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IFE should come and learn from me jare......I no dey do slow motion for love🤣🤣. Thanks for the update Rosemary. Oghene should just put the reverend and his wife inside the dust bin.. e no pass like that. mtchewww

Bukenke86:
IFE should come and learn from me jare......I no dey do slow motion for love🤣🤣. Thanks for the update Rosemary. Oghene should just put the reverend and his wife inside the dust bin.. e no pass like that. mtchewww

"Inside dustbin,''

ife nd dis oghene d mad o dem just d do make something d hungry person for those church menbers hell fire d call them bunch of hypocrites! Yinmush.

See reverend and him wife dey call Oghene good man o!!!Wonder shall never end.Thank you very much for this update ma

Ophixialtohny:
ife nd dis oghene d mad o dem just d do make something d hungry person for those church menbers hell fire d call them bunch of hypocrites! Yinmush.

. Oya no vex

True love is beautiful, ngl
Thanks for the update OP

Twenty-four
Ife

Ever been kissed on the forehead by an Agbero before?

It happened to me this morning as I was stuck in the slaughter roundabout’s traffic jam. It was my first day back at work after a month of unplanned leave, and I was determined not to be late. Unfortunately, I gave in to the second wave of sleep after waking up too early the first time. So, guess who woke up to the ringing of her phone some minutes past eight a.m.?

Yours truly.

Cursing Oghene under my breath... what? He caused it! It was him who called me at four-thirty in the morning with the "I woke up thinking about you and I no fit go back to sleep" excuse, keeping me awake, giggling and kicking my feet while he made jokes about everything and everyone, including me. His laughter always had a way of getting into me and soaking me until I couldn’t help myself. But it felt good. Light. Refreshing.

When his airtime got exhausted, I called him back, and we talked until my airtime drained too. Then we moved to WhatsApp chats. I didn’t remember the exact time we ended, or when I surrendered to the second wave of sleep, but it was a very wrong decision—going back to sleep, that is.

Half an hour after I’d jerked up from bed, I was racing like a madwoman down the Oginigba-Trans Amadi Road in my old car, muttering curses and prayers, only to meet a hold-up at that roundabout. It was as if somebody somewhere was blowing a white substance in the air and swearing for me.

I was supposed to be part of an administrative meeting scheduled for 8 a.m., and it was already something to nine o’clock! I sat behind the wheel, fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on the steering wheel, eyes darting from the unmoving cars ahead to the clock on the dashboard. The minutes ticked by agonizingly slowly, each one heightening my frustration.

A buzz from my phone made me glance at it, hoping for an update about the meeting—any rescheduling would be highly appreciated. It was only Ale reminding me she’d be coming over to my place this evening to see me. I adjusted the rearview mirror for the umpteenth time, catching a glimpse of my furrowed brows and the tightness around my eyes. Another curse escaped my lips as I leaned forward, peering out the window in a futile attempt to see what was causing the holdup.

That was when it happened. An Agbero hanging by the door of the keke-bus beside my car leaned in and kissed me on the forehead! I didn’t even notice when he came down and drew near. I only felt rough lips on my forehead followed by the words, "See as your face fresh like today bread." Before I could recover from the shock, the line had started moving, and his keke-bus had taken off.

At first, I felt disgusted. Then, I burst out in laughter. What in early-morning weirdness was this? Sixteen years in Port Harcourt, and this was how I was being repaid?

Sitting behind my desk some hours later, filling out forms for clients—luckily, the meeting was rescheduled for tomorrow—I remembered the morning’s incident and felt laughter bubbling inside me. Emmanuela, my colleague, said that I mustn’t blame the Agbero. My face was indeed smooth and glowing as if I had been bathing in a pool filled with glitter.

“You changed your skincare routine?” she asked.

I just shook my head, smiling. How could I tell her and the others who kept saying I didn’t look like someone who was sick or had an accident that I had spent the entire weeks recuperating in a man’s house, receiving the greatest love, care, tenderness, and so much sensual heat? And even though I returned to my place last Saturday, I still basked in the euphoria of those moments spent together because that man hadn’t stopped stoking my flames with his calls and messages.

Oghene.

I thought I knew happiness until I became this close to Oghene. He made me happy and beautiful even when I felt my nose seemed a bit too flat. He made me feel special, and God knew I'd longed to feel this way for a very long time. He made me want to fall in love with him over and over again. Every day. Every minute. While sleeping and while awake. And that could be the greatest thing my heart was ever fit to do.

Loving Oghene.

“Sir, you can go now. The form has been filled in and forwarded. Her money will be paid into her account,” I said to the man who’d come with his aged mother, a retired civil servant, to claim her pension.

“Thank you, my daughter,” the woman said, giving me a toothy grin.

“Thank you so much. We are grateful,” her son echoed.

I paused from the next form I’d already pulled out, looked up, and nodded. I watched him walk off with his mother, then ushered the next customer, a man in his late fifties whose date of birth—the one he presented for the payment of his pension—didn’t correspond with the one in his employer’s biodata.

...I was still trying to help Mr. Different-dates-of-birth when the first guy returned.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, pushing his way to my desk and leaning forward. “Excuse me, miss.”

“Mm-hm?” I replied, without lifting my face from my computer screen.

“Can I... can I talk to you for a second?”

“Any more issues? Is Mama alright?” I asked, finally lifting my face to look at him.

“No... I just...”

He fumbled inside his pocket for something. Shortly, he slapped his palm on my desk and pushed his arm forward before withdrawing, leaving behind some five-hundred-naira notes.

“No o o...” he began as I shook my head. “Just to say thank you.”

“It was my job, sir. You really don’t have to do this.”
“I know. But it’s just a tip. For lunch.”

A tip, eh? Okay. What could go wrong with accepting an innocent tip? “Thank you," I said, giving him a smile. "And thank Mama for me.” I took the money and slipped it inside my drawer. Then I went back to work, hoping that he’d be gone. But when I heard another
“Excuse me,” I knew this wasn’t an innocent tip. I’d just taken the devil’s gift.

“I was thinking if you can...we can go out sometime. I like you,” he said, and continued immediately without giving me a chance to respond. “You are such a humble person. The way you attended to me and my mom. I see you will be very submissive. The quality I want in a woman. It is difficult to find a working-class woman like you who is also humble and submissive.”

Cocking my head to the side, I lifted a brow to give him that look.

He wasn’t bad-looking, had a good dress sense. But he was definitely a traditional man. One problem with traditional men was that they wanted their women to be subservient but would hardly fall in love with such women. Rather, they would get attracted to independent women. And like some exotic bird collectors, they only wanted women who were free because their dream was to put these women in cages.

So, no. I no do. Besides, “I have a man, sir. I’m in a relationship,” I said with a forced smile.

Was that true? Of course, it was. With Oghene. He loved me even though he’d not used the word since the day he found me and took me to his house. But he had kept treating me specially with a tenderness that made my heart flutter. The unspent heat between us, each time we spoke on the phone since I left his house, was palpable, a magnetic pull that always left me breathless.

Yet, despite all this, he had refused to use the words ‘I love you,’ or ask me out again. Was that deliberate? Was he being careful with me...maybe unsure of my feelings for him? Or was he waiting for me to make the first move—say the words this time?

I bit my lip, a mix of frustration and longing washing over me. Several times, while we were together in his house, and while we spoke on the phone when I finally left, I had wanted to ask him, to confront him, but I was afraid. Afraid of the answer, afraid of ruining what we had, afraid of losing him. The uncertainty gnawed at me, leaving me in a state of limbo, unsure of where I stood.

I knew that after how I treated him earlier, he’d want to take his time with me, to be sure I would not reject him again. But hadn’t I proven to him that I was now into him?

“So, this man of yours, is he serious with you?” the man standing before me asked with a grin. “Is he ready to marry you?”

“Sir, I told you I have a man. Please, I have work to do here, can you shift so I can attend to that man beside you?”

His expression shifted from hopeful anticipation to stunned disbelief. His eyes, which had sparkled with confidence just moments before, now darkened with a mixture of hurt and anger. His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching as he clenched his teeth, trying to mask the sting of my words. I half-expected that he would ask me to return the tip he gave me, and I was ready to do that.

“See, if the man has not done something on your head, I advise you give another person a chance. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket. You may never know,” he tried again amidst murmurs and grumbles from the waiting customers.

“Oga. I’ll put all my eggs in one basket. If e break, my chicken go lay another one. Please shift for my customers.”

His smile vanished, replaced by a tight-lipped frown that betrayed his anger. He muttered something I didn’t quite catch and walked off.

It was another three hours before I had time for myself to order lunch and call Oghene. He was busy, under a car fixing a customer’s bottom plate, but he was glad I called. He asked if I had eaten, and I told him I just ordered food. I asked if he had eaten, and he said he took a bottle of Coke and some groundnuts.

I told him I’d order food for him and asked for his workshop’s address. He said I shouldn’t do that. I insisted. He laughed and gave the address but said I shouldn’t bother.

As I dropped the call, I made to call the restaurant that took my order to make it two and send a delivery man to deliver one to Elekahia mechanic workshop. Then something occurred to me. I could do this myself. I only had to beg Emmanuela to cover for me so I could go pursue my man.

I did that for her sometimes when her fiancé came to visit.

It worked. Half an hour later, when the food arrived, I spoke with Emmanuela and left. Parking my car at the walkway, I approached the workshop with a spring in my step, two carefully packaged takeaway meals in my hands. My heart fluttered with excitement, a smile playing on my lips as I imagined the look on his face.
The smell of oil and metal grew stronger as I walked deeper, the sounds of clanging tools and revving engines filling the air. I slowed my gait while my eyes roamed. I didn’t want to let him know I was here. I wanted it to be a surprise. That meant I had to ask someone about him and where I could find him.

I approached a man in front of a spare parts store, and he pointed at a blue car some feet away. “See am there nau,” he said, giving me a look over.

I spotted Oghene under the hood of the car, his coveralls half-worn, the sleeves tied to his waist while his torso was covered with a grease-smeared inner vest. The muscles of his chest were so tight that I went dry in the mouth as I remembered what it felt like watching him walk around topless those times I was in his house. For a moment, I paused, taking in the sight of him completely absorbed in his task. He was certainly a very good-looking man. Maybe not too flashy and put together, but... God... I looked away in embarrassment, worried I might say or do something inappropriate.

He must have sensed someone standing a little distance away watching him because I heard him call my name. When I looked at him again, his expression had shifted from concentration to surprise and then to sheer delight. He wiped his hands on a rag, a broad grin spreading across his face, his eyes asking me what I was doing at the workshop.

The answer? To see him after missing him for two whole days.

Smiling, I walked up to him quietly, standing a few feet away.

"Hey, you," he said.

"Hey yourself," I replied, holding up the packed foods. "I brought us food. You and I... will eat here, together." Why was I nervous?

He laughed and ran his hand over his hair. "You didn't have to do that." He looked around, as if he felt watchful eyes. Definitly, there were guys watching, some were grinning like they knew I was someone special to him. “I thought...why did you leave your office to come here?"

Because I loved him, and I knew he loved me even though he was careful about saying it. I had spent time with him and knew that his desire for me wasn’t one that would fade with my youth. My skin would wrinkle, my hair would go gray, my body would bend with age—and Oghene would still love me. In this life and in the next. He would love me. Because he was that kind of man, and I was ready to prove to him that I would love him that way too.

“Can’t someone take care of you again?” I joked, handing him the food. My fingers grazed his slightly, sending sparks through me. "I know you’ve been working hard, and I wanted to do something special for you," I said.

Grinning, he nodded. Then, “Come.”

He took a seat on a nearby stool, motioning for me to join him.

“Which one is mine, and which one is yours?” he asked.

“Just take any of the two. It’s the same combo rice and chicken.”

He did as I said and handed me the other plate. I watched him take the first spoonful, his eyes closed in bliss. “I have not eaten this kind of rice before,” he said like a kid having his first ice cream. "Thank you. This means a lot. You being here with me. I love it."

He loved it. Not ‘he loved me.’ Fair enough though. "Anything for you," I replied.

We chatted and laughed as we ate. He told me he would finally be moving to his new place by the weekend. His sister would be coming from the village to help him.

“Can I help too?” I asked.

“Ife, but...”

“Oghene, I want to help, please. Or you don’t want me to meet your sister?”

He paused from eating and stared at me for a while. “Ife, I go wan make you meet my entire ancestors. I only didn’t want to bother you.”

But I wanted to be bothered. For Oghene, I was ready to cook and clean and do everything they said women shouldn’t do for men they weren't married to.

“Then, allow me to help out.”

“Okay.”

That was settled.

He told me about his summons to the pastor’s office and his determination not to honor it. I told him he had to, at least to look them in the face and tell them what he thought about them all.

Two of his friends came around—one he introduced as Juochi’s father, the other he introduced as Agu, an unapologetic bachelor, teasing us. If he knew how I felt when he blushed, the warmth that filled every void inside me, he might want to tune his blushing down.

By the time I was ready to leave, he walked me to my car and leaned forward to whisper, “You don’t know how happy you coming here made me, sunshine.”

Sunshine? Me, sunshine?

Thanks for the update 😊

Thanks for the update

This update too sweet abeg. Thank you Rosemary33. Early stages of love are always the best and the sweetest.

I hope you'll drop more update for weekend. The Oliver twist in me always wants more.

Beautiful update as usual,but no Oghene's POV??

You are my sunshine my only sunshine, you make me happy when times are mmmmhm 😆😆😆😆😆😆. Chai love sweet oo. Na the only skin care routine wey go fit make person glow without cream and make up. Thank you aunty Rosy.

Nwiboko26:
You are my sunshine my only sunshine, you make me happy when times are mmmmhm 😆😆😆😆😆😆. Chai love sweet oo. Na the only skin care routine wey go fit make person glow without cream and make up. Thank you aunty Rosy.

You no well, I swear

Thanks for the update ma'am always looking forward to each chapter. Please how come no bro oghene side of today's update?.

Thanks for the update ma

"Oga. I’ll put all my eggs in one basket. If e break, my chicken go lay another one. Please shift for my customers.”


The above got me laughing 🤣🤣🤣

The day oghene go tell IFE say he love am.......I go do party call davido🤣🤣🤣. Nice Rosemary.......

Rosemary you won't believe that am going over your old stories and am falling in love with you again..... You deserve the 🌹

Bukenke86:
The day oghene go tell IFE say he love am.......I go do party call davido🤣🤣🤣. Nice Rosemary.......

😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

Oghene my gggggggggg omo did love don dae plum ooo😁😁😁

Awesome, I go love oo

Rosemary33:
Half an hour after I’d jerked up from bed, I was racing like a madwoman down the Oginigba-Trans Amadi Road in my old car, muttering curses and prayers, only to meet a hold-up at that roundabout. It was as if somebody somewhere was blowing a white substance in the air and swearing for me.

I'm guessing Ife works at one of those banks at Mothercat...

Omoh, as a PH nïgga that schools at the University of Uyo (just finished my final year exams), seeing relatable areas in my city, especially the Trans Amadi axis, being mentioned is nostalgic. One of the things I love about the story is the deviation from the conventional story setting of Lagos.

Ife and Oghene, make una do stop this una erotic mind games abeg, make una do the "I love you", "You love me", and the muah muah, make person body rest jare... cos which kind play be this 😶😠😂

Rosemary, I love the way you blend eroticness with clean romance. No vulgar words, no sexual content, but every fibre of the story reeks of sensuality. How can a story be so clean but yet arousing? The words, the narrations, the thoughts of the character, the sensual tension between the lead characters, all contribute to the steamy essence of the literary piece. The objective testament to literary dexterity 🙃



#Xavier

Xavier5:
I'm guessing Ife works at one of those banks at Mothercat...

Omoh, as a PH nïgga that schools at the University of Uyo (just finished my final year exams), seeing relatable areas in my city, especially the Trans Amadi axis, being mentioned is nostalgic. One of the things I love about the story is the deviation from the conventional story setting of Lagos.


#Xavier

No be lie, the settings dey give me vibes. Schooled at uniport, I just dey picture the areas wey she dey mention. I love it. 💕 😘

Rosemary33 na writer, abeg! Her ability to keep up suspense, even while you think you know the inevitable end, is commendable.

And her dexterity with street lingo is quite impressive. She knows just when to use what.

And keeping us regularly updated ain't easy at all. We would always want more, but that's because she's so good at what she does.

It's being long I visited the Literature section. I just checked it tonight and came across this wonderful piece. Well done Rosie. I love you and your work

Aunty Rosy, I don view this page like 100 times today. How you dey na and how is the family

Madam Rose…. Update please

We 're hungry!

Omoh, see comments o. I love you all abeg

Twenty-five
Oghene

Kill a cockroach, you be hero,
Kill a butterfly, you be villain.

No be me go talk am, I read it from somewhere. But what was happening before my very eyes made me remember that saying, and made me realize that gender had become the standard for morality. When Sarima accused me of rape, every one of these people gathered in my house this evening had called for my head. None offered me a listening ear or the chance to hear my truth. Now it was me, Oghene, the one wrongly accused, calling for her to do the time, and suddenly every one of these people had remembered what the Bible said about forgiveness.

“What do you think Jesus would have done if he was in your shoes?”

“Don’t forget our Lord’s prayer; ‘forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sinned against us.’”

“Jesus, our role model, was accused and crucified for your sin. He was an innocent man. We were the sinners, yet he died for us...”

Well, my maleh no name me Jesus. Na Oghenevowede be my name, and I would seek justice. Contrary to what I agreed with Ife about honoring the Church's summons last evening, I decided not to after considering that I wasn’t ready to face them yet. Today, they chose to come to my place instead. I walked back home after the day’s work and met them in front of my flat. No pre-information. Nothing.

And who be this fowl wein dey add me back to a WhatsApp group I removed myself from immediately I was added to it? Hissing, I gave the church members, three women, and five men, a passing glance and lowered my gaze to my phone screen that just beamed with a notification:

‘Magnus Iheatu added you to this group.’

Magnus! That okpolo eye church member who added me to his wedding financial support group four years ago, the time when I never baff and my teeth never shine. When I offered to support him with 5k, Oga was vexed and removed me from the group. At a normal level, we were not friends, so I didn’t bother. But I felt pained when someone, another guy in the group, told me that he said he removed me from the group because I wasn’t happy that he was getting married. Me wein never chop?

I never confronted him all these years. We saw each other in church and exchanged pleasantries. He even told me about his father’s burial two months ago and wanted me to cover the event. I had sent him a quotation for the job—450k in total. He had cried that it was on the high side, pleading that I lower the charge. Eventually, I did, even though I knew he settled for me because he couldn’t get anybody else to do it for even 500k.

Yet he had complained that 400k was a lot.

Was that why he added me to this WhatsApp group? To make sure I also contribute to the burial even though he would be paying for my services?

I stared at the group page tagged “In support of Mr. Iheatu’s Father’s Burial.” He had added fifty people already, but nobody had commented.

“Hmm,” I hissed.

“So, bro Oghene,” my reverend started again, pulling my attention away from my phone and back to them. “I want you to reconsider your decision. Show mercy...”

“If not because of Christ or because of us, please consider her poor mother,” my reverend’s wife cut in. “The woman has been crying. She wanted to come with us to this place, but we told her it’s not necessary.”

I looked at her and wanted to ask if she was familiar with the Eba warming concept. Abeg, she should go warm cold Eba and chop because if there was anyone I’d give a listening ear, it wouldn’t be her.

“Please, brother, never let ugly situations like this harden your heart. This could be a life lesson that the Lord allowed to make you better, not bitter,” one of the women said. She then began recounting a disgusting story of how her husband tore her international passport a week before she was supposed to travel to London for an official duty because she was disrespectful. And how the Holy Spirit asked her to apologize to her husband because she didn’t allow him to lead the home, even when she had caught the man cheating several times.

I wished she had never told that story. I was disgusted and hurt on her behalf. Oghene meh! Abeg, whatever Spirit she said spoke to her mustn't near my sister and other good women in my life because...shuuu? Na watin be this?

“Please, when you hear the voice of God, do not harden your heart, Oghene,” my reverend started again. “What does it mean to harden your heart? It means to see clear evidence of the hand of God at work and still refuse to accept His Word and submit to His will. It means to resist Him by showing ingratitude and disobedience and not having any fear of the Lord or His judgments. Hardhearted people say with Pharaoh, ‘Who is the Lord that I should obey His voice?’”

Every word they spoke seemed to scrape the walls of my chest like wheels on steel tracks, accelerating. With every rotation, my heart hardened, like a radiator under extreme temperature, waiting to explode.

They wanted me to show mercy. Didn’t they realize that my heart started hardening that night they unanimously convicted me without a fair hearing?

They made me this way. A man with a heart so hardened it felt like a bullet. And I was determined to use that bullet.

With nothing left to be said, they stood up and announced their departure. Their faces deepened with disappointment.

“What do you want us to tell her mother?” my reverend said, turning to me when he got to the door. The rest of the members were already out. “Please don’t take this matter to court, brother. For God’s sake. Please.”

I didn’t say a word to him. I couldn’t trust my tongue to say the right thing when my heart was this bitter. Even when he left, I sat in the loud silence they left behind, battling the anger their visit had aroused. My father’s voice, out of nowhere, began to resound in my head like a broken audio tape, playing over and over, refusing to fade.

“My son, be mindful. Some deliberate offenses will take you to the point where you grow cold to all pleas and advice to show mercy. You’ll get angry at the gentle whisper of the Lord, and will, out of your pain, repeatedly grieve the Spirit. Your anger will also make any desire to seek the Father’s Home to be gone. So, beware. Watch your steps when such offenses come.”

Those were Paleh’s words when Eserovwe’s mama molested me and Maleh refused to let go. He was the church’s prayer coordinator, so I understood why he didn’t want to take Maleh's advice and report the case to Oniovo Tega, my mother’s elder brother who was a lawyer. “Leave everything to God,” he kept saying. “Vengeance is not of us but of the Lord.”

The same thing everyone was saying now.

But it was easy to preach forgiveness when your name wasn’t on the confession paper.

Thank God my guys weren’t singing this letting-go song to my ears. They wanted me to teach Sarima a lesson...