D9ty7:
Sammyhoe?

Now Sammy O sir. U didn't show up 2 collect ur award those days.

Tory continues


I begin waka comot for that queue because I nor go fit face this man wey hin face strong kakaraka like Olumo Rock like this. Make I kuku dey waka comot for bank jare. Abi make I even summon courage ask them say I wan see am sef. But e fit turn to public disgrace o. E go beta make I dey go jare.

As I enter inside the glass door na hin I see person wey jus waka pass for inside bank. No doubt na she waka so o, I tok for my mind. Anybody no tell me anything before I begin push the door make e no close finish. The thing even catch me for hand sef. I put am inside my mouth sha kon dey get ready to enta d automatic cylinder door again because first of all the thing be don eject me put for outside.

"Wetin dis one dey find up and down?" Na so one old man tok o. Hin bear bear be like those people for 1000bc. I nor get hin time sha.

When I enter again, she don disappear. Abi na mirage I see? Which kind thing kon be dis nah? Abi she dey hide her face for me ni. I go siddown they wait weda she go come outside again.

I neva even use my buttock siddown finish when one man wey wear blue khaki kon dey question me.

"Oga, you dey wait for somebody ni?"

"Wetin concern you!" I give am straight.

"The thing be say we no dey allow person wait inside bank, that is why."

"Shay una don dey copy Wema bank sef abi?" I clear am sharp sharp. "I close my account because dem no dey allow person get rest of mind their--if you make call inside bank na sin...if you tok, na sin...if you siddown na sin..."

"But our own no be like that oga. Sebi we dey allow people make call nah," the security man tell me. "Na even because of space we dey ask say make people go wait inside waiting room outside sef."

"Wetin be waiting room? Shay na dat guard room u been dey call wetin room? Guy, nor tok am again make I no vex for you o. Over my dead body na hin I go enta dat kind place dey wait for person. That place wey be like police cell."

The security man get stubborn head o. Im be no wan leave me alone o. Hin just stand for my front dey block my view.

"Oga, you nor fit sit here like this," hin tok. "You know wetin town dey tok now abi? Na which day sef wey den discover bomb inside one bank wey dey town..."

"Shay na GTB?" I ask am sharply.

"God forbid!" hin tok quick quick.

As we dey yarn go na hin anoda security man waka come meet us. I nor know wetin that one sef dey find up and down.

"Wetin they happen for here?"

"Nothing o," I quick tok. "Na your co security wan evacuate me comot seat o."

"Oga, e take e easy pelu wa se e gbo?" that one dey yarn for yourba. I hear wetin hin tok but me wan pretend, so I tok say, "E be like say you nor dey see road well abi? I resemble yoloba for ya face?"

The man look me release two red smile. Hin don bring my temper down with those smiles. Kai! Wetin I for do eh. The man kon put hin hand on top my shoulder kon dey speak softly for my ears say, "No be say we no wan do our customer well, but you know wetin town dey tok now, abi?"

"Na true you tok," I tok inside shame as I kon get up, turn make I enter the glass door waka comot. Something just tell me say make I go join the queue again and na so I go join dey wait make I kuku do the withdrawal wey I really kon do jare.

E never tey well well when them begin direct us wey we wan withdraw say make we follow one place go inside go withdraw. I for vex but because I be dey think say na opprtunity for me weda I go fit see Titi na hin make me follow them waka go the place wey den dey tok.

To my surprise, na Titi siddown kule for the second chair wey dey front kon put computer for her front dey press am. My mind fly go up so tey I be wan fly queue go meet am immediately. I struggle go front small go dey fight for space but dat guy no dey read wink at all.

"Oga, park well, I no know you!" the guy shout ontop my head. "You dey here before ni?"

"You no even sabi do parole," I clear the guy kon begin waka dey go back my space. Hin tok say, "Parole ko, parole ni," but me just swallow am do like say I no hear.
Now na to struggle get my place back because two old papa don kon join where I dey. I tell dem say na me dey there before, but dem tok say dem no meet me there before for yoruba.

"O gbe aye wa latorun ni?" na so one of them tok. I understand am well. Hin dey tok for yoruba say shey I bring space come from heaven? I no tok, I just queue for their back dey expect make queue reduce enter my turn.

CHAPTER THREE

It is such a great hell for my dad while he was at home those two weeks. The man loves to go to work. If possible, he will make his workplace a permanent abode, just to avoid what he calls a sick home.

John tells my mother to allow me remain at home with him, but the woman rejects blatantly.

What is my father's motive for demanding such thing? I am just eleven, so what do I know?

At school, I begin the question again:

"Is there any reason for God creating us like this?" I ask my clasateacher. She was rash at saying yes, yet she couldn't state a reason.

"Rose, you ask too much. Stop thinking of what you can't do; think of what you can do."

"What can I do?"

"You can see, walk and..."

"That's normal," I say. "Everybody else can do those things too."

"But Joshua and Gbade can't do any of those things," she says.

My hands drop. To raise them, no vigour. Each time I remember the case of Joshua and Gbade, I always feel like climbing a ladder to heaven to pull God down and fight him.

Joshua is paralysed and at the same time blind. Gbade's case is the worse; he is deaf and dumb as well as blind and lame. If John is Gbade's father he would have thrown him inside the Oke Afa canal.

Some sweat pour down my neck and soaked my school uniform. Now I begin to imagine how Gbade has been able to survive the hardship he is into.

It is just two days left for my father's suspension to be over when something strange happens. That day, mother carries me home in father's blue volkswagen car. We open the door of the house and to our surprise, daddy and another lady were kissing each other in the parlour.

They see us but did as if they didn't.
I began to see many mouths moving. I began to imagine the conversation they were making:

"What is happening?" my mother cries out.

"Is she your wife?" the woman says. It seems she has just come out of her senses.

"Em...you are my real wife, not her," daddy says without any humane feeling.

"John!" my mother cries. The man just looks away lackadaisically and hissed.

"Em...Toyosi, leave that scallywag alone and let's continue our love."

Right before my eyes my mother is being denied of her marital right. This is not right. I made a shrilled sound. At least I can shout even though I am dumb.

Daddy gets irritated and comes for me at once. Mother stands in his way. The wicked man pushes his wife out of the way. She loses balance and falls. I guess mother must have broken some bones in the process.

Now I remain still, harden myself so I can be prepared for daddy's beating. He looks on at me and I don't know why he didn't pounce on me as his manner is. He stands gazing at me for a while, then he carries my mother up. She can't stand on her own anymore.

I have to check on my mother in the hospital the next day. I have missed school that day. She is on wheelchair, her hands and legs on bandage. We look on at each other. She can't communicate with me right now because she can't move her hands.

"Get well soon mummy," I say, kneels before her and went down on her laps, weeping.

"Mummy, what is the matter with daddy?" I ask in tears. My mother can't move her hands so there is no way she will signal her response to me.

STORY CONTINUATION


Mr Yemi trekked the rest of the journey to the court. It was a ten-minute trek. If only the okada man who came around earlier had offered to collect #80, he would have made it there earlier, but the mouthwatering bike man was demanding something beyond Yemi's ken.

"#150? *Afi bi pe eeyan kawo lori igi," Yemi said.
As if one is plucking money on a tree

Yemi hastened immediately after leaving the bike man alone. However, when he got to the court they were just dismissing.

The expressions on the faces of those coming out of the court were different. Some were smiling while some were sad. Some were even carrying this kind of face which appeared they would give you a punch on the face if you come too close.

Yemi wouldn't dare go close to any of the punch-ready ones.

Yemi approached a lady who was having a smile steaming on her face.

"What's the judgement please?" he asked.

"Death by hanging," she said and began to hurry. Yemi took few steps after her and asked for details.

"Details, oh details?" the lady began to whimper, sobbing bitterly. "I--I can't say any--any--thing now," she could not control herself.

"It's okay, it's okay," Yemi petted her. What could have made her change suddenly, Yemi pondered. Initially she was smiling, now she was weeping that terrible. How come?

Yemi soon got an answer to it when he remembered an afro musician who said something about Nigerian people's condition and their external portrayal.

What should be strange? Yemi thought. Even a madman in Nigeria laugh nowadays most of the time.

"Suffering and smiling, says Fela," Yemi said as he walked on. "She must be a relative of Deinde, somehow, but she's looking quite younger," Yemi said and walked up to another person.

If Yemi had looked well into the face of this person he just approached, he wouldn't have dared coming close at all. This one was a male with a stout physique, rough face and broad nose which was made to lie too low between the eyes and the mouth. He appeared like someone a scientist would see and tag 'the new revolution to the theory of evolution'.

His hair was spaced out and scattered like ridges lying higgledy-piggledly in a poor man's farm. It was obvious no comb had come too close for years or perhaps it had defied all efforts to get it combed.

"What do you want sir?" he spoke in a respectful manner. His grammer was even okay too. He seemed to be in his late thirties.

"Nothing," Yemi said and walked away, despite the fact that the man seemed ready to attend to him.

Yemi got an abrupt answer to his quest from a young man who gave it to him in a smile.

"He'll die by hanging," said the young man.

"Why?" Yemi asked and then the young man's face got some wrinkles.

"Funny question," the young man said. "Or isn't it the issue with Mr Deinde you're talking about?"

"Of course yes, that man who was alleged to have murdered the governorship aspirant of the Friendship party," he said. "I mean how could the court declare such sentence on him when he hasn't come out clear to tell us who sent him?"

"Hmm, now I see you're not aware," the man said. "Last night, the news aired it that Mr Deinde confessed that he was sent by Mr Aluko, the aspirant of the rival party, Harmony Party."

"Mo gbe!" Yemi exclaimed in bewilderment and held his head in shock. It was a very unbelievable revelation since the alleged man was well famed for his moralism and philanthropic idiosyncrasy to the point that no one, not even a detective from the US, would easily suspect that he did such a despicable thing.

Omoalhaja7:
Sammy wey u now??

I am here o. Just woke from sleep.

Ursinmind:
What is happening to ebiag.com

It's having some challenges but it's now under control. Are u a registered member there?

Tory continuation...

No be say I purposely leave 'kondo' work o. Wet in make me stop na shame. Shame wey swallow me up wen I see Nkechi my school mate for Okija. She be passenger inside our bus, but me nor quick know say na her. Na wen I begin demand money from her she mention my name, Chibuzor.

Shame nor gree me stay her front say I wan collect money; person wey still send letter to my uncle to ask me how my school Unilag dey. She be dey clear us say she choose Unilag for the Jamb wey she wan write.

Wetin I go tell Nkechi say e happen to me? Abi make I clear am say na part-time I dey do for Unilag?


After that day, I leave kondo job kon go apply for another Jamb. That time na only three days remain wey we go write the Jamb. I wan make sure say I enter that year, else, everybody for village go soon know say I be bloody liar.

I write Jamb that year without reading. Na Melecin I still choose sha, because me never see reason wey I go go read another course wen no be my destined course. I nor fit think anything pass Melecin. Wetin concern me with Biochemistry, Microbiology and things like that wey some people dey advise me say make I kuku go for. Den tell me say I fit cross to another course of my choice for first year.

When the Jamb result comot, I score 201. I no kuku prepare for ram. My friends wey prepare sef, no one among them get reach 200. Wetin kon be my own headache? But e sure me say I nor fit use this result enter school. Sadness wan kill me die.

I give myself brain go change my course to Biochemistry. Laugh wan kill Seun die when I tell am say I be don go change my course to Biochemistry.

" Sebi you dey do strong head before when I say make you choose Biochemistry. Now you see your life. You don waste money change am ," Seun said.

"Shut up!" I give am straight. Me wey my eyes dey glow like glowing splinter for chemistry laboratory already, you wan kon complicate issue for me.

When admission comot, I nor see my name inside. I nor fit laugh; I nor fit cry. I just dey look like lucozade boost. Person wey see me for that mood go think say whether I don lose a family member. Funny enough, I see Nkechi name for Melecin that year. Na her first attempt be that. She get 273 and dem give am admission. Two times wen I get something like that, dem no give me admission o.

I remember say my grand mama tell me say na doctor be my destiny. The woman say she don check my star. Now I begin laugh for my mind because me sure say na my last Jamb I don write so.

I nor know why Jamb just dey frustrate person like that. Wetin dem want make person do sef? Which kind life be this? I do Jamb, Jamb jam me, I buy change of course form, them no consider me again. No wonder wey den dey call us Jambite because Jamb don bite us.

I here say den still dey sell change of course form again na hin I reapply o. This time na fishery I choose; the thing wey den give me free of charge before wey I tok say I nor want two years ago. I for don dey learn fisherman work for Ikoyi that time sef; now fishery for be part of me.

E be like say one ogbonge slap hit my face when list come out wey my name nor dey again. Sharply, I believe say my way nor be school way at all. Sebi grand mama say na doctor I go become(that one na for her title block mind o). Maybe na native doctor she mean sef wey I dey think say medical doctor. That one no hard nah! Sebi na to go become 'elewe Omo' customer kon they use herb.

Na so I start to sell raw rice and beans for Oshodi o. I forget about school patapata...

I don dey get eyes for ladies for sometimes now but wen I see Titi, I know say na she be the one for me. Na she kuku use her two legs waka enter my shop. She kon buy rice and beans. I swear I never see Nigeria girl wey light reach am. E remain small she for turn albino sef.

I nor know the blacksmith (abi na whitesmith I go call am?) wey helep Titi set her white teeth o. Na wetin one of my teachers for secondary school dey call 'evenly distributed' be this. As Titi enter my shop that day na so my heart melt.

"Excuse me," she talk. Her voice sieve enter my ear like oyinbo voice. The thing sweet die.

"You wan buy market madam?" I ask am.

"Yes, please how much's a plastic of rice?"

Na her mouth I dey look. I don lost.

"Don't you hear me?" na so she tok wey make me come back to .y sense.

" Em, eh, madam nor vex," I tok. "Wet in you wan buy?"

She look me kon smile. My head swell up. I don see something again. She get dimples sha! I too like that thing o, but me nor get am sha.

"I mentioned it earlier," she tok.

"Beans, one de rica abi?"

When I tok so she laugh. Now I don see how she dey laugh too. I like the way she dey laugh.

"Madam, walahi I like your laugh o," I tok. I nor no when that kind words comot for my mouth. Na so she frown face o. I like her frown sha. The thing just be like my own smile.

Wetin make am laugh be say no be 1 de Rica she wan buy but 1 paint plastic. Wen she tok am, I dey happy say I dey hear her voice again. Now I kon begin do many many funny funny things for her front make her smile for no stop because of those dimples for her cheeks wey be like ripples of water wey dem just shake.

I be wan ask her for her name but I nor know how I go ask. E go kuku better make I tell her my name first, then like the oyinbo, kon add 'And you?'

'I am Chibuzor," I try tok correct English. "And you."

Titi look me from up to down with those eyes wey be like something wey dem decorate kon gum to her face. She kon tok say, "Well...I won't tell you my name sir."

As she tok that sir, I vex clear am say I be young boy o. Why she go dey use sir for me nah? Wetin wan bring that one. E be like say she wan dey use strategy avoid closeness with her.

"Abi na because say I get bear bear na im make you dey use Sir for me? I be Small boy o, aunty. Why--"

She no let me land before she shout for my head say, "Who's your aunty? You better go and meet your aunty at home."

I sell the rice give am kon dey click my leg for ground. Kai! And if to say I get money now, this girl for been good for wife material o. I scratch my h head when she begin go. I follow am like Twitter with my eyes reach where my eyes nor fit follow again.

Now the first assignment na to get her name. Wetin fit be her name o. I begin write plenty, plenty names for paper whether if I choose one among them e fit be her name. But how I go confirm am sef?


I write names like Bukunmi, Motola, Opeyemi and many other Yoruba female names reach like twenty, but I no go fit know which one be her name among them.

For December 20, 2013 wey I enter GTB see am there na im my suspense about her name clear comot. Guess why? She dey among the staff wey dey collect deposit for counter. Her ID card wey she wear for neck na him give me Wetin I don dey find since: Titilayo

Na blue color dem take write the name for the ID card. I first bone stay inside queue for where she dey. I been know already say na only deposit she been dey deal with that time, but because I wan make sure say we tok that day, na so I enta there o. At least I go fit tok with her well a wen e reach my turn.


E remain make the person wey dey my front comet make I be first for queue, na exactly that time she kon comet go inside admin room. E pain me say she just comot like that. Abi she don see me ni?

After two minutes, na him anoda person kon take her place o. This time around na one man wey hin face no dey smile at all. If I reach dis one front, hin go fit vex if I no tender the money wey I wan kon pay o. Best thing be sah make I waka commot for the queue o.

Wetin make am laugh be say no be 1 de Rica she wan buy but 1 paint plastic. Wen she tok am, I dey happy say I dey hear her voice again. Now I kon begin do many many funny funny things for her front make her smile for no stop because of those dimples for her cheeks wey be like ripples of water wey dem just shake.

I be wan ask her for her name but I nor know how I go ask. E go kuku better make I tell her my name first, then like the oyinbo, kon add 'And you?'

'I am Chibuzor," I try tok correct English. "And you."

Titi look me from up to down with those eyes wey be like something wey dem decorate kon gum to her face. She kon tok say, "Well...I won't tell you my name sir."

As she tok that sir, I vex clear am say I be young boy o. Why she go dey use sir for me nah? Wetin wan bring that one. E be like say she wan dey use strategy avoid closeness with her.

"Abi na because say I get bear bear na im make you dey use Sir for me? I be Small boy o, aunty. Why--"

She no let me land before she shout for my head say, "Who's your aunty? You better go and meet your aunty at home."

I sell the rice give am kon dey click my leg for ground. Kai! And if to say I get money now, this girl for been good for wife material o. I scratch my h head when she begin go. I follow am like Twitter with my eyes reach where my eyes nor fit follow again.

Now the first assignment na to get her name. Wetin fit be her name o. I begin write plenty, plenty names for paper whether if I choose one among them e fit be her name. But how I go confirm am sef?


I write names like Bukunmi, Motola, Opeyemi and many other Yoruba female names reach like twenty, but I no go fit know which one be her name among them.

For December 20, 2013 wey I enter GTB see am there na im my suspense about her name clear comot. Guess why? She dey among the staff wey dey collect deposit for counter. Her ID card wey she wear for neck na him give me Wetin I don dey find since: Titilayo

Na blue color dem take write the name for the ID card. I first bone stay inside queue for where she dey. I been know already say na only deposit she been dey deal with that time, but because I wan make sure say we tok that day, na so I enta there o. At least I go fit tok with her wella wen e reach my turn.


E remain make the person wey dey my front commot make I be first for queue, na exactly that time she kon comot go inside admin room. E pain me say she just comot like that. Abi she don see me ni?

After two minutes, na him anoda person kon take her place o. This time around na one man wey hin face no dey smile at all. If I reach dis one front, hin go fit vex if I no tender the money wey I wan kon pay o. Best thing be sah make I waka commot for the queue o.

.

.

CHAPTER TWO
THE ABILITY IN VULNERABILITY

The story of Vulnerability, aka Vulnerable was pathetic too. Vulnerability had given up the hope of getting out of Dilapidation to the Island of Greatness since the day his mother Limitation reprimanded them and commanded that her demands alone should be fulfilled. However, his slurred focus began to traverse a new locus when he met Father Sage in the temple one day. Father Sage had said '' Vulne, I can spot in you the ability to get to the Island of Greatness to bring with you the long-awaited Mr. Goodluck." Vulnerability stooped and stared stupidly at the glossy floor of the temple as he gnawed nervously at the nails on his right fingers.
"Vulnerability," Father Sage called and shook him lightly after allowing silence to prevail a little while. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes," responded the boy gently. "But sir, d'you think I'm capable of crossing the River of Achievement?" Father Sage smiled at Vulnerability's naive response and then replied, "Vulne, with what you've just asked I'm glad that you do acknowledge the fact that no one can really get to the Island of Greatness without crossing the River of Achievement. I'm as well glad that you don't attend the Fool's School of Thought where it was taught that the Island of Greatness does not exist. I'm also happy that you don't believe the doctrines of those in the Do-nothing School of Thought, who believe, according to what Mr. Experience told me, that Mr. Goodluck will come to this town to make it better," the man commented perspicaciously.

With a little frown, Vulnerability said promptly, "But father I thought you do uphold this same belief."
"Yes I do partially," admitted the Sage. "Mr. Goodluck will come here if only someone from here will first cross the River of Achievement to bring him here. But those in the Do-nothing School of Thought believe he will come even while they fold their arms doing nothing."

"Now I understand," Vulnerability confessed, smiling in a satisfied manner. His fleeting smile soon flitted off his face for a string of frowns to take over.

"What?" queried the aged Sage. "Why the sudden scowl?" he howled.

"I don't know whether an illiterate like me can get to the Island of Greatness," divulged the boy to the man's wonderment.

"What d'you mean? Limitation your mother told me that both you and Hope were in school!"

"Yes, but I dropped out."

"Why?"

"Because the fee was increased by hundred percent and my parents could not afford it anymore. I pulled out while Hope remained, but Hope pulled out too, later."

"Why Hope too?" The priest was deeply concerned. "Because dad and mum thought it good to use his fee for Dilapidation walls repair." Vulnerability's confession sounded incredible to the old man who voiced out immediately, "But the last time I came to your house I didn't notice boy change to the facade of those walls. I mean the cracks were still as wide as they'd been for years. In fact, I still got into your rooms that day through many wide cracks."

"Your observations are true, father," concurred Vulnerability.

"But why?" What then was done with Hope's school fee?"

"To get the walls mended those days, we sought Mr. Knowledge who was recommended by Mr. Experience. But Mr. Knowledge made known to us that it's of no use repairing the walls since they'll keep cracking and collapsing, no matter the amount we spend to get them done. He even warned that using bricks won't proffer solution let alone the mud we've preferred."
Father Sage conjured a confused face at the boy's confession, gawking as though doubting. "But why?"

"Mr. Knowledge told my parents that the foundation of our building was faulty because it has been founded on a fault zone and the earth beneath the walls is moving apart. Therefore it would make our walls crack forever. But we didn't believe him."
Father Sage nodded slowly and smiled broadly as he said, "You shouldn't have doubted Mr. Knowledge."

"Why?"

"Because the earth is the foundation to all things. You can't construct a structure on a weak one and expect to see it stand firm."
He fixed his gaze on Vulnerability's face and asked, "Tell me, can you build a house in the air?" The boy nodded in the negative, gnawed at his thumbnail and smiled. Silence smiled on them.

"Continue your story," Father Sage broke the brief silence.

"My mother sent Mr. Knowledge away and went after Mr. Cheat immediately," Vulnerability said and paused as he would describe the man in question. "That plump potbellied man who stays in the duplex called Duplicity down the street."

"I know him," said the Sage. "Just continue."

"Mr. Cheat promised to help us form formidable walls after telling us that Mr. Knowledge was ignorant of the fact that there's nothing called by the name 'fault zone' and mother readily believed him. After the bum had deceived mum to receive maximum sum from her, he grumbled still and got more. Then he smiled, revealing his gums as he helped himself to a bottle of rum. Thereafter he left and returned with his cousins, Conceit and Deceit to get the work done immediately.
The walls were soon ready and mum was convinced, believing that Cheat had without doubt proven Mr. Knowledge wrong. No sooner had they departed than the walls collapsed, almost falling on Standaloof the baby of the house: thanks to little Hope who quickly helped to rescue her, else the story to tell would be different now."
As Father Sage heard the name Standaloof mentioned by Vulnerability, the Hair of Aggression on his nape stood erect and the creases on his greased face increased as he exclaimed, "What the heck? Is her name Standaloof? I'll surely quarrel with your mother Limitation for this."

"For what?" Vulnerability asked, not comprehending.

"Anyway don't worry," said the Sage, now wearing gentle face again. "It's between your parent and me. Go on."
Vulnerability sneezed twice and resumed:

"At this sight, mother was highly provoked, so she got ready to contact Waste from the Hoodlum family, who lives in the Dungalow bungalow to send him after Mr. Cheat to deal with him."

Vulnerability paused to yawn and then said suddenly, "If my uncle Doubt had been present, I'm sure he would have without doubt prevented that cheat called Cheat from cheating us." Being mazed at the boy's declaration, Father Sage's visage changed as he grimaced in rage and fixed his aged fazed gaze hastily at the boy's grim hazy face in a daze. The alteration of his countenance was as a result of his abhorrence for Doubt, a tenant of a flat in the Flirts' flats. Father Sage's hatred for Doubt was so immense that he had developed strong aversion for his name.

"Vulne, don't you ever mention Doubt to my hearings anymore," warned the Sage as Vulnerability sulked and hunched his back to stare regretfully at the floor until the Sage had passionately bedecked his thin naked neck with soft impeccable pecks.
The boy's face smoothened up again as he said, " We found Mr. Experience later and he let us know, after examining the component of the broken walls, that Mr. Cheat has only spent a stipend out of the huge hard-earned cash my mum gave him to acquire the building materials used. Mother was on her way to the Dungalow bungalow, that low bungalow down the street, to seek Waste when uncle Doubt--erm--er--suddenly reached the Dilapidation's dilapidated rooms through a big breach." Vulnerability raised his brow apprehensively as he realized the mistake he had made, having mentioned the name 'Doubt' again, but Father Sage was indifferent this time. He only beckoned on him to continue.

"But when uncle Doubt came, he debunked the opinions of both Mr. Knowledge and Mr. Experience and called them liars, confessing that Mr. Cheat had done his best."
Father Sage's wrath was kindled against Doubt in absentia...

To be continued...

Chapter Three


Yemi didn't need to be told that he was not going to make it to the court of law before the opening of the court case. How would he when he had spent thirty minutes watching the scuffle unfolding.

While the brawl was on, Yemi even saw a bus going his destination, but he didn't join it just because he needed to see what the fight would culminate into. Now he had 'enjoyed' one drama he would have to miss the other one, Deinde's issue, what he had tagged 'the real deal' in the court.


Perhaps if Yemi hasted, he could still meet up, but he was doubting if it wouldn't end in adjournment in the end.

"Would he be sentenced without he mentioning the person who sent him to carry out the killing operation? I don't think so," Yemi said to himself. If he knew that an old woman was peeking at him from an angle, he would surely not have allowed that cogitation come out through his mouth. He would have allowed his heart do all the talkings.

Yemi's brain got to work again. He was wondering why people could murder to get into power:

Deinde was lucky a danfo stopped before him when he waved at it. The bus-stop was getting decongested now since many people had somehow found their way earlier.

Yemi beamed at his watch, 9am already.

"Oh my God, I am so late!" he lamented, putting a hand on the head as if he had just lost a relative. When he sat down, his brain and his mouth didn't rest a little while. They just kept muttering words and hissing.

"Mtchewwwww!" he kept doing it over and over again. "That okadaman will make me miss a sight today! Dirty rider."

Yemi soon forgot his agitation and went with the myriad of backseat drivers in the bus to criticize the real driver at the wheel.

"*Olosi ni driver yi o! Se oju o s'ona fun ni?" some old accident-fearing women kept the abuses coming in their dialect.
*this driver is terrible, Is he blind not to see the road?

Yemi didn't join in the abusive part of the criticism, but he lended his voice to it, opposing the driver too. The cause of the broohaha was the manner with which the driver rushed into an avoidable pothole. The way the bus shook sent a sensation of fear down the spines of the fearful passsengers in the bus.

When the road was free, they didn't stop pouring out their vituperations. They blamed the driver for being too fast, for being too slow, for stepping on the break too sudden, for waiting briefly at a point to pass a parcel to someone beside the road--for virtually everything. Who would blame them when they had all already been forced into the confines of lateness to their duties, yet an old woman kept saying, "Life is best," trying to justify the fact that the bus should maintain its slow pace.

The driver had no supporter who really count. If only he had a conductor with him, then it was sure he wouldn't have to face the whole slander all alone if he would even face any at all, since Lagos passengers enjoyed doing it with the conductors more, especially inside a molue where many people had to be on a standing posture.

The driver of this particular bus was too cold. If he were some hemp-smoking ones, he would have given them exactly what they deserved. He hadn't even opened his mouth to say a thing all the while.

"*Oko oun naa ni o l'alafia yii," a man said, shifting his blame on the inanimate bus itself.
*Even the bus is a rickety one

The lambastment got to the peak when the driver said, "Please start sending your money forward."

If he knew it would bring much reaction, perhaps he would have found another means of asking for the pay. Maybe through cheque or another method. But frankly speaking, what other mean would he have made use of.

"Ask your conductor to collect the money."

"I won't pay until I get to my destination."

"Pay ko, pay ni i. I go show you!" a young lady said. Her face was moulded in the shape of trouble. She must have graduated from the 'mighty' underbridge at Oshodi. You have to look at her finnickily for five times before you would decipher her gender. Her voice, her physique, her dressing and her styles were just 'boyish'.

"Conductor?" a man was laughing. "Can this lean thing even afford paying a conductor at all? Ha, ha, ha," he guffawed.

"Does he have a driver licence at all?" Yemi put his voice in the issue for the second time and then his conscience arrested him.

The driver was already saturated with his passenger's badmouthed disparaging statements, he spoke back, but calmly, "It's okay, or do you have me in mind before?" Then he added a Yoruba proverb, "Or will you chase your bad child away for a tiger to slaughter and eat?"

The proverb seemed too weighty for all ears who heard it in the bus. They just grew dull and remorseful as though it had pounded there adamant hearts to powder. In a dumb-like manner they began to pile up the money for the driver.

In Yemi's case, the statement had rocked his head like bullet. It even gabe him a sensation of headache. His face grew lean in guilt. He was abashed and disappointment with himself who had long been claiming to be a moralist.

"The driver is right," Yemi was telling the man beside him in whispers, but the person in question had gone far to another world in a sleep probably made sweet with a dream of fantasy or perhaps made bitter by the hullabaloo of Lagos life.

The sleeping man thumped up almost immediately and uttered something Yemi didn't understand, then a female voice at the back came up saying, "Pay your money baba, that's why I'm tapping you to wake up."

"Mtchew!" the man hissed and made his head rest on his hands again on the backrest of the seat before him. He was ready to go to 'bed' back again.

"Gbogbo ero!" the driver said when they got to their destination. It was a statement to tell all passengers aboard that the motor had reached its last bus stop. At that juncture, the sleeping passengers would hear and know it was time to get down. That was the moment one would know those who didn't know where actually they were heading to--those people they call 'JJC', in full Johnny Just Come. That was a term for those who were just arriving Lagos afresh.

Nowadays, the Lagos JJCs could even outsmart the real Lagosians themselves, but the problems those ones had was the problem of over-acting. They would want to pretend as though they were smart just because of the many exaggeratingly-told stories they had heard about the state, but in the end, they fobbed

It was as if there was no 'JJC' in this particular bus. The only such person was even the tomboy who threatened not to pay her fare earlier. She had kept to her word still, alighting and turning her back against the bus until the driver had cried out, "Hey! Where is my money?"

The girl turned around and faced the driver, "No try me at all! I go show you say me no be one kain girl wey you fit they play with hin head o. Go ask about me for B-side dem go tell you who I be!" the girl spoke in an Edo intonation. "We dey tell you make you take am easy, you just dey do like that dey do like that," the girl was demonstrating with all her body, shouting on the top of her voice, pointing at the driver's face.

The calm driver just said a little word of 'sorry' and it solved the whole situation. If it were some other rough drivers, they would have to do it by force.

"I'm sorry," the driver pleaded.

"Uh--em, okay I go give you, but no try that kind thing for where I dey again o. For B-side we no dey gree make person dey make pirirpiri like this o. You dey feel me baa?" the tomboy said as she tucked her hand into her jean trousers and provided a #100 note. "Take make you keep the remaining change buy lem to take chao with your family, eh," she said and began to bounce away.
She had no change to collect, yet she was gallivanting as though she was the richest 'man' in the world.

"Alakori," the driver said in a whisper, smiling and making a mocking nose at her back as he kept the money. She dared not see him, else an outburst would ensue immediately.

Yemi was close by. He was one of the two passengers still left. The driver opened the door and came out of the bus. Yemi was only standing by to apologize his deed so he could have his conscience clear, so also the other waiting man. The two of them tendered their apologies concurrently and the driver smiled and said, "I don't know we still have righteous people left in this country. Thank you," he extended his hands at them for a shake. It seemed the driver had a level of education.

Yemi hadn't gone far when the B-side girl began to skitter back to the driver. This time, she was having a soft look on her face. When she got to the driver, she tauntingly tapped the driver's shoulder in a laughing manner ans said, "Guy abeg you go fit tell me how I go fit get to Marina?"

"Marina? Ah, you don miss road well well o," the driver told her and she pulled up a frowning face.

Yemi smiled.

"So she's even a JJC," he whispered as he walked away. Igbosere street was not far away. He knew he was already very late for the court case.

Omoalhaja7:

2nded
Or better still, stick to "Omoyemi" as d wife name. This should reduce d confussion wella.
Awaiting more updates......

I think I'll go with your suggestion... Gud u're following

Since then na im I don become Lagosian. Which work I go fit do o? I ponder so tay na bus conductor my mind just they go. Na mile 2 my Uncle dey live Bad boys boku for there yanfun yanfun. If I tell one of them say I wan do conductor, e go fit arrange one motor give me nah. I hear say conductors dey make nothing less than 2K per day. Na Sule I go meet that time. The guy too like smoke. Me no like smoke at all. I nor know wetin den dey gain inside for this our hot weather. Sule get deep voice. Everything about Sule na soso deep deep. E get plenty deep cut for body; he like make e dey wear one deep blue dirty jacket. Sule na confirm conductor for Ketu-Ojota road. Sometimes he go also do Agbero-na swapping things o--one way nor enter market nah. Sule connect me with Omo Iko. Omo Iko worse pass Sule for appearance. Im ma na driver. Na im I go dey do conductor for. Na so I begin work with Omo Iko o. When I first start, shame nor dey gree me shout to call passenger inside bus, but when Omo Iko scolded me two times I begin wise. For start, me no dey get kanta with Omo Iko, but when he begin send me Cigar na im we begin get wahala. Me be brief am say me nor fit dey helep am buy Cigar because my religion nor support am. Omo Iko look my face laugh. "You no know anything," said Omo Iko. You know whether your pastors sef dey smoke for corner?" "E no fit possible egbon," I tell am. Omo Iko begin yarn me tori. He tell me about one ogbonge pastor wey dey follow them smoke for their cabal. I no believe the story. When Omo Iko wan use force take dey send me Cigar, I tell am say my mama nor go like am. Omo Iko ask me say whether na me wan go tell am. Na so I give myself brain kon dey helep am buy smoke o, because im be don clear me say if I nor fit do am then hin go tender my conductor 'sack letter'. Me no wan lose my job o. E beta make I use my sense now o. Omo Iko go dey smoke dey puff the smoke for my eyes. Hin go dey ask me whether me sef wan puff small. I clear am say I no fit do am. "Omo ole," hin go tok but me never know the meaning that time because na yoruba language hin take tok am. Omo Iko no really bad like that. Apart say hin dey smoke, hin no too too dey do bad bad things. I never hear Omo Iko dey insult people inside bus before. I go say na him be the most gentle driver wey I know. The single dey wey I follow Sule do conductor, I no fit count how many people hin abuse finish. As e dey abuse car owner na so hin go dey abuse okada riders. Even hin passengers no fit escape hin bad mouth. Na from Sule mouth I learn how den dey curse person 'olosi' and 'oloriburuku'. That time I nor know wetin dem mean. I don sabi tok am wella so tay I no fit stop again wen I later know say na big curse dem be. Omo Iko no dey tok them sha. I surprise say hin just gentle like that. How that kind thing take dey possible? With the way hin head even be sef, you go know say na confirm 'Omo ita' hin be. Omo Iko right face swell up pass hin left face. If you dey look Omo Iko from one side you go think say na only one cheek hin get, because the one wey swell up don cover the other side. Na 31 teeth hin kon get sef, meaning say den don use ogbonge blow pluck am comot before. How come hin kon cool like that? I just too dey inquisitive. I wan know wetin happen wey make Omo Iko gentle like that. Na Sule kon clear me for that matter later. He tell me say Omo Iko be confirm head of thugs before before for mushin. Na when e remain small wey hin wan lose hin life hin quit that kind life kpatakpata. I day like this nor go pass make me and those Yoruba people no get Kanta. Dem go kon worse matter say I be 'Omo nna'. Some old old mama go wan use their age ride me. Den go dey clear me say my grandfather no reach them for age. Before before, me no dey hear wetin dem dey tok, but as Sule don brief me small, I begin dey use idea carry the rest. Na one mama vex me one day. She dey call me 'olosi jatijati'. Na so I provoke call am witch. I don tok am finish before I realise say na born again I be. "Omo Iko, you know whether born again fit do driver and kondo successfully?" I asked. Omo Iko laugh. "Before nko. No be born again I be too?" I look Omo Iko from im head to toe. He ask why I dey look am like that. I clear am say him no be born again because I never see am enter church before. "Chibuzor, you funny. You nor know say I be born again moslem abi?" Na the first time wey I go hear say moslem sef dey born again be that. I never do kondo pass five months before I tok say I no wan do again. Na two times agbero don drag me come down bus beat me like say tomorrow nor dey, all because Omo Iko no wan stop give them their 'entitlement'. Now I kon dey reason am say Kondo no be my destiny. When one small girl slap me for inside bus one day kon tell me say I be smelling conductor, I be don clear Omo Iko say I nor do again. I be wan slap my own back that day but passengers nor allow me. I for teach am lesson wey she no go fit forget. I for let am no say na man dem create first before den kon remember woman. After six months I quit conductor work.

CHAPTER TWO I watched as mother and father argued over the matter. My father moved close to her and pointed a finger at her eyes. I felt blood rushing to my head.  Mother told me that two weeks payment would be deducted from father's salary. I laughed heartily. "Good for him," I told mother. Father saw the smile on my face and he was suspicious. Why should I not be glad that my dad was going to lose part of his money? If I was not glad about it, who then should be? That man wasn't the one paying my school fees. He had stopped doing that since the year before. From the onset he had objected to my schooling, believing it would amount to an effort in futility. John wouldn't see anything good in educating a handicapped child.  "What is the usefulness of a disabled child?" he would tell my mother. He began to militate against my remaining in school. He wanted me out by all means, complaining that it was a sheer waste of money.  I felt useless when John gave me the reasons why I shouldn't remain in school. It was the first time he would communicate with me through letter: What do you intend doing after school? Doctor?Nurse?Lawyer?Engineer?Pilot? You can't do any of those or anything in life without your ears and mouth, I hope you know. Rose, I hereby want to advise you to pull out of school and master house works because that is the only thing you can do without your ears and mouth. I had wanted these ever since; only that mother insisted I should remain in school. I was not an academic enthusiast, but I was not bad in school at all. Now, father said he wouldn't pay my fee, so what was the essence of arguing with him now? I knew John was only trying to hurt my feelings, but he was shocked when I laughed for the first time and wrote back to him, "Thank you so much. I have been looking forward to that." I had only stayed two weeks away from school when my mother came with a big shock. "Rose, you are returning to school?" "What!" I responded in my sign language. My oval-shaped mouth also synched the word. I have learnt a lot from lipreading my teachers in school, such that I could figure out some things people are saying with their mouths. "You have won a scholarship!" Mother said.  "How?" I asked, puzzled. I hadn't applied for any scholarship. "Last year when your father began threatening to pull you out of school, I decided to apply for a scholarship for you and..." I held my mother's hands. I didn't want to see more of her speech. I didn't buy the idea of returning to school. "Please tell the scholarship sponsors to stop wasting their monies on disabled like me," I said. "No matter what they spend, I will remain disabled in life." I rushed to my room and held tight to my pillow. Tears were soaking the soft pillow in my grip. I took a little time gazing at the wall. My thought began to speak out: They teach us that God is kind, but here am I...I can't speak. If he is kind, why can't he make me like the other people? I came to the world, useless. How am I different from the animals in the jungle? I learnt that animals can't speak too. Little wonder Bayo keeps putting leaf inside his mouth every time, just to show me that I am an herbivorous animal... My nape felt a touch. The sensation slid down and rested on my left shoulder. I had shut my eyes long ago, only feeling the seepage of my tears on my cheeks. It was mother's touch. If I knew she would be coming in, I would have bolted the door. I didn't want to go to school. "You are able, Rose," mother said. "A proof or I don't believe it," I responded. "A proof?" Mother said. She was confused. "Tell me what a deaf person can do that a normal person cannot do. Tell me the job I can be offered without my ears and mouth functioning. After then, I might reconsider schooling." Mother racked her brain. She scratched her braided hair for answer such that the bobby pins on them began to fall off. Still, no answer to give.  "Tell the sponsor of that scholarship to transfer it to a normal person. I am done with schooling," I said. Mother sat on the bedside. I could see her throat moving up and down like a jangrover. Her red lips came out to lick her tears intermittently. "For how long, Rose, for how long would I keep begging you to stop being inferior? Rose, just...just..." I had buried my face in the pillow. I didn't want to go to school. Period! In the end I decided to comply. Ever since, I'd been on scholarship. So, John's salary could keep on decreasing, how should I care? But I still wanted to know what brought the disabled at par with the normal people. If my mum and my class teacher couldn’t give me the proof that ‘I am able’ in three weeks time, I shall go on personal strike.

Story continuation


CHAPTER TWO
Reminiscing

He saw Ted on the court busy with a game. Although Ted was sweating profusely under the hot sun, yet it seemed he was not going to give up on the demanding task he was performing all alone by himself. When Ted lifted his head and saw his friend walking towards him, he smiled as he waited for him.

“Ted, hope you are not going to spend the whole time here playing games.”

“And you… over there—” replied Ted pointing toward the school library where his friend had just exited, “studying.”
Henry would have him corrected, so he said, “No… reading novels.”

“Hmm,” grumbled Ted in disbelief, “I know that’s what you’ll say—always reading novels and scoring millions of A’s, isn’t it?” Henry ignored him, attempting to digress.

“Ted have you seen her—today?”

“Yeah,” he replied, “She just left the basketball court now, I think with Pete,” said Ted in a way that would upset his friend. Ted never wanted Henry to go after that Chinese girl, Cynthia, but Henry was not ready to give up. He had wanted her by all means, but she had never looked to his side once, preferring Pete instead, because he was a sport person, being one of the key players in the school basketball team.

“I’ll go after her,” said Henry as he made to leave Ted on the spot.

“No, don’t go,” responded Ted, trying to debar him from such action, “I believe she did spot you coming here, that was why she took her leave.”

“Oh! Ted you should have obstructed her for me,” Henry blamed Ted in earnest.

“Not me,” said Ted sharply. “You want me get into Pete’s trouble—men!” he said looking critically into his friend’s eyes as if he was scared of Pete, since there had always been something to fear about the said Pete, whose mouth was his weapon. Aside being very good in the basketball game, another thing Pete could do so well was calumniation. “And I didn’t even know on time that you were out of the library already. Let’s go.” Ted jerked Henry’s arm, trying to pull him along, but he forced himself out of his grip.

“Leave me alone,” Henry replied. “I’m getting her at all cost,” he said leaving Ted in a hurry.

“Henry, don’t go nowhere, I’ve got something for you,” shouted Ted.

“Later,” replied Henry without looking back at him. He doubled his paces instead, looking ahead like someone trying to avoid becoming a ‘pillar of salt’.

Henry had never liked any girl all his life except her, but she had never reciprocated his love. Henry was not going to have a girlfriend if not her, but she was not going to reciprocate his affection. She was a first year student of the University—almost like the cynosure of all eyes, nubile and graceful, appearing more beautiful whenever her dimples had had the cause to come out conspicuous—especially when smiling. Her hairs were elongated, trailing down her chins and always resting sequentially on her shoulders, like the manes of a horse. Though not lanky, being a bit below six feet, she had no problem with that, since her shoes did always compensate for her height—high-heeled espadrilles.
Perhaps Henry was lucky to have caught up with her while she was trying to get a cab to board. It was a Friday evening, five o’clock, so she was leaving the campus to her parents’ place that day as she was wont doing—just like many other students on campus whose abodes were stone-throw from the school.

“Hey, Cynthia!” cried Henry. She turned on her heels towards the direction of the voice, not knowing it was Henry. Getting close to her, Henry beckoned on the taxi driver to keep moving. The man was furious.

“Hey, man! Handful of plonkers! Why wave me down at first?” He skidded away extremely annoyed, leaving trails of dust behind.
Seeing it was Henry, she became gutted, though hiding the feeling. She waited for his arrival.

“Cynthia, I’m sorry I—I just felt I should see you,” he said panting.

“So…” said Cynthia, amazed, “that’s just all you want to do, uh?” she added in her usual Chinese accent as she pointed annoyingly at him.

“You’ve just cost me getting a taxi to my place—why?” she said in her usual lady-like manner, now exuding anger.

“I’m sorry,” said Henry apologetically, then she responded, “Okay, go on.”

“I just want to ask if you’ll come with me—’’ he said, paused and glared apprehensively at her, having insinuated an unpalatable response, “for dinner.”

“Dinner!” she yelled in a way that was difficult for Henry to guess what she was having in mind towards it. Henry spoke on.

“Yeah—we’re going to make use of a nice place—maybe in the New York City or—wherever you choose for it. I’m—”

“It’s okay,” she said succinctingly in impatience. “Just want to let you know I’m having a date with someone else—Pete. I believe you saw him just now, ’cos he’d hardly entered a taxi when you came around. Henry stood stupefied, words unable to flow.

“Well, see you later Henry; don’t want to get home late,” she said rushing to board a taxicab, which she’d waved down already in the course of the conversation. She waved at Henry when she got into the vehicle.

“Bye!” She said.

“Wait, Cynthia, don’t do this to me,” lamented Henry. He heard a voice behind him too, immediately.

“Wait, Henry don’t do this to me!” It sounded feminine. Henry did not want to turn back, being of the thought that it was one of those ladies who had always been asking him out—though always turning them down—particularly Susie, his departmental mate, who had never at any moment relented in her effort to get him. At this moment, Henry felt that Susie was the owner of the voice, so he did not want to turn to the direction. At last he turned but saw Ted approaching instead.

“Hey Ted, why trying to be sissy? And what have I done to you?” said Henry frustrated.

“Sissy like Susie, Isn’t it?” Ted replied humorously.

“Exactly!” Henry replied, surprised at his friend’s ability to probe into his mind.

“Just trying to mimic you Henry—what you said to Cynthia just now,” Ted winked. “What’s her response?”

“She’s going to hook up with Pete tonight—for dinner.”
Ted smiled. “Maybe you’ve got to wait for your turn, man,” he advised.

“It’s not going to come if I just fold my hands and let things go in a normal way without doing anything ’bout it,” said Henry and quickly changed the topic.

“Ted, I can remember—you said you’ve got something for me.”

“When? Can’t remember saying such,” lied Ted.

“Uh,” sounded Henry, shocked. “So quickly forgotten? When trying to catch up with her just now.”

“Oh, nothing!” exclaimed Ted, face beaming with excitement, paving way for Henry to display his lexical skill once more:

“Is nothing the something you’ve got for me?”

“I only said that to kind of prevent you from going to her, so you won’t be embarrassed,” Ted chuckled. “She’s not a genius-freak you know. She prefers sport man.”

“Like you?” Henry said suddenly.

“Ssh! I don’t like her and I’ll want you do same.”

“Impossible!” responded Henry promptly.

The two crossed the highway to get taxis to their respective homes, perhaps to go do the weekend. Ted stayed with his Uncle, who was staying single. Willis Brown, Ted’s uncle, had remained celibate since the death of his wife and only daughter in an auto crash some years back. Willis Brown adopted Ted, who was an orphan, thereafter. The man took care of him in-loco-parentis, sending him to all the schools he had attended all his lives. His uncle’s enormous care for him had made him to develop some sorts of stupendous adorations for him, always willing to be home every weekend to help him do one thing or the other, since they had got no maid to assist in the house chores. Being seldom asked who his mentor was, Ted had always said, “Willis Brown”. He had never left them with the clue that he was only talking about his uncle, since he had never discussed his family background with anyone, except Henry.

AbdulAdam56:
@op the deaf pls continue nice write up

10ks

7agaza:
Dis ur tori dey like sometin wey go make sense

Okay nah...spread mat here then...no dulling

Dem say na 285 be cut off mark. Me don kuku tidy cut off mark. Wet in remain nah? Wetin fit stop me from getting admission this year again? Post Jamb? Make I hear am. Post Jamb wey start 2005? Guy, na 2001 matter be this o. Me don enter Melecin dis year already, nothing fit stop me.

I even go do testimony for church. Kon see how I just they jam tok for church. I just dey add things wey no happen so tey I tok say I do 3 months fasting and prayer for Mountain of Fire before the exam. Me wey neva step MFM dumult.

As I dey tok tok up and down na im I go jamtok o. When my guy tell me say make I dey pray about admission na im I provoke o.

"Uche, shut up your mouth! Wetin I need pray about wen be say I don beat cut off mark?" I yell on top my guy.

"Chibuzor, na one dream I dream o. I dream say one bird dey drag your admission letter with you and the she bird finally succeed o. The thing chop am for mouth dey fly go."

I laugh. E too funny. Na den I kon jamtok say, "Even if dem go heaven go do admission I go get am. Baba God sef nor fit stop me from having Melecin."

To my surprise next day dem tok say dem don release admission list o. That time I still be novice for browsing. I carry Uche go cafe make im helep me check my status. To my surprise my name nor dey list. Which kind thing be this? Hot mess begin dey comot . I tell Uche say whether Na the Cafe no good. Uche tell me say I dey craze.

Na so I see am o. Admission no show. Shame no go gree me stay Okija. Na travelling to Lasgidi go sure pass o. Make I go Unilag go rake for them there. As I reach Unilag them show me the new cut off mark. Na 1 mark remain make I meet am. The Prof. wey I meet there say nothing wey im fit do o, because him be don use him slot finish.

Them give me Fishery later sha.

"Who go do that kind course?" I laugh. Uncle tok say e better make I go meet fishermen for marina make them put me through before I go go for the course finally.

"Tufiakwa!" I shouted. "Over my dead body."

Since that time I no just show for village o. How I go take withstand the leering eyes of all those villagers wey think say true true I don enter school If den still see me around wetin dem go begin yarn? thrash?

Walai Talai Lasgidi nor easy o. E never even reach 2 weeks before my uncle ask me say make I go find one work dey do to survive. Wen I dey village I think say na mansion Uncle Chike dey live ni o. Walahi if I no say Na face me I face you I for no come here at all.

Pls copycat is not allowed. You can only do that with the consent of the writer, else you should be ready for a lawsuit.



Tory Don Start

Backdated

January 1, 2014
Between 12am-8am

Na January 1, 2014 we dey so and I never still get the gut to talk to am. If I nor do am on time another person fit ask am out o. Chai! Wetin I go do now?

Her name na Titi. Dem say na Titilayo be the full name. Wetin make me like Titi be say her complexion just on down like torch light. Wetin I mean be say she get light skin. Omo, she too fine!

I go tok to Titi today wey be new year o. I no attend my own Cross Over service for His Divine Glory church for new year eve, na Titi own I kon attend. I want make new year dawn on me and Titi together, that’s why. I swear, if I no approach Titi today tok to am about my feelings, then my name no be Chibuzor.

Dem tok say Titi just finish service, NYSC, so she no go fit listen to me because I no go university. How that one kon take be my headache? How many school Dangote go? Yet if that guy say im wan marry 100 virgins today dem go begin rush come. No be matter of who fit speak oyinbo pass be this o. Na matter of money. Although sha, I no get money like that. Na bags of rice and beans I dey sell for Mafoluku Oshodi.

I be handsome guy; the kind wey woman go fit trip for so tey dem go lose their balance. For Okija my village that time, I know how many girls don enter my trap nah! But since way I don born again I no dey run that kind parole again. Na person way I go fit marry I dey find now.

I kuku know book when I dey secondary school. Na first I dey carry every time. I finish secondary kon write Jamb for 1999. Na since then Jamb don begin jam me o. No be say I no dey pass JAMB, but the thing be say na Melecin (Medicine) I wan read by force by fire. If I get 280 na that time cut off mark go be 281. Na UNIBEN I choose for my first JAMB. Those yeye people kon go dey offer me Botany say because I no reach cut off.

Na my second JAMB funny pass. I beat cut off wella; I score 292. I don even brag say nothing dey happen I dey get admission that year. I begin dey do cho, cho, cho up and down so tey I go tell people wey no ask me wetin I get. Na Unilag I choose that year. I kukuma get people for Lagos wey I fit dey live with.

WE ARE ABLE

CHAPTER ONE

I feel a cold touch at my back. It is harmattan period. I just want to be left on my bed. I turn around like a fat cake, but mother turns me around again. I can see her mouth moving. I wonder what she is saying. But certainly she can’t be saying anything more than the fact—I am lazy.

My school is in Ejigbo, Lagos. They say we are special people, yet I haven’t perceived anything special about us. Some of us can’t talk. Some of us can’t walk; some of us can’t see, yet they say we are special. Well, I am not moved a bit by those flatteries.

I look at mother’s hand movements. It is funny to me. I smile. I wonder when she will be able to master the sign language.

“Rose, get out of bed,” she has managed to communicate with her hands. She has to repeat each word just to put them at their best. I could remember challenging my teacher some times back that…

I rise up lazily and go straight for my bath. When I get to the bathroom, I see a basin filled with water there. Wow! It is warm. I splash the water on my body. I observe that the door is shaking but I didn’t really think about it. I continue pouring water on my body. Today in particular, I spend around thirty minutes in the bathroom. The water is just exactly as I want it to be—warm.

When I step out of the bathroom, daddy gives me a scornful look. The grotesque on mother’s face also suggests to me that I have done something wrong again. Why me all the time?
My father gets into the bathroom and begins to open his mouth. Since I am deaf, I didn’t hear what he is saying, but my mother is opening her mouth too in return. They understand each other—it’s only we, the special one so called, that can’t understand them.

Mother helps father to carry a bucket of water into the bathroom. That man—always angry. I don’t know his problem. He is far away from me more than a stranger. I wonder why he is my father. Mother quickly taps me and I face her when that man has entered the bathroom.
“Rose, you used your father’s water,” mother says to me in her amateur sign language, yet she claims that she has learnt the language while I was five years of age. I wonder what is still keeping her in the amateur level till now, after six years.

“I used his water? How?” I ask. Sometimes my hands just get tired of speaking. I wonder how I will be able to speak if I become paralyzed in my hands or a bad accident claims them.

“I put his water in the bathroom first because he must be in Ikeja as early as possible.”

“Why don’t you tell me that before I entered the bathroom?” I ask.

“Em…Rose…erm…” my mother’s face is clugged up with tears. I know she is a very tender person—not wanting to raise anything that will remind me of my status—deaf and dumb.

“Em what? What has letter ‘M’ got to do with this?” I am confused.

“When you were leaving, I was calling you, but you were too fast. You have already entered the bathroom. I only woke you up so that you could go and brush your teeth and not to take your bath. Your daddy will be angry with us. He has been kicking at the bathroom door for a long time to break it if he could.”

I know what mother is talking about: she wakes me up; I rush to the bathroom without looking at her to hear from her (you have to look at someone to see his/her communication). But if that is the only thing that has happened, does it warrant my dad frowning at me in that manner as if I am nothing but a fart?

“Is he my daddy? I doubt it,” I say. Mother doesn’t want my eyes to get those tears in them again. She comes on time to wipe them off for me. I don’t believe I have a daddy yet. The only pictures I took with that man mother calls my dad are the ones during my one year and two years birthdays. No recent pictures, yet I am already eleven. Maybe if he knew that I would never speak in life, he would not have snapped those pictures with me then.

Who creates me? I am sure it is not the same God who creates the other people on earth. I have approached my mother once and said, “Don’t you think it is satan who creates me?”

“Don’t say that again Rose!” mother replies me. The vigour with which she moves her hands shows to me that she is shouting.

“But why can’t I hear and speak?” I challenge her. “I thought that they say that all the things he creates were good.”

“You are good either,” she says to me.

“Good?” I laugh mockingly. Those lips of mine, what can they do other than eating, laughing and crying? I have been advised by my teachers to laugh always, since it will prevent my mouth from smelling. But I don’t seem to see the reason for laughing at all. I only laugh to make jest of people sometimes. Nothing again can make me laugh, even if you tickle me I won’t.
I didn’t feel like going to school that day again. That man in the bathroom has killed my joy. How I wish I am not born into this family. If I am born into another family, it’s only my mother I will miss. Who cares about John, that wicked man? I think.

Reluctantly, I sit at the table. If only mummy can allow me have my own meal inside my room and not at the dinning table. Or what is the essence of eating at the dinning table when my daddy is having his own food in a separate dish? It’s only my mother and I who eat together in the same plate.

I see the way John is leering at me as if he should just lock me up somewhere. He is guzzling the food as if he hasn’t eaten since the day before yesterday. He can’t even communicate with me since he has refused to learn the sign language like my mother. He will only tell my mother to tell me anything he wanted to tell me, yet if he has written them down I would have understood him. I have perceived that mother doesn’t use to tell me what my father was asking her to tell me. Perhaps my father’s words will be too harsh on me. She has to come out clear one day when the preacher in our church condemns the act of lying in all its ramifications. That day, mother said to me that she has been telling me the opposites of what father has been asking her to tell me. I didn’t need to ask her what exactly he has been saying since commonsense is there in me to know that they were unpleasant things.

I am looking away while eating. Mother taps me. A mould of amala is still in her grip, but she has something to tell me. With the food in her hand, mother gestures to me, “Rose, your daddy says you should stop looking away from your food.”

I frown.

I know that what he said is more than that. His face can tell it all—many wrinkles on his forehead. If only he can speak in a mild manner to me, it had been better.

I quickly readjust and eat my food, silently as usual, since there isn’t any noise I want to make. I see daddy speaking to her again. This time, mummy speaks back with an angry face. It seems as if they are on my matter again. At last, mummy speaks to me:

“Rose, don’t get angry, but your dad says that I should tell you that if his boss gets angry at him for coming late to office today, then you are in trouble. But don’t mind him, Rose, he can’t do anything for you.” That is how my mummy will always say, yet that man will beat both of us together whenever it is time for him to do so.

My father looks at us as if he is suspecting that my mother is saying more than he said to her. I look at his mouth and I am able to figure out the first word he says:

“Hannah…” That is the name of my mother.
I fold my hands and didn’t eat again. Father didn’t even care. He has finished eating the amala. He has begun to rush out of the house. That Volkswagen he has, he hasn’t used it to take me to school once. Sometimes my mummy will use it to take me there if he is on afternoon duty, since he will be sleeping in the morning by then.

Father points to me as if he is threatening me when he gets to the door. Mother is just looking at him. When he leaves, she rushes to me and hugs me tight. She was shedding tears as she presses her lips firmly against my cheek.
I am off to school. Mother takes me there herself before going to her own work too. Throughout the school period, I didn’t speak a word. Mrs Oyin, our class teacher is surprised. How come Rose’s name didn’t enter the name of noise maker today? she must have thought (we write names of noise makers in our school too; making unnecessary sign language is a noise).
Mrs. Oyin is a second mother to us. She likes everyone of us in Primary Six B. When she comes into the class to punish the noise makers, she calls me out and takes me out of the class. If only I can hear, then she would not have taken me out of the class. She would just have whispered into my ears.

In the office, she says, “Why are you not speaking today?” I tell her there is nothing.
When I get back home, daddy was already inside. I am surprised. He is supposed to be in the office by then.

I go on my knees to greet him, but then, he slaps me on the face. I scream with all the power inside me. He will be the only one to suffer the sound from my throat. He didn’t leave me alone. He has come on me, punching me like a punching bag. Mother rushes in at once and begin to prevent him. But it is too late. My eyes are swollen already, yet I didn’t know my offence.
It is the next day I know what has happened. My father has been suspended from office for two weeks for getting late to work that day. But does that call for dealing with me brutally that way?

God should kill me once and for all, I think.

Beware of jail. To avoid this, abstain from plagiarism.
Copyright belongs to Sammy O.

I'm dedicating this long post to OmoAlhaja7 who is the first to comment on this thread:


Chapter three

Yemi put a smile on his face as he dusted his grim shoes. He upended them to get the dust inside them out too as he got ready for the court. He was going to witness Deinde's trial in the court of law.

Yemi wished they would leave Deinde in the same cell after convicting him. He wanted to have charge over his affair.

"If all criminals could be wiped out in this corrupt nation, then this nation would soar to great height," Yemi mused his usual singsong. "But the police are not helping matters at all. Whenever a criminal is brought to book, they let him go free when they have brought them bribe. It all stems down from the government who are not paying us well. Imagine, they're owing me three months salary now; thanks to the savings I made last two years, which is now saving us, else, what would we be feeding on by now? Grass? God forbid!" Yemi had forgotten that he was talking to himself.

Yemi had strapped the shoes on his legs already when he realised that he had worn them the wrong way--right shoe for left leg and vice-versa.

"Aouch!" he exclaimed as he bent low to unloose the ropes on them. If only his wife whom he fondly called 'the other Yemi' was around now, perhaps he wouldn't have had any problem regarding the shoes issue since she had taken it as a duty to help dress her husband up. She was up early and had gone to the market.

Yemi was whistling, a kind of unspeakable joy springing out of his heart. He was up again, stamping his shoes on the ground, having worn them aright this time, but then he screamed, "Yeeah! Olorun ma se mi l'oponu"
God, don't make me an slowpoke
He had just noticed his pair of socks lying on the floor, something that his legs were supposed to be fast stuck into.
Again, Yemi had to repeat the process, but patiently now, having pondered on the belief that when you do things in a hurry, you keep doing and redoing it.

Yemi suddenly had a urge rushing it--the urge to at least chew something.

"Chewing stick?" he pondered in a funny manner. "Perhaps chewing gum," he settled for another idea. He would get that out there from an 'Northerner's' shop.

Yemi got to the corridor and soon found himself on the street. He was already at the highway when he remembered that he was once having the feeling for chewing a sweet.

"I'm late already," he nodded off that creeping thought when it returned.

The road was too messy for his liking--traffic jam everywhere. Yemi should have woken up as early as 4.30am if he wanted to be sure of making the journey at all, but he woke 6am and it was 8am already. Not that the high court was too far a journey that someone can't make within forty-five minutes, but the fact was that there was overcrowding of vehicles on the lagos busy road, as usual.

It would have been better if what was on the road were just vehicular logjam alone, but no, the road wasn't potholes free too, such that one in a vehicle would have to resonate and dance involuntarily to the figurative tone of the bus in whose belly one was getting along.

Yemi couldn't even get a bus. How would he when all the ones 'trekking' towards him were already filled inside-out from the previous bus-stops. Not even a 'molue' had a space in it let alone a danfo. Molue-large bus, Danfo- mini bus.
Yemi was tempted to embark on a trek down to his destination.

"Na wa o! Go slow everyday," Yemi spoke like a layman, with intense anger burning within him. He waited long but found himself on the same spot still.

Yemi began to have the thought of trekking to the previous bus-stop where he believed the vehicles were getting filled-up from. He nodded off the thought eventually and began to moan contumeliously under his breath.

"This country is falling under the weight of decadence every passing day," he lamented as if the government would hear him and make a change dramatically.

Motorcycles made the road worst. Even when you felt you have seen a bus to take you, you still have to look left, right and left like a madfellow before running towards the bus you thought you have seen, else you get crushed by a trespassing motorcycle which was manoeuvring its way through pedestrians' standpoint.

In Lagos, no one would need to tell anyone the reason why they had to look left and right before crossing. You get to know the reason by experience, especially if you had once been a victim of 'hit-and-run' one-way collision whereby you were looking left, attempting to cross the road, but had something strike you down from the right unexpectedly. If you survived it, no one would teach you before you realised that one needed to be as wary as a bird to thrive in Lagos.

Yemi almost fell victim of a collision just now. He had only escaped by a swift withdrawal of his right leg which was a bit ahead of the left beside the road. It was an Okada. It had just skidded past him, almost knocking him down.

The Okada rider was at fault, having dabbled into the side of the road meant for pedestrians, yet he turned his neck around with heavy vituperations at Yemi who was the least at fault in the almost-going-to-be-an-accident scene.

"Yeye man! You no see road say Okada dey come for your side abi? He-goat!" the man cursed, but just few metres ahead, a hasty nemesis caught up with him; yet it was a carelessness on his part. The Okadaman was taken aback when he turned his face to face the road again--then he found the real goat--this time around, a pregnant adult she-goat standing an inch close to the tyre. It was too close for him to swerve. He just rammed the goat over and then his okada went crashing down as well as its rider and a passenger behind him. For the nanny-goat, it scampered away to safety, not ready to be made a roadkill--better for it to be an 'escapee goat' than a scape goat.

"That's what we are saying," Yemi spoke aloud for those around him to hear. "You left the right way, passed through one-way and almost knocked down an innocent pedestrian."

"Na God catch am!" said a fair lady with an igbo intonation. "Chineke ga pogi oku," she vituperated in her local dialect. She had even taken it personal, putting out five fingers to drive home her abusive language.

The rude rider rose up and left his scooter on the road in its decubital position as he made straight for Yemi's direction in rage. He was even limping back to Yemi, perhaps to give him the beating of his life for being the 'cause of the accident'. Other pedestrians would not let that happen. They held the road hog before he could lay his hand on Yemi, yet he raked,"Leave me alone make I teach this mumu lesson!"

"You are at fault, Mr Man!" an on-looker yelled at him. He was a suit-wearing, tie-strapping, portmanteau-carrying gorgeous-looking man with eyeglasses set on his face. To the look he was like an opulent person in the prime of his career.

"Shut up!" the rider faced him fiercely. They were almos going to release spittle into each other's wide eyes.

"You are crazy!" the seemingly educated man pulled his coat, threw it at the floor and began to pour out bombastic words to lambast the dirty scooter rider: "You imbecilic hoodoo, a quintessence of a born-by-mistake son of a discovert mother under the in-lo-co-parental foster sot in the nomenclature of a father. How dare you assault a high-ranked elite coerced by circumstance to be incognito just because my jeep is there in the workshop to be mechanically injected to live? I am a professor for heaven's sake!!!"

"Professor or not, wetin concern me there?" the driver spoke in his usual insolent manner. "Weereee!" he caused him in the Yoruba dialect, calling him a mad man. The professor got angry and held the okada rider's cloth in anger. Many hands had to come on them to quell the brouhaha which was soon going to get out of hand.

Yemi was one of those who marvelled at the grandiloquence of the purported professor. However, he understood what the man was trying to communicate.

The lady beside him had tapped him to ask, "What's the man saying?"

"He's talking about being a professor who have to be here to struggle for bus with us because his car had issues," Yemi interpreted, leaving out the abusive part of the man's speech.
Hardly had the crowd succeeded in separating the two when everyone began to pave way for a 'madder' somebody. She was screaming, "Give me my money! I no dey go again. Give me money make I go treat my body wey u injure!!"

Before long, she had held the scooter rider's shirt tight, shouting at his face. She was the passenger on the motorcycle with the rider when the accident occured. Shockingly, the rider could do nothing, being restless.

However, the rider said, "I go wound this one o!"

"Sebi you kuku don wound me before," the woman spoke in a pitieous manner. "Oya, see my leg." She raised up her skirt to reveal a deep cut. She just got the fresh cut during the accident and blood was trickling down from it.

"Na me cause the accident ni?" the rider was trying to claim that he was not at fault.

"Shut up, na you!" said the igbo lady beside Yemi. She was pointing at the rider as if she was the person who was hurt.

The rider couldn't free himself from the lock. The pain was telling on his neck which was held tight against the collar of his shirts by the woman who was injured. In rage, he dazed the woman's left cheek with a thunderous slap and his fingerprint were etched on it.

"Yeeeee!!!" the woman screamed in pain and held her cheek, going low in pain. She held him tighter now and began to say "You go kuku kill me for here today!"

The woman didn't need to do much talk. Many zealous ones had come to her rescue. From nowhere, planks and bottles had arrived which they slammed on the okadaman's head. When he fell, they didn't leave him alone still, yet he was vehemently pleading.

A galon of petrol had been emptied on his head in a flash and a matchbox was readily available to light him up in flames. Had it not been for the intervention of the police, the okadaman would have gone in the flame as an unacceptable sacrifice. However, his motorcycle went in flame in lieu of him.

Omoalhaja7:

I'm contended wt just d dedication(s). Thanx bro.

Alright then, I'm dedicating a post to you ASAP!

Story continuation...


"Daddy, ride on," she said, looking up to her father's face.

Yemi was good at telling stories into details. The other Yemi wondered why he had chosen warder ahead of storytelling, at least he could have opened a radio programme and name it 'Nnkan Sele' since there were other programmes in such genre named 'Nnkan Mbe' and 'Labe Orun' already in the Western part of the country.

Yemi's throat-clearing sound rented the air. He beat his chest along. The two female had to remain watching. That was the manner they knew with their man.

At last Yemi got into talk:

"At exactly 2pm yesterday, Deinde was driven in a police van to the prison, handcuffed," Yemi began. "The sun appeared low, shining into all faces. And through the shiny sun, I saw Deinde's murderous eyes. They were glaring and daring and mendacious and...and...I don't have more grammar to qualify it..."

"It's okay, daddy. I'm even wondering if mendacious is inside the dictionary. Just ride on," Bimbo said, joking.

"You'd better get a jotter and jot down your daddy's story," said the other Yemi playfully to her daughter. They laughed.

Bimbo had always said she didn't want to be a journalist anytime her mother was bothering her to jot down her father's speeches.

She said it now again, "I don't want to be a--"

"Journalist," her mother completed it for her.

"Deinde has one big forehead, swollen up with police punches. His lips has also gotten a rend and I have no pity for him as he tended the wound on his elbow. I like it, Yemi. My soul was glad when I see justice on the verge of being put to play."

"And me too dear," Yemi's wife replied. "Bimbo, what about you?"

Bimbo was different. She was full of pity, her eyes showing it. Her beautiful face was fascinating and calm. She didn't like when someone is going through tortures, yet she would be the one asking to hear such unpleasant stories which would make him go lugubrious when hearing it.

"I don't know," she frowned her face at her mum and said, "Dad, continue your story joor"

"Deinde was led to the cell but he struggled hard with the police as if he could throw them down and escape," Yemi said. "I took a look at him and found the word 'guilty' written all over him in red italics."

Yemi's wife brandished her teeth in laughter. She loved the way her husband told stories in exaggeration.

"It reminds me of Shina Rambo, that hardened criminal in the year Bimbo was just developing teeth," Yemi said, just a way to taunt his 'baby'.

"Shina Rambo?" the other Yemi yelled. "Don't even mention that because Deinde can never be anything near Shina who killed hundreds of policemen and lived in Iroko trees to hide himself. I think Deinde is just a learner."

Yemi continued:

"Like a load, Deinde was bundled inside a lonely and dark cell and locked up. I was wondering who would be put in charge of him; I just wished it would be me and to my surprise, I was named as the man to spearhead the supervision of that cell 124. I had even discussed my wish with some colleagues of mine earlier, and when they heard that I was the supervising warder of that cell, they were surprised, thinking that I influenced it. I was glad because I had wished to talk to Deinde one on one, speak sense into his head, ask him some questions, tell him that he was a big mistake, point out his foolish ways and...and..."

"Correct him," Bimbo spoke tenderly.

"Correct him for what?" Yemi replied. "How do you correct someone who didn't want to open up? Imagine, till now he has not opened his mouth to utter a word, instead he was hypocritically keeping silent like a lamb who was slain, yet he wasn't. I coerced him in my speech to say something, but no, he wouldn't speak. He wouldn't tell us who sent him to kill the governorship candidate of the Friendship Party."

"People could be so hypocritical," Yemi's wife hissed in anger vented at Deinde in absentia. It seemed the same blood was flowing in the veins of the couple, the Yemis--they blindly resented pretense by suspects, believing that all suspected criminals were actually guilty of the crime they were indicted for."

"If you are not a criminal, then you won't be indicted with criminal offence," the couple had always opined.

Bimbo's opinions about criminal matter was a direct contrast of her parents. Only God knew where she got her own head. She had even earned much criticism from her father and mother for being too naïve. They would playfully say, "*Olorun lo mo iru ori ti iwo gbe wa 'le aye."

Now Yemi said, "I can't buy the idea that Deinde isn't guilty."

"Good he's not denying it, or is he?" said the other Yemi.

"Of course he isn't darling. He was cut red-handed," Yemi said, but the little tiny voice which came midway his statement caught him aback.

"What did you just say, Bimbo?" Yemi asked his daughter now.

"I said perhaps that Deinde is innocent," Bimbo reiterated. She was made a cynosure the more by the stunned couple. "Why is every eye turned at me?" Bimbo said in a playful manner.

"Bimbo, it's better you keep shut if you don't know what to say?" her mother spoke harshly and pushed her head.

Bimbo was sad. She rose up to leave but the female Yemi pulled her back and spoke apologetically to her.

"Oh! Did I sound so serious? I am very very sorry for yelling at you like that auntie wa, sisi eko," she said, trying to pull her legs. Bimbo sat again and her mother rocked her back and let her have her face on her laps, yet over her bent head she did those Nigerian traditional 'nose-mocking' and 'head-shaking' movement called '*yinmu'.

Bimbo raised her head up to listen to her father again, but now she was more quiet and speechless. She would not want to hear another upbraid from her parents mouth anymore, at least for the rest of the day.

Yemi soon ended the long story of Deinde and got to the bathroom to have a cold shower.

"Deinde!" he hissed just when the soap lather 'peppered' his eyes, such that one would think it was Deinde who put the lather inside his eyes to punish him.

Omoalhaja7:
I gat ur back bro
Keep it rolling'

Okay thanks ma 1st time caller...
I owe you a #100 recharge card tomorrow morning if you want it

Kip on reading...

CHAPTER TWO


Story Continuation...


Mr Deinde cross-legged and held his forehead tight in frowns. He bit his lips and put his face on his laps for some moments.

Deinde raised his head. The wrinkles had gone out of them. He was now even smiling. He got up and walked towards the burglary gate. Then forcefully, he shook it as though he had the ability to rip it off. He pulled harder and bit the corner of his wounded lips. Deinde left the rusting prison gate and held his lips with his hands as if he wanted to prevent blood from dripping down from there. Even his elbow was having a big wound on it, a result of the rough-handlings he got from the police while he was just being arrested and forced into the police van.

Deinde shut his eyes and held the lips still, perhaps thinking of the Nigerian Police manner of approach to a yet unconvicted criminal.

In the western world, no one would deal brutally with an untried criminal this way, Deinde must have thought.

Deinde held to the hems of his cloth and raised it up to see the weals all over his body. He got those weals from the lashings he received from the three-in-one 'koboko' used on him by the police. The weals were just lying scattered all over him. They gave him much pain when he touched them. Deinde shook his head in self-pity.

"Hmm," he sighed and leaned against the gate, the bridge of his nose sticking out as his lips lay depressed by the contact they made with the bars.

"I must get out of here!" Deinde screamed at last, putting out his arms between the iron bars as though to hold the strong paddlock outside and break it with his bare hands. Like the biblical Samson, Deinde shook the gate powerfully, but his strength wasn't enough to bring it down, let alone bringing down the whole building as in the case of blind Samson in the book of Judges, who brought down the roof on a whole nation.

Even if Deinde had succeeded bringing down the roof upon himself, he wouldn't still find it easy to escape since warders were everywhere, ready and fully at alert, but the look on his face was like 'am I really guilty of this charge?'

**** **** **** **** **** ***
Yemi would be glad to tell it--the news of Deinde who was in custody of the police. He had just gotten back home. The sound of his belch was enough to make the house realise that he was back.

"You're back!" his wife sauntered to the parlour in alacrity. Her name was Yemi too--husband, Oluyemi, wife Omoyemi. Their fifteen-year old daughter strolled in too.

"Daddy, welcome," she said in excitement as she put a hand across her father's shoulder to bring down the bag on it. Her name was Bimbo.

There wouldn't be anything more in the world to make Bimbo gladder other than the interesting exaggerated stories of 'police and thieves' her father would always 'bre_astfeed her with.

"Any show today, daddy?" she drew close to him. Her eyeballs were fixed into her father's face. She wanted to see the reaction on his face first before even getting the reply.

Yemi intentionally made his face into a grotesque and said, "No show."

Bimbo squinted her face. That statement was what she detested most. She always wanted 'show'. If there was 'show' then it would surely show on her face that she loved to hear stories. There was great cordially in this little nuclear family of three.

This time around, Bimbo disbelieved her father. How would there not be show when it was her father himself who told them the day before that he saw a criminal on TV who was then in prison, his own very prison where he was working.

"Don't tell me that, pupsy," she shook a finger, grinning.

"Of course your dad has a lot to tell--he's only joking," her mother spoke this time.

"Dear, who told you that?" Yemi made a serious face to appear as if he meant what he was saying. "Please get me water and let me have my bath jare," Yemi added.

It was appearing real to Bimbo that her father had 'no show' of a truth. If he had something to say, he always did that before taking his bath, but now he had asked for his bath, meaning there wasn't any story. However, to her, it sounded more like an impossible thing. On rare occasions would her father not have stories to tell.

"Bimbo, won't you get me water to bath?" Yemi said, putting up a mocking nose over her head. His wife saw it and smiled. She knew for sure that something was up to be told.

"Daddy, no, you won't leave here without your pass," Bimbo was serious, obstructing her father.

"A pass?" Yemi said and made a smile. "*Ara oto lo tun gba yo si mi yi o, Bimbo," Yemi added in yoruba dialect.

"Yes daddy," Bimbo said, folding her arms and standing rigid before him and leaning her little weight on him.

"That's my girl. You are pretty good-looking today," Yemi said, pulling a strand of her hair playfully, yet still making those nose-mocking and head-shaking playful gesture over her head. The other Yemi burst into laughter.

Bimbo turned around to look at her laughing mother. She wondered why she was laughing as loud as that when there wasn't any laughing matter.

"It is not funny," Bimbo said, already taking it personal.

"I hope you paid attention in school today," Yemi taunted her.

"I won't tell you a thing..." she said, smiling, "if you won't tell me a thing," she added, pertly.

"Then it is better for me to tell you a thing," Yemi said at last.

It had always been like that; if Yemi would not tell his daughter 'a thing' then he should also be ready not to hear 'a thing' from his daughter. Since each of them loved hearing 'a thing' then they would eventually end up telling each other 'a thing'.

Yemi always enjoy the way his daughter told the 'a thing' from school and Bimbo too was a good listener to the cell-related 'a thing' that her father shared. No one cared for the boring 'a thing' from the kitchen which the other Yemi might have to tell. What story would a full-time housewife have to tell when she was staying lonely in the kitchen?

Yemi sat down and cleared his throat in readiness to plunge into the story of Deinde, the criminal who was bundled into the cell. Bimbo sat tight to his chest as though she was about to listen to her father's exaggerated version of the story of Samson and Delilah in 'My Book of Bible Story' where she had heard the statement 'Give me my last power!'

"Daddy, ride on," she said, looking up to her father's face.

*meaning of Yoruba statement:
Ara oto lo tun gba yo si mi yi o--this is another manner of approach you are appearing to me, Bimbo.

CHAPTER ONE

"The arrest of a notorious hired assassin in Lagos has brought a wide smile on the faces of Lagos residents yesterday. The news was yesterday aired publicly that Mr. Deinde, the assassin in question, ran out of luck after murdering a bigwig, politician, under the umbrella of the Friendship Party. According to our correspondent, Mr. Deinde would remain jailed until his case has been tried in the court of law..."

Mr Yemi was glad at the news. He had always been glad at similar news in which wicked people met their water-loos. He hadn't enjoyed any news more--not the bombings in Pakistan, the Volcanic Eruption in Georgia, the Tsunami in Seychelles or the earthquakes in Canada.

"Such news are pathetic," he would say, getting annoyed with nature. The news of death here, epidemic diseases there wouldn't do to make him happy as well. Hearing such breaking news had often pushed him to almost breaking his TV screen. Give Mr. Yemi what he wanted and he would howl in joy--criminals jailed, assassins caught, rapists arraigned, kidnappers indicted and the like.

"Why would that criminal want to assassinate the Gubernatorial Candidate of the Friendship Party?" Yemi said, stroking his little beard. Yemi was five feet and four inches tall. He was 45 with a high-pitched voice typical of a 60 year old man. He had capturing eyes which had endeared him to his job, a prison warder. Yemi had bandy legs, especially when you see him from afar. But when you move closer to him, you would hardly notice it. His toes were wide and tight against each other like the webbed toes of a duck.

Mr. Yemi was well known for his white shoes which he would wear on his black stockings which were always stretched to his kneecaps. He had jerky movement, such ones that would make a passerby almost halt to hold him from falling at first sight.

Mr Yemi, being a warder, had much police to his portfolio of friends. He would always want to be with them at their recesses to listen to their yammers. Those police wouldn't have made much talk before polluting the atmosphere with their corrupt talks. Yemi would only keep silent, squinting his face and waiting for them to bring the topic back to something healthy for his ears.

Yemi hated the way they smoke too. They would do that without regarding that they had a moralist within them which was Yemi. They would even unconsciously puff their smokes into his nostrils. Yemi wouldn't have remained to keep their company till date if not that he was benefiting in one way or the other from their political talks, hence, his ability to save his money for some other things instead of buying newspapers. Some of them did come to work with newspapers sometimes, so Yemi would only have to go through them without paying a dime.

Yemi loved telling the stories of happenings in his workplace to his wife and only daughter. He would come home, only to make the once boring home as lively as a bee hive with his talks, disturbing the house with the story of how Mr.James had puffed a pack of cigarette into his nose, or how Mr. Andrew had offered him a stick of cigarrette which he had rejected.

Mr Yemi japed as he got to his place of work the next morning and heard the news properly. Little did he know that fate would soon entiwne him with the villain, Mr Deinde, whom they had brought to the Alagbon Prison where he was working. They even put the criminal under his care.

Mr Yemi was glad that he would now be close to the criminal to do him a little torture of words. He stood outside the prison bar and shouted at Deinde the murderer, "Why did you have to kill Mr. Smith?"

The guilty prisoner was not moved a bit by his yells. He was just looking blankly away from him, blinking as if he had an eye problem.

" Talk!" Mr Yemi screamed at him, but Deinde remained unperturbed.

" You are like your name!" he got angry and left Deinde alone!

ABOUT THE BOOK

When the bad do bad, the good suffer for their bad. This story shows you how good people suffers the bad behaviours of barbaric people while the bad people live good, enjoying out there in the world, just like in the case of this Nation, Nigeria.

'HIGH RAW KNEE' OF LIFE I CALL IT!!!

YOUR COMMENTS AND CRITICISMS ARE HIGHLY WELCOME!!!

FIRST TO COMMENT GETS A SPECIAL DEDICATION



With good mien faded away like the salt that has lost it's savor, what is left of a giant is nothing more than an ant, yet the 'giant' still raises up his head which he should rather hang in shame and beats his bare chest to say 'I am the giant of AFRICA'.

A soil whose humus had been replaced with toils and humiliations; a land whose sand had been eroded to leave behind band of thieves and randy ones who had to keep their bodies and souls together by getting something done when their isn't anything more to do. A nation of over 150million people where 150thousand people have the potential of feeding them all and still have their purses unaffected, but what we see is the rich living on the poor, feeding on the poor. How on earth? They hoard pensioners money and keep public funds in fixed deposit account, use the poor for money rituals, hire the poor for tedious labours and get them little or no pay at all.

Sodom and Gomorrah didn't do up to this before fire fell on them. No wonder BOKOHARAM are now flogging the nation with 'KOBOKO' a punishment in disguise for all the multitude of iniquity, yet it's all still coming back to the poor. The rich gets richer while the poor gets poorer; the rich kills, the poor get killed for it.

Now a cry to our creature, PLS do something so that we shall not end up celebrating shame and enjoying bitterness. Help us Oh Lord and #BringBackOurGirls who are as innocent as lambs.

''It's enough my friend!'' Alacrity barged in. ''I'm clever, and I'll forever be clever. I'm a fast swimmer, and so I'll only need to perform twenty strokes to get me through this rough River of Haste to the Island of Greatness.''
''You're right, Alack!'' concurred Badmanner. ''But you'll need to peep into the deep before dipping yourself into it, else you might end up weeping in the lips of the octo--'' Before Badmanner could end his speech, Alacrity had plummeted into the narrow river, the River of Haste, which was having some incredible turbulent storms and tides.
The Goods at the riverbank raised their heads to view Alacrity clearly, their voices to wish him a successful journey and their hands to wave some 'byes'. All of a sudden, they lowered their raised heads, voices and hands againas their countenances fell, telling the story that all was not well--the octopus of trouble in the River of Haste had gotten hold of Alacrity, just when he was about to perform the last stroke that would get him into the Island of Greatness.
Alacrity dangled as he struggled to rip himself off the strangling grip of the angered angler--the Octopus of Trouble, but wasn't strong enough for the tasking task. He had now begun to desire fleeing the River of Haste hastily, but wasn't afforded the chance.

Through the faint light of the moon in the night, the Goods sighted the doom looming for Alacrity the rude dude and their good mood was turned into lugubriousness. At last, Alacrity lost his vivacity and got tired of trying but resorted to crying. Then he lost his costly life in the eldritch tentacles of the Octopus of Trouble.
Badmanner would go into the river too. He had entered in oft afore but carefully, unlike Alacrity. However, he hadn't made it to the Island of greatness all the while because the Octopus of Trouble would not let him get there, catching him and trying to strangle him each time.

But because Badmanner could play his games well those times, he had been escaping the grips of the Octopus of Trouble only to momentarily forfeit the feat of getting to the island those times by turning back to get back to his town, the Happy-Go-Lucky town.
This time around, Badmanner carefully lowered himself into the selfsame river and drifted forward silently, but awkwardly, having discovered from weekly experiences the weak point of the wicked octopus--short-sightedness.
Though Badmanner had to perform many strokes in the River of Haste, he made it through to the Island of Greatness eventually.

Without further ado the Goods turned heel to face the hills ahead and turned their backs against the bank of the River of Haste in whose belly Alacrity's life was wasted as they prepared to race away to make the story known to the Mediocres, Alacrity's family.
Since the day Alacrity was murdered, Limitation little Hope's mother began to keep her entire household in stronghold by beholding them carefully and holding their arms tightly so as to prevent them from getting close to the cracks on the walls through which they could exit the house. Every mother in Happy-Go-Lucky town had also done likewise by the imitation of Limitation's meditation, believing that restriction is the best way to hinder a person's dream of getting to the Island of Greatness.

They had commanded their children to desist from making any move towards the Island of Greatness, but to remain within the limit of Happy-Go-Lucky town and wait patiently for Mr. Goodluck's visitation someday.
Mr. Mediocre, Hope's father, collaborated with his wife by elaborating on her speeches. "My children, be content with your hometown like Mr. Contentment the father of Great Gain. If Mr. Creator wants you in Greatness he would have put you there at creation. Then you'd be sure that I Mediocrity would not have been your father."

"And myself Limitation," interrupted Hope's mother, "Wouldn't have been the one to put you to bed. Therefore remain within these four walls of Dilapidation dwellingplace."
"Remain in dilapidation?" Hope hollered and shrugged, ''Never!"

"Shut up, Hope!" Limitation objurgated.

When the Mediocres had their last baby some months after Alacrity's death, they were greatly comforted. This time the child was a female whom they christened Standaloof with the intent of making her not to have a trace of Alacrity's trait, who died because of his enormous elan.

next...chapter two