and let Him help you lighten your weight load.

Have a lovely day ahead!

Get updates on our posts by joining our BBM Channel via C00396EEB, if you are reading from mobile click: http://pin.bbm.com/C00396EEB

https://penastory.com/2016/06/13/call-for-entries-etisalat-prize-for-african-literature-2016/

The Etisalat Prize for Literature is the first ever Pan African Prize celebrating debut African writers of published fiction. It is designed to recognize and reward debut fiction writers of African citizenship. The platform was launched in 2013 to bridge the growing gap between talented writers and the world at large by giving first time African writers a platform where their writing prowess can be presented to the world thus acting as a spring board for them in their budding writing careers.

The call for entries for the 2016 Etisalat Prize for Literature which is in its fourth year was announced on June 1, 2016 and will close on August 31, 2016. This year, our Judges will certainly be looking out for creativity—an expression of innovation, which is key to the success of the Etisalat brand.

The winner of the Prize will receive a cash reward of £15,000, a sponsored Fellowship at the School of Creative Writing , University of East Anglia, an engraved Montblanc Meisterstück pen, a high end device as well as book tours in three countries. Please find attached the press release.

Criteria for Entry

Entries will only be accepted from publishing houses
All books entered should have a registered ISBN number or equivalent.
Entries by new writers must be published within the last 24 months before the work is submitted.
Entries for fiction books will be submitted by publishers who have published a minimum of six (6) authors.
Publisher should have been a registered business (with certificate of incorporation as a publisher) for minimum of six years
Each publisher will be allowed to enter a maximum of three (3) books – however books maybe called in by the judges.
Each entry will be required to be accompanied by Seven (7) copies of the book being entered along with acceptance of publicity terms.
The Etisalat Prize for Literature is not open to employees of any organisation under Emirates Telecommunications Corporation with branded trade name Etisalat.
For more information on how to enter please visit here.

All applications for the Prize will be accepted via post only, please fill and download the application form here.

Get updates on our post by joining our BBM Channel via C00396EEB, if you are reading from mobile click: http://pin.bbm.com/C00396EEB

Now That You Are Here – Episode Eleven (A Tale Of Deception, Betrayal And Murder)

https://penastory.com/2016/06/13/now-that-you-are-here-episode-eleven-a-tale-of-deception-betrayal-and-murder/#more-3071

Excerpt From Episode 10:

Her heart stopped in her chest. The pearls suddenly felt like they were burning her skin and she searched his face anxiously. He took a sip of vodka, his gaze was even. He was serious, there was no doubt about it, she could tell from his face. She turned and fled the room.

To read episode 10: CLICK HERE

Muyiwa caught her by the arm just as she was about to grab the door, jerking her back more forcefully than he intended. She fell into him and he staggered a bit, his hold loosening and she attempted to run again but he was quicker than her and had her by the arm again. He turned her around to face him, her face was a mix of different emotions he could not decipher and she pounded at his chest angrily.

“Let me go damn it!” The tears flowed from her eyes freely as she pummeled his chest.

“Just calm down and listen to me Damilola. I didn’t mean to hurt you with the news like that but I have no choice. Halima is pregnant.”


Damilola raised her tear streaked face up to him, the news sinking in.

“Let go of me Muyiwa,” it was like the energy was drained out of her as her fist stopped the pummeling and she sagged against him. “Please,” she added in a hoarse whisper.

Muyiwa looked like he was going to protest but a resigned look crossed his face and he released her reluctantly. She dropped to the floor listlessly, wiping the tears away. She was trying to comport herself. The two of them remained like that, nobody saying anything, just the sound of their breathing breaking the silence and when it seemed like she had finally gotten herself together, she asked without raising her head,

“When is the wedding?” She didn’t wait for a reply, “I should have seen today coming, it’s not like there was a future for us anyway. What was I really thinking? That you were going to leave Halima to be with me? Lord bless that sweet angel’s soul, I don’t think even I could have done that to her. Isn’t it funny that I complained bitterly and felt like my whole life was crashing just because another bitch had my man and now here I am, crying over another woman’s man…?” Her voice trailed off.

Muyiwa dropped to the floor and drew her close to him, she offered no resistance so he took her head in his laps and stroked her hair gently. They remained like that for about two hours, Damilola talking. From Gbade to Muyiwa to John, she needed to get it all out of her system so he let her talk. At last she drifted off into sleep and gently as if afraid to wake her and upset her all over, he carried her into her bedroom and laid her gently on the bed, brushed his lips gently over hers before heading out of the house.

***

Damilola came to the next morning slowly, at first she was disoriented to find herself fully clothed and in bed but the memories of the previous day came flooding back and she sighed, rolling onto her side wishing she didn’t have to stand up. She remained that way for ten minutes trying to get her thoughts together, she felt weak and empty when she finally dragged herself out of bed and began to prepare for the day.

“I have to move on with my life. No Muyiwa, No Gbade,” she said out aloud as if talking to the empty house would help fill the hollowness she felt in her heart.

“Having been through heartbreak with Gbade, this should be small compared to what have gone through already.”

She soon decided it was best she left the house and head over to Anu’s, it was better to be with her best friend than to keep talking to herself in the house. Anu is most likely going to give me the “I told you this was bad for you” attitude, she thought but at that moment she didn’t mind. It was better to hurt with Anu present than to hurt in silence. She laughed mirthlessly, Anu is the only person I can talk too after all, maybe her chiding would help me make better decisions next time. With that settled, she drove out of the compound, her heart aching heavily.

***

“He is what?” Anu’s face was a mask of incredulity and her voice couldn’t have sounded more shocked.

“Men are such pigs, so after deciding that he is done with you, he is deciding to wife Halima. Just look at yourself Damilola, a beautiful thing like you settled for side chick position when a lot of men out there would be glad to have you. Now he is dumping you for his wife material.” Anu hissed disgustedly, trying to control the anger she was feeling.

“Muyiwa is not like that,” Damilola said in a weak voice. “Halima is pregnant hence the reason why they have to get married. Muyiwa loves me…”

“Loves you?” Anu cuts in angrily, jumping to her feet, “love you my foot! That guy is just some sick bastard playing games with you while enjoying some free pussy by the side. He doesn’t love either of you, not you and definitely not Halima! I don’t believe in all this complicated love triangle babes. Wake up and see him for what he really is, another player that likes to eat his cake and have it. Halima is such a sweet girl, she shouldn’t be marrying that animal.”

“But Anu, you barely even spent time with Muyiwa. He is sweet and caring and really there is nothing he could have done to help the situation on ground.”

“Just listen to yourself, ‘he is sweet and caring and really there is nothing he could have done to help the situation on ground. Whatever happened to remaining faithful? How long are you going to keep playing the broken hearted girl? Where the hell is the Dammy I know? That no nonsense girl, what potion has he given you to make you so soft? When did you grow into this lovey mushy, sentimental idiot?”

“There is no potion Anu.”

“This madness has gone on for too long, I would be a very bad friend if I let this nonsense go on. It is time I do something about it. I have watched you make a fool of yourself just because I felt you knew what you were doing but it’s apparent you don’t. Halima and I need to have a talk. She must not marry that pig, pregnancy or no pregnancy.”

“Don’t do anything stupid Anu. Let it be!”

“Let’s see you try and stop me Damilola. I am doing this not just for you but for the good of all involved. He can’t destroy people’s lives the way he thinks is necessary. If he is cheating on her now, what will he do when they are married? There will simply be another you! Halima deserves better, just think of what she did for you when…”

“I know, you don’t have to remind me.”

“My mind is made up, and don’t you even tell me to mind my business otherwise you shouldn’t have dragged me into it in the first place.”

“Whatever you do, don’t do anything crazy, I know what you are capable of.”

“A bad relationship is easier to walk out of than a bad marriage that is all I have to say.”

***

Anu hurried into the almost empty restaurant and sighted Halima almost immediately. Halima was sitting at the far end of the restaurant with her back to the door, her dark head bent over a magazine on the table. Anu paused for a minute by the entrance of the restaurant, unsure of herself. Was she doing the right thing? She sighed resignedly, someone had to do it, someone had to tell Halima of Muyiwa’s infidelity with Damilola before it was too late. As she walked up to the table Halima had reserves, Anu felt a sense of betrayal coming over her but she quickly shut it out. I am simply trying to save them from themselves, she chided herself silently.

“I am so sorry I am late Halima, I got caught up in this stupid Lagos traffic. You know how it can be.” She said as she reached the table, touching Halima by the shoulder. Halima looked up with a welcoming smile on her pretty face.

“It’s no problem Anu. How are you doing, and how is your husband?” She laughed and continued, “I should not even be asking that silly question. Look at you, you are practically glowing.”

Anu’s laugh sounded strain to her own ears but of course Halima couldn’t know that, they haven’t known each other that long. She seated herself, wondering how to break the news to Halima.

“I do hope that Muyiwa would be as loving and caring when we are married. You know the way men can be, always so sweet and caring during courtship but then they start to misbehave when you are married to them.”

Anu’s ear perked at that, it was like her cue to broach the subject.

“About that Halima, are you sure you really want to get married just yet? I mean pregnancy is not enough reason to get married to a guy.” Halima’s face puckered slightly, a frown marring her pretty face and she looked at Anu questioningly.

“Tell me you are not serious about that? If I want to get married to Muyiwa?” Her voice sounded incredulous. “He is the love of my life and the pregnancy is simply hastening what we have always both wanted. I love him and he loves me, he makes me happy and nothing would make me happier than being his wife. He is a rare guy.”

“When you say rare, what do you mean?”

Halima’s eye lighted up.

“He is so sweet and caring, he treats me with the utmost respect and puts my feelings first. Just consider the way he quickly asked me to marry me when I told him I am pregnant. He knew it would be scandalous if my parents find out that I am pregnant but with the marriage they would be pacified. He doesn’t even look at any other girl but me, what more can I ask for?”
Anu rolled her eyes, “Are you sure he doesn’t look at other women? After all they say all men cheat”

Something in Anu’s voice sent warning signals to Halima and she looked intently at the other woman in front of her replying.

“Of course I am sure he doesn’t look at other women. I was at first suspicious of him and your friend Damilola but looking at those two you can tell they are just friends. Damilola is a respectable woman and Muyiwa is a good man.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Anu replied sarcastically, feeling her throat go dry. This was the moment of truth.

“Are you really that naïve that you want to honestly tell me that in your heart of hearts, you believe those two are just friends?”

The warning bells in Halima’s head seemed to be ringing louder but she tried to quell them and adjusted uncomfortably in her seat, taking a sip of the drink she ordered shortly before Anu’s arrival.

“Is there something you are insinuating Anu? Tell me, is there something I should know, after all you are friends with Damilola.”

Anu felt tempted to blurt it all out then but something about Halima’s troubled face stopped her. Halima’s beautiful face was marred with a deep frown and there was an anxious in her eyes. Anu felt torn between telling the truth and changing the topic. At last she answered.

“I am not saying there is anything other than friendship going on between them. All I am saying is that you should look closely before you take a leap. Marriage is not something one should rush into.” Shrugging nonchalantly, Anu laughed and continued, “enough of all these depressing talks, what plans have you started making for the wedding?”

Halima’s face relaxed as she launched into talks about the upcoming wedding.

***

Damilola jumped down from the chair. She had just installed a camera in her bedroom and she looked at her handiwork with satisfaction. From the angle it was in, the camera took in the entire room while leaving it undetected to an unsuspecting eye.

She had called Muyiwa earlier in the day and asked to see him so they could have a serious talk before his wedding. She still couldn’t believe the wedding was less than two weeks away, everything seemed like such a nightmare and the weeks seemingly rolling into the other.

Following his announcement, he had been avoiding her and she felt slighted. Whatever it was they had was gone, he barely called her again and when they did talk, the conversation sounded strained and stilted. It was like being polite with a stranger.

After an intense mind racking, Damilola had decided to give it one more try and try get him back. If he refused, she would be left with no other choice but this. She knew it was desperate but she didn’t care, she was a scorned woman who was willing to do anything she had to, to get the love of her life back. Giving the camera another smile, she went into the bathroom to get ready for the night’s seduction.

He was punctual as usual and she sashayed to the door in the slinky blue gown that she had bought specially for the occasion. She had not bothered with underwear and her breasts jutted out proudly, straining against the thin fabric of the dress. She opened the door and welcomed him with a glowing smile, trying to make she acted natural just like the old times.

“You have been avoiding me Muyiwa. That is not too good you know.” She said after he was seated.

“I have been extremely busy Damilola. You and I both know that too much contact between us is not good. We had a good time but we both know there is no future for it. I just don’t want to encourage it anymore especially not if it is going to affect my marriage or your chances of getting yourself a good person.”

“Just because we are ending the affair doesn’t mean we can’t be good friends Muyiwa. We were friends before all of this started. Neither one of us planned to fall in love.” She moved closer to him, taking his hand in hers. He stood up quickly as if burnt but she was quick and rose with him, clasping her hands tightly around his neck.

“In the meanwhile, you can’t just end everything without a proper goodbye. So consider this our last roll in the haystack before you tie the knot. I am not willing to stand in the way of your happiness.” As she talked, she unbuttoned his shirt and teased his ear playfully with her tongue.

“We really shouldn’t do this Damilola.” He protested in a weak tone. She silenced him with a kiss, taking his hand and placing it on her breasts. He kissed her back. Mission accomplished.

“Let’s go to the bedroom, I don’t want to forget this last time.” This time around, he didn’t argue with her, like a lamb being led to the slaughter, he followed her.

Writer’s Social Media:

Twitter: @thatboyakinwale

Instagram: @thatboyakinwale

Get updates on our post by joining our BBM Channel via C00396EEB, if you are reading from mobile click: http://pin.bbm.com/C00396EEB

PATIENCE: Aisha how far?
AISHA: Mama P, I dey ooo
PATIENCE: How Aso Rock dey treat una?
AISHA: My sister…we are managing
PATIENCE: Confirm! Anyways, why I buzzed you is because I have a small problem
AISHA: Ehehn! What is it?
PATIENCE: Well, I have a couple of my god daughters and sons getting married this year as well as some birthdays and corporate events and I want the best for them in all retrospect so I don’t know if you have any ideas in mind.AISHA: Well, when planning for events like this, some certain things are very vital. Things like the food, drinks, venue just to mention a few but one mistake we all make is focus too much on the above that we leave out another very critical one.
PATIENCE: Hmmm, what is that my sister?
AISHA: The hosting!!! Who is the Master of Ceremonies? Is it someone who has a good command of English and composure? Is it someone who is very cautious and cracks ethical jokes? Is it someone that knows how to carry the audience along regardless the age group? Is it one who is very affordable but yet 100% executive? Is it one who knows the importance of looking good and making your event a memorable one?
PATIENCE: Hmmm….do you know anyone with all this attributes
AISHA: Yes ooo! I met a young man by name KUNBI BLACK recently and my God I was more than impressed. Got to know he works on the radio (UnilagFm), Tv (Nigezie), acts as well as produces comedy contents in form of videos and shows.
PATIENCE: Wow! I love this guy already, how can I reach him?
AISHA: Very simple…follow him on Twitter/Instagram/Facebook-@KunbiBlack or you can add him on whatsapp-09023147984 or bbm-7B23E1B2 or better still holla his management(Cloud Magic Concepts)- 09053001412/08101951320
PATIENCE: My amiable first lady thanks a bunch. You have just made my day! My regards to Sai Baba
AISHA: Haba! Whalai no problem at all, what are friends for? Greet Jona for me too. Later!

Get updates on our posts by joining our BBM Channel via C00396EEB, if you are reading from mobile click: http://pin.bbm.com/C00396EEB

https://penastory.com/2016/06/11/my-take-on-patience-jonathan-and-aisha-buharis-chat-leak-kunbi-black/

https://penastory.com/2016/06/06/now-that-you-are-here-episode-ten-a-tale-of-deception-betrayal-and-murder/
Excerpt From Episode 9:

She arched her back and they both collapsed on the floor of the living room as he rode her.

“Damilola!” Gbade’s voice broke through the fog of pleasure. Muyiwa jumped off Damilola as if stung and the trio stared at each other. Gbade was standing there, a travelling bag in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other.

To read episode 9: Visit profile or www.penastory.com

Muyiwa was the first to take control. He tried to maintain a bland expression as he stared at Gbade’s face which was contorted in rage and disbelief. Damilola bowed her head in shame and refused to meet Gbade’s gaze after the initial eye contact. Gbade’s eyes darted from the two half naked lovers in front of him and the anger welled up like a storm. His reaction was so unexpected that it took all of them by surprise. He hurled the briefcase he was holding at Muyiwa and aimed the box of chocolates at Dammy’s bowed head. The impact of the hard leather whizzed the breath out of Muyiwa. The briefcase hit him squarely on his bare chest and in his pain, he heard Damilola’s soft cry as the chocolate box hit her head.

Without pausing, Gbade rushed towards her and dragged her head roughly by the hair. He pulled her face close to his and slapped her face, spitting angrily, “You slut! Cheap whoring bitch!” Another slap followed the outburst and she cried out in pain and terror. She had never seen him so angry before and another slap was about to land on her smarting cheek when Muyiwa who had by now recovered from the impact of the blow pushed Gbade off her and the three crashed to the ground. Gbade’s landed on his side and Muyiwa who was ontop followed the push with a blow. Free from her tormentor, Damilola picked herself up and fled the room without a backwards glance, only stopping to pick her discarded clothes, leaving the two men to their punches.

***

She was crying as she drove blindly to Anu’s house and she didn’t bother to improve her appearance by the time she parked in her best friend’s compound and rushed up the flight of stairs. She banged on the door as if it she wanted to bring down the door and Anu opened the door cautiously to a hysterical Damilola who was still sobbing uncontrollably.

“What’s the matter? Who died? What is wrong with you?” Anu was scared to see Damilola crying so inconsolably and her first thought was that someone had died but she soon heaved a sigh of relief when she began to piece together the details of the story amidst Damilola’s tears. Her expression changed from concern to disgust when she heard Gbade had walked in on Damilola and Muyiwa having sex but that expression soon quickly changed to anger when she heard of the slaps and beating. Anu hugged her friend in pity.

“Hush now baby, it is alright. No one is going to hurt you again.” Damilola’s tears soon stopped as Anu comforted her. When Anu thought it was safe to broach the subject, she said, “What is going to happen to the two men you left in your apartment? You can’t just leave them in your house Dammy. It is very dangerous, one of them could hurt the other badly and it would be because of you. Gbade is a total pig for hitting you but Muyiwa should have been more reasonable than to attack him. I would have to call Tunji to go over to your place and make sure that everything is alright.”

“No don’t let Tunji know about this, I don’t want your husband to think I am a bad person. Imagine what he would think of me?”

“Someone has to go there to make sure things are okay and it sure as hell is not going to be me. Trust me, Tunji is not judgmental, you of all people should know that. Gbade will listen to him, they are after all friends in a way.”

***

The two were gone. That was all Tunji reported when he got back from Damilola’s house. He had been reluctant to get involved when Anu informed him of the situation but upon hearing about Gbade physically assaulting Damilola, he changed his mind and had driven over to her house to check on the situation. He still couldn’t believe Gbade had hit Damilola. The two shared a strong bond that was not hard to see even for a blind man, or so he had thought. He had even had a wager with Anu about Gbade getting back with Anu before the year ran out. When he returned from Damilola’s house, he kept his report to the basics. He had gotten to the house and found it empty but with evidence of the tussle that took place evident from the scattered furniture. He was silent when he handed Damilola the key to the house which had been left open.

“What is Gbade doing in Nigeria by the way? Thought he left the country already?”Anu asked later that evening.

“I don’t know. He had only a suitcase with him when he stopped by the house and of course with what he met, there had been no room for conversation.” Damilola replied dryly, she closed her eyes, trying to forget the haunting memories of the day’s ordeal.

***

Muyiwa called two days after the incident to apologise.

“I am sorry for what happened Damilola. I shouldn’t have lost my cool but I couldn’t stand back and watch him hit you like that. I couldn’t watch that animal treat you like garbage, I had to react. I thought of staying away, to give you time to get yourself together but I have to know you are okay.”

“It’s alright Muyiwa, he is gone now and that is all that matters. I have allowed myself to be a fool in love for too long. While there might not be much of a future with you, I feel safer with you.” Even as she said it, the guilt flooded her. The relationship with Gbade wasn’t right, there was Halima, and all the other things to consider. Anu’s probing eyes wasn’t helping matters. She had not been able to go back to her own house since the incident and had continued to stay on at Anu’s. Muyiwa promised to call her later in the day and after hanging up the phone, she met Anu’s full glare.

“When will you learn Damilola? Tell me! Is it until when Halima catches you herself? Don’t be stupid, you are smarter than all of these, I see nothing but trouble. Leave Muyiwa alone, in time you will find your own man. Your relationship crashed because of another woman and now you are willing to wreck another’s? Are you that self-centered and heartless? Have you lost your humanity? You enjoy this idea of two men fighting over you don’t you? Grow up Damilola, grow up! We are no longer kids that need to feel special by playing men.”

Damilola knew Anu was right and kept silent. Trying to defend herself would only lead to an argument. “I will be going back home today. Thank you so much for the hospitality Anu, you are really the best friend anyone could ask for.”

Anu rolled her eyes unimpressed and shook her head resignedly, “If that is your way of trying to get me to shut up, you won’t say I didn’t warn you.”

***

“I am pregnant Muyiwa.” Muyiwa’s face widened in complete amazement. Halima was calmer than he would have expected when she delivered the news. She was staring at him, trying to read his reaction so he quickly masked the emotions he was feeling. Different thoughts crossed his mind as he stared at her pretty face; she had been there for him when things had been bad and he felt a weight on his chest, he had not been good to her. He had had everything in total control just before Damilola waltz into their lives and everything went upside down.

It had been war for Halima’s parents to accept him due to his Christian background. They were strong Muslims, her saying she wanted to marry a Christian had been war. He couldn’t ruin it, not after all they had been through. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration trying to avoid her eyes. She was staring at him with those large eyes, making him uncomfortable, waiting for him to say something.

“What is it Muyiwa, you haven’t said a word. What are we going to do?” Her words were laced with fear and hurt.

“We are going to get married.” He said without thinking. Her face lit up in happiness, it was like watching the sun burst out of a dark cloud and she screamed in joy, clapping her hands together gleefully. She threw herself at him and planted a kiss on his face. Muyiwa wished he could feel the joy she was feeling, his thoughts were on Damilola. What was he going to tell her? How was she going to take the news? She was certainly going to be hurt and he wished there was something he could do about that. It took all his will to concentrate on Halima who was gushing about the wedding and when they should tell their families. He nodded and smiled, giving the right responses and when he finally managed to escape, he called Damilola and asked to see her. It had to be done sooner rather than later.

***

Damilola was feeling excited, it was now three weeks since the incident and although she spoke with Muyiwa on the phone constantly, they had not met physically. It was like they were avoiding the rift that seemed to have been caused by Gbade who nobody had heard from again since the incident. Damilola had pressed Muyiwa on what happened that night and all he would say was that Gbade had stormed out of the house cursing and threatening.

The occasion felt special enough for Damilola that she decided to dress up. She wore a blue jumpsuit which had cutouts in the front to show her belly button. She brushed her hair till it was hanging in loose waves down her shoulder and she adorned her neck with the pearls her father had bought for her three years ago. It had cost her father a small fortune. He didn’t give gifts all the time but when he did, he went all out. She wore the pearls only on special occasions and this was special enough an occasion for her. She smiled in anticipation when she heard the doorbell ring and walking quickly to the door, she opened it and threw her arms around Gbade’s neck. She noticed the tired look in his eyes and his cold response, her enthusiasm dimmed a bit. He quickly disengaged himself from her embrace and headed straight for the mini-bar. He poured himself a drink of brandy and gulped it down in one gulp before he poured another drink from the vodka bottle. She stared at him wondering what was going on. She felt a sense of trepidation rise in her when he finally turned to face her.

“Is anything the matter Muyi? You are scaring me.”

He stared at her with a rueful smile on his face, “I am getting married Dammy.”

Her heart stopped in her chest. The pearls suddenly felt like they were burning her skin and she searched his face anxiously. He took a sip of vodka, his gaze was even. He was serious, there was no doubt about it, she could tell from his face. She turned and fled the room.


Get updates on our post by joining our BBM Channel via C00396EEB, if you are reading from mobile click: http://pin.bbm.com/C00396EEB
Source: PenAStory - www.penastory.com