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http://penastory.com/2016/04/04/now-that-you-are-here-episode-five-a-tale-of-deception-betrayal-and-murder/

Excerpt from Episode 4:

Dammy shuddered at the thought and wished she could wipe the frustration out of his face. His pain must be much more worse than how she had felt when she found out about Mirabel. She wished she could comfort him but she didn’t know how.

“I will fix this. I will abort the baby.” Pushing aside her hair from eyes, she looked at him with red-rimmed eyes and said quietly “I can fix this Gbade, please we can get through it.”

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She pulled on the loose strands of her hair nervously as she stepped into the doctor’s office. It wasn’t like she owed anybody an explanation on why she was getting rid of the baby but it still felt embarrassing telling a doctor she wanted an abortion. Her eyes did a quick scan of the office before settling on the smiling young man who waved her to a seat. It was the same cold, sterile walls of every hospital seemed to have. The whiteness of the walls made her feel as if she was about to taint it with the evil of her intent and to distract herself from that train of thought, she allowed her eyes rest on the doctor. He was young and quite good looking and she guessed him to be in his mid-twenties. Twenty-six or twenty-seven at the most, she thought as she sat in the seat he had indicated and continued looking at him.

She caught his amused smiled and the raising of his eyebrow was enough to jolt her out of her thoughts. She cleared her throat nervously, she wasn’t sure whether she was embarrassed because he seemed amused that she was staring at him or whether it was because of what she wanted to do as she blurted it out, “I came for an abortion.”

His smiling expression didn’t change, that cool smile was still playing on his lips as if he encountered a lot of people like her every day and she felt ridiculous as she waited for his response. He stared at her in silence for about a minute before he finally spoke, “if you don’t mind my asking, may I ask why you want to do it? He doesn’t want the baby?”

Damilola raised her eyes to meet his and hated the knowing look she saw there. Who was he to think he knew why she was having an abortion.

“Yes, he doesn’t because it is not his.” His countenance changed then as a look of interest came on his face.

“Oh,” he said as if waiting for her to go on and when he didn’t say anything more, she continued, “I am doing it to save my relationship. We are engaged, but I messed up and am pregnant for another man.” He was silent and didn’t say a thing and the silence urged her on as she blurted the story to him. Having not had anybody to talk to, it felt good to talk to a stranger who she was sure was not going to judge her. Anu wouldn’t understand and even if she did, she would never be in support of an abortion to please a man that had also cheated.

“Why does it always have to be the women that suffers?” she heard herself saying. “He cheated too, not once, not twice but I happen to have a one night slip and here I am, knocked up and having to abort my baby to save my relationship. I love him, I really do doc.” She laughed mirthless. She took note of his name tag then. “Are you married Doctor Muyiwa?”

“No I am not but I don’t think it is a good idea,” Muyiwa finally said. He wasn’t sure what it was about her but she seemed so forlorn and confused as she talked in her soft voice. She was beautiful and he noticed the way she kept tugging on her hair absent-mindedly as she talked. “You would be getting an abortion for the wrong reasons.” How could she be willing to abort for a guy that cheated on her and although she referred to him as her fiancé? She had as much as said there was no official ceremony yet. What if the dude ended up not marrying her? As these thoughts went through his mind, he became certain he had to help her. If he refused to carry out the abortion, she would simply go to another clinic. He found himself saying instead, “can I take you out for dinner later today and let us have a talk before we decide what you do please?”

Damilola was startled at the earnest expression on his face and she wondered why he was seeming bothered about her case. She nodded and he thanked her as he took her phone number and promised to call her after office hours.

***

It was now about three days since Gbade had gone back to the States and Damilola was feeling depressed. Following her meeting with Muyiwa who had convinced her against the abortion, there was a big fight with Gbade after he learnt she was no longer going through with the abortion. His attitude towards her changed to cold and distant and on the day he was to leave, he simply brushed a brushed a kiss on her cheeks before hurrying out to the waiting taxi taking him to the airport as if he couldn’t wait to be rid of her. She sat in silence beside him in the taxi and after his flight departed, she cried all the way back home.

She was soaking in the bath, playing Rihanna’s “Haunted” when her phone rang. It was Muyiwa. “Hey you,”

“Hi doc,” she said. She had told him of Gbade’s reaction and he had been calling her since Gbade’s departure.

“How are you feeling?”

“Still the same. Missing him. Feeling shitty and dead. I feel empty. I have so much work to do but I can’t even bring myself to do anything. I hate being in love. Two damn years of my life and he is just going to walk out. He didn’t even say goodbye you know.”

“I know, you told me that already, about a hundred times. What are you doing tonight? Scrap that, we should go out tonight, you need to get out of the house and stop moping around. Can I pick you up say by seven? I close for six?”

Damilola had to admit, she found the doctor intriguing. Why so much concern and interest in her? She was in love with a man that had not dumped her nor claimed her, pregnant for another and an emotional wreck yet he was being so nice to her. He couldn’t find her attractive, could he? She laughed as she realized she was developing a crush on him the more she thought of it. She got out of the bath and began to prepare for her date with him.

It would be good not to think of Gbade, she thought as she checked her reflection in the mirror. She was dabbing on perfume when the doorbell rang and she hurried to the door. Muyiwa was standing there looking disheveled. The first two buttons of his shirts were undone and the shirt itself was half out of his trouser. He gave her a tired smile as she took his bag and closed the door after him.

“I am sorry about my appearance but I have been at the hospital for three days stretch now. I was hoping that I could cheer you up but I feel so tired and drained.” She could tell he was tired and felt a twinge of pity that he had had to come see her instead of going home to rest.

“It’s alright if we can’t go out. I am fine really, thanks for the concern. Let me get you something to eat.” She was walking to the kitchen when his voice came after her, “I like your perf.”

“Gbade got it for me,” the mention of Gbade brought a cast to her face and she laughed when she saw his expression.

“I didn’t ask you who got it for you. No talks of him, we are trying to get you over him remember?”

“Alright,” she said and entered the kitchen to get something cooking.

***

As he ate, they talked. He had a girlfriend he had been going steady with for about a year. Several times during the conversation, she brought up Gbade’s name and he would say something about how she needed to stop talking about him and she would laugh. The two were lost to time and when Muyiwa finally checked his wristwatch, he was shocked to see it was already past eleven pm.

“I have to leave. Jeez how time flies. If only time flies this fast when I am on call. I would try see you next week okay?” He got up and slinging his bag over his shoulder, they walked to his car and Damilola stood waving as he drove off into the night.

As he drove out of the gate, Muyiwa shook his head in wonder. Damilola was certainly an interesting woman and it was obvious she was crazy about this Gbade dude. If only the bastard could see that he thought darkly. Some guys are just too blind to recognize the good placed in front of them, he muttered in disgust. Another thirty minutes and he was driving into his own compound and he was still unlocking his door when he dialed his girlfriend, Halimat’s mobile number. He wasn’t going to be one of those guys that didn’t appreciate what they had.

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Source : PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/04/02/my-first-night-with-a-unilag-babe-part-3-kunbi-black/

Excerpt From Part 2:

“Sure! What time tomorrow do you want to come?” I watched as her face light up with mixed reactions. She wasn’t expecting me to agree? I was disappointed that she didn’t trust me enough for her to be considering putting me through this silly test. But then as I sat at the window corner of the bus back home, I asked myself, come tomorrow, was I going to fail or pass the test?

To read part 2: Visit profile or visit www.penastory.com

“Kunbi! Kunbi!!!!! Your phone dey ring oooo.” Choiii. I super-hate it, if there is any such word whenever my roomie wakes me up with hard back-slaps the types we like to call abara. It was always as if during those moments, he was seizing the opportunity to repay me for some past evil. His loud voice coupled with the stinging pain of the abara was enough to rouse me from my sweet dreams. I jumped up with annoyance only for Emma to thrust the phone into my hands. To say the sleep was wiped away from my eyes instantly when I saw the name on the caller id display is an understatement. Usually Sunday naps are usually the sweetest, I don’t if it is just me or others actually feel it too. There is just something magical and different about a good Sunday afternoon sleep that distinguishes it from the other days.

It was my dearest P.M calling. Panic welled up in me, why was she calling? The sleep was out of my eyes as I quickly picked the call. Then it hit me, silly me! Today was the day we had agreed for her to come over to my place. Today was the day I would need to prove to her that I am different from all the other Unilag boys who date for sexual pleasures. Today was going to determine my fate with her for I was ready to wait for her as long as she wanted.

“Hello? Hello? Kunbi are you there?” her soft voice came through the phone with the sweetness that never failed to send jitters down my spine.

“Yes, yes. I can hear you. How are you?” I responded, trying to maintain a neutrality to my voice. I didn’t want to sound like I was too eager because I was certain that could prompt her to change her mind. A change of heart on her part would mean I would never get the chance to prove to her my true love. Then she dropped the bombshell. She was calling to shift the timing from afternoon till later in the evening. You know how the devil works right? I could swear right then and there he was using this girl perfectly but then I was also ready for them both. She had barely finished making her announcement when my roommate with some hand signals indicated to me that he was leaving. I watched in stupefaction as he picked up his backpack and mouthed the word ‘tomorrow’ to me.

Hmmnnn!!! This was sure the Devil in action. How then could one explain why had she decided to come in the evening and my roommate was suddenly deciding to go out to see his mom till the next day? But God why me? For a second, I became Jesus begging God to take this cup away from him but it seemed God himself was very much interested in seeing how I would handle this temptation. Was I going to fail him or was his daughter, my dearest P.M going to fail him?

The clock took on the spirit of Usain Bolt on this particular day and wouldn’t stop running at a record setting pace. That is until my dearest one walked in at exactly 7:35pm. Everything seemed to lose its bearing. The clock suddenly seemed too slow while my mind raced back and forth with the sweat breaking out on my forehead. Truthfully, what happened that very evening was something I would never forget. It made me realize that you can never judge a book by its cover and one should never be quick to jump to conclusions. I hate myself for having misread P.M’s true person. She showed me her real self that evening as she made me do what I had never done before. I never even knew I could last that long. It lasted for about two and half hours. Yup! It was a serious prayer session. I never knew I had the potential of praying that long and hard but I thank God for my dearest P.M and just in case you are wondering, P.M stands for “Prayer Mama.” Since then, my spiritual life has never remained the same.

THE END

Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/04/01/unilag-for-humanity-pic-fic-series-night-is-this-or-something-like-that-samuel-olatunji/

Meerh… meerh… meerh… You hear your mother bleating into the putrid night of Dustbin Estate, and you know he is around. The night thief has finally come for her. You push your face into the darkness, hoping to unmask the face of the night masquerade that raids members of your clan. But there is no moon to light the night, and the sky is a wide dark wrapper that gravity cannot pull down, because it doesn’t want the world to see the unclothedness of God.

You can smell the thief: he smells of sweat and weed. Your clan’s nightmare is here again. Gradually, you see a dark image of him: a stout shadow. If he crawls on all fours into the night, you will mistake him for a member of your clan, only that he is wearing shorts, and he has no tail or horn.

His muscular hands grab your mother’s horns, although she appears to be struggling to free herself from him. She bleats in protest, struggling and struggling. But he is too strong for her.

This is one moment you wish you can be a superhero, and save your mother. The image of a superhero in your head is not of a superman or batman; being one of the Indomie superheroes is enough for you. You wish you can become Big Boy so that with a single punch, you can send the thief down the earth straight to hell; but if he attempts to run you will transform to Stretchy, and just stretch your hand to pick him up even if he runs as fast as Flash, and has run away from Lagos to Benin Republic.

But you can only wish.

Where are the night watchmen? Can’t they hear the distress in my mother’s voice? You ask the night before adding your voice to thicken your mother’s bleating, a very elongated meeeeeeerh that appears endless, but it is to no avail. The people here are usually too busy during the day looking for how to survive that they seem to sleep like a corpse at night. Only the muezzin’s call, and not continuous bleating, can resurrect them from the grave of the night. The thief escapes with your beloved mother. And you feel like crying like a baby just out of the world, who doesn’t want to come to this stupid world. But you are not human.

So my mother is gone?

Just like that?

Gone?

Like a passing wind?

Like a dream deferred?

Like Banjo’s mother?

You are lost in a queue of rhetorical questions.

No, not exactly like Banjo’s mother.

Banjo’s mother wasn’t stolen. Baba Banjo is said to have killed Mama Banjo like he killed members of your clan each almost every day. He killed them for a living. Oyinbo people call him a butcher, a name that sounds as deadly as death.

You think he liked killing: you had seen him swat mosquitoes with his palms, kill cockroaches on his zinc house wall with a sharp slap of his slippers often, and also club to death more than one rats that share his house with him. Members of your clan called him Killer-man.

Well, he didn’t kill his wife for no reason exactly…

Everything started when a beer parlour that plays mainly Fuji music was opened not too far from the estate. Baba Banjo then began to invest his money here. He drank bottles of beer that drank his pocket. He often came home, drunk and singing Beautiful Nubia’s “Pass de Kalabash”. And sometimes, he did not make it home; his would drunk-walk to Mama Heavy-Duty’s House, a brothel very close to the beer parlour, where he would spend the night.

Just as Baba Banjo hardly stayed home at night, Mama Banjo soon hardly stayed home during the day. One morning after Baba Banjo had gone to sell meat at the market, his wife left home with her lips painted in the colour of thick blood (you almost thought she used the blood of a member of your clan, which her husband had killed to paint her lips). As she unfolded to refold her wrapper, you had a quick glimpse of a skirt shorter than short like the skirt of one of the girls at Mama Heavy-Duty’s House. You were too surprised to bleat. She left and came back later in the evening with a big leather bag that looked as if it contained a member of my clan.

This strange going-out continued for a few months. Banjo now wore new clothes like every day and was getting chubby, even Baba Banjo too was looking quite better than before, and soon he came home one day with a bicycle. Mama Banjo must have been making a lot of money, which she shared with her husband and child.

One hot afternoon, a big man with a big car and a big belly came to visit Mama Banjo in her husband’s shack. Baba Banjo wasn’t around. And this big man didn’t stop coming, even when Baba Banjo was around that you all thought he was just a member of the family that liked to come around a lot. But one day, in the absence of Baba Banjo, you heard a strong laughter from the shack that broke into moans. Soon rumours roamed, and Baba Banjo heard.

Some days after the day of laughter and moans, you all heard screams from Baba Banjo’s shack. And you all gathered: humans, goats, chickens, cats and so on as if God has called a conference of animals that include humans too. There, you saw the magic of magun: the big man, who you all later found out to be Baba Banjo’s uncle in Lekki, had his penis buried into Mama Banjo’s pussy like a nail into a wood, and they remained like that. Inseparable. Glued in nudity. Even the eyes of you all staring shame into their flesh and bones couldn’t separate them.

“Ah, Uncle Abbey!? Iyawo mi ni ewa do ninu’le mi? Oro ooo!” It was an exclamation that sounded like a question from Baba Banjo’s mouth, who had been lurking in a corner, waiting for the wonder of the magun he had applied on his wife.

Mama Banjo and the big man were later rushed to the hospital after quite a number of persons had taken pictures of them using their phones. Baba Banjo restricted people from performing any form of jungle justice on them. The magun was justice enough. Attempt at surgery to separate the sex partners was said to be futile, and they both died three day afterwards.

After this occurrence, Baba Banjo drank more than before like a fish drinking water of life. Aside that, he became very violent, and cursing and fighting.

“Son of a LovePeddler, were you asked to shit, eat the shit and shit it again?” He said in Yoruba to Star Boy (an aspiring young musician, and Wizkid’s fan that lives in a zinc room too on the estate), who must have been purging that day and had stayed too long in the zinc toilet. Provoked Star Boy smashed the bucket he was holding on Baba Banjo’s head. And a fight began that led to the merciless beating of Baba Banjo.

A few days later, Baba Banjo’s voice plunged into the foul-smelling morning air, singing his favourite Beautiful Nubia’s song louder than usual. And you all thought he was drunk as usual. Surprisingly drunk at 6am.

Later in the afternoon, you heard that Baba Banjo was found along the road, naked and still singing. He had gone out of his mind, or his mind had gone out of him. Either or both.

It took the support of four strong neighbours to tame him and tie him inside his room; sometimes he bleated like a member of your clan before continuing his song. There have been rumours that his in-laws were angry with him for what he did to his poor wife, and they punished him with insanity.

Banjo stopped going to school, or even going out. He was ashamed of his parents; he couldn’t stand the spreading rumours, and mockery. When he died, no one knew until his body started smelling. Not just his body, but also the body of his father. A bottle of Sniper was found beside the two dead bodies.

You bleat in remembrance of the dead, wondering what will happen to your mother. Morning comes, and you don’t bother searching for your mother, you only rummage through the waste-littered ground of Dustbin estate for something to eat.

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Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/04/01/birthday-banter-i-talk-to-me-samuel-oluwatobi-olatunji/

This conversation with self begins half-day, half-night on April 1st of any year in a house built with flesh and bones. It doesn’t exist as much as you don’t exist.

Oluwatobi: Happy Birthday!

Samuel: Same to you. Should we sing a birthday song?

Oluwatobi: Uhm… except we have to form ours… the normal birthday song is jaded… it has lost its salt to too many tongues. Wait, why do you think people cut birthday cake? It is to add sweetness to the tasteless birthday song.

Samuel: Are you going poetic on your birthday again?

Oluwatobi: Once a poet, always a poet.

Samuel: That sounds clichéd like the birthday song you don’t want to sing

Oluwatobi: I never said I don’t want to sing a birthday song. I just want creative innovation, not ancient nursery rhymes.

Samuel: Okay, forget birthday songs. Tell me, what do you think on our birthday?

Oluwatobi: I’m not thinking, I’m wishing.

Samuel: Oh, interesting. So what do you wish?

Oluwatobi: I wish I can look into the eyes of everyone telling us happy birthday, and scream “April Fool” at them

Samuel: What kind of a wish is that? Certainly, not a good one

Oluwatobi: Not a good one? What makes something good or bad?

Samuel: I don’t know. Ask Google or God?

Oluwatobi: Really? Now let’s talk about God

Samuel: God? Isn’t he too big to occupy the space in your mouth?

Oluwatobi: Don’t worry, my mouth is elastic… it can swallow heaven and earth, and there will be space for other planets and hell.

Samuel: Oh,the blasphemous poet! Crucify him! Crucify him!

Oluwatobi: Jewish Samuel. Hey Hitler, I got a Jew here.

Samuel: That’s not fair. Hitler was a beast against Jewish humanity.

Oluwatobi: True. Aren’t we just joking? Remember, we were born on a Fools’ Day.

Samuel: Wow. Does that mean we are fools?

Oluwatobi: We may be. Who knows? It’s fun to be a fool.

Samuel: I refuse to be a fool.

Oluwatobi: Interesting. But does foolishness refuse you? I don’t think so. To fool is human, to wise is divine.

Samuel: Uhm… talking about divinity. You said we should talk about God, remember?

Oluwatobi: Oh, yes. God. Remember what Elizabeth realises in Bessie Head’s A Question of Power?

Samuel: That God is the people, and Elizabeth is his prophet?

Oluwatobi: Yup.

Samuel: Don’t tell me you believe that?

Oluwatobi: I believe what I want to believe. Anyway, forget that. I think God is Marxist.

Samuel: God? Marxist? Why?

Oluwatobi: You remember the story of Lazarus (the beggar) and the Rich Man. Lazarus is a proletarian while the rich man is an aristocrat. And remember Jesus said that the possibility of a rich man entering heaven is as high as the possibility of a camel going through the eye of the needle?

Samuel: Are you insinuating that heaven is the paradise of the poor?

Oluwatobi: Who knows? Well, forget that. Another thing I will like to tell you about is that it seems God enjoys the sight of disunity.

Samuel: Blasphemy!

Oluwatobi: Nope. I think I’m Christian. And only a fool will insult a God greater than him. I’m a fool, I know, but a fabulous fool, or more appropriately, a smart fool.

Samuel: So what fact or proof do you have for your claim?

Oluwatobi: Well, why do you think sin can infect something God considers as good if He doesn’t allow it? Why does God allow Lucifer to do what he is doing to the people of the earth? Are they game partners? Remember the Tower of Babel? Why did God create confusion among people whose sole aim appears to be that they want to get closer to God and really know Him? Why should God allow you to come to this world, a place He has created for you, and warn you not to love the world? Are you to hate your habitation?

Samuel: Hey, young man, enough of these blasphemies! God is simply complicated and mysterious. We are too human to understand Him

Oluwatobi: Uhm… smart fool, I like that. We are too human to understand God. Anyway, do I even understand me?

Samuel: Are you a writer or a philosopher?

Oluwatobi: I am who I am. Or Ayam woo ayam!

Samuel: That is neither here or there. You haven’t answered my question.

Oluwatobi: If I am made in God’s likeness, I’m definitely as complicated and mysterious as God. So don’t bother to understand me.

Samuel: You need prayers!

Oluwatobi: Really? Okay. Father, my eyes are closed, pray for me.

Samuel: Who is your father?

Oluwatobi: He knows himself.

Samuel: Can you be straightforward for once?

Oluwatobi: Have I been bent-backward?

Samuel: May God have mercy on you!

Oluwatobi: On me? Or on us? Are you no longer me? Oh, you can’t wait for death to separate us?

Samuel: Now talking about death. On what day do you think you will die?

Oluwatobi: Oh, Wednesday.

Samuel: Why Wednesday?

Oluwatobi: Well, I was born on a Saturday, a three syllabic word. And I can only die on a day with three syllabic word. So Wednesday sounds right…

Samuel: Wow. You are not serious.

Oluwatobi: And since no other word has more number of syllables in the days of the week, it simply means I will live long. The longer the syllable, the longer the life.

Samuel: You are really not serious. Anyway, did you see heaven when you fainted a few Wednesdays ago?

Oluwatobi: I think so

Samuel: Really?

Oluwatobi: Don’t you believe me anymore?

Samuel: I think I do. So what does heaven look like?

Oluwatobi: Well, the heaven I saw was the Heaven of Blur!

Samuel: Wow. You must be out of your mind.

Oluwatobi: Are you insulting your otherness on our birthday?

Samuel: So it is still our birthday?

Oluwatobi: Nope, it is still our bye-day.

Samuel: You are really not serious. Anyway, happy birthday once again.

Oluwatobi: Same to you. We wish ourselves what we wish ourselves

Samuel: Uhm… May God have mercy on us!

Oluwatobi: Amen.

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Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/03/30/mother-vs-wive-blessing-ajagbe/

When Kunle told her that his mother was coming to spend the weekend with them, she knew she was in for it again. She wasn’t ready for their usual hassle especially not this weekend that she has a lot of readings to do. On Monday, she would be presenting a seminar at her place of work, therefore she needed all the quietness she could get. Nneka had come to the conclusion that her mother-in-law hated her. Since she got married to Kunle, she and his mother have never once gotten on well. They would always end up throwing words at each other. It has never ended up in any physical combat, but the use of words wasn’t something that could be avoided. Nneka had on different occasions tried to make peace, but Mama would always look for a way to make war.

Why? She couldn’t understand. Was it because she was Igbo? So, what if she was Igbo? That didn’t make her any less human neither did it make her culture inferior to theirs. Nneka had also thought that may be the woman was jealous. Jealous that her son was going to spend the rest of his life with another woman. Jealous that her son now had to place more priority on his wife and not her anymore. Nneka had a 100 different reasons she created in her head as to why her mother-in-law was always disgusted at her existence.

The Weekend wasn’t something she was looking up to. In fact, she wished she could slow down the hand of time, but she couldn’t either. The week was running fast and the weekend was approaching with rapid speed. Mama was to come on Friday and go back on Monday. Nneka why the old woman had to come and spend the weekend with them when they were all living in the same Ibadan city. Her own mother who is in Ilorin doesn’t even come to visit that often. Nneka had tried to tell Kunle about his mother coming to visit them all the time, but he said, “she is my mother and she can come as many times as she wants to”.

This time, the argument started because Nneka cooked Jollof rice for Mama. The poor lady who was tired after coming back from a hectic job managed to cook a delicious meal of Jollof rich with one lap of chicken and one cat fish for Mama. The older woman looked at the food with spite and said that she wanted Pounded Yam and Vegetable soup not Jollof rice. By the time the argument started Kunle wasn’t back from work yet. He always did miss their arguments. Whenever he was around, the both of them would pretend to be best of friends, but when he was away, they did not hide their cat and rat like behaviour.

“I want Pounded Yam and Vegetable soup,” Mama repeated. “And not some leftover food”.

Nneka felt really insulted. Leftover food! The food that she had taken her precious time to prepare. “Mama, this is not left over food”, she said calmly. “You should have told me you wanted Pounded Yam and Vegetable soup before I started preparing this. Besides, this is my house and you should at least manage to eat whatever I offer you”.

That was when Mama called her and Igbo witch. If she didn’t have the intention of killing her, why did she want her to manage to eat the Jollof rice even when she wanted Pounded Yam and Vegetable soup? As if calling the poor lady Igbo Witch wasn’t enough, Mama started shouting and begging the neighbours to come and rescue her from a killer. Thankfully, Kunle came home before things could get out of hands. Mama wasted no time in narrating everything to her son and all he could do was shake his head.

He said, “Mama, do you think I’m stupid?” The older woman looked at her son, puzzled. Where was he going with this?

“I know the both of you pretend to like each other whenever I’m around. It just so happened that today things got out of hand. What is wrong with the both of you?”

Even Nneka became confused. She had thought that he was taking her side as a good husband, but when he said, ‘both of you’, it was clear that he was on neither sides.

“Why can’t you two look past your differences whatever it may be? You are my mother and you are my wife and I love the both of you. One may be more than the other, but that shouldn’t be a reason for the both of you to hate each other. If you don’t want me to join in this hate battle, I want you two to settle your scores right now, right here”.

The two women shot a quick glance at each other and looked away. No one was willing to apologise first. Kunle looked at his wife and mother and wondered what he had done to deserve such stubborn women. He was already giving up hope when Mama voiced, “I’m sorry.” Kunle was shocked that his mother was the one apologising first. He had thought it would be Nneka. Nneka herself was surprised and whatever despise she had towards the older woman varnished at that moment. She smiled and went to hug her mother-in-law saying, “I’m sorry too.”

Source : PenAStory www.penastory.com

It's a flash Fiction

http://penastory.com/2016/03/29/and-he-collapsed/

We stood in the middle of the room, still, the only part of our body moving being our hearts. Two lovers, locked in an abominable embrace. There was no need for words, the music of the beating of our hearts, the fearful dance of our eyes spoke of our fright. The second blow came crashing on the door rattling the teacups and saucers on the table which only moments ago, we had been sharing my father’s precious imported Italian coffee.

It was as if the whole house was suddenly alive with activities and movement. “They are in there, help me break down this door,” the voices came from the other side of the room. They were going to kill him if I didn’t do something, I had to. Slowly, I disengaged myself from him and went quickly to the window.

“What are you doing?” his voice was a fearful whisper as I flung open the window and stared into the darkness below. We were too high above for me to suggest that he take a leap.

“Do you trust me?” I asked earnestly, looking into his eyes to see if there was any sign of hesitation. He nodded, his face furrowed in confusion and fear.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I do,” his voice held a bit of more conviction this time around and with that I began my metamorphosis. The pain took over and I crashed to the ground as my wings fought to be set free. I cried out in pain as the wings sprouted from my skin and tore through my clothes before raising my bowed head to him. I stood slowly from the ground, half human, half bird.

“Take my hand and I will take us to safety,” I said with an outstretched hand and he collapsed.

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Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/03/28/france-fall-damilare-hoseni/

The fall!

The cessation of life on the species of the bastion

A heinous outrage on terra’s bowel

The very atomic betray of harmony, a breach in civic peace

They are the ambassadors of untimely transposition

Who on a bright dawn ignite damnation

Where the relief from trouble looms- a concert hall

Their unconscious nudity could but muster an act of war

Head sapped in devious lief with unforgiving muslin Kalashnikovs!

A barter for the Book

A replace for salvation, an idea to fit-in

Man of peace? Religious crook

Fluids of red, pounds of leather

The odious violation of existential serenity

A plague of terror at each gather

An exert of carnage at each activity

Like the gods – Posiedon and Zeus,

The city fell: Bataclan and Paris

A massacre concealed by greed and egoity

An assault on peace for all humanity

Stronger and hopeful we will rise

We will walk holding a candlelight

On the shores of survival in our heart

Comfort for the grieved; hope for the lost

The world is

Ours to plough not plunder

To remit as we forge a stronger bond

Standing tall with hands together

And a heart synchronized by lenient fond

Heal the world…#prayforparis

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Source:PenAstory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/03/28/now-that-you-are-here-episode-four-a-tale-of-deception-betrayal-and-murder/

Excerpt From Episode 3:

She held him to her and found herself crying silently. Kissing her tears away softly, he whispered, “I am here now Damilola, we are going to be fine! I love you.” In a shaky voice, she whispered “I love you too.” Only if she knew that was only the beginning of it all, maybe she might have had a rethink and not been too quick to think of a bright future ahead.

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

It was now three weeks since Gbade’s arrival in Nigeria. Of the three weeks, they had been at loggerheads for about two over Mirabel. She couldn’t understand how he could claim not to love the other woman yet picked her calls. Damilola found herself resenting the other woman without knowing her and wishing she could tell Anu about what she was going through but she knew that she had to work things through. She couldn’t quit, knowing Anu, quitting would be the first thing her friend would scream at her.

Damilola was glad of her decision to endure the pain as in the third week, a change came over Gbade and he began to ignore Mirabel’s calls. All he did was talk about their engagement and how they would have a lavish wedding just so she would know that she was his first choice. Damilola felt happy once again, it was just like the old times and she silently congratulated herself for having withstood the storm of his cheating.

She was preparing breakfast on a Wednesday morning when she suddenly felt dizzy and had to quickly hold onto the open refrigerator door to steady herself. Her vision clouded for some few seconds and the moment passed just as quickly as it had come. Damilola paid no attention to it and dismissed it as one of those warning signs of an impending illness. She made a mental note to use an anti-malaria drug and continued with what she was doing. She dished out the steaming porridge and vegetables and headed for the dining table where a patient Gbade was seating. She was about to drop the food when the dizziness swept over her again and the tray of food dropped from her hand and landed on the table with a rattle. Gbade was out of his seat in a flash as he saw her wince in pain, catching her as she grabbed at a chair for balance.

“Are you alright? What is wrong Dammy?”His anxious face was pressed close to hers.

“I am fine, my vision just clouded for a few seconds that’s all,” she replied, disengaging herself from his hold and sitting on a chair.

“Do you realize a lot of people die just for not being more concerned about their health? Even if you feel fine again, you should have a routine checkup.” He said with the concerned expression still on his face. Damilola offered a weak smile at the worried expression on his face.

“I am fine really,”

“We are going to the clinic after you eat. Please don’t argue.” His voice was firm and Damilola knew there was no use arguing so she nodded her head in acquiescence.

***

Damilola was silent throughout the drive to the hospital. She was unconsciously wringing her hands together as her heartbeat in the way she usually did when she was nervous or worried about something. She had an inclining of what could possibly be wrong but for the life of her she was hoping she was wrong. She hoped fervently she was wrong and they were making a big deal out of nothing. Her mind went back to the month before Gbade’s arrival. That was when she ran into John was it not? John was her last ex before Gbade. They broke up on friendly terms and although they didn’t bother to keep in touch, there was nothing but goodwill between the both of them. John had been excited to see her again, it was close to a year since they last had any form of contact and he had been insistent on her having a drink with him.

In his usual affable manner, John soon had her laughing as they talked about random things and made jokes about their seven months romance. He made a joke about how she had left him because he was too busy only for her to get into a long distance relationship.

“Isn’t that ironic,” he quizzed with a quirky laugh.

“It isn’t. In your case, we are both in Lagos but in his case I know he is not in Nigeria at the moment, besides he is coming back to Nigeria just to see me next month you know. We talk daily and he has been down to Nigeria about twice since we started dating.”

“As long as he makes you happy, I am happy for you. Trisha has always said she wanted to meet you you know?” Trisha was the name of the white girl he was dating now.

“Meet me, why would she want to do that?”

“I was pretty heartbroken when you left me,” he said with a sincere look in his eyes.

“Didn’t seem like it at the time,” she replied dryly, “if I remember, you didn’t ask that we give it one more shot. You didn’t make any promises about easing up your schedules. How could I have continued to be with a man that was too busy for me?”

“You weren’t patient, it’s all water under the bridge now. Cheers to the new life and to our new found happiness.” He raised his glass in a toast and she clinked her glass against his. “You should meet Trisha, she is coming over later today, please?”

She had to admit, she was curious to see his new girl and without thinking about it any further, she agreed to meet up with him at his place for dinner with Trisha.

Damilola arrived a little earlier than agreed and was surprised to see John doing the cooking.

“White women don’t cook?” she teased as she took a seat and looked around the familiar room. For a moment she felt a twinge of nostalgia.

“Trishia is a bit of a feminist,”

“I see, yet you made me do all the cooking if we were not eating out,” she said with a laugh.

“You are an African woman, common. African women can’t be feminist. Come with me, you can keep me company in the kitchen till Tricia shows up.” Maybe that was when she should have stopped things from getting any further after all when the handshake begins to pass the elbow, it is becoming something else.

Perhaps it had something to do with not being with a man for so long or simply the nostalgic feelings of being with John again but as she drank glass after glass of wine and helped with the cooking, she got more relaxed and was amazed to find out that there was no sign of Trisha when they had waited for about two hours.

During the wait, she had kept on drinking and sharing jokes with John who was only too happy to supply her with drinks and after deciding on eating their cold dinner of rice and fish, she made up her mind to leave. Somehow she never did but instead found herself the next morning sleeping next to John, his right hand draped over her naked body.

Damilola didn’t need to be told of what must have happened and she cursed herself silently for having drank too much as she picked up her scattered clothing from the floor and hurried out of the house making sure not to wake up John. John had been very apologetic about the whole situation when he called her later in the day and admitted that he still had feelings for her and perhaps it was best they avoided being in close contacts alone?

Now sitting next to Gbade, Damilola feared she was about to pay the price for that one day of indiscretion with John.

***

Gbade’s face was a mask of rage and hurt as he stared furiously at Damilola. The veins were standing out prominently on his temple as he stared at her like someone.

“Damilola, how could you? Why?” Gbade felt like his whole world when the doctor had first said Damilola was a month and some few weeks pregnant. At first he had been sure he heard wrong but one look at Damilola’s ashen face was enough to confirm his fears. How could she be pregnant for another man?

Damilola said nothing as the tears rolled down her cheeks uninhibited.

“I cheated on you yes. Dammit, I didn’t get her pregnant. It was just bloody sex because at the back of my mind it’s always been you, you, you you!” his voice was raised in anger as he slammed his fist against the steering wheel.

“I didn’t mean it, it was a mistake,” her voice was a barely audible whisper.

“How could you Damilola. I totally understand if you couldn’t stay off sex but get pregnant? Does he do it better than me? Is he richer? Is he more handsome? Tell me Dammy.” The look of betrayal and hurt on his face made the tears flow even faster from Damilola’s eyes.

“Gbade I am sorry. It was a mistake, it wasn’t mean to happen, I was drunk.”

“Drunk, you were drinking with another man? Bloody hell. You see why I have always told you I don’t like you drinking,” he bellowed. He fixed her with a long look and said in a much calmer tone, “look where that has gotten us. How would you feel if Mirabel showed up pregnant? Tell me.”

Dammy shuddered at the thought and wished she could wipe the frustration out of his face. His pain must be much more worse than how she had felt when she found out about Mirabel. She wished she could comfort him but she didn’t know how.

“I will fix this. I will abort the baby.” Pushing aside her hair from eyes, she looked at him with red-rimmed eyes and said quietly “I can fix this Gbade, please we can get through it.”

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Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/03/26/my-first-night-with-a-unilag-babe-part-2-kunbi-black/

Excerpt From Part 1

“Yeah…sure…I am” I managed to quake out, my brain frantically trying to remember one of my roomies, Emma’s pickup lines. Should I try the “You look familiar,” line or did it sound better if I asked, “have I seen you before?” I didn’t process it well and found myself blurting out both. Oh crap! No, .not that one you dummy, a part of my brain that was still functioning screamed at me. How could I have used the lamest of them all? I mean this particular one is too cliché. But then like an Angel she smiled sensing my nervousness and said

“My name is B and you? It’s not that hard,” we laughed and that was the beginning of a relationship that brought about my first night with a Unilag babe at home alone exactly a month after.

To read Part 1: VISIT profile or www.penastory.com

It’s been three weeks and six days now that my dearest P.M and I started our friendship or should I say relationship. Tomorrow makes it a month and I am still damn confused as to what we really are. Truth be told, I don’t know where we stand and can’t begin to explain what we share. We practically do everything together: eating, long walks, constant talks, and everything else you can think of that makes two people close. At this point, I must say I agree with psychologists when they say being with someone constantly, twenty-four hours in a day triggers a sense of deep intimacy and longing.

I happen to be very selective which easily explains why I haven’t been in a relationship before. Whenever I meet a girl, I begin to check her against my list of must haves for me to take her seriously. The closer we get, the easier it is to tick the items on my list of requirements to consider a girl for the role of Mrs. Black. There was this one time a girl came close to wearing the crown but she was just one mark off the cutoff mark, she scored a woeful 9/10. I had to discard this particular babe because she failed to meet one of the most important requirements which is really of great concern to me and as a rule cannot be bent. It has to do with the ability of being able to make up your own mind. I mean what’s so hard in making your own decisions sometimes and not just accepting every and anything I say or ask you to do? Don’t get me wrong, I am not saying a girl shouldn’t be submissive but not to a fault nah! This particular babe was super fine with all my decisions to a fault.

“Babe, where should we go to this weekend?” Her response? “Anywhere you want us to go!” Like really? Alright then, “what should we eat?” and she goes “anything you eat or want us to eat.” So if I say we should eat shit or something you are allergic to, you would eat abi and say it’s for love? Mtschew! That’s a very crappy love. I love my girls independent and smart with a sense of loyalty. She should question why I suggest or insist on some certain things but then again some babes overdo it. *Deep Long Suffering Sigh* you can’t just have it perfect, can you? So I thought till I met my P.M. She was different and as a matter of fact, she was too good to be true. Before I met her, I was gradually drifting away from God and no longer a regular visitor at His gatherings but then she came and changed my entire belief and made me see reasons why I had to continuously serve God in spirit and truth regardless of my shortcomings. Yes ke! This was the one I was probably gonna divorce my career for.

Anyways back to the matter at hand, this particular day, we were walking from the school’s main library to her hostel, Amina towards the main gate when she asked to come visit me. I was shocked, confused and in a state of dismay all at once. I couldn’t believe my super-duper church girl was asking to come over to my place at Bariga. She really wanted to visit the next day? For several minutes, I was too dumbfounded and we walked on in silence as my brain raced back and forth trying to think up why and when she had started harbouring the thought. Oh God! Oh sweet Lord Jesus, was she pretending all this while not to be the average Unilag babe? Or was this some sort of test to see if I would fall? Yes! That had to be it. That was it! She was putting me through a test to see if I was the average Unilag boy who is only about getting between her legs but then I was super ready for the challenge. The Yoruba angel in me was so ready to prove to her my love for her was far more than the physical and I was in no hurry to eat the golden pudding I was sure going to eat for the rest of my life once she says the magical ‘I do.’

“Sure! What time tomorrow do you want to come?” I watched as her face lit up with mixed reactions. She wasn’t expecting me to agree? I was disappointed that she didn’t trust me enough for her to be considering putting me through this silly test. But then as I sat at the window corner of the bus back home, I asked myself, come tomorrow, was I going to fail or pass the test?

TO BE CONTINUED…

Source : PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/03/25/poetry-play-23/

Samuel Oluwatobi Olatunji and Elprincipe

E:

In the ocean of words

My voice drowns

My thought stumbles over its very dissolution

S:

I’m lost in a trance

A prophet of poetry

Preaching pulchritude painted in pains

E:

A shuddering whirling

Crescendo of noise

Yet a perplexing mystery of silence

S:

Heaven and earth beat in my ear

I’m the centre of deep symphonies

Can you see the orchestra in my orbs?

E:

Of the world’s blue deep, I seek

Fresh water sailing seasick

My fears more gripping than tsunami

S:

Broken skies, parted seas

I see it all… I’m the eye of God

But sometimes nightmares eat into my vision

And I get the fever of fear

E:

To shield myself, my muse

I turned to a resident of the dark inner caves

Where the sun never shines nor rain falls

Yet she lights and wets me up

S:

I’ve known dark ages in dark cages

I have touched the terrifying texture of darkness

E:

I’m lit up despite the darkness

The volcanic activity of my muse

Quakes my fears to its core

Like the thin air of the Spring, it vanishes

The time is nigh and I feel high

I’m left with my broken wings – sigh

But my muse will help me fly

NB: Poetry Play, a product of Artilogue in partnership with PenAStory, is a game in form of poetic dialogue for every poet on BBM. It is a game of two poets: one drops a line or more, and the other replies, flowing along until one of them gives up, or the poem gets too long. Every poem formed from this game will be published here (penastory.com) every Friday and Saturday. So poets, are you ready to play? If yes, contact Samuel via BBM: 7f5210ec

Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/03/24/burn-burn-burn/

Burn burn, burn!!!

Burn me not with the scorch of thy touch

For already the burn me with their scorn

Wilt thou watch as they set me ablaze and from ayonder watch?

Pray of thee, pray not for my burning soul

Cry not when the fire consume me like a merciless ghoul

Stand back except thou art ready to burn

Clap with glee as I burn like to mind comes a precious memory once foregone

All I ask of thee is to grant me but one last wish

One last wish as I go back to the dust and ash

Tell Philomena I burn for her

For the love she promised on the other side of forever

I burn for her even as I sojourn with none my companion but this flame

Hoping that she comes to me someday to become man and dame

Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/03/22/lamentations-about-my-obnoxious-neighbor-moses-okesola/

’’Yisa, come and open this gate,’’ I honked at my gateman. After being on the island all day, I was finally glad to be back home on the mainland. After the usual six hours traffic and the stress I faced at work, I wanted nothing more than to take a cold shower and jump straight into my soft comfy bed. My job like most people on the mainland took me from home as early as 4:00am and on a good day, I got home around 10:00pm. After reprimanding the gateman for not opening the gate quickly enough, I parked my car and turned towards my flat when I heard my neighbor’s loud massive generator. I was immediately devastated ’”Oh God I moaned, Mr. Chukwudi don come again o,’’ I said aloud to myself.

No one knew exactly what Mr. Chukwudi did for a living exactly but we all knew he was a very wealthy man. He had three cars of which one was a jeep and he was always throwing parties. He brought all kinds of women into the house. Different varieties, if you ask me. From tall and short women, to skinny and curvy ones. His apartment was also tastefully furnished with most of the latest electronic gadgets and furnishings from what I could see that time I and some of the other neighbors had attended one of his parties. That had been when he first moved in and according to him, it was his way of getting better acquainted. I got to know things the hard way as I soon realized that his party was more an orgy than a social gathering.

The strange thing was that he was always home and as if that wasn’t bad enough, his generator was always on. I mean 24/7 on. I mean, who puts on their generator 24/7 including the times there is power supply? Well, I can tell you one person and he is none other than Mr. Chukwudi. My other two neighbors and I have complained to him multiple number of times about his very loud generator but he has never done anything about it. He is most people’s definition of a bad neighbor and he also never partakes in any of our general meetings. He throws parties on weekends and invites the whole neighborhood. Whenever we wake up the following morning to partake in the mandatory environmental cleaning exercise, we always found empty alcohol bottles and condom wrappers all around the compound. The funny thing was that he never partook in the cleaning exercises. After raising our voices at each other, he would sometimes pay a cleaning lady to clean the compound.

On several occasions, we reported him to the landlord who happens to be based abroad but dspite the promises to do something about it, nothing has really done anything about it. I sometimes tell him (Mr. Chukwudi) that he was lucky to get away with all what he does, because he was living among bachelors and not married couples with children because his parties were always too loud and obnoxious, I have sometimes had to stay over at a friend’s on weekends when I am supposed to rest in my own apartment where I pay rent. Sometimes, it was as if we had a night club in our compound and in a way, I suppose we have one.

Surprisingly, Mr. Chukwudi was the last person to move into our compound. My neighbors and I have tried almost everything to get him to change into a better neighbor but it seemed all our efforts so far kept hitting a brick wall. I remember when it was just I and my two other neighbors. It was heaven then, because everywhere was serene and calm. There was this aura of peace and tranquility everywhere and that was one of the main reasons I moved into that neighborhood but now all that joyful memories remains buried in the past as if they never existed.

I have considered moving as that’s what most friends and family have advised me to do, but I still wonder why I should be the one to move. After all, he met me there. Besides, good houses like mine are really expensive and scarce. My neighbors and I are so desperate now that we may even resort to hiring kidnappers to take care of business. It’s that serious. God knows people have been kidnapped for lesser reasons.

Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/03/22/twenty-episode-ten/

Excerpt From Episode 9:

“Someone has been texting Chioma and it was Gift. What games are you playing David? What the freaking hell is going on. This wasn’t what I signed up for.”

“Shit. I got to go. They are back, I will explain later. But I need you to transfer me some money. I will be needing new clothes. I will explain everything later. I love you.” The line went dead before Maryam could say anything and she dropped the phone more confused than ever. David didn’t know about who was texting her? For the first time, she wondered what she had gotten herself into as she stared at her own reflection in the mirror and felt the beginning of a headache again…

Read Episode 9, visit profile or www.penastory.com

It was 5:30 pm, everything needed for the get-together party Mrs. Ugochukwu was throwing was in place. The guests were already arriving the apartment with their smiles and congratulations. Chioma stood at the front door like one assigned the duty of a gate keeper. She was dressed in a black gown with little traces of purple flower. The short dress had been designed by her mother and as she greeted each guest with a plastic smile, she kept hoping Maryam would appear. In Edmund Crescent, everyone knew each other so it was no surprise that their house was flooded with people by a little after 7 pm when the party itself had been slated for 7.30pm. Chioma tried to hide her discomfort at Gift’s presence. Although Gift had not been formally invited, it would have been rude to turn her away, she was after all a member of her mother’s staff.

At 8:00pm, there was still no sign of Maryam so Chioma decided to give up her watchdog duty and mix up with some of the guests. They were all there to celebrate with her mother for sparing David’s life after all. As she moved from one group to the other, she contemplated the idea of going to where Gift was standing, laughing with a group of models from the agency. There were so many questions she wanted to ask but she knew this wasn’t the right place or time. Besides, she was sure Maryam wouldn’t approve. As the night wore on, she retired to her bedroom, leaving the door ajar just a bit so that the soft music from the living room found its way into her room. She couldn’t bear the silence. As she began to remove her earrings, thoughts of the past days came flooding back to her and she sat down on the bed as if lost in a trance. Suddenly he was there. Matthew. Right in front of her in the flesh. She looked at him in awe as he stretched forth his hands and his gentle voice asked for a dance.

“Can I have this dance my lady?” Was she running mad? Could it be?

“Matthew,” she whispered, standing unconsciously from the bed and stretching out her hand. She felt his skin against hers. “I thought you were dead, Matthew what happened?”

“Hush, don’t speak,” he said as he circled his arms around her and began to move their body gently to the soft tune of the music. Chioma closed her eyes and sank into him. He was alive, that was all that mattered.

‘What are you doing?’ Maryam’s voice penetrated through the fog in Chioma’s mind. She had been standing by the door of Chioma’s room for several minutes watching her friend dancing alone with her eyes closed. Chioma’s eyes flew open and she saw she was holding on to thin air.

“He was here, Matthew. I saw him.” Her voice was agitated as she ran towards Maryam, looking frantically around the room.

“Matthew is dead. Don’t lose it friend, please don’t! You must have been hallucinating.” Maryam hugged her and stroked her hair as she allowed Chioma sob on her shoulder.

“I miss him. Am I going insane? I am tired Maryam, tired I tell you. Tired of everything. Gosh! I miss the days when life was without worries and when…”

‘You have to be strong,” Maryam cut in gently, “you can get over this, we can overcome all of this. Trust me, that is all I ask. Gift is here.”

“I know, I wasn’t sure what to do. I am sorry about the way I accused you about sleeping with David. It was uncalled for. I guess you would have told me in your own time.”

“I didn’t mean for any of it to happen but right now we have more pressing issues and I need you totally on my side.” The two girls hugged again even as they began to make plans of what to do concerning Gift.

***

Gift had left the group she had been drinking with and was now standing alone by the drink table, a frown on her face. From her position, she observed everybody in the room and took a sip of her drink from time to time not to appear out of place but her glance couldn’t stop going to the gold wristwatch on her left wrist. Anybody watching her would conclude she was either waiting for when the party would end or if she was waiting for someone. Mrs. Ugochukwu soon caught sight of Gift and bothered that her secretary was feeling out of place walked up to her with a smile on her face,

“Gift dead, hope you are having fun? Why are you standing here alone? I suck at throwing parties I know. Everything was hurried.” Mrs. Ugochukwu was pleased to see that Gift was wearing one of the designs from the agency. Gift looked pretty in anything she wore and Mrs. Ugochukwu had a soft spot for the younger woman.
“Oh no Ma! I’m waiting for someone that’s all. Great party,” she said with a saccharine sweet smile. Chioma and Maryam watched the scene from their corner. Mrs. Ugochukwu said something to Gift and then walked away.

“Now, let’s go meet her,” Maryam said. They had hardly taken two steps when the loud shrill of the doorbell sounded above the din of noise. Mrs. Ugochukwu with a tilt of her head indicated to Chioma to get the door and Chioma found herself walking away from her target. She stalked to the door and yanked it open angrily. Her scream was audible enough as a splitting image of Gift stood hand poised to press the bell again. Everyone’s eyes turned towards Chioma as guests hurried to the door to see what the commotion was about.

“What? Who’s there ? Chi is everything alright” Mrs. Beebs, one of the neighbors who everybody said had the faintest heart ever known to mankind asked, her face ashen with fright even though she had not seen what made Chioma scream.

“Gift?” Mrs, Ugochukwu asked in a confused tone as she stared at the stranger standing a bit confused.

“I am here ma,” Gift’s voice came from the other end of the room, “that is my twin sister, Grace.”

Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/03/21/now-that-you-are-here-episode-three-a-tale-of-deception-betrayal-and-murder/

Excerpt From Episode 2:

Just then, a phone shrilled as if angrily shattering the intimacy of the moment. She opened her eyes with a frown, it was Gbade’s phone. Her eyes went to the wall clock, who could be calling him at 11:34pm? He gave her a quick kiss on the lips before rolling away to the dresser to pick up the phone. Mumbling incoherently, she stood up and leaned over his shoulders to nibble on his ear. She paused as she caught a glimpse of the caller id just as he pressed the green button. Mirabel!

To read Episode 2: visit profile or www.penastory.com

“Like seriously?” The words rolled out in clipped tones. He turned and stared at her sheepishly, trying not to meet her icy stare. Damilola folded her arms under her naked breasts, staring daggers at him. The effrontery of Gbade! Fuming silently she stood up from the bed and snatched her bra which had been discarded in the heat of passion from the floor. She walked out of the room, the anger seeming to radiate around her. She slammed the door behind her for emphasis.

He was cheating and doing it to her face. That was adding salt to the injury and she wasn’t going to take that. She was a beautiful woman that guys found attractive, she could easily have any man she wanted yet here she was feeling blue over a guy putting her in a love triangle. She headed straight to the liquor cabinet, poured herself a glass of vodka and downed it in one gulp; squeezing her eyes shut. She poured another glass and with the bottle in hand, she headed for the living room.

Gbade didn’t like her drinking habits and the thought brought a wry smile to her face. Screw him! I am done pleasing the self-centered son of a no good bitch, she thought bitterly as she took a direct swig from the bottle, not bothering with the glass again. To imagine, I have turned down good prospects these last two years for this guttersnipe, she fumed silently. Where did I go wrong? She had always had a bad history with men but Gbade was different. She had thought she had it right with him.

She stood up from the couch and paced back and forth. As she walked aimlessly around the living room, she alternated between sipping from the glass cup and drinking directly from the bottle. “Baby I am sorry about the interruption, can we go back to bed?” He came into the room, his expression apologetic. She hissed to dissipate the angry retort that was forming on her lips. She had to be careful; her tongue was venom. She had to watch what she said in the heat of anger. Dripping with a sweetness, she answered sarcastically “Oh really, is the other woman done with you now? Don’t you be in a rush little sweetheart, tell her she can have more of your time. Damilola isn’t in a rush to have you back.”

A frown formed on his handsome features, “Have you been drinking again Dammy, you know I don’t like it when you do. Please go and brush your teeth and let’s get back to bed.”

“Screw you!” She replied with a huff and threw the content of her glass in the direction of his face. She watched the surprise register on his face and before breezing past him without a backward glance. She entered the bedroom, her body shaking with anger and locked the door behind her. He can sleep on the couch for the night for all I care, she said out aloud and plopped into the bed which only moments before had been witness to their passionate affair.

***

The situation didn’t get any better over the next few days. Mirabel’s calls became more frequent and he wouldn’t stop talking to her despite all of Damilola’s anger. At first she was angry and then she began to plead with him to respect her presence and stop his affair with the other woman.

“What the hell do you take me for Gbade. You can’t say you want to be with me and you are still picking her calls.” Other times, she would find herself crying, “what really do you want from me? I thought you said it was just sex? At least have some decency and wait till you get back to America. ”

Gbade would calmly reassure her that there was nothing between him and Mirabel and to even prove his point, he started referring to her as his fiancée. There had been no previous talks of marriage so when he mentioned fiancée, Damilola found herself having her hopes again. Maybe their relationship still had a chance after all? Wasn’t it natural for men to cheat? She would ask herself. Maybe I haven’t been woman enough for him. As the days rolled by, she found herself making excuses in her head to cover up for his infidelity. To show how special he was to her, she went on to prepare another special dish of his while he was busy working on his laptop for a special client. She was pleased when she saw the delighted surprise on his face and as he kissed her she felt herself transported to the days of old, before there was any Mirabel in the equation of their love.

When their love story had first begun, she had been so happy. Maybe they could still get that back. She had to try. She just couldn’t give up without fighting for her man. She could hardly take a bite of her own food. She stared dreamily at him as he ate and when he was done, she cleared his plates without being told, playing the dutiful housewife. She was washing the plates in the kitchen when Gbade came behind her and wrapping his arms around her, nibbled on her ear. Giggling girlishly she said, “Stop it Gbade you can see I am working. You are going to get soap all over yourself.” He laughed, “That won’t be such a bad idea now would it?” Turning her to face him, he kissed her fully on the lips and untied her apron as he led her away from the sink. Clothes came off and trailed them to the living room, they never made it to the bedroom. Damilola found herself urging him on as he took her against the living room couch and she let herself scream out in ecstasy when he branded her with his seed before collapsing against her.

She held him to her and found herself crying silently. Kissing her tears away softly, he whispered, “I am here now Damilola, we are going to be fine! I love you.” In a shaky voice, she whispered “I love you too.” Only if she knew that was only the beginning of it all, maybe she might have had a rethink and not been too quick to think of a bright future ahead.

Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2015/12/18/imayen-2/

It wasn’t as painful as Amina had explained it to be or maybe as injurious as I had imagined it will be. Amina had painted a “knife-cutting-through-skin” picture when she narrated her ordeal the first night as a “virgin”.

“Mehn, the thing was painful o. It was like my laps were going to be torn apart. As in……”
Kofo, our roommate quickly refuted her claim: “Hmmm, no o it depends on the guy o. Torn apart ke?” Actually, I was part of those who had thought Kofo was a very bad girl due to the nasty things she frequently uttered, but for the first time agreed with her on the notion of the “first night” as Michael came into me slowly. It was like passing through fire at first.
Michael and I had been dating since year one, and I’d always loved him because he respected my view on sex. Although he had tried so many times to persuade me on different occasions and, my firm ‘No’ had always got him straight back to his senses, on this day, the way he looked at me had me suspecting something was going to happen.
Firstly, he called me very early in the morning to say the usual “I miss you,” and explained he would like me to spend the night in his house. Since I wasn’t going to be busy, I accepted delightfully. Around 1:00pm, he called me to come downstairs and my roommates started with their usual ‘Na you o,’ especially Kofo. I smiled and proceeded downstairs to meet him.
Michael was not like other guys; in fact, he was just perfect. Apart from his intelligence and handsome face, his good command of English had always got my head spinning. “Who wants to marry a man with an Igbotic accent?” I always asked myself jokingly. The way he calls me ‘IMA’ sweetly always made my ears feel they were imported. He was just so sweet.
When I got downstairs, his eyes immediately set me questioning if I had applied the right make-up as I gave him the ‘what-is-wrong-with-me’ look; examining my skirt, blouse and body simultaneously.
“Ima, my goddess,” he said softly and watched me giggle. His smile was priceless as he embraced me. And I could immediately perceive the scent of his cologne. Michael was just perfect. I adjusted my seat belt as he drove off, and looked forward to having a nice time with my Michael.
‘Food?’ He asked sweetly.
“No, I’ll cook when I get to your place.” I replied.
“Village girl oshi,” he teased jokingly.
“Ehen, leave me like that,” I replied with amusement. In a matter of minutes, we were at his Surulere apartment. The interior decoration of Michael’s room had always made me find him all the more attractive. I always looked amazingly at the way the painting of the walls had matched perfectly with the rug in his room. His craze for beauty and perfection is just so spectacular. He easily outshone other guys I had met before.

I walked to the kitchen to drop the ingredients we had bought on the way to cook the soup I had in mind. I was undressing in the room so as not to stain my outfit before beginning my cooking when I sensed Michael. He stepped in gently and shut the door carefully behind him. I could not hold back the laughter.
“Hmmm, I jus…just want t to…em… know…em how you…you are doing.” He stammered.
“Michael not again na,” I protested softly.
“Baby, I know but you know I have tried.” His voice was gentle.
“Tried?” I shouted. “Michael, but you know for God sake that I’m still a V?”
“Ehen na. That’s what I’m saying.” He moved forward slowly to embrace me and I rebuffed him with dismay. “I will be gentle. I swear.” He exclaimed.
“You swear?” My ears seemed heavy all of a sudden.
“Yes, Ima love.” And that was it. There is just a way he calls my name which aroused me all the time and he knew this. What was it about him, was it the way he called my name or just simply because he was who he was? I struggled to figure it out as I looked at him in pity and imagined his pain. The poor boy had been holding himself for the past three years and he was still here for me. I smiled and looked him straight in the face.

He understood my surrender and moved closer to me, planting a deep kiss on my lips as he unstrapped my bra. My nipples were standing firmly in salute to the wakeup call of my prince. I felt slightly embarrassed. He touched them playfully with his fingers and listened to my moans with pleasure. Then he lay me down gently on the bed as he sucked on my nipple before carefully removing my underwear. I was a river already beneath. He smiled as he listened to my heartbeat and carefully uttered while he removed his boxers, “I’ll be gentle.” By now my heart was pounding heavily as I tried to imagine how painful it was going to be. I felt like running out fast as I could because I was scared but could not overcome his suppressing hold. Maybe I had wanted it anyways. Then he slipped it through. I felt slight pains between my thighs combined with a feeling of a tear and was about to scream when he withdrew slowly immediately. Then he slipped it in again and pushed. There was a slight rush but soon I began to enjoy the ride.
Amina was right. But I think Kofo was more correct. Michael was that kind of guy she was talking about. A guy who understands and does it so gently you would only feel slight pain. I clenched my teeth and held his shoulder while he pounded and slightly listened to the lyrics of Asa’s Be My Man, which seeped into the room through the window from the stereo of a neighbour. I closed my eyes and welcomed his strikes gently. It was like…Then, Michael was pounding real hard when I suddenly felt a vibration.
“Could that be my phone?” I wondered. And then the vibration started again. Michael annoyingly picked the phone and wanted to cut the call when he stopped and exclaimed “Mama”. I jerked up immediately, collected the phone and examined it. It read “11 missed calls.” My heart pounded in hard beats. Eleven missed calls! Mama hardly calls except Ulom; our neighbour’s son was around to help since he was the only literate in our community. What could the problem be?
“Baby, just relax okay? Maybe she dialled it unknowingly.” He said and tried to continue. I pushed him off me and looked away absentmindedly trying to imagine what must have happened. Is it that she felt something strange has happened to me? I asked myself. I decided to call immediately. What could have made Mama call me eleven times?
By now, Michael was in the bathroom cleaning up while I longed for the voice of my mother behind the phone.
“Hello! Mama,” I greeted when her voice finally came on.
“Ima, ppp…pplle..please come home.” Mama’s voice was shaky as she spoke.
“What is the pro…” I wanted to ask but she cut off immediately. I became hot from within all of a sudden. A lot of questions ran through my mind as my heart started beating frantically.
I set for my village early the next morning. My head still unclear of the questions which had made it very hard for me to sleep. Michael tried his best to calm me to sleep but my worry only kept both of us awake. My mind was fixed on the eight hours journey to Oron.
“Mama still would not pick her call, at least she should have told me what happened” I said to myself annoyingly. I was so worried; I didn’t notice the bus moved quite swiftly. At 5:45pm, the atmosphere of my village greeted me with praises at first only to be engulfed by a cloud which was pregnant. The trees were looking dull as the leaves were not so green. Who knows maybe it was because of the hamarttan? I walked hastily and was tempted to even run until I could see our compound. I stopped to observe. The normalcy was beyond normal and it quickly relieved me of some thoughts. But as I moved closer, the walls of our house were in tears. Mama came out immediately after being informed by someone that I was around. Her eyes were filled with tears already. She embraced me tightly and cried softly.
“What is wrong?” I asked. She exhaled deeply.
“Imayen, your father is dead!” Immediately, I felt a tightening in my stomach. My heart pounded in heavy beats and I couldn’t hold back the tears. “How? When? What happened?” The questions dropped simultaneously.
“He fell from a tree!” Mama answered in tears. Papa had always complained of a back pain since I was twelve, and he had promised not to climb any tree only to eat back those words when I gained admission into the university. Papa had promised to give me a sound education to make me a good woman, and had even borrowed money from his friend to set up his farm.
“Imayen,” mama continued, “remember your father borrowed a huge sum of money?”
“Yes, I remember.” I answered sorrowfully.
“Well, the creditor had demanded to be paid in the traditional way.”
“How?”
“To find the money within seven days or forcefully take the debtor’s daughter.”

“When is the last day?” I asked, my breath catching in my chest.
“Today!” Mama broke down in tears and wept bitterly. I felt empty and my legs suddenly felt too weak to support me.

“So, mama why didn’t you inform me since,” I questioned angrily.

“Ulom has not been around,” she answered gently amidst tears “the boy gained admission into one the federal universities, and had left the village several weeks before the incident happened.”

I could not contain my tears as I tried to imagine mama moving from house to house trying to reach me. Then I asked, “ who is the creditor?”
“Chief Ekemini,” mama said with disdain on her ashen face. Chief Ekemini had always looked at me lustfully since I was twelve. I could recall how he had spanked me on my buttocks countless of times playfully as he uttered, “Fine girl!” Then he would smile with his disgusting coloured teeth. His right hand was always attached to his groin had made me always wonder if his manhood was falling. Who would have been surprised if it was after thirteen children? My heartbeat increased slowly, as pain and disappointment ravaged my entire being. Mama held me close to herself and said soberly, “Imayen, it’s a man’s world; we are just struggling to live in it.” Those words pierced my flesh. “But remember you are my pride,” she continued, “that’s why I named you IMAYEN. Maybe you can d something about it” she uttered pitily.

Soon, I was in Chief Ekemini’s house. The tight corner by which my loads were accommodated made me feel smaller than ever. I thought about Michael and wanted to cry. How can he tell me he can’t help with common fifty thousand naira? Even when my life depended on it? I thought he said he loved me? These thoughts continued to baffle me. Suddenly, Chief Ekemini entered. He laughed in an annoying manner and said “fine girl.”. I felt irritated. His coloured teeth revealed his desires as he moved closer. He decided to UnCloth me gently, smacking his lips together in anticipation. This only angered me and I tried not to succumb to him but remembered I could do nothing. Finally, he was done undressing me and my nipples watched him awfully. He jerked with delight and pushed me on the bed. I lay unmoved as he removed my underwear. I grieved with sorrow and wished him dead instantly. Then he removed his wrapper and balanced on me with his hairy body dripping sweat. The little room felt hot. The palm wine stench oozed from his nostril and made me hate him the more. I closed my eyes in disgust and felt a sharp pain as he slipped into me. But this pain was not like that of my first first night. It was that of my dignity as a woman. The pain of being disrespected. I wanted to scream but closed my eyes instead as moved heavily with all his might.
The tears from within increased as I thought of Michael. He turned me the other way in a bid to make me appreciate his efforts but my body remained unbroken. Soon my motionlessness made him irritated and he fumbled hard with my nipples to get that sound of satisfaction. But I remained silent.
“You be wood?” He asked. I said nothing. “And you are not even fresh!” he raised angrily. I remained silent. Aggrieved, He began to pound heavily until he could breathe no more. But still I absorbed the pain until he became frustrated and stood annoyingly to get his wrapper. He dashed out of the room in annoyance. The tears dropped in large droplets as I stood up weakly to clean myself. I picked my phone and dialled Michael’s number for the seventy-second time only to be answered by the usual “the number you are dialling is switched off.”

Tears dripped down my eyes heavily. Mama was right, it was a man’s world. She had explained to me how she and papa had struggled to have a child and when they finally did have a child, she told me of how hell had set loose because I was a girl.
“But why?” I had asked her annoyed. The reply was the same, “it’s a man’s world; we are only struggling to live in it.”
“So, where is the female’s world?” the question ravaged my soul as tears flooded my eyes continuously.

Source: PenAStory: www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/03/18/progenitor-ghost-phiz/

They scurried into the deadlock of space
But wouldn’t last the jiggles of time
Rusty chains on the broken hands
Of the fathers that suffered before them
They can’t lie low the swamp on the faxed pate
Of their god-like head
And the chopped sleuths of the agbalumo fruits
Or the bluntness of the legendary knives
Nor the calabash muffled with myrrh
They can’t mute the beats
The threads that joins our souls with theirs
The gong that slouched it’s way to defend us
They scream and wipe like onion liquids
The utterances which accompany them
Between tempered fire that spreads through
They shook in despair saying
We never repent

Source: PenAstory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/03/18/tricked-the-lesbian-party-experience-part-3/

Excerpt From Part 2

“Seems your boyfriend abandoned you, why not let daddy take care of you?” I pushed him aside and barked, “get off you disgusting piece of shit!” My voice a little too loud and some heads turned to look at us. My dancing girl companion only laughed in her half-drunk state and disentangled herself from me, sinking back into the chair she had just vacated to take another swig of her alcohol.

Read Part 2: Visit profile or www.penastory.com

“What did you say?” The music suddenly seemed too loud and my throat felt dry. I was finding it hard to think straight. How could this pretty chick also be a lesbian I thought to myself at the same time, feeling a sense of dread in her question.

“She asked if he is your boyfriend?” I looked in the direction of the new voice. A fierce looking butch girl was glowering at me with so much anger in her eyes that I took a step backward and fell on a girl’s laps. Tracy who was watching the scene giggled drunkenly from the other side of the room and waved at me like some dumb bimbo. The bull in front of me sized me up and down and I don’t know if it was the look on my face or the boner in my trouser that gave me away but she suddenly narrowed her eyes suspiciously as she bellowed, “what is your name and who invited you here?”

I looked frantically in the direction of Gbade but he seemed enthralled in the company of the girls and two other dudes he had retired to a table with. As if sensing my frantic gaze, he looked up and took in the scene. There was the soft girl with a beauty to rival an angel smiling at me in a sneering manner and the other who looked like the devil itself. The latter was staring at me as if she was ready to tear me into pieces. He didn’t need to be told something was wrong. He excused himself and hurried over, covering the distance that separated us in long strides.

“What’s going on here?” he asked with a lazy drawl, touching me on the arm affectionately in a manner that made my body cringe in disgust but I tried to keep a bland expression. The butch girl sized him up and down and must have concluded that he was man enough before she snapped her fingers in my face and said:

“Your boyfriend has been all over my girlfriend all night and I am not liking it. Just because I am the DJ doesn’t give him the license. This isn’t a straight party or one of your gay parties, so tell your boyfriend to back off.” I could tell Gbade was under the influence of alcohol because he jabbed his fingers right back on the girl’s breasts and slurred
“Shut up dyke and let a real man do the job. I could give you a good screwing so bad you wouldn’t want to eat another pussy again in your life.” He turned to me then and took my hand “Common Femi, let’s get out of here, this party is getting boring.”

As we turned to leave, the girl threw a punch that sent Gbade reeling as he tumbled headlong into a table and bottles fell to the floor with a clatter. I turned in horror to look at Gbade’s assailant but a punch greeted me and I doubled over in pain as I felt the breath knocked out of me as her fist connected with my stomach. Being an ulcer sufferer, I felt a sharp pain in my stomach and doubled over in pain, slipping on one of the bottles that Gbade upset during his fall. I fell with a plop and landed on Gbade who was just trying to pull himself up, knocking him back to the ground. It was a racketing noise of breaking bottles and shattering glasses.

Gbade cursed and managed to stagger up, “Femi to the car, I will teach this man want to be a lesson.” I don’t know if I ran from the need to sit down to cool the pain in my stomach or simply because I knew only too well of Gbade’s temper, all I know is that I didn’t need any further prompting as I limped to the car even as I heard the sound of a bottle being smashed. The music had suddenly stopped and there was a lot of commotion and I found myself terrified than in pain. What was going on inside? Should I go in to help Gbade? Could he hold his against them all if they were to know we were straight? I knew I was not going to be of much help, not with the burning pain tearing me apart and my dilemma was soon resolved when I saw Gbade running towards the car. His shirt was torn and he seemed to be bleeding. He jumped into the car and started the engine even as a bottle hit his side of the car. He rammed into the half-opened gate denting his front fender but managing to push the gate open. Another bottle came crashing in from behind as we tried to make our escape. The bottle hit the boot of the car but he didn’t wait but simply sped off into the night.

I was too scared to say anything. All I wanted was to be back in the safety of my hostel, preparing for my test. We made our escape thankfully and till date we have never spoken of the incident. I tried raising the issue once but Gbade only brushed it off.

“It’s just one of those adventures. Can we not talk about it?” Well, since he is not going to talk about it, I might as well feel free to write about it although really he wouldn’t talk about it because he felt too embarrassed to have been knocked down by a girl. Which guy wouldn’t be?

Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/03/18/poetry-play-2-2/

Samuel Oluwatobi Olatunji and Oluwatosin Kayode



S:

It’s a gathering of ghosts

That sips the kerosene of sleep from the lantern of my eyes

Riding me like a mare into the night: a nest of nightmares!

O:

Have I been awake?

Have I been sleeping??

I was shivering and sweat formed a great deal on my whole body

S:

Sweat that makes my skin silvery black

And makes me a wet sacrifice to the ghosts of the night

That heat me up with the fire of the night

O:

The great night

An incredible terrorist that torments me with every darkness there is

The night that makes the tiniest illumination greatly valued and appreciated

Will there be light at the end of my tunnel as it is sweetly said

Will the morning ever comes?

S:

I seek for drops of dawn

Like a drought soul thirsty for water

But often it’s a long walk to morn

O:

Desperation

The morning I am longing for is now only a beautiful illusion that will never come through

Or perhaps it will

But it’s taking too long

S:

Now

I’m a sleepless soul

With weary eyes that ache for rest

That ache for respite from my nightmares

O:

My nights aren’t made for rest

So I long for the morning, for morning’s calming melody

NB: Poetry Play, a product of Artilogue in partnership with PenAStory, is a game in form of poetic dialogue for every poet on BBM. It is a game of two poets: one drops a line or more, and the other replies, flowing along until one of them gives up, or the poem gets too long. Every poem formed from this game will be published here (penastory.com) every Friday and Saturday. So poets, are you ready to play? If yes, contact Samuel via BBM: 7f5210ec

Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/03/16/mask-of-the-raiders/

My grandfather was a superb story teller; he’d sit on his giant upholstery chair in his sitting room, his glazed eyes blinking sporadically like he had no control over what they did, his hands shaking as he gesticulated vigorously, while we his grandchildren, would sit on the floor at the foot of the chair, looking at him in awe as he painted pictures with his words and brought characters to life with his feeble hands. He would tell us beautiful stories of gods, spirits, animals and men who were larger than life. His voice was hoarse and we had to strain our ears to hear him, that and the way he sat in his upholstery chair gave him the look of one his many great characters.

He told us, one night, of a medicine man from Abiriba, a long time ago, when the settlement was still new and growing, long before the white men came and built the church at Afia Nkwo. The medicine man, Ikwan, was on his way back to Abiriba from business in the Ibibio country when night crept up on him.

“The night holds many secrets and in the dark are hidden a lot of things not meant for the eyes of mere men. The dark is the playground of the spirits,” my grandfather said, his voice was lower than usual and created a dramatic effect and images of fear in our heads and young minds.

“Ikwan knew this and decided it was not wise to continue his journey in the dark. He had to find a place to rest for the night. He was not far from Aro, which was at the time a very new settlement also, and so he headed for the town.

“In those day, people were very hospitable, one was always ready to let in strangers into their home and host them without thinking twice. People were very kind and far more trustworthy than they are today,” grandfather said and then paused to clear his throat. Grandfather cleared his throat always, it seemed his throat secreted more phlegm than normal.

“The first hut Ikwan saw belonged to a hunter named Okonta. Okonta happily welcomed Ikwan into his hut and immediately prepared a place for the medicine man to sleep. Ikwan thanked Okonta for his hospitality and requested for food. ‘I would like to eat something before I sleep, you see, I have been on the road since morning and have had very little to eat, I would appreciate it if you could prepare something for me to eat Ikwan requested of his host.

“No,” was the reply from Okonta “I cannot do that.” Ikwan was shocked, he had not expected an outright refusal from Okonta. “Why? Do you not have food?”

“I’m sorry my friend, but I cannot prepare food for you this night, the noise and fire might attract raiders.”

“Raiders?”

“Yes, for a while now Aro has been harassed incessantly by a group of raiders. They wear suits of raffia, their heads look skywards, their nails are pointed like spears and are very sharp, they use it to cut off the heads of their victims,” Okonta explained, his voice very low as if the raiders were outside the hut listening. “They attack at night and have looted many homes over the past few moons” Ikwan nearly did not believe Okonta’s tale but the fear gleaming in Okonta’s eyes could not be a lie, “their heads look skywards?”

“Yes,” Okonta continued in whispers, “I have seen them with my own eyes. I am a hunter, I have seen all kinds of creatures, those that crawl, fly or walk in the day and in the depths of darkness, but these raiders, they send shivers down my spine like no creature has ever done”.

“Are they spirits?” Ikwan asked. Since his childhood, he had learnt to commune with the spirits and the gods. His father was a great priest and had taught him well, the ways of the spirits.

“I do not know, but mere men do not have heads that look towards the sky”.

My grandfather’s gruff voice was even lower as he mirrored Okonta’s whisper, his glaucoma glazed eyes were opened so wide, it seemed they would pop out from his sockets and with his shaking hands he gave life to the images he created with his words. My grandfather was a one man theatre production.

“Ikwan did not push further and had to sleep hungry. In the morning, Okonta prepared a meal of porridge yam and bush meat for the medicine man. When he had eaten his fill, Ikwan continued on his way home. Ikwan arrived Abiriba in the evening and rested in his home with his family. The next morning, Ikwan went to the agbala to discuss what he had heard in Aro.

“Men whose faces looked skyward?” the men asked him after hearing his incredible story.

“And with fingers as sharp as knives”, Ikwan answered

“Abiriba people are known for their might,” my grandfather said, his voice laden with pride “in those days we fought in so many battles and we came out, more often than not, victorious. The Nkporo people used to occupy most of what is now Umueso, but we expelled them and we did the same with the Item people who used to occupy Omaughuzo Amaeke. We also fought for the Aros during their conquest of Igbo land. And when we did not fight, we were great travellers and businessmen, setting up trading posts all over Igbo land and the Calabar area and as far away as Fernando Po.” Grandfather had the habit of delving into a bit of history while telling his stories. I learnt about Nigerians who fought for the British in the Second World War while he told a story of the tortoise and his cracked shell.

He cleared his throat again and continued with his story. “Six gallant warriors were dispatched to Aro from Abiriba immediately. They arrived Okonta’s hut at night and asked him to make them food. Okonta seeing the warriors, felt safe enough to begin to roast a bush rat he had caught in his trap earlier that day. As the smoke climbed into the night sky and the aroma filled the air, the warriors got ready to pounce on anything coming out from the surrounding woods. Suddenly, out came the raiders; dressed completely in raffia, on the top of their heads were their faces and their fingers glistening in the moonlight. The Abiriba warriors attacked them immediately and rounded them up. They discovered they were mere men wearing suits made from a leguminous weed and they rested their masks on their heads to make it look like their head faced skywards and they wore gloves with very sharp edges. The warriors removed the masks and the raiders turned out to be Ibibio men who had been expelled from their land by the Aros.

“To thank us, the Aros gave Abiriba a mirror, a very special mirror given to them by the white men whom they did business with. Now, you might think there’s nothing special about the mirror, but two centuries ago very few people had seen mirrors before and it fascinated them, it was like magic. In those days, people sold their children into slavery for mirrors, especially the stubborn ones” Grandfather paused and let his eyes move through each of us as if he was checking to see which one of us he would have sold into slavery for a mirror.

“The masks of the raiders were taken back to Abiriba and till today the ekpe akoro Ukpo masquerade wears its mask on the top of its head, the mirror also, still hangs today at the Obu Umu e’chukwu, Amaogudu”.

“Really?” my cousin, Ebere asked, obviously fascinated “So, this is a true story?”

“Of course, it is a true story”, grandfather replied, a little irritated “Did you hear me mention any talking animals?”

“No,” Ebere whispered, looking away sheepishly.

“Grandpa, were you born then?” My six year old younger sister asked.

“No, I wasn’t”. Grandfather answered, chuckling “My father told me this story like his own father told him. My grandfather wasn’t even alive then.”

“Wow”

“Grandpa, people really sold their children into slavery for mirrors?” Ebere asked again

“Yes, their stubborn, disobedient children, they sold them for mirrors, walking sticks and hot drinks”

“Grandpa, that means you were a good boy then, that’s why your mummy and daddy didn’t sell you,” my younger sister said and grandfather laughed.

“Grandpa was not even born then”, I told her

“If he was born then and he was sold, we will be Black Americans now,” Ebere said

“That would be so cool,” my sister said, smiling “There’s nothing cool about selling people into slavery”, Agwu chided, he was the oldest of us all

“If we were such great warriors, why didn’t we fight the slave traders?” I asked. “They had guns and we had spears and machetes and sticks” Agwu answered.

“We had guns too,” Ebere argued

“No, we didn’t”

“We had guns, bombs, jet fighters, giant ship, we had ogbunigwe” Ebere argued animatedly. “We have all sorts of weapons and ammunitions, I saw them that time my class went on excursion to the war museum,” he was now chatting away to my sister who was looking on, very fascinated. “We have all these huge fighter jet planes and bombers, the ogbunigwe too and a very large fighter ship, we can win any war!”

Agwu and I laughed at the young boy, as he kept on talking. I looked over at grandfather; he was snoring deeply, fast asleep.

Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/03/15/the-pains-of-yesterday-akorede-asunni/

Lisa gazed out over the Caribbean Sea, feeling the faint breeze against her face – eyes shut, the white sand warm between her bare toes. The place was beautiful beyond belief, but it was still unable to ease the grief she felt as she remembered the last time she had been here. She had married James right here on this spot three years ago to the day. Dressed in a simple white shift dress, miniature white roses attempting to tame her long dark curls, Lisa had been happier than she had ever thought possible. James was even less formal but utterly irresistible in creased summer trousers and a loose white cotton shirt. His dark hair slightly ruffled and his eyes full of adoration as his looked at his bride to be. The justice of the peace had read their vows as they held hands and laughed at the sheer joy of being young, in love and staying in a five star resort on the Caribbean Island of the Dominican Republic.

They had seen the years blissfully stretching ahead of them, together forever. They planned their children, two she said, he said four so they compromised on three (two girls and a boy of course); where they would live, the travelling they would do together – it was all certain, so they had thought then. But that seemed such a long time ago now. A lot can change in just a few years, a lot of heartache can change a person and drive a wedge through the strongest ties, break even the deepest love. Three years to the day and they had returned, though this time not for the beachside marriages the island was famous for but for one of its equally popular quickie divorces.
Lisa let out a sigh that was filled with pain and regret. What could she do but move on, find a new life and new dreams? The old one was beyond repair. How could this beautiful place, with its lush green coastline, eternity of azure blue sea and endless sands be a place for the agony she felt now?
***

The man stood watching from the edge of the palm trees. He couldn’t take his eyes off the dark-haired woman standing at the water’s edge, gazing out to sea as though she was waiting for something – or someone. She was beautiful, with her slim figure dressed in a loose flowing cotton dress, her hair blowing gently in the breeze. It wasn’t her looks that attracted him though; he came across many beautiful women in his work as a freelance photographer. It was her loneliness and intensity that lured him. Even at some distance he was aware that she was different from any other woman he had ever met or would meet.

Lisa sensed the man approaching even before she turned around. She had been aware of him standing there staring at her and had felt strangely calm about being observed. She looked at him and felt the instant spark of connection she had only experienced once before as her blue eyes the colour of the sea took him in. He walked slowly towards her and they held each other’s gaze. It felt like meeting a long lost friend – not a stranger on a strange beach.

Later, sitting at one of the many bars on the resort, sipping the local cocktails, they began to talk. First pleasantries, their hotels, the quality of the food and friendliness of the locals. Their conversation was strangely hesitant considering the naturalness and confidence of their earlier meeting. Onlookers however, would have detected the subtle flirtation as they mirrored each other’s actions and spoke directly into each other’s eyes. Only later, after the alcohol had had its loosening effect, did the conversation deepen. They talked about why they were here and finally, against her judgment, Lisa opened up about her heartache of the past year and how events had led her back to the place where she had married the only man she believed she could ever love. She told him of things that had been locked deep inside her, able to tell no one. She told him how she had felt after she had lost her baby.

She was six months pregnant and the happiest she had ever been when the pains had started. She was staying with her mother while James was working out of town. He hadn’t made it back in time. The doctor had said it was just one of those things, they could try again. But how could she when she couldn’t even look James in the eye? She hated him, for not being there, for not hurting as much as she did but most of all for looking so much like the tiny baby boy that she held for just three hours before they took him away. All through the following months she had withdrawn from her husband, family, and friends. Not wanting to recover from the pain. She felt that would have been a betrayal of her son and at the funeral she had refused to stand next to her husband. The next day she had left him.

Looking up, Lisa could see her pain reflected in the man’s eyes. For the first time in months she didn’t feel alone, she felt the unbearable burden begin to lift from her, only a bit but it was a start. She began to believe that maybe she had a future after all and maybe it could be with this man, with his kind hazel eyes, wet with their shared tears. They had come here to dissolve their marriage but maybe there was hope. Lisa stood up and took James by the hand and led him away from the bar towards the beach where they had made their vows to each other three years ago. Tomorrow she would cancel the divorce; tonight they would work on renewing their promises.

Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com