Hello folks,

Well, I'm glad to inform you that my second novel, Jewel from the Ghetto, is set to be out very soon!

Here's what I've found out though: most people are very busy nowadays. So, many may not be able to sit down and read a novel even after buying or downloading it.

So, here's what I'm going to do: I have decided to release the book in episodes on Nairaland, my Facebook account and Facebook page, Àdùkẹ́! Stories.

All you need to do is to get ready for the release. You may want to like my Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/adukestories/) as this will ensure that you don't miss out on any episode.

However, if you want a head start or you don’t feel like waiting for each episode to come out, you will be able to purchase the book at an affordable price on popular online stores.

STAY TUNED!!!

UP NEXT: JEWEL FROM THE GHETTO—THE SYNOPSIS!

JEWEL FROM THE GHETTO: THE SYNOPSIS

ENTANGLED!

When love is found in the most unlikely place!

She was not rich. She was not educated. She was nobody from the ghetto. He was not poor. He was not uneducated. He was highly-placed and born into wealth. She was a jewel in an unlikely place. He stumbled into the unlikely place. She saw him. He found her. He saw nothing else—no boundaries, no barriers, only possibilities!

She touched him. It sent bolts of electric charges through him and flung him across oceans and mountains to cloud nine. He felt like pulling her close and kissing her succulent lips affectionately.

The feeling was mutual.

She gazed into his eyes and her searching look spotted something deep inside him; it was an inextinguishable fire and it consumed her in an instant. It sent sparkling currents down her spine and took her breath away. Her legs wobbled. Her strength waned. She could only pray she didn't fall; she had never felt anything this strong before. On second thought, falling might be a good idea. It only had to be falling into his strong arms and being whisked away into the land of fairy-tales!

But wait a minute! What if in the process of finding love, Simisola incurred the wrath of the wild, ever-scheming, 'Slay Queen', Shakirah? Or she had to contend with the rejection of the super-rich and highly opinionated Mrs. Williams? Or the schemes of the popular but hubristic American-trained TV presenter, Nicole? Would having the 'Alpha of the Hoods', the mean, hard-faced king of the streets, Scorpion, watching her back make a difference?

If you enjoy reading about fast-paced romance full of intrigues, suspense, twists and turns, and the hullabaloo of street life, then you will love this novel!

To find out if the fragile Simisola had what it took to stand up to all the insurmountable obstacles in her search for true love, grab your chair and a cup of coffee. Relax and get ready as the story unfolds ...

WATCH OUT FOR THE EPISODES!

Àdùkẹ́!
...My Story, My World.

Like my Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/adukestories/

Jewel from the Ghetto ... Coming to you soon!

JEWEL FROM THE GHETTO: FIRST SET OF EPISODES LOADING...

Hello Folks,

Trust you all had a wonderful weekend.

I am happy to inform you that the first set of episodes of Jewel from the Ghetto is set to be out later TODAY!

Till then, STAY TUNED!

Catch you then.

CHAPTER ONE
EPISODE 1

Somewhere in Agege, Pink Roses Beauty Shop, 9.15 a.m.

SHAKIRAH CAME INTO THE salon in tears. She had a black eye that could hardly open, a swollen cheek, and lips twice their size--no thanks to the beating she received from a vicious street thug on her way to work that morning. She looked pitiable and her over-bleached skin reeked of the smell of two or more cheap bleaching creams mixed together for optimal result. The moment the other twelve or so apprentices of Pink Roses caught sight of her, they were curious to know what happened. But when she opened her mouth to talk, she felt a lump in her throat and the words stuck. She swallowed hard, tried once more but a loud cry broke free instead. As she struggled to narrate her ordeal, Kasumu, The Scorpion, walked in.

Kasumu, popularly known as The Scorpion because of the big scorpion tattoo he had on one of his upper arms, was a hard and feared street boy who had a crush on Shakirah and was a friend of the house in Pink Roses Beauty Shop. He had a rough jaw and bloodshot eyes that were not wider than slits sitting beside each other and gave an impression of someone permanently high on a mixture of spirits and marijuana. A deep machete scar crested the left side of his face. His lips were as dark as hell. However, as tough and mean as he was, Kasumu had a weakness--Shakirah! And a soft spot that surprised those who got close enough to see this contradiction in his personality.

At seeing Shakirah, his eyes narrowed and his face hardened. A lone vein stood out on his forehead like a streak of lightning. He clenched his fists.

“Shakirah,” he snarled in his deep, husky voice, “who did this to you?”

Shakirah made an attempt to answer, “It ... was ...” She sniffed. “It ... was ...” But the sob choked the words in her throat.

Kasumu studied her and he could tell instantly that it was the work of a street thug. “Can you recognize him when you see him?” he probed. Shakirah nodded her head in response. He bit his lips slowly. “Good. Let’s go!” He grabbed her by the hand and lead her out of the salon. His strides were like those of a fierce combatant and Shakirah had to practically run along to keep up with him. Outside, he mounted Shakirah on his motorbike and the next second, they vanished into thin air!

Ten minutes later, they were at Orita Junction, a notorious spot where the deadliest street boys hung out. The culprit and two other boys were sitting on a bench with a heap of marijuana and bottles of Chelsea dry gin in front of them. Two of them were busy wrapping the marijuana into sticks while the third was already smoking his and oozing thick smoke into the air. He followed each puff with a sensational whistle that instantly drowned in the blaring noise from a music shop nearby. Thick haze of the hemp hovered momentarily in the air before disappearing into the atmosphere. But not before the breeze blew the choking smell across Shakirah’s and Scorpion’s noses. Shakirah quickly covered her nose while Scorpion sniffed in the smell with pleasure.

“That’s him.” Shakirah pointed to the dreadlock-haired assailant, still covering her nose with the other hand.

With the speed and force of a swift storm, Scorpion advanced, grabbed the bench and flung it and its occupants away. The unsuspecting boys rolled off in different directions. The marijuana heap scattered in the air and the bottles of hot drinks shattered on the ground.

Spark, the bellicose culprit, sprang to his feet. He spat out in disgust like a venomous viper. He vibrated in anger. His biceps rose and the veins of his head stood in aggression. He charged towards Scorpion and threw a swift left punch at him. Scorpion ducked. Immediately, he swung the right punch with added intensity but again Scorpion dodged. However, the move exposed him enough for Scorpion to bury a powerful punch into his side and followed it immediately with a deadly uppercut to his jaw. A mixture of spittle and blood flew out of his of his mouth and reeling off balance, he scrambled to the ground on all fours like a whipped dog.

He got up on his feet again. He wiped the blood tickling down a corner of his mouth with the back of his palm and gnashed his blood-soaked teeth in anger.

“Ah! Emi Spark! O wa jẹjú mi lábẹ́tẹ̀ mi,” he screamed in a mixture of Yoruba and street slangs, “ìyá ẹ́ máa kù leni” (Ah! I, Spark! You came to defile me in my hood! Your mother must die today.)

He picked up an empty beer bottle and smashed it on his own head. He shook the head viciously and beat his chest like an angry gorilla. “Awọ́n father ẹ́ ń duro de ẹ́ l’ọrún. Oya, dàgbéré!” (Your ancestors await you. Now say your goodbye!) He screamed as he charged with full force towards Scorpion with the jag-headed bottle remnant in his hand ready to stab Scorpion to death.

Scorpion stood still, unperturbed. Eyes intently fixed on the advancing opponent. He studied him carefully and calculated his next move. Spark headed for Scorpion’s heart but again Scorpion effortlessly ducked and quickly picking up a plank from the ground, he smashed the bottle off his hand. The hand dangled loosely back and forth from the wrist. Spark grimaced and recoiled in pain.

Instantly, Scorpion matched up to him and sent a punch to his left cheek. He staggered backwards and Scorpion followed it with another one to his right. He staggered further backwards. Scorpion followed through with another and another and yet another until the last one sent him reeling to the ground. Caught in a swirl of vertigo, he crawled on the ground aimlessly in no particular direction. All he could see were tiny specs of bluish-purple lights dancing in front of him. His lips were puffy and battered. Two of his teeth had flown out in the process of the beating. He groaned in agony.

Then, Scorpion removed his belt and whipped the hell out of him. Squirming in pains, he struggled to his feet and took to his heels staggeringly. Scorpion chased after him and sent down heavy lashes on his back each step of the way until he fell few inches away from Shakirah. He cried like a child begging Scorpion to spare him.

“Ahhh! Áláyé ... Máa ṣe bi o ṣe to. Máa jẹ́ ojú abùró ẹ́. Baba, jọ̀ wo ṣe fun abùró ẹ. Mi ó to yàjú si ẹ́.” (Ahhh! Lord ... Please don’t pour the full wrath of your might on me ... Don’t humiliate your younger one ... I didn’t mean to disrespect you.)

“Not me ... Her.” Scorpion replied pointing to Shakirah. His expression mean. His voice affirmative.

Spark immediately crawled to Shakirah and held her legs with both hands in submission. He begged for mercy, “màmà, ẹ jọ ọ́. Mi ò ni ṣe ìrú ẹ́ mọ.” (Mama, please I won’t ever do that again.)

Shakirah stood imposingly over him with arms akimbo, face thrown sideways, and leg placed on his head as if it were a foot stool. “Begin licking my feet now!” she commanded him with an air of authority. It was time to make him pay for what he did to her.

Meanwhile, the two other boys who were with Spark had fled the scene. One of them ran to Don Baba, the fierce leader of their gang, who immediately summoned the remaining members of the deadly gang to gear up for battle. He roused their spirit with a speech akin to the ones given by generals on ancient battlefields. They roared in a chorus with eyes glowing like a burning fire, brandishing all sorts of deadly weapons. They were ready to cause mayhem. No one dared crossed into their territory to desecrate their hood unless the person was prepared to die! They were now blood-thirty and ready to shed as much blood as necessary to reclaim their pride.
“That bastard’s days are numbered!” Don Baba said. His expression was stone-cold and the defiance in his voice was scary.

Back at the battle scene, the disfigured Spark licked Shakirah’s feet meticulously like nothing else in the world mattered. A crowd had formed a circle around them enjoying the ongoing drama.

Suddenly, heavy sounds of smashing bottles and screeching sound of machetes scratching against the ground rented the air. The cacophony was amplified by the chants of about fifty daredevils who were out for blood.

Immediately, everyone scampered off in different directions almost causing a stampede. Shop owners closed their shops in a jiffy and roadside merchants hurriedly packed their wares. People knew better than to linger around. They knew that another bloody street brawl was brewing and in less than five minutes, the streets became a ghost town. The stage was set for blood bath!

Scorpion and Shakirah turned around and saw the approaching armed gang. Shakirah ran behind Scorpion trembly...


To be continued ... Watch Out for Chapter One, Episode 2!

NB: The book will be up on online stores shortly for those who don't want to wait for each episode to be released.


Àdùkẹ́!
...My Story, My World.

JamesKudooski:
CHAPTER ONE
EPISODE 1

Somewhere in Agege, Pink Roses Beauty Shop, 9.15 a.m.

SHAKIRAH CAME INTO THE salon in tears. She had a black eye that could hardly open, a swollen cheek, and lips twice their size--no thanks to the beating she received from a vicious street thug on her way to work that morning. She looked pitiable and her over-bleached skin reeked of the smell of two or more cheap bleaching creams mixed together for optimal result. The moment the other twelve or so apprentices of Pink Roses caught sight of her, they were curious to know what happened. But when she opened her mouth to talk, she felt a lump in her throat and the words stuck. She swallowed hard, tried once more but a loud cry broke free instead. As she struggled to narrate her ordeal, Kasumu, The Scorpion, walked in.

Kasumu, popularly known as The Scorpion because of the big scorpion tattoo he had on one of his upper arms, was a hard and feared street boy who had a crush on Shakirah and was a friend of the house in Pink Roses Beauty Shop. He had a rough jaw and bloodshot eyes that were not wider than slits sitting beside each other and gave an impression of someone permanently high on a mixture of spirits and marijuana. A deep machete scar crested the left side of his face. His lips were as dark as hell. However, as tough and mean as he was, Kasumu had a weakness--Shakirah! And a soft spot that surprised those who got close enough to see this contradiction in his personality.

At seeing Shakirah, his eyes narrowed and his face hardened. A lone vein stood out on his forehead like a streak of lightning. He clenched his fists.

“Shakirah,” he snarled in his deep, husky voice, “who did this to you?”

Shakirah made an attempt to answer, “It ... was ...” She sniffed. “It ... was ...” But the sob choked the words in her throat.

Kasumu studied her and he could tell instantly that it was the work of a street thug. “Can you recognize him when you see him?” he probed. Shakirah nodded her head in response. He bit his lips slowly. “Good. Let’s go!” He grabbed her by the hand and lead her out of the salon. His strides were like those of a fierce combatant and Shakirah had to practically run along to keep up with him. Outside, he mounted Shakirah on his motorbike and the next second, they vanished into thin air!

Ten minutes later, they were at Orita Junction, a notorious spot where the deadliest street boys hung out. The culprit and two other boys were sitting on a bench with a heap of marijuana and bottles of Chelsea dry gin in front of them. Two of them were busy wrapping the marijuana into sticks while the third was already smoking his and oozing thick smoke into the air. He followed each puff with a sensational whistle that instantly drowned in the blaring noise from a music shop nearby. Thick haze of the hemp hovered momentarily in the air before disappearing into the atmosphere. But not before the breeze blew the choking smell across Shakirah’s and Scorpion’s noses. Shakirah quickly covered her nose while Scorpion sniffed in the smell with pleasure.

“That’s him.” Shakirah pointed to the dreadlock-haired assailant, still covering her nose with the other hand.

With the speed and force of a swift storm, Scorpion advanced, grabbed the bench and flung it and its occupants away. The unsuspecting boys rolled off in different directions. The marijuana heap scattered in the air and the bottles of hot drinks shattered on the ground.

Spark, the bellicose culprit, sprang to his feet. He spat out in disgust like a venomous viper. He vibrated in anger. His biceps rose and the veins of his head stood in aggression. He charged towards Scorpion and threw a swift left punch at him. Scorpion ducked. Immediately, he swung the right punch with added intensity but again Scorpion dodged. However, the move exposed him enough for Scorpion to bury a powerful punch into his side and followed it immediately with a deadly uppercut to his jaw. A mixture of spittle and blood flew out of his of his mouth and reeling off balance, he scrambled to the ground on all fours like a whipped dog.

He got up on his feet again. He wiped the blood tickling down a corner of his mouth with the back of his palm and gnashed his blood-soaked teeth in anger.

“Ah! Emi Spark! O wa jẹjú mi lábẹ́tẹ̀ mi,” he screamed in a mixture of Yoruba and street slangs, “ìyá ẹ́ máa kù leni” (Ah! I, Spark! You came to defile me in my hood! Your mother must die today.)

He picked up an empty beer bottle and smashed it on his own head. He shook the head viciously and beat his chest like an angry gorilla. “Awọ́n father ẹ́ ń duro de ẹ́ l’ọrún. Oya, dàgbéré!” (Your ancestors await you. Now say your goodbye!) He screamed as he charged with full force towards Scorpion with the jag-headed bottle remnant in his hand ready to stab Scorpion to death.

Scorpion stood still, unperturbed. Eyes intently fixed on the advancing opponent. He studied him carefully and calculated his next move. Spark headed for Scorpion’s heart but again Scorpion effortlessly ducked and quickly picking up a plank from the ground, he smashed the bottle off his hand. The hand dangled loosely back and forth from the wrist. Spark grimaced and recoiled in pain.

Instantly, Scorpion matched up to him and sent a punch to his left cheek. He staggered backwards and Scorpion followed it with another one to his right. He staggered further backwards. Scorpion followed through with another and another and yet another until the last one sent him reeling to the ground. Caught in a swirl of vertigo, he crawled on the ground aimlessly in no particular direction. All he could see were tiny specs of bluish-purple lights dancing in front of him. His lips were puffy and battered. Two of his teeth had flown out in the process of the beating. He groaned in agony.

Then, Scorpion removed his belt and whipped the hell out of him. Squirming in pains, he struggled to his feet and took to his heels staggeringly. Scorpion chased after him and sent down heavy lashes on his back each step of the way until he fell few inches away from Shakirah. He cried like a child begging Scorpion to spare him.

“Ahhh! Áláyé ... Máa ṣe bi o ṣe to. Máa jẹ́ ojú abùró ẹ́. Baba, jọ̀ wo ṣe fun abùró ẹ. Mi ó to yàjú si ẹ́.” (Ahhh! Lord ... Please don’t pour the full wrath of your might on me ... Don’t humiliate your younger one ... I didn’t mean to disrespect you.)

“Not me ... Her.” Scorpion replied pointing to Shakirah. His expression mean. His voice affirmative.

Spark immediately crawled to Shakirah and held her legs with both hands in submission. He begged for mercy, “màmà, ẹ jọ ọ́. Mi ò ni ṣe ìrú ẹ́ mọ.” (Mama, please I won’t ever do that again.)

Shakirah stood imposingly over him with arms akimbo, face thrown sideways, and leg placed on his head as if it were a foot stool. “Begin licking my feet now!” she commanded him with an air of authority. It was time to make him pay for what he did to her.

Meanwhile, the two other boys who were with Spark had fled the scene. One of them ran to Don Baba, the fierce leader of their gang, who immediately summoned the remaining members of the deadly gang to gear up for battle. He roused their spirit with a speech akin to the ones given by generals on ancient battlefields. They roared in a chorus with eyes glowing like a burning fire, brandishing all sorts of deadly weapons. They were ready to cause mayhem. No one dared crossed into their territory to desecrate their hood unless the person was prepared to die! They were now blood-thirty and ready to shed as much blood as necessary to reclaim their pride.
“That bastard’s days are numbered!” Don Baba said. His expression was stone-cold and the defiance in his voice was scary.

Back at the battle scene, the disfigured Spark licked Shakirah’s feet meticulously like nothing else in the world mattered. A crowd had formed a circle around them enjoying the ongoing drama.

Suddenly, heavy sounds of smashing bottles and screeching sound of machetes screeching sound of machetes scratching against the ground rented the air. The cacophony was amplified by the chants of about fifty daredevils who were out for blood.

Immediately, everyone scampered off in different directions almost causing a stampede. Shop owners closed their shops in a jiffy and roadside merchants hurriedly packed their wares. People knew better than to linger around. They knew that another bloody street brawl was brewing and in less than five minutes, the streets became a ghost town. The stage was set for blood bath!

Scorpion and Shakirah turned around and saw the approaching armed gang. Shakirah ran behind Scorpion trembly...


To be continued ... Watch Out for Chapter One, Episode 2!

NB: The book will be up on online stores shortly for those who don't want to wait for each episode to be released.


Àdùkẹ́!
...My Story, My World.

I like your writing style. Where can one get this book? Is it on Okadabooks?

BluntBoy:


I like your writing style. Where can one get this book? Is it on Okadabooks?

Thank you so much, BluntBoy. The book will be available on Okadabooks in a few days time. However, you may want to check out my first novel, Prisoner of Love, on Okadabooks here:

http:///Prisoner-of-Love-Ob

I will surely inform you when Jewel from the Ghetto is available on Okadabooks.

Cheers.

JamesKudooski:


Thank you so much, BluntBoy. The book will be available on Okadabooks in a few days time. However, you may want to check out my first novel, Prisoner of Love, on Okadabooks here:

http:///Prisoner-of-Love-Ob

I will surely inform you when Jewel from the Ghetto is available on Okadabooks.

Cheers.

Alright, I will check out your first novel. More ink to your pen!!!

BluntBoy:


Alright, I will check out your first novel. More ink to your pen!!!

Thanks, bro. You may also like my Facebook page if you don't mind, https://www.facebook.com/adukestories/

CHAPTER ONE
EPISODE 2

Shakirah ran behind Scorpion trembly. But Scorpion’s eyes narrowed and his face grew firmer. He scanned the advancing mob analysing their Achilles heel. A corner of his mouth reshaped itself into a wry smile as he clenched his fists in readiness for battle. ‘Action time!’ A voice echoed in his head.

Surprisingly, immediately Don Baba spotted Scorpion, he halted in his tracks abruptly and raised his hand to motion the rest to stop. They all stopped at once and lowered their weapons in imitation of Don Baba who had already done so.

“Scorpion?!” Don Baba exclaimed, perplexed. He switched glances between Spark and Scorpion and finally settled it on Shakirah. He then raised both hands in the air and stamped a foot on the ground like a soldier saluting a senior officer.

“Double tuaile, Scorpion baba!!!” he hailed him in a familiar street slang. Then he turned to Spark who was writhing in pain and scolded him, “Spark, you don’t know Scorpion?!” His voice was deep, gruff, and scary. He pounded his fist against his palm. “Fool, you didn’t recognize the Alpha of the Hoods, The Slay King of the Zanga, Destroyer of the Insolent Ones, the Breaker of Bones, The Nemesis of Molesters, Terror of Defiant Bastards, and he who instils fear and humiliates the haughty ones?! And you disrespected him? Idiot!” He barred his teeth.

“I didn’t know it was him, boss. I’m sorry.” Spark began to cry harder; the magnitude of his folly just fully dawned on him.

“If not that you’ve been dealt with already, I should have had you whipped for your insolence.”

Don Baba turned back his attention to Scorpion and pleaded in Spark’s behalf. All the other boys joined in too, “Respect, baba. Two hands in the air for you, baba!” They equally mollified Shakirah.

After acknowledging Don Baba and his boys, Scorpion and Shakirah climbed on his bike and zoomed off leaving behind a cloud of dust.

“Boy, you went too far this time around ...” Don Baba drew in the smoke from the thick marijuana tucked between his index and middle fingers, “way too far,” he told Spark as he puffed the thick smoke into his face.

* * *

Somewhere in Banana Island.


“But mum, I told you I am working on it,” Yemi Williams answered his mother on phone in his American accent.

“Exactly what you’ve been telling me for years. You are not getting any younger you know,” Mrs Williams countered.

If there was anything Yemi hated, it was the constant nagging of his mother, especially now that he was running late for a business meeting with a prospective client.

“Mum, please can we talk about this later? I’m running late for an important appointment,” he replied as he placed some documents into his briefcase with the other hand.

“And why can’t we talk about it now? You are always evasive whenever I bring up this topic.”

“Mum?” he said and pouted.

“And you just pouted your mouth at me, Yemi. That is a naughty thing to do!”

“Mum, I didn’t.” He picked up the briefcase and hurried towards his car.

“Yemi, you did. Don’t forget I’m your mother and I carried you in my belly for nine months,” she said rolling her eyes.

“And mum, you just rolled your eyes at me, too. ” He opened the door of the car and dropped the briefcase on the back seat.

“I did?”

“Yes mum, you just did and don’t forget I’m your son and I stayed in your belly for nine months.”

“Naughty you! But Yemi, on a more serious note, I’m worried about you. You are not getting younger and most of your mates are already settling down. Remember Bolaji, my friend’s son and your classmate in primary school? He already has two kids and Tunmise got married a few months ago. But for you, you haven’t even brought a girl home let alone settling down. Is it that the girls are not coming or you are too busy to pay attention to them? And I’ve been telling you about Nicole but you ...”

“Nicole? Mum!!!” he cut in with a shrill voice.

“And what’s wrong with Nicole?” Mrs Williams drawled.

“Mum, can we drop this topic, please?” He turned to his gateman, “Abdulahi, please open the gate.”

“What did you say?”

“Not you, mum. I was talking to my gateman.”

“Okay.”

“Mum, I’ve got to go now. Talk to you later. Love you. Bye.” He rushed the words and quickly ended the call before his mum could say any other word.

“Hello ... Hello ... Yemi ... Hello ... Are you still there, Yemi ... Hello ...” She looked at the phone screen and realized that he had ended the call. “Naughty boy. I wonder when he’s going to bring a girl home.”

“Agnes, I’ve told you to let the boy be. He’s not a small boy you know. I know he knows what he's doing,” Mr Williams who was reading his early morning newspaper and was listening to the conversation told his wife.

“Let him be? And until when? Will it be until I’m too old and my bones are too weak to back my grandchildren?” she snapped at him.

“You worry too much, Agnes. I’m sure you will meet her when the time is ripe.”

“I don’t even know why I’m having this conversation with you. If this was how long you stayed before marrying me would you have had him when you did? Perhaps, you would still be buying diapers by now.” She hissed and left for the dinning room.

Mr. Williams followed her movement with a corner of his eyes. He turned the next page of his newspaper. “Women, they will never change.” He shook his head slowly.

To be continued ... Watch Out for the next episode!

NB: The book will be up on online stores shortly for those who don't want to wait for each episode to be released.

Àdùkẹ́!
...My Story, My World.

can't wait for d book to come out.

rayvelez:
can't wait for d book to come out.

I'm happy that you are enjoying the story, Rayvelez. The book should be out by the end of this week, Jehovah willing.

Thank you.

Hmmm.....will read it later

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The games are 100%sure

And it's for high stakes only so if u don't want to stake high don't add me

Please our games are 100% sure and fix*ed u will not fall with us

Ur payment after win depends on the odd of the day

If interested please add me on whatsapp 070-6792-5947 for more information

JamesKudooski:


Thank you so much, BluntBoy. The book will be available on Okadabooks in a few days time. However, you may want to check out my first novel, Prisoner of Love, on Okadabooks here:

http:///Prisoner-of-Love-Ob

I will surely inform you when Jewel from the Ghetto is available on Okadabooks.

Cheers.

Awesome more ink to your pen I have been looking for where to read more of our Nigerian and African books.

I am enjoying this story... Please keep the update flowing. Well done

Choi! OP you have done a very wonderful job, I'm trying really hard to see the end from the start, your write up is really cool. But the few posters above me just want to kill joy.

They too try but God pass them, derailing another man's job.

JamesKudooski:


I'm happy that you are enjoying the story, Rayvelez. The book should be out by the end of this week, Jehovah willing.

Thank you.

.....baba you na jay wee ..?

Nextlevel10:
I am enjoying this story... Please keep the update flowing. Well done

Thanks a lot.

bejeria101:


Awesome more ink to your pen I have been looking for where to read more of our Nigerian and African books.

Thanks, Bejeria.

phoenixchap:
Choi! OP you have done a very wonderful job, I'm trying really hard to see the end from the start, your write up is really cool. But the few posters above me just want to kill joy.

They too try but God pass them, derailing another man's job.

That's the catch. Trying to make it a little difficult to see the ending from the start, bro.

Just stay tuned.

following..

Please see my signature

pascalbenz:
.....baba you na jay wee ..?

Yep.

Sarang:
following..

Please see my signature

Thumbs up.

Fresh Episodes Loading...

JamesKudooski:


Thanks, Bejeria.

God bless you wella

EPISODE 3
(CHAPTER TWO)



YEMI TAPPED ON THE steering wheel of his car impatiently. He had been stuck in traffic for so long that he was beginning to lose his patience. He hissed, then blamed himself, “Oh, why didn’t I leave home in time? Damn! I forgot I’m no longer in the States.” He tapped harder on the steering wheel. “I should have known you can’t predict traffic on Lagos roads!” Yes, he truly forgot he was now in Lagos, Nigeria.

Yemi, a tall, fresh, and good-looking young man with an American accent, was born with a silver spoon. He was the fourth child of the wealthy business tycoon, Mr. Adesoji Williams. Yemi, like his siblings before him, was whisked off to the United States of America after he finished his primary education in Nigeria--an occurrence that had become the tradition of the Williams family. The Williamses had a philosophy and it was simple: the best heritage any responsible parents could give their children is the best education. And they believed that such education could be best given outside the shores of Nigeria.

Ever since, Yemi had been in the States with occasional visits to Nigeria. He had been schooled in Harvard University and had secured a good job to become a successful young man. Though he had spent most of his life in the States and had an American citizenship to his credits, he had never forgotten whom he truly was--a Nigerian first and every other thing was secondary; he was proud of his African heritage.

Therefore, it wasn’t surprising that at age thirty, he decided to return to Nigeria to set up his own company. Being from a wealthy and renowned family made getting his consulting company started and running kind of easy. That, however, didn’t mean he didn’t work for the success he now enjoyed. His father’s goodwill and connections only paved the way; they didn’t do the magic.

It was his hard work that had brought him in contact with the clients, a group of foreign investors, he was to meet this morning. But the traffic was threatening to make a mess of it all. He checked his wristwatch for the umpteenth time in the last two minutes and he realized time was fast running out. He wished he could tie down the hands of time or better still, grow wings and fly but he was no Superman!

Just then, he noticed that several vehicles in front of him were taking a right turn into a rough road. He watched the first, the second, the third, and by the time he counted up to ten vehicles, he was convinced that they were all trying to take an alternative route to beat the raging traffic. Without a second thought, he joined them.


To be continued ... Watch Out for the next episode!

NB: The book will be up on online stores shortly for those who don't want to wait for each episode to be released.

Àdùkẹ́!
...My Story, My World.

EPISODE 4
(CHAPTER TWO)



The road was very bad and bumpy. He ordinarily wouldn’t have driven his brand new Range Rover sport edition on such a bad road but he didn’t have a choice. The road and several others like it took him round the heart of Agege, a lively ghetto. As they made one turn after the other, he was stunned by was he saw. He had never been in a ghetto before. The closest he had ever come to it was watching it on the news and not witnessing it first-hand as he was now.

He could hardly comprehend what life would be like living in such conditions. It was over-populated and rowdy. The houses were cramped together with little or no space between them and he wondered how the people got enough ventilation. Overcrowded tenement bungalows were a common sight. Debris-clogged gutters and stagnant pools of muddy water breeding mosquitoes in their numbers could be seen every now and then. The smell of fresh pepper, tomatoes, and vegetables on display by the roadsides saturated the air. Commercial motorcycles and tricycles popularly called ‘Okada’ and ‘Keke Marwa’ or ‘Keke Napep’ respectively littered the whole place emitting thick choking carbon monoxide into the atmosphere and producing noises that could harm the eardrums.

Overwhelmed by what he saw, Yemi momentarily forgot about his appointment and allowed himself to be absorbed in the scenery. That was when he caught sight of a beauty shop and it sucked him in completely. His lips parted in admiration, “Oh, my God! Look at that!” He shook his head slowly in wonderment.

The shop stood in shack contrast to its environment. Its branding distinguished it from the several other hairdressing salons he had seen in the area. It wasn’t spectacular though. It couldn’t compare with the ones in Ikeja, Lekki, Victoria Island, or Banana Island neither. But for an area such as this, it was attention-grabbing and the owner was worthy of commendation!

She branded the shop with beautiful pictures of young ladies he presumed were her apprentices. He knew this because the pictures were not those of dashing models or ‘photoshopped’ images of some beautiful foreign ladies. They were pictures of local yet gorgeous ladies! His eyes hovered on the shop for a while and settled on a sign post that read: Pink Roses!

He said to himself, “Pink Roses? Impressive! What a great show of ingenuity and originality.” He rubbed his chin. “Who could have thought someone could think out of the box in a place such as this? What a sharp contrast! And for her to be proud of our own local ladies is highly commendable.”

As he followed the cars in front of him, the image of the beauty shop stuck to his head like leeches. His admiration for the shop and its owner was never lost in the rowdiness of this lively ghetto. Her African pride impressed him the most and was worthy of emulation. He had seen several professionally branded beauty shops in the high-brow areas of Lagos but none had ever compared to Pink Roses in terms of originality. Many of them rather showcased the faces of foreign models and celebrities. The ones that came close usually had the pictures of Nigerian celebrities or Nollywood stars and not ordinary local girls!

Soon they connected the main road again having cut off the traffic jam behind. How happy he was that he followed the vehicles that made the turn. Not only did he make his appointment promptly but he, for the first time in his life, saw first-hand what a ghetto truly looked like. More so, he saw the beauty shop that stirred his imagination in a way he never imagined.

On his way back home later in the day, he thought about his telephone conversation with his mother earlier in the morning. He wondered why she couldn’t be patient with him instead of nagging him to death over the matter. The issue of marriage was not what should be taken lightly—it’s a lifelong contract that could make a very bad mess of one’s life if not gotten right and he felt that his enlightened mum should know better.
He had seen too many marriages crumbling like a pack of cards in the first few years in the United States for him to rush into one; divorce over there was as common as taking a cup of coffee. For him, Nigerian ladies over there was a bad choice. Most of them were far too wayward to spend the rest of one’s life with. Back home, getting a suitable girl wasn’t an easy task either. But his mother chose not to understand that. He only hoped she would someday.



To be continued ... Watch Out for the next episode!

NB: The book will be up on online stores shortly for those who don't want to wait for each episode to be released.

Àdùkẹ́!
...My Story, My World.

[b][/b]interesting story more ink to your pen

ADuKe duke.. Nice story you have there.. Keep the update coming

TRACYPETER755:
[b][/b]interesting story more ink to your pen

Thank you so much, Tracy.