₦airaland Forum

http://penastory.com/2016/01/14/onile-gogoro-skyscraper/#more-922

Throw me back to the 60s

When Roy Chicago and his rhythm dandies ridiculed you

You were in vogue like unclothedness is today

Your reign marked the opening era for the then fashion enthusiast

You were the Brazilian hair of that age

A hair-do that symbolized affluence

At a time my young country was just socially evolving

You stood as the identification figure for the ariya nation

Your mound high on the head of your carrier like a clutter of poles

Standing tall like a dawn erection

Each time I see you

On my grandmother’s head, inside her antique collection folder

I imagine how much buzz you’d garnered back then

Just like your descendants are doing now

Let’s hope your sequels would look as symbolic as you were then

Our beloved skyscraper.

http://penastory.com/2016/01/14/onile-gogoro-skyscraper/#more-922

http://penastory.com/2016/01/13/dont-say-jesus-18/

I was angry with myself, I had fumbled at choir rehearsals today and I couldn’t understand why. If we were to win the Singers Of Glory Regional Championship, I couldn’t afford to be singing like a baby who was just learning to talk. Our choir master, Brother Tunde had also noticed that and after rehearsals, he told me to make sure I report at his house by 4:00pm to continue our rehearsals. I could not say anything as I saw my chances of going to play football with the guys going out the window. Damn this talent of singing, I thought to myself as I knocked on Brother Tunde’s door. I wasn’t really happy that I was going to be spending the rest of the Sunday rehearsing for the singing regionals. As the lead singer, everyone just expected so much of me and my less than excellent performance was not acceptable. The regionals was on Tuesday and I could still see everyone in the congregation beaming with pride as Brother Tunde had announced during announcements that we had made it to the regionals thanks to the powerful voice of Kunle.

“Kunle, you are here already, please come inside.” I realized that Brother Tunde’s daughter Blessing was standing at the door. I had not even heard her open the door and I thanked God that it wasn’t Brother Tunde himself that opened the door or I might have had to explain the scowl on my face. I didn’t like the way everybody treated me like a baby at church, at eighteen, one would expect that they would start treating me more like an adult. They had even refused to allow me join the adults’ class saying I had to wait till I was twenty-one.

“Good afternoon aunty Blessing,” I said as I made my way into the two bedroom apartment that Blessing shared with her widower father. Aunty Blessing also attended the same church with us but her face had become less frequent since she gained admission into the university although she was always around whenever she was home for holidays like now. Brother Tunde never failed to tell anybody how his twenty-two year old daughter was already the head of a campus fellowship while just being in her second year and how he knew she would become a great minister of God in the nearest future.

“Stop calling me aunty Blessing jare, do you want to make me feel like one old woman? It seems just like yesterday that we were in the same teenager’s class. You have grown into a big boy now oh and it is good to see that your voice is really working wonders. You people must win.”

“It is all thanks to God aunty Blessing,” I said taking my seat.

“You would have to wait for daddy, he said he wants to get his car fixed at the mechanic but that you should make sure you wait for him.” I sighed inwardly and resigned myelf to the fact that I was going to be spending even more time than I had thought at this private rehearsal.

“No problem, aunty Blessing.” She laughed and repeated that I should stop calling her aunty Blessing.

“Make yourself comfortable, I would be with you shortly, need to finish something I am doing inside.”

I don’t know how long I was alone in the sitting room before I dozed off but I awakened when I felt a hand on my cock.

“Jesus,” Blessing had her had on my cock and her face was close to mine. She had changed from into a wrapper that was loosely around her chest and ending just by her thighs.

“What are you doing?” I said even as my eyes took in her naked thighs and although I had never seen a naked woman standing so close to me before being the church virgin that I was, I knew that it was not every day a man saw this kind of freshness in a woman.

“Don’t say Jesus,” she said with a short laugh and I noticed that my cock was swelling from her hands movement. “Have you never been touched by a girl before?” Her voice sounded like she was teasing me and she expertly pulled down my zipper. She was still leaning into me and I could see the mounds of her breasts heaving with her every breath. I was excited and confused at the same time but she didn’t need any invitation as my rising cock seemed to be all the invitation that she needed. “I can see you like it.”

“We shouldn’t, Jesus would not like this.” My own voice sounded alien to even me and she laughed again as she expertly drew down my chinos trouser zipper and her fingers moved onto my cock through my boxers.

“Jesus? Don’t worry, we will ask Jesus for forgiveness when we are done? Don’t be such a baby, I thought you would have grown into an adult by now.” She was stroking my now erect cock through my boxer as she spoke and as she uttered the last word, she pushed herself back with the chair and untied her loose wrapper.

“Jesus,” I heard myself repeat weakly as my eyes took in her breasts standing like twin mountains with her nipples jutting straight at me as if they were inviting me to touch them. I was unsure of what to do and I could see she was enjoying my discomfort as she smiled and sucking her left middle finger, she began to rub her nipples. I stood as if I was enthralled in a trance and then her finger began to slowly slide down her flat stomach and my eyes involuntarily followed her finger. I willed myself not to look further as it passed her navel but found I could not resist as it passed there and travelled even downwards till she reached her womanhood.

“Are you going to have you some of this good pussy or are you going to stand there and keep watching me like you have seen a demon?” I knew whatever it was that I was seeing, it was no demon as I felt my cock twitch in response and she moved closer bending my head to her nipples. I took to her nipples like a new borne would take to its mother breasts. I lapped eagerly at her dark nipples before closing my mouth around it and sucked gently.

I heard her inhale as she guided me back to a sitting position and sat on my laps so that she was facing me. As she did this, she held my head to her nipples so that I continued sucking even as she began to move slowly in my laps. Whatever inhibitions I had had earlier were out the door as I sucked on her breasts as if my life depended. She was playing with her second breasts with her hand as I lavished my attention on the one that I had been guided to.

“Suck harder, make me your bitch!”

“Jesus,” I gasped as I heard her use the word bitch. Who would think that Brother’s Tunde perfect campus fellowship leader used words like bitch? She stood up in annoyance and looked at me in her full unclothedness unabashed that I was fully clothed except for my throbbing dick which had somehow found its way out through my unzipped trousers.

“Stop saying Jesus! What is it with you and Jesus? If you say Jesus one more time, we are going to end this right now.” I felt ashamed and mumbled my apology and she signaled that I pull off my trouser, an instruction I complied with quickly. She took my cock in her hand and rubbed my pre-cum over the tip making me gasp again. This time, my gasp of shock was more of pleasure than surprise and she smiled that smile again.

“Stand up,” she said and I complied. She then went on her knees and closed her mouth around my cock. I had never been sucked before so this feeling was totally alien. It was like my dick was encased in a warm-hot wetness that sent sensations of pleasure all over my body and I didn’t want it to stop. I felt myself begin to thrust awkwardly when her hands on my naked buttocks seemed to be trying to cram every inch of my manhood into her mouth. It was clear that this was not her first time of giving a guy a Mouth Gig as she kept on bobbing and slurping like one who knew what she was doing.

After sucking for me for what seemed like forever, I felt my pleasure increase and I began to moan softly. I knew I was about to burst and as I felt the first spurt of cum jet out of my cock even as my legs buckled but she her hands held on tight to keep me from falling. Just then, the sound of a knock came on the door and Brother Tunde’s voice came booming

“Blessing come and open this door.”

“Jesus,” we both said in unison.

http://penastory.com/2016/01/13/dont-say-jesus-18/

http://penastory.com/2016/01/12/the-day-i-died/#more-896

I remember the day I died clearly like it was just yesterday although it happened many years ago. It was on a sunny day in the month of October, I was on my way back from school; a young boy in his first year of secondary school when the enveloping mist of death darkened it my sun, trapping my world in darkness and silence.

I was just a street away from home when I saw that familiar welcoming sight of boli across the road. I had saved my break-time money earlier in school just so that I could buy my favourite snack of roasted plantain. With a watery mouth and no hesitation in my footsteps, I allowed the sweet smell wafting from Iya Kudi’s stall draw me to my death. I didn’t see it coming; no hint to the lurking danger in my path. A car came out of the bend on high speed and hit me. All I remember before the silence was that split second scream from Iya Kudi and then the sickening crunch of metal against flesh, my flesh. Death came swiftly and embraced me in a cold passionless. The sunny brightness of the day ceased to exist as darkness became lord.

Death came dark and fearful in appearance to announce to me that I belonged no more to the world of the living. It’s calm tone suggested that it was used to telling people of their death every day. I couldn’t believe my ears and I did not hesitate to yell my disbelief. Death smiled at me, a cold remorseless grin that showed the ugly fangs dripping maggot and slime. I shivered and lowered my eyes in fear as it took my hand and we soared across the skies together on a wingless flight. I was too scared to protest and I allowed myself to be led away like a lamb being led to the slaughter. The scene of the accident grew distant and the images of people wailing over my lifeless body soon vanished out of sight. I remember thinking how horrified mum would be to see my school uniform bloodied my body mauled by the raging metallic monster that had robbed me of my life. Mom would every night painstakingly wash my uniform while scolding me about how dirty and playful I was and despite the gravity of death being too heavy for my young mind, I knew I was not going to be seeing mum anytime soon. At least not while I was airborne with this monster.

We floated across our compound and I saw my little sister Anu playing with her friend Shade. I tried calling out to her but she didn’t seem to hear me. My screams were locked in my head and that was when I decided to ask where we were going. Death looked at me with its dark eyes that made one feel like he was staring into a bottomless pit and without its lips moving answered that we were on a journey that was never going to end. I didn’t understand this either and all I knew was that I wanted to go home. I don’t know for how long but suddenly the darkness faded and we were earth bound once again and the place looked familiar. It was the road leading to Atan Cemetery by Yaba. I recognized the road because I had passed there countless times to visit my brother at the University of Lagos. There was a little crowd standing over a grave and I recognized mum immediately. Her regal carriage was bent over with grief and her wails seemed to echo the sadness of the birds as they chirped nosily every time she let out a wail like a person in pain.

“Te mi ti baje, where do I start from? My poor baby! Bring back my baby? Where is my baby oh, omo mi da. Ina omo jomi.” I wanted to tell her I was right there but again she like Anu didnt hear my words. Anu was clinging to her and together they were sobbing while dad stood there in the frigid stance of a soldier with his face expressionless. Why were they all dressed in black and with so much sorrow in the air that it was palpable? There was too much grief and sadness over my not being there and I tried to wave at them that I was right there with them but nobody seemed to see me.

Then I saw the box. A small rectangular thing that seemed to have something of interest inside it. It was from this box that all the sadness was emanating as each person that went and peeked into it would shake their head, sigh in despair or let out a wail similar to that of mum’s. I saw Pastor Tade talking and then I faced my companion what was going on and he pointed its gnarled finger towards

“What is going on? Why are all these people so sad? Why haven’t you taken me to see Jesus yet? I want to see grandma? Please can I see what is inside the box that they are all looking at?” I felt a release then as Death signaled I go over to the box. I hurried to the open box and reeled back in shock as I came face to face with myself. There I was in my best Sunday suit, my eyes closed in sleep with my complexion slightly ashen.

Why couldn’t they just wake me up? Why were they all crying that I was asleep? The answer came from my dark companion who had also descended to stand by me, “That is because you are dead. I own you now.”

I cried out and fell on my knees, My cries mixed with those around me and when I felt that wasn’t enough, I turned around to look at the crying faces. Then I ran. I don’t know where the energy came from but I knew somehow that if I could get away from my dark companion, everything would be alright. I could feel it behind me but I wasn’t going to turn around; I was determined it wasn’t going to catch me again. I didn’t know where I was running to but I knew I could not let this darkness take over me again. I didn’t know where I was running to but I knew what I was running for, I was running for dear life.

I saw the hole looming in front of me and somehow one of the action movies I had watched came flashing back to me. That moment when Wolverine had jumped into a well before a bomb went off in one of the “X-Men” movies. I believed if I jumped into this hole too, I would be safe. Safe from harm. I tumbled into it headlong and felt the refreshing respite of water against my skin.

“Jesus you have wee-wee on yourself again!” The voice woke me up just and my little sister was standing above me with a grin on her face. “I will tell Mommy that you wee-wee on yourself,” with that she bounced away with her laughter ringing in my ears. I looked down at my soaked pajamas and I must say I had never heard a more welcomed sound than her laughter.

http://penastory.com/2016/01/12/the-day-i-died/#more-896

http://penastory.com/2016/01/11/i-wont-call-you-daddy-tobi-davies/

“Arise!” The court attendant’s voice had a sort of yell to it but maybe it was just me over imagining things. We all rose till the judge sat on his leather seat and the ego with which he sat was not exactly what I expected of a judge that was about to decide the future of a child.

“Present your case please.” Mr Lawrence, the counsel to Mr. Femi Onabanjo stood with confidence and his voice resonated something I could not quite place my mind on as he said “My Lord, my client and I are here to regain custody of the child seated here,” he pointed towards where I was sitting and I felt all eyes in the courtroom turn towards me before he continued “it has been determined that my client is the biological father of the child.” He sat and Mr. Onabanjo’s face had a smile that covered his entire face. Mr. Ibidun, mom’s lawyer stood up next and presented his case while I considered what my fate would be at this final hearing.

The entire hearing had felt terrifying at first but at this stage I was no longer terrified. It all began some months ago when I had eavesdropped on a conversation that I never knew was going to change my life forever. I had not even thought it was about me in the first place. Mom and Dad were talking about a child that needed to be returned to his father.

“Besides, he has every right to do this,” dad was saying as I listened with my ears pressed against the door. I heard dad sigh and go on, “I refuse to fight over what is not mine.” Mom’s voice was slightly louder and it was obvious she was crying as she responded

“You want to give up abi! What sort of man gives up what he has cherished for a long time and it is time to protect it.?” She called Dad by his name for the first time. “Osage, you will not leave me like this…” I was worried, mom never called Dad by name except it was a really serious matter but I left my position and went back to what I was doing before any of them caught me listening in on their conversation but for weeks after that conversation I kept wondering what could be wrong.

Following that conversation, Dad’s absence from home became more frequent and even when he came home, he was always looking gloomy and depressed. He talked less and seemed to smiled more and sometimes he would ask that I sleep next to him. During such moments of tenderness, he would hold on to me like he was trying to make sure I didn’t slip from his grasp. Usually, mom would just stare at him and start crying and he would hold her as well with my feeling lost as to what was going. Who was dying? Who was leaving? Were they getting a divorce?

Things began to have more clarity one noon when I was sitting outside the main door looking at people go around their various activities in the compound. A man walked in through the gate and there was something about him that immediately caught my interest. Maybe it had to do with how this man looked straight at me with his piercing dark eyes before turning his head to take in the entire compound. When he was done with his inspection, he started moving towards me and a little voice in me whispered to me not to greet him. When he drew close enough though, there was a compelling aura around him that had me mumbling a “Good afternoon sir,” and he looked at me like he had expected more from me than that.

Mom must have been expecting him because she walked out the door the minute he asked after her and I decided I didn’t like this proud looking man with his Rolex wristwatch. He was clearly not from here and didn’t fit into the scenery of filth and poverty, this was clearly a stranger in a Face-Me-I-Face You compound. I was staring at him as the rest of our neighbours who were around were also doing, in their minds they must have been wondering who the rich man visiting the Osaros was.

I stared at him and mom talking in hushed whispers after he had refused her invitation to come inside. I shifted closer to them although mom had instructed me to stay where I was with her eyes. I needed to know who he was and what it was that he was discussing with mom that was making her so agitated.

“Have you made up your mind? We don’t have to go through with the court case. How old is he?” My new position mean’t their conversation could now reach me.

“He is only fourteen.” Mom replied and I didn’t need to be told that they were talking about me. That mom also avoided his other questions made alarm bells go off in my head. What was going on? I needed answers and my mind was racing with different explanations. What did he mean by court case? Why was he asking how old I am?

“How do you even live here? This place is a total dump. You cook here? Eat here? There was a tone of incredulity and condemnation in his voice and I bristled at this proud man who was not only making my mother agitated but now felt like he had a right to judge her. Mom was silent.

“Does he go to school?” He finally asked when he realized mom was not going to answer his question.

“Oh yes! He is in SS2 now. He hardly sleeps because of his ambition to take us out of here. He is usually top of his class and he never whines about not getting enough. I don’t know how he does it, we are barely able to afford his text books but somehow he finds books to read and leads the class.” There was pride in mom’s voice as she talked about my accomplishments and I wanted to go to her and hug her but I knew I would only receive a spanking for eavesdropping. Her voice dropped even lower and I strained my ears to hear her say “He enjoys riding bicycles but Osage can’t afford to buy him one. I have promised him we’ll leave this place to a better one. He is a rare gem really…” He cut in rudely

“Enough! All these would change when he is with me. All these things are irrelevant to me and he can have all the bicycles he wants when he is with me, he doesn’t even need to study that hard again if he is really as bright as you say he is. What is that his name again?” He threw a glance at me and I had to quickly turn my face to the ground to avoid being caught.

“Seye is his name. You don’t care about the boy, all you want is a trophy son and just so you know all the things I said about him shows how much he means more than just a trophy to us. I wish you won’t take our one source of happiness just because you can.” There was resigned bitterness in mom’s voice and I didn’t need a soothsayer to tell me that this man was about to take me from my parents. But what did mom mean by a trophy son? I didn’t have time to dwell on that as I heard mom say “If you hurt my son Femi, if you lay a pinch of that nasty finger of yours on my child, you will be dead.”

He laughed mirthless and then his voice was very loud and angry when he finally replied “Alero that boy is also my son. You cannot tell me what to do with my son.” My mouth flew open in shock and I heard a gasp from one of the neighbors who were also standing by their doorsteps, looking at mom and the rich stranger. His son? What was this man talking about? Mom lost her cool then too and shouted back at him

“He will hate you. What you did to me, to us will make him hate you. You’re no father to a son that you rejected fourteen years ago. Just because you can’t have a child now, you want to come and take the one you abandoned.” She was crying now as she continued “Osage is the only family that would stay with me. My parents refused take me in. Who would blame them? They had my five siblings to feed. I was a disappointment and bringing in an extra mouth to feed was not in the options. My father disowned me, I had to drop out of school while you Femi chased me out and called me a LovePeddler. Your father was rich enough to send you out of the country and bribe social services to cover up the family name. You took my life and now you think you can take my son as well?” He raised his hand like he was going to slap her and I ran to them in a flash with more violence in me than I thought possible. He drew back and looked at me as if wondering where I had come from. Mom drew me close to her and pointed at him. “I carried Seye for nine months. I worked all kinds of trade. I hawked with him on my back after his birth. Osage had nothing, all he wanted was the pretty Alero not Alero and Femi’s baby but he still took me in. He dropped everything for me. Femi, you’re a bastard! A cold blooded bastard! That is what you are. I would fight you and your money and even if you win like you always do, I know you won’t win in hell.” There was a mini-crowd now and I tugged at my mom’s hand to indicate we should go inside.

“See you in court Alero.” He said to our retreating backs and it took all the self will in me not to yell at him to go to hell even as i caught the faces of the neighbours. I was shaking with controlled anger as we entered into our room and I slammed the door shut aggressively to indicate to all watching that the show was over.

Mom collapsed in on the floor and began sobbing and I sat down beside her, stroking her hands unable to say anything. After about ten minutes, she opened her mouth to say something but I didn’t need to be told so I just said “Mom, I know. We would be fine” She hugged me tight to her then and continued crying. It broke my heart to see her in so much pain all because of me and a rich bastard that called himself my father. After the incident, I tried to make the house as vibrant as possible knowing that my days with them was numbered.

My head jerked up as I heard my name and was asked to come to the witness stand. The judge wanted to know if there was anything I would like to say before passing his judgement.

“Good day everyone. I am Seye Osaro and would never been an Onabanjo.” I paused and allowed that sink in. I continued, “ We live in a society where money matters more than family and justice so before the judge passes his judgement all I ask is that the court to grant me these wishes before I am handed over to that man who I shall for as long as I live refuse to call father.” I pointed at where Mr. Femi Onabanjo sat and continued, “before leaving my mother to his house, I will like that she be given a job, an apartment or preferably a house with a Toyota Venza. Also, my Dad,” this time I pointed to where Mr. Osage Osaro sat “should also be given a job in line with his intelligence, a car of his choice and a sum of five million naira to maintain himself before his first salary. Lastly I will like to ask the law court to grant me the wish to finish my secondary education in my present school before moving over to my father’s finally. Thank you.”

There was a big smile on my parents’ face as I stepped down and made my way back to my seat while the courtroom exploded into applause with the attendant yelling “Order” to no avail. I wasn’t sure if my wishes will be granted but I knew we have not given up without putting up a fight.

http://penastory.com/2016/01/11/i-wont-call-you-daddy-tobi-davies/

http://penastory.com/2016/01/11/a-little-drizzle-temilade-ladejobi/

This was the fifth day and the rain showed no signs of stopping. Baby had developed a cold from the chilly weather and the lack of heat. I watched as Papa adjusted the tarpaulin cover on the ceiling causing water that had gathered on it to spill on the already wet floor. Mama rubbed Robb on Baby’s chest and covered him up with her best church wrapper.

“Lord of Host! What kind of rain is this? Ehn?” She exclaimed loudly as she lay down to sleep beside Baby. I remember the first day the rain came. It started as a drizzle and we were sure it would soon pass so none of us prepared for heavy rain. Eventually the downpour increased and before we knew it, it was heavier than a drizzle. I remember running outside to join mama in removing our clothes from the line where they were spread to dry earlier that afternoon. Papa wasn’t at home when the rain started and he came home that day wet as if he had had a swim in the river with his clothes on. Now five days later, the rain showed no signs of stopping.
The next day, Mama was in the kitchen trying to fix something for lunch when we heard the screams. Papa took an umbrella and rushed out to see what the noise was about. He came back and informed mama that the river had overflown it’s banks. Water was covering the whole village. Quickly, Mama started scrambling to save the most important items she could lay her hands on. She and Paper kept transferring the suitcases and boxes on the floor to the bed and in her haste Mama dropped a heavy suitcase of clothes on Baby’s leg. Baby screamed out in pain and Papa quickly lifted off the suitcase from his leg while cautioning Mama to be more careful.

Mama paused to pet Baby and he was just beginning to abate the cries when I saw water seeping into the house from the door. I never got to raise the alarm as the torrents came rushing into the house through the cracks and every opening available. Mama screamed and I saw the look of dread on my parents’ faces even as Mama started crying and praying in our native dialect. Papa swiftly began his rescue attempt of blocking the water from entering any further. He used the excess rags in the kitchen to block the main path the water was entering from and even used the last tarpaulin we had to block the water. It worked! Papa sighed in relief and stretched his back. “Oh thank you Lord” Mama exclaimed amidst sobs and tears. Papa sat on the bed next to Mama who clutched Baby tightly to herself like she was afraid the water would suddenly come in and snatch him from her.

Later that evening, after we had succeeded in mopping off all the water from the room, Mama cooked rice and stew with boiled egg. Papa was not happy that he was being served egg instead of meat, his favourite but Mama reminded him that no one had stepped out of the house due to the rain and that she had exhausted the meat in the house. After the meal, Papa and I put all the suitcases and boxes that were on the bed back on to their right positions on the floor while Mama tried her hands at cleaning. Baby was not the only one that fell asleep as Mama sang lullabies and hours later Papa woke me up to prepare my bed on the floor and sleep. It took me a few moments to get my thoughts together and stand up from the bed. I hastily prepared my bed and as I laid down, I said my night prayers. I looked at the flickering lantern flame as I felt myself slowly drifting off to the sound of the rain still pouring.

That night, I had a dream. I dream’t I was in the river swimming. I was doing every trick I knew and I was doing it well when I suddenly felt myself getting heavy and unable to swim anymore. It felt like I had reached the bottom of the river and I started drowning. Immediately I woke up and everything was wet. I tried to stand and I realized my whole bed was soaked with water.

“Papa!” I screamed and he woke up immediately. He switched on the flashlight and woke Mama as well as he told me to get on the bed. As I climbed on the bed, papa opened the window And I saw that it was nearly dawn. Papa and Mama were talking about what they were going to do to try stop the waters when it was fully daylight when we heard the sound of water crashing our door down. The water came in heavy torrents and it didn’t swept everything in its path. Within a matter of seconds, it covered everything and the water level was rising to our 24-inches bed. Mama began to get hysterical while Papa told us we had to vacate the house. Mama carried Baby in her arms and looked at Papa from her position on the bed as he stepped into the water. The water got to Papa’s thighs. He held out his arm to support Mama who was clinging to Baby again. I joined them in the water and I was almost out of the door when I struck my foot on something. I shouted in pain and Papa shouted at me to be careful and watch my steps. Steps I can never retrace back to a house that was destroyed by the flood.

http://penastory.com/2016/01/11/a-little-drizzle-temilade-ladejobi/

http://penastory.com/2016/01/06/who-is-a-good-woman-afolabi-oluwatobi/

The other day I was listening to the radio and the presenter put a question forward to her listeners. She asked the question: “who or what is a good woman”? Of course people called in to give their opinions. And so people started calling in, mostly male. And I was horrified by the answers most of them gave.
Some said a good woman is one who knows how to take care of the home, while some maintained that a good woman is one who knows how to cook well and one who is also good in bed. One even said a good woman is a COMPLETE woman. As per, she knows how to dress well, she knows how to cook, she knows how to socialize, and she knows how to take care of her home and her family. Of course being able to do that is great and all but is that it? I think the OAP was just as horrified as I was but of course, she couldn’t voice out her qualms about it.
So I realized that most person’s (especially men) idea of a good woman doesn’t have much to do with her moral standards or her character. Okay so I know that’s not fair, because,of course it wasn’t the whole world that called to give their opinions, but anyway, I’m I right in assuming that according to those people, a woman could be rude to your family, sleep with your friends and co workers, be unhygienic but as long as she can cook, or she’s good in bed or can dress well, she’s a good woman. Well, in my own opinion,a good woman is morally upright, hardworking, and a woman who knows she’s not perfect, but is working hard at being a better person everyday, she handles difficult situations with grace and efficiency, looks have nothing to do with it but it does help if she’s not too bad on the eyes. Anyway, looks will fade, a good body will grow old; but a good woman, will always be a good woman.
So I put it to you, what’s your idea of a good woman?

http://penastory.com/2016/01/06/who-is-a-good-woman-afolabi-oluwatobi/

http://penastory.com/2016/01/08/poetry-play-1/

Samuel Oluwatobi Olatunji and Emmanuella Nwosisi



S:

I come clothed in clouds

E:

Dark and wintry like a hurricane

S:

For your earthen embrace

E:

I would give not a penny

Your misery would bring me joy

S:

Your pulchritude, not your penny, pulls me closer

Let your joy sprout on the humus of my misery

E:

My beauty knows no bounds

Alas, it is my curse

But do not be fooled

Your stupidity pushes you to me

You vile mortal

Come, meet your demise

S:

Cast your curse on me

Let my stupidity have a sip of sweetness

For death is a sweet symphony of serenity

Let me sing it in the sepulchre of your skin

Making melody of moans

E:

A song my soul shall sing

When your spirit is broken

And your voice gone

My heart will leap for joy

When heartbreak consumes you

When I crush your puny human heart

And watch you die in pain

Then my joy will be complete

And my eyes will dance in delight



NB: Poetry Play 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. Every poem formed from this game will be published here (penastory.com) every Friday. So poets, are you ready to play? If yes, contact Samuel via BBM: 7f5210ec

http://penastory.com/2016/01/08/poetry-play-1/

Are you a poet? If yes, then you have to participate in poetry play. But wait, what’s poetry play?

Poetry play is a game in form of poetic dialogue on BBM. It is played by two poets: one drops a line or more, and the other replies, flowing along until one of them gives up. Every poem formed from this game will be published on penastory.com every Friday.

If you want to play, contact Samuel on BBM: 7f5210ec

So Poets, are you ready to play?

http://penastory.com/2016/01/06/the-journey-olaleye-oladipupo/#more-707

A flash of light from an oncoming vehicle assaulted my half closed eyelids and in my attempt to evade them, I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter. The moon had enveloped itself with bleak black clouds and gave the glory of the night to tiny blinking stars and after I was sure the car was gone, I rubbed my eyes with the back of my palm and checked the time on my watch. 10:58 p.m.
I could not shake off the sense of dread that had accompanied me through out the entire journey and by checking my time, I felt I was only waiting for whatever danger there was to make itself manifest. Tragic stories of late-night journeys started to flip through the pages in my head, the beats in my heart started to make rhythm with the sounds of the whispering trees that whizzed past us on both sides of the roads like dancers in fast paced motion.

“Omo-school, you don wake up,” I turned towards the voice, there was a sarcastic smile splattered across his face as if it had been painted there. His mouth was still reeked of alcohol and his head looked like it was in conflict with his hair. The haggard looking old man. I managed to fake a smile back at the haggard looking old man sitting beside me, the gear-stick separating our chairs. I had not liked him as the driver nor his car in the first place and now being in his metal box that seemed more like a coffin, I wished there had been another cabu-cabu car when I got to Berger park several minutes earlier
“Abegi o, oga-aa diręfa, where we don reach o?” This time, it was the voice of the woman sitting directly behind and as she leaned forward, her hands pressed into my chair and made me adjust uncomfortably as she tried to get as close as she could to the driver. Her voice had been the loudest so far among the five of us in the car. She kept receiving phone calls since the tyres of the car first rolled and for each of the calls, she raved like some hungry lioness with loud laughs, heavily accented Yoruba dialect and scattered English spoken with a shrill voice. The worse of the calls was the one she had received around Ijaye bus-stop when she kept howling “Oloshi! Con-ma pay me my money tomorrow o,” to the person on the other end of the line.
“Agbado-Crossing,” the driver and I rhymed, turning our necks backward as we replied the woman in unison. Our faces almost coming together as if in their own battle of ‘the-first-face-to-point-directly-towards-her-face’ contest. Those two or three seconds was all the lurking danger needed to rear its head, as my head was jerked back to the road when the driver swerved off the road in an attempt to avoid a looming pothole his alcohol drenched eyes must have missed before he turned to answer the woman.
The old vehicle protested the treatment and he lost control. The car skidded off the road and made a beeline for the trees like it was being chased. My heart stopped in my chest, my breath became horses in motion as the car stumbled over a rock and flipped into the air. My heart banged on the walls of my chest like a pit-bull with no leash and my mind raced like a happy Ijesha woman pounding yam for her husband as even among the din of noise I made out the scream of Jesus! Jesus!! from the young lady that sat in the middle of the back seat to the fear filled yell of “Ori-iya-mi-o” from the old man that sat just behind the driver. Then it was all a cacophony of noise as all sank into a blasting tone of a massive bell, ‘grrron-rong, grrron-rong’.
The car finally came to a halt albeit upside down and I opened my eyes to see the leaking petrol mixed with blood before a flame seemed to leap out of the ocean.
“It’s ok, it’s ok Bolaji, stop there and sit down, Salewa, oya, you continue reading from there. Everybody make sure you are following the comprehension passage, I can call on any other person at any time to start reading from wherever Salewa stops,” Miss Ajayi interrupted in her polished English.

http://penastory.com/2016/01/06/the-journey-olaleye-oladipupo/#more-707

http://penastory.com/2015/12/28/sagging-piece-of-my-mind-david-osude/#more-567


The lyrics that liven my soul

Now probe the devoid of my heart

I plan billions of reach-outs to you

But my pride thwarts every effort of my yearnings

My once beautiful crimson bosom

That leaped for thoughts of you

Now hastens to the memories of the pieces you made of it

Whiffs of what ifs still heave through my veins

But I prefer to stay on the other side of my screw-ups

http://penastory.com/2015/12/28/sagging-piece-of-my-mind-david-osude/#more-567

http://penastory.com/2015/12/28/when-kids-play-adult-games/


“If you want to keep this baby, that’s okay. If you want to give your baby up for adoption when he is born, that’s an option too. If you are considering abortion, it is against what I believe and how I raised you but then it is your choice. I am here. I am your mother and I am asking you to think about all these options and tell me what you want” Iya Bimbo said in a gentle yet firm voice. Bimbo was only half listening as her mind kept flashing to the events of the past.

She could still hear the sound of the wall clock, the ticks and chimes. She could still see the moon through the window, full and sad, unreachable and dancing alone amidst dark clouds and twinkling stars. She could see herself, on his small twin bed looking at his blue boxers, Bayo’s manhood lurking just underneath, inches away while her body yearned for his flesh, his eyes focused on her breasts. Tears formed in the corner of her eyes.

“Why are you crying now? You don’t get to cry, you have to hold yourself together and think about the future you want for yourself before we tell your father or go to Bayo’s parents.” Iya Bimbo said with scorn in her voice.

“Mom, I will think about it. I will. Just give me till the morning” Bimbo replied.

“Okay. I am going to bed but I will be the first person you see in the morning. When I knock on your door, you had better have a decision. I cannot keep quiet about this for too long” Iya Bimbo declared.

“I understand Mummy. Thank you.” Bimbo replied with a smile.

Then again, she felt the things she felt when he was in her, his black skin against her brown body, soft kisses from her neck down to her toes, feather touches making her moan. The thrill of excitement as he fondled her breasts, a mix of pain and pleasure as he delved into her body and entered in one swift stroke. The ride a blend of slow and fast strokes, temperatures high with the sonorous blends of excited squeals. Then it was all over, his seed was planted and even as she with a satiated smile on her face allowed him cuddle her to sleep unaware of the gravity of what had just taken place.

“I am keeping the baby, a product of our love” she sad out aloud and grabbed her phone. Bayo’s response was fast as it was like he was by his phone waiting for her text.

“You are being naïve, impractical and unrealistic. Keeping the baby is the worst thing you could do to us, to yourself. Believe it or not I want you to keep the baby but it is just so insane that we are going to be parents at eighteen.” Bayo replied back tersely.

“How do you mean, we are not the first of our kind?” Bimbo replied, the tears welling in her eyes in shock.

“You have more to lose. You will carry our baby for nine months and blame me for dropping out of school. You will be at home breast feeding while I continue school and you will look back at your life and say I am the reason you never got that education. You will miss childhood and being just a girl with no worries because you would have to be a woman too early and mummy to our son and say it is my fault. You will not remember you made a sacrifice for love, you will say that I destroyed you and your chances at the many things could have been.” Bayo explained back with another text.

“You are to blame. You said you will pull out but you did not. And you promised that the pills we got from the store the next morning would work. It did not. But I want to keep the baby because it’s a decision I would someday wish I made and if you make me abort it I will always blame you.”

“You will always blame me. It will always be my fault, either you keep the baby or you abort it. I will always be the bad guy and I have to be okay with being the bad guy because we had amazing sex and enjoyed it so much that I forgot to pull out. I am the bad guy and you are the pregnant girl, you get to play victim.” Bayo fired back.

“Oh. You talk of victim. I will be ridiculed among other girls and if we do not end up together no man wants a girl that already has a baby, I will become damaged goods. My father, when I tell him will declare me a disgrace to the entire family. Your father when you tell him might be mad for a few days and you guys will be okay. Or he might even praise you. As for me, I will always be a black sheep. They will always look at me like that, because I am the girl that had sex with her boyfriend and have to be the one walking around pregnant. I am not playing victim, I am in trouble” Her reply this time was filled with crying emojis.

“You will not have to deal with that if you listen and just abort the baby. I know it’s harder on you, on any girl in this situation. I have seen my cousin lose her self esteem and eventually gave in to the low expectations and now all she is just a girl with two kids from different fathers. I don’t want you to suffer, or our baby to suffer because we are not ready. Babe, please abort the baby and move on with your life”

“No. I am keeping it. You and I are raising our child prepare your mind towards that. If it gets hard and I need someone to blame for the failures of my life, I will blame you as much as I blame myself and then I will remember I enjoyed the sex and blame it on love” There was no response this time around and after aboout ten minutes of waiting she typed slowly “KEEPING THE BABY!!!”

http://penastory.com/2015/12/28/when-kids-play-adult-games/

http://penastory.com/2015/12/17/the-heart-of-love-samson-oloyede-elprinciple/

The Heart of Love has long been sore

And longer it’s likely to be

In love, the heart is at the fore

In love? A while, it will thrill thee

When my first way to love, I took

Few arsenals in my armoury, had I

Putto shot his arrow, struck; I shook

Painfully pleasurable – I can’t cry

Oh! Cupid’s cloud- baroque

Yet, this path, I will ply


Now times are altered, no worry

The thrills are no frills- work!

Yet, Cupid retains its South African flavour- curry

The Heart of Love heals and dances- twerk!

http://penastory.com/2015/12/17/the-heart-of-love-samson-oloyede-elprinciple/#more-70

http://penastory.com/2015/12/17/suicide-by-accident-oluwafemi-ogunde/

For some reason I miss the silence, the one I failed to acknowledge when I had it. We didn’t have to talk or say anything to each other, we simply connected in our moments of peace. Grandma said little during the journey, just hand movements on her face once in a while. Junior’s death had taken a toll on her. She barely said anything these days. She wasn’t supposed to be driving but I have not learnt much about the automobile system except that I know where to turn when I wanted it, I am also familiar with how to start and stop the car.

Everyone speaks in low hushed tones now, especially around grandma. I guess that is the best way we could mourn, mourn without breaking her. Junior’s dad tried breaking her once over the phone but Aunty collected the phone and smashed it the moment she sensed his intent. We have not picked his calls since then.

It still feels like a mystery, like something scripted that happens only in the movies; something one would watch on television. I still have vivid images of the empty pill container and shattered glass pieces on the floor. I still sometimes imagine how he did it. Did he take all hundred one after the other or maybe it was hurried in twos or perhaps threes. There had been no letter, nothing to give a clues as to why he did it. I remember hearing him cry several times, sniffing in the lowest tones possible while speaking in tongues and questioning God. He was troubled I knew but never could get him to tell why.

Suddenly I felt Bisi tapping me. I tried to shrug her away but her urgency increased and her pinch made my head jerk up in annoyance. I turned towards her intending to slap her but stopped as I saw why she was tapping me. Grandma was running traffic lights, the speed at which we were moving was easily past the limit. I began to call her softly as the doctor advised against any other means of communication.. The doctor said we needed to treat her like a fragile egg, any sudden move could jolt her. She turned to face me with her hands still on the steering and I begged her to look at the road while Bisi put on her seat belt and began praying in tongues softly. I expanded my seat belt and dived for her feet on the accelerator. The accelerator felt like the North Pole from where I was. I expanded more and the seat belt got stuck. I unbuckled myself and finally took her feet off the pedal and got control of the brakes. The car slowly cruised to a halt and I raised my head to see grandma crying. I hugged her tightly and whispered “All will be well.” For a split second I felt her hug me back but the moment was gone as she sniffed and withdrew quickly. I guess she was too embarrassed to have us see her in such a state. At least now I know where Junior got his personality from. I was just about to buckle my belt when I felt a heavy hit from the side. Slowly everything began to disobey gravity as I felt elevated and dropped simultaneously. My sight became blurry when the car came to halt all I saw was first red, then everything went blank.

http://penastory.com/2015/12/17/suicide-by-accident-oluwafemi-ogunde/

http://penastory.com/2015/12/16/adamma-genesis-o-chukwuma/

You just have to love her

Nothing she ever does is wrong

Nothing can stop her love

Her love for conquering souls

Adamma is your music

You just have to dance to her

To her and amazing tunes.

Her tongue is like acid

If she tastes you?

She dissolves you

Adamma

Everybody wanted Adamma’s bliss



Her body had quickly become a diocese

A billionaire once gave up his watch and his time

Just for her dying touch

But she never cared much

She was young

She had time, So why the rush?

Adamma



Adamma’s skin would blind you.

So radiant was she

The sun burnt her out of jealousy.

Only the poet had saw it

He praised her goddess like beauty

He worshipped her

She was his mistress

But she ate his soul

No man owns her

Adamma



He looked aeon



She couldn’t find herself in him

She was definitely older than him

But his soul had to be older

It wasn’t like she didn’t she know she was too old to be shy

He was nobody

He was nothing.

Things can never be reversed

She knows she’s been cursed

He never cared

Adamma



The billionaire didn’t own her.

The Poet couldn’t have her.

Just a lonely boy.

A nobody worth mentioning.

If you asked who?

You would get nothing.

Nothing was who he was



The salt that made her lose her mind.

Just a pinch of ecstasy

A drop of stolen water

The billionaire gave her luxury

The poet gave her love

She wanted to give her all

Not take another’s all

Adamma

http://penastory.com/2015/12/16/adamma-genesis-o-chukwuma/

Its really a good read...

http://penastory.com/2015/12/15/shadows-in-the-water-episode-2/

[Excerpt From Episode 1:

Labimpe was about to reply her when the sound of a gun went off, for a minute everybody paused as if spellbound by some magic. The second booming of the gun, this time followed by a piercing scream sent everyone scampering in different directions. To read Episode 1: CLICK HERE]

“Have you heard that Fagbuyi is returning to the village?” Labimpe asked as she and Asake made their way to the river. Asake shook her head and laughed, trying to avoid her pot of water from slipping from her grasp.

“Of course I have heard? Who hasn’t heard the news, I am very sure if they have not heard, you asking the entire village would surely have spread the news faster than Alamu and his gong.”

“Are you trying to insult me Asake. So now I am the village parrot that is always talking ehen? Me amebo? It is not your fault, after all I was only trying to be a good friend and make sure that you are not left out in the things that go on in this village.” Asake laughed again and pushed her friend lightly.

“Hanhan, so someone cannot play with you again. I was only joking with you jare.” Labimpe’s mood brightened up and she continued

“Who do you think he would want to choose as bride, you know we have quite some pretty girls. If not that I love my Akanni so much, I won’t mind him picking me.”

“Haba! Labimpe! This your mouth that won’t stop dancing till it puts you into trouble one of these days. Did they tell you he is coming home to pick a wife ni? How can you even be thinking of such a thing when his father was recently murdered in this very village?” Labimpe stopped in her tracks and shook her fist at Asake threateningly, obviously provoked.

“Warn yourself this morning Asake, warn yourself, if you have a fight you want to settle with me before, just let me know, abi which one is all this style style insult. I said someone will choose a bride you are saying nonsense. Don’t you know that he is set to replace his father and he can’t take that position without a wife in his hut?”

“Oya ma binu ore mi. I didn’t know you have so much information as to the matter already. You know I am not trying to insult you.” Asake replied with a sly smile and teased the other girl till Labimpe also laughed and they continued on their way to the river.

Later that evening, as Asake sat outside the house picking beans for their dinner, her mother came out of the house and sat beside her on the mat, joining her in the picking of the beans.

“Asake this your hairdo needs changing, don’t you want to leave this house? How will good men from good homes look at you when you are looking this tattered?” Asake looked at her mother and sighed inwardly. Here we go again on this issue of marriage she thought to herself as she replied her mother

“Maami, anybody hearing you now would think I am one old maiden that has refused to marry. And I have told you, I have a fiancée and you would soon know him.”

“Fiancée? I have always told your father that you are not alright because if you are alright, you would know that any man that is serious about a girl goes to seek the consent of her parents first.

“But you were the one just talking about how I should find a husband.”

“I said attract the men, I didn’t say find a husband or you want to say I don’t know what I am saying again? When you attract them, they would come home to us for your hand. Though from what I heard, they said Prince Adelaja has been chasing you.”

“That one? He is only wasting his time because he is not my type.” Asake said with a hiss and a clearly disgusted look on her face.

“Egbami,” her mother replied with a jolt and jumped up from the mat they were sitting on “repeat that nonsense you just said, not your type? What do you know about type? The prince is interested in you and you say not your type. I have always know you this girl did not take after me, all the brain you are supposed to have, you have given out to the fishes. The king owns all that is in the land so when he is ready, he will take you. Just make sure you don’t bring shame upon yourself and this family by doing anything that would affect your dignity. Make sure he meets you at home! ”

“Me I cannot marry Prince Adelaja,” Asake grumbled and stood up from the mat making to enter the house. Her mother blocked the entrance of the house and readjusted her wrapper in the manner of one ready for a fight.

“Where do you think you are going? Listen to me and listen well. I mean you should open those your ears that are meant for decoration like the wings of a butterfly, this is my own husband’s house. When you have sense in you, you will know that it is time you pack your load and go to your own husband’s house.”

Asake stared at her mother as if she had gone mad and was about to say something when Labimpe came into view, running like one who had the hounds of hell after her. She drew to a halt and collapsed on the mat, panting like a dog that just escaped the jaws of a lion. Mother and daughter forgot their argument for a minute and hurried to her.

“What is it Labimpe? Is all well with you and your family?”

http://penastory.com/2015/12/15/shadows-in-the-water-episode-2/

http://penastory.com/2015/12/16/africa-is-now/

Let us stop for a moment

Take a look around us

Feast our eyes on the carnage

That envelops us

Does shame not threaten to swallow us up?

When we turn away

And say “these Africans self”?

Do we not feel a pang of guilt?

When we absolve ourselves?

When we put on proudly the cloak of self righteousness?

And refuse to be the change that we voice ever so often?

When we flee without looking back at the first chance we get

Across seas, mountains and deserts

To places we wish was home

Suburbs with white picket fences

Where it snows on Christmas

And Harmattan does not crack skins?

When we wish our skins wasn’t made of black?

Africa looks at us

And shakes Her head in pity

For we know nothing

For we are blind

Africa is now!



We, who have broken skins

Of our brothers and sisters

We who have watched in glee

As the crimson blood flowed

Against the brown skin

Unto the soil, mixing with Ani

Does it not churn our stomachs?

Taking the lives of our kinsmen

Is it not shameful, the way we allow greed and hate

Swallow our hearts and souls?

The way we have eschewed love in all of it forms

Hiding under the canopy of religion

To perpetrate wickedness

Selectively reading our holy books

Turning them to hateful propaganda

Is it not foolish, that we squabble

Over land that is ours already?

Do we not think of our children and the ones they will have

When we deliberately pollute Ani?

When in our greed we stab ourselves in our own backs?

A sabotage of ourselves

Africa never taught us to hate

She looks at us and shakes her head

For we know nothing

For we are blind

Africa is now!



Africa,

Beautiful Africa,

Where man first walked,

Farmed, created civilization,

Where man first wrote

From where Pharaohs in majesty ruled the world

And in her bosom lies mighty Nubian kings

On her, the great kingdom of Zimbabwe

Built magnificent walls

Ghana, Mali and Sonni Ali’s Songhai flourished

While the world wasted in deadly darkness.

Africa,

Where colours and tongues

Cultures, traditions and religions

Melt, fuse and beautify

Where our children are bountiful

Ready to take our future today

Refusing to be posters for poverty.

Where Thebes and Timbuktu prospered

Lagos, Cairo, Johannesburg, Nairobi

So many more, now light the path

For our children, leading them to

Our certain place in the world

On the top. Join us now,

Remove from your head

The image of animals in the wild

Of kwashiorkor ridden children

Africa calls,

Listen, Africa is now!

http://penastory.com/2015/12/16/africa-is-now/

http://penastory.com/2015/12/14/who-am-i-onwuchekwa-ikechukwu-david/#more-253

I tend to want to define myself whenever I look into the mirror. Most times, all I see are two sides. One is lifeless and not deceptive; a blank surface of whatever it is. The other has life; it breathes, it moves and it thinks. It is this side that questions my existence. Who am I? What is my purpose? What is the meaning of life?

“Oh, shit! He’s doing it again, someone wake him up,” Jack’s scream pierces the atmosphere and it is accompanied by a multitude of thoughtful sleeping form. I open one sleep befuddled eyes and take a squint at them all before settling back to continue my questioning. I am the definition of creep. At least that’s what they all say. The ones that think creep is rather too low toned prefer to use the word freak. I have been called so many names in my life that sometimes I find it hard to remember my own name.

“Just who am I? What am I? Where did I come from and why?” These are the questions that conitnue to plague me.

“Wake him up someone!” Jack’s insistent voice cuts through my subconscious again, disorganizing my train of thoughts. I think I was close there, I almost had answers Arrrgh!. I try and ignore the voice and continue. Just who am I? It’s a duality question that peeks into both my existence and personality. To someone else, the time period of repetitive questioning would begin to seem rhetorical or early signs of dementia but for me, with every time I ask myself the question, I seem closer to finding the perfect answer, each time closer than before. Very much similar to a tree overladen with fruits and in desperate need of pruning. I can’t find a perfect answer because there is nothing like perfection. Perfection is for the gods and and of the many heroes we hear tales of their legendary exploits.

But I have a clue to what I am. To who I am. I am a lonely soul, searching tirelessly for companionship and comfort. I am a thirsty being, hunting furiously for the pleasures of this world. I am a cowardly fellow who gains aphrodisiac pleasures from his thoughts and imaginations than reality. I am just a blip on a map amongst billions of other blips struggling to make it and rise to stardom. I am a twisted soul who pushes emotions away in a frantic bid to escape being human yet long for them after they are gone in order to fill up the void in my chest. An epitome of confusion But through it all, I have come to realize that that epitome of confusion, that barely significant blip on the radar, that twisted soul, that cowardly fellow, that thirsty being and lonely soul is me.

“Waaaaaaake up dammit!” Jack finally manages to rouse me from my slumber.

“Urghhh!” I groan as I gradually allow myself to come awake, they were all staring at me like I was some new born alien they were seeing for the first time. Trying to hide my smile, I stand up and gently brush my clothes, turned a reassuring smile on them all and walked out of the room. As I walk through the doorway, I imagine myself pausing briefly at the doorway, turning back to face them, to face the world, to face them with a huge grin and say, “I am me and I am awesome.” But I don’t do that. Instead I walk away, shoulders slumped, misplaced steps, countenance vague, a white blank stare on my dreamy eyes and for the umpteenth time, continuing in my quest to find the answer to my question – who am I?

http://penastory.com/2015/12/14/who-am-i-onwuchekwa-ikechukwu-david/#more-253

http://penastory.com/2015/12/14/hell-is-a-place-called-home-episode-2/#more-361

[Excerpt From Episode 1:

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, you devil’s child, will you shut that your hell mouth. I did not kill my mother so you cannot kill me you hear? You would rather leave this house like your useless father.” With that, she stormed out of the room to go curl up on the sofa as she tried to sleep with hopes that the headache would be gone when she woke up again..To read episode 1, CLICK HERE http://penastory.com/ ]

“My mother is feeling very ill Audu, I promise we will pay back. Just give me the panadol, she is really in pain.”

“Walai me no give credit again,” Audu replied angrily “if you no commot for here, walai me cut your leg.” Aisha turned to leave with a dejected expression on her face. Her mother was still not feeling better, her headache was now so severe she had started moaning in pain and her temperature also risen. The young girl felt at a loss as to what to do as the aboki that was her only hope of getting relief for her mother refused to sell on credit. Who could blame the poor man? They still owed him and he was beginning to feel like a fool. Giving them more credit when the previous debt was not yet settled was not his idea of good business. She went back into their compound and went inside to her ill mother with tears in her eyes.

“Mama, Audu has refused to give me anything on credit again. I don’t know what to do.” Bukola turned her head painfully to peek at her daughter through half closed lids. She beckoned to her weakly asking in a manner that indicated she wanted her to come closer. Aisha went to her mother’s side and looked at her with pity in her young eyes; the alcohol was beginning to take its toll on her once beautiful mother. She looked older than her age but one could still tell she had once been a pretty woman. There were sorrow lines on her face that told the story of one who has known pain and lived a hard life. Seeing her vibrant mother in this state tore at Aisha’s heart and she squeezed her mother’s hand gently. She took the towel lying on the floor and dipped it into the bowl of water by the bed.

As she cooled Bukola’s head with the soaked towel, the moans abated and Bukola finally drifted off into sleep. When she was sure that her mother was asleep, Aisha’s twelve years old feet tiptoed out of the room. She needed to see her best friend Tricia, maybe, just maybe, Tricia could offer some help.Tricia was the only person that knew everything Aisha endured and although the two girls were as different as chalk and cheese, they had a friendship so strong that they were practically inseparable. On several occasions, Tricia would share her meals and pocket money with Aisha and although splitting the money meant both of them didn’t have enough, Tricia was always quick to point out that she could always go home to her parents while Aisha had nobody to turn to after all Bukola who was supposed to take care of her was too busy drinking at the beer parlours to get a stable job and whenever she did get something, she wasted it on alcohol.

Aisha arrived at Tricia’s compound and met her fetching water from the borehole in the compound. She quickly went inside and greeted Tricia’s parents, requesting for an extra bucket to help with the chore. Aisha was no stranger in the house and Tricia’s mother after asking after Aisha’s mother helped her get the requested bucket. The two girls exchanged pleasantries before continuing with the chore. As they went to and fro with the buckets balanced firmly on their heads, Aisha began to tell Tricia the situation at home to her.

“Are you sick as well; you say she is moaning terribly and has a fever yet you think panadol is all she needs. Even if you can’t afford going to a hospital, you can at least go to Nurse Titi who can give a bit of professional help.” Tricia said in annoyance. Aisha looked at Tricia as if she had suddenly developed horns on her head and replied

“Is it stone or paper that we will use to pay Nurse Titi for her services ni? You know how that woman can be rude and we really do not have any money at home…”

“Nurse Titi is a nice woman Aisha, you just don’t know how to get along with her,” Tricia cut in “here is what we will do. Once we fetch this last bucket, I will go tell my father that you came to remind me of the text book we were told to pay for. Once he gives me the money, we would go to Nurse Titi and explain the situation to her so she can attend to your mother.”

For the first time that day Aisha let herself smile as she choked back the tears that threatened to spill and said a weak thank you to her friend. Aisha silently prayed that she was able to repay all of Tricia’s kindness some day.

http://penastory.com/2015/12/14/hell-is-a-place-called-home-episode-2/#more-361

http://penastory.com/2015/12/14/law-of-the-garbage-truck-david-j-pollay/

One day I hopped in a taxi and we took off for the airport. We were driving in the right lane when suddenly a black car jumped out of a parking space right in front of us. My taxi driver slammed on his brakes, skidded and missed the other car by just some inches. The driver of the other car whipped his head around and started yelling at us. My taxi driver just smiled and waved at the guy. I mean, he was really friendly.So I asked, ‘Why did you just do that? This guy could have wrecked your car and sent us both to the hospital’ This is when my taxi driver taught me what I now call, ‘Law of the Garbage Truck.’

He explained that many people are like garbage trucks. They run around full of garbage, full of frustration, full of anger, and full of disappointments. When their garbage piles up, they need a place to dump it and sometimes they will try to dump it on you. Don’t take it personally. Just smile, wave, wish them well, and move on. Don’t take their garbage and spread it to other people at work, at home, or on the streets. The bottom line is that successful people do not let garbage trucks take over their day.

Life’s too short to wake up in the morning with regrets, so love the people who treat you right. Love and pray for the ones who don’t. Life is 10% what you make of it 90% how you take it.

Have a garbage free week.

http://penastory.com/2015/12/14/law-of-the-garbage-truck-david-j-pollay/

http://penastory.com/2015/12/12/you-left-me-without-really-leaving-abdullahi-arebi/

We don’t talk anymore but I have a playlist of your voice recordings I listen to at night
It feels like it was so easy to let you go but not any of the things that brought us together
Never any of the things that kept us together
Is it the same for you?
Do you still use the name I got you?
The one I called you when it was just the two of us and the darkness.
The name I whispered between thrusts of your hips, that hissed through my lips like I was filled to bursting with you even as I filled you in. Or tried to
Did you keep the name like I keep the hairpins, the earrings and all the little bits and relics you forgot over the years
The prom dress you left because even long before then you had sleepovers in my bed
So you said what are if we couldn’t share a wardrobe and even if you couldn’t live in we could live together
It was practice you said
But now as I lie here looking at this dress, and the earrings, with the hairpins in my hair
I can’t help but wonder if this wasn’t your plan from the start you always were too smart
Maybe this is how you made sure you can always come back

http://penastory.com/2015/12/12/you-left-me-without-really-leaving-abdullahi-arebi/#more-251

episode 2 is out on the website...