Let’s Here your thoughts!
Hey guys….thought you might like this….first of its kind here but then again, it just might be what we need! This article by Arikor Collins is a reply to a certain Nigerian Girl and it certainly makes an interesting read….have a good time reading it ….and don’t forget to hit the comment button…and the share too 😀
Dear not-yet-30 Nigerian girl,
I duly received your earlier letter asking me what you must do before you turn 30. It was a very expressive letter, though only flawed with a couple of grammatical errors here and there. You are forgiven though, English has never been your father’s language.
Nevertheless, and in response to that, I shall be very brief with what I have to tell you, but if I happen to be long, please bear with me for it is how deeply this issue has touched me for the past three weeks that I’ve been having this argument with a very good friend as to the ‘unprecedented’ achievement of getting married before you turn 30.
I clearly detected the belated and relished tone of your letter. It might seem crazy what I have to say, but I would say it nonetheless. Let me go straight to the point. Forgive my brusqueness and mindlessness in replying you like this, for I’ve never had the ‘golden’ opportunity of experiencing what am telling you myself. So, see below the six most important things you need to do before you turn 30:
1. Marry: Because that is the only way you become complete as human. That is the only route to be acceptable to society. Things would get better if you get married, notwithstanding that your father might be richer than Bill Gates. The institution known as marriage remains the only fundamental basis of your worth as a member of our larger society. Don’t be like those incomplete women who tag themselves ‘feminists’ and ‘independent women’. Those ones parading themselves as independent women or feminists are nothing but some bunch of failed women! They are not truly speaking of the psychological torment they undergo on many sleepless nights when they don’t have any man to warm their beds. So, don’t emulate them. Marry! It doesn’t even matter that you have to throw away your father’s sweet-sounding and much-meaning surname to bear a husband’s own meaningless surname. Haven’t you noticed? the media is majorly overshadowed with subtle, yet powerful messages that being married is the fons et origo of feminine existence. You would constantly be reminded of your flower-like longevity as a woman. That he might be bad-tempered, randy and a serial wife batterer is of no significance. You would even be expected to throw away your own body’s autonomy. And if you are able to miraculously scale the hurdle of being accepted by his family members – most especially his mother and sisters, go to a nearby church and give the highest amount of thanksgiving ever given in that church. Haven’t you noticed that even church messages are heavily furnished with this marriage-mania? “My husband must not pass me by this year,” calls out that church’s crusade banner. “You must receive your heavenly husband by this month!” the preacher would triumphantly declare on radio. “I must get married this year!” the T.V would echo, while reminding you of the 3-day single sisters crusade being organised by the local church. But, that certainly is not the end of the matter, for a mother in-law’s arms were specifically created to rock babies. You know what to do. And where the babies have refused to leave wherever was their initial abode to grace your marriage, quickly go for a spiritual cleansing or to a very potent babalawo who would inquire into unfathomable depths to know what is preventing them from coming. It doesn’t matter the despicable things you have to do in order to have babies. When the babies finally decide to let go off where they initially reside to grace your marriage, and your husband is going about showing off his bloated ego of how he has made you a complete woman, suffer in silence sister. He is right. Lest I forget, remember to give him sons especially, or else mother in-law literally show you hell. Wherever it is you know sons are made, go to any length and give him because that is the only way his ancestry would continue. If you don’t give him sons, he might be publicly scorned, and where that happens, you would bear the brunt of it alone.
2. I said marry: Even though you might never have the slightest iota of ‘love’ for him, don’t worry, just go ahead and pretend as if you love him. Its just a matter of time. With time, you would learn to love him. His roof over your head, his wealth at your beck and his surname that you are now sharing are enough consideration for you to love him. Where’s the place of love in marriages today? After all, you are far better than those old sourpusses spinsters parading themselves as independent women. Those lesbians! Psychological wrecks! Do you know what it means to have your own man – whether he is the type that has hotter-than-fire loins? He might not even get to fulfill your emotional needs, but don’t worry, dear, you are married. That’s all that matters. The sex timetable is according to the frequency of his sexual urge. It is just one ‘fun-less’ boring routine like that. In the middle of the night, his hands would ‘mistakenly’ stray across your breasts. You instantly become awake. You immediately spread your legs as his plaything because you understand. The sex itself is a slapdash, lacklustre affair. When he’s sexually satiated, he rolls over to sleep without bothering to see the furrows of unfulfilled desires stealing over your soul. Don’t ever open your mouth to speak of how unfulfilled you are, sister, or else you would be sent back home to your parents – and consequently bring shame upon your family. Telling of how unfulfilled your emotions and needs are is only done by loose women – women of easy virtues. Or do you want to be labelled a nagging wife? And if he ever forces you to have sex against your will, that is not rape sister. The law backs him for that. He can demand the services of your body anytime he wants. Your body is his to be sated with pleasure. Its his right. It doesn’t affect him in the least that you might be famished after a tedious day nor that some ‘unhappy’ and ‘envious’ ones in the guise of feminism are advocating for your own rights, too.
3. You should marry: Even though you might be the one single-handedly feeding and housing the able-bodied man and your children from the meager salary you receive or the little business profits you’ve managed to pool, don’t bother sister. Just bear and pretend everything is perfect. Its just for the now. Even if tomorrow he gets a job and decides not to do his own duties of providing for the family as the head of the house again by making Madam Vero’s beer parlor as his place of permanent abode, don’t worry, just go ahead and continue doing the husband’s work, that’s marriage. Its for better or worse – however for better or worse as it suits the husband. He might even come back at 1am and is heavily smelling of a woman’s cologne – you knew this because he bought you the same type on your last birthday. She (side chick) might have even suggested he buy it as your birthday present – but don’t worry sister, he’s a man and would always be one. Bottom line is you are married. In any case, just remember to make ready your body for the night, in case the stud hasn’t gotten enough feel of his extra-marital concubines. Should you complain to a senior, more experienced wife, she would duly tell you of how men are lords in our society. “Don’t you address him as my lord?” she would coldly ask. That settles it. And when you meet the pastor in your perturbed state, he would joyfully tell your sorrow-laden soul that Mark 10:9 has finalized your case. i.e, “What God has joined together, let no man, trouble, pain, predicament, suffering (the list goes on) put asunder. He would quickly point out the bible portion in Ephesians 5:21-24, which requires you to submit to your husband, while stressing how important it is for you to be humble, gentle, and tolerant of your husband’s unsavory behavior. And where your confused mind is still seeking for more explanation, he would gladly guide you to 1st Timothy 2:11-12 which says, “Women should learn in all silence and humility; I do not allow them to teach or to have authority over men, they must keep quiet.” (Good News Bible).
4. Marry: Or if you don’t, there would be a very big problem. A very big problem. When at Tessy’s baby shower or Amina’s birthday party, and you listen to all the old girls effortlessly and endlessly mouthing out the ‘heavenly’ bliss their marriage has thus far fruited, you would become heartbroken I assure you. Even the mannish Amaka, whose hair was always cut short, and had little or no feminine charms would join in the gossip to point out your odd-one-out status as the only non-married member remaining from secondary school because she happened to have joined the league of married women. A bevy of them all, praising to high heavens their perfect marriage. However, Susan would never tell that the week-old bruises she’s manfully wearing were administered by her abusive husband, nor would Stella ever tell of how her ten-year old son, Junior, is gradually turning into a full-time thief by ‘taking’ money from her purse and throwing a class-break snacks bash for his friends, nor would Vicky tell of her pubertal daughter’s well-known shameful conduct of being a runs girl, nor would even Jumoke tell of her well-known he-goat of a husband’s widely circulated rumor of impregnating 5 different women. They would only be telling of how wonderful and heavenly their respective families have been. You would become a mental wreck after listening to them and you don’t have your own husband. You see, there’s no problem with you having your own impish ‘Junior’ or a reprehensible character as a daughter. It’s just a mere price to pay for being married. You are far off better than any unmarried, and of course, unhappy spinster. It doesn’t matter the near-death experience of childbirth nor the fact that you’ve turned into a constant HBP in-patient of the nearby hospital for time without end because you happen to be a mother of stubborn children. Just marry. That’s all that counts.
5. Yes, marry: You are getting to 28 and you happen to be of the Igbo ethnic affiliation and no male homo sapiens is showing the slightest interest in you, do you want all your father’s ‘investment’ on your head to become a waste, if you don’t get married? Your mother would not longer hide her disdain for you remaining in her own house to share her husband with her. Just go out and marry anything. More so if you are of Bini customary origin and you are getting close to 25, 26 or 27 and no suitor is knocking on your father’s door, then my sister, that wicked old witch in your village really needs to be appeased. For beyond 30, your bride-price starts depreciating. You are of the Muslim stock and your father unceremoniously announces that you would be married off to Alhaji Danladi, you grandfather’s age-mate, immediately you turn 18. Alhaji Danladi already has 3 wives, but because you have been betrothed to him when you were born and Islam allows a man to have as many wives he wants (can control), you must marry him whether you like it or not. Don’t complain sister, just go ahead and play a subservient handmaid role in Alhaji’s house, because that’s what you would end up being. Alhaji being the omnipotent master. It doesn’t even matter that you might be in your 2nd year in the University then. And if by chance you ‘mistakenly’ like one very good non-Muslim boy in your class, don’t ever increase the mistake by falling in love with him, or else you would spell doom for yourself and your remaining sisters. Because your father would construe such ‘irresponsible’ conduct to be the ugly fruits of sending a girl to school, and thus would stop sending your other sisters to school. “Haven’t I said it that nothing good comes out of that their western education when given to girls? The girls would only turn out to become disobedient and rebellious to their parents!” He would angrily thunder in a family meeting. And all his 3 wives -your stepmothers – would speechlessly nod their approval in unison. It is inimical of a properly brought-up Muslim girl, they would all echo in their hearts. And you that your parents happen to be far down the rungs of societal ladder, or they are even classless, you are excused for getting married (or being auctioned off, to put it appropriately) to 60-year old Oga Monday at 14.
6. Last of all, you need to be married before you get to 30 sister. By all means marry! The reason is simply because marriage is the be-all and end-all of your existence as a woman in our society. Marriage is the subsistence of your societal standing. Society has made it so. It doesn’t matter that you’ve gone to school and learnt, learnt, learnt and acquired all the certificates in the world and you are now emitting book, book, book all about you. It would all end up in the house of something that parades himself as a man. It doesn’t sound okay to us that you labured to get a very good PhD. added to your name, without bearing ‘Mrs’. You see, when you write your name as Dr. Prof. Miss Tope Williams, the ‘Miss’ doesn’t fit at all. That you might have been a first-class student is of no consequence to us if you don’t end up married. If you happen to be reading this private letter and you are a Nigerian lady getting close to 30 and not yet married, sister, the witches and wizards in your village are seriously at work. Its time to visit that prayer house, native doctor or white-garment church. Let your prayer point all through be, “God, give me my own husband this year.” And if the lascivious prophet suggests that you personally come for a personal deliverance by 11pm in his bedroom or a spiritual bath at the nearby stream by 12 midnight, don’t worry sister. Its all for the good of getting married. It doesn’t matter that he gets a first-hand taste of what you are preserving for your future husband. After all, the thing has no meter. So just marry. Marry anything at all that happens to label himself a man even though he might not have the slightest inkling of what manhood is about.
The greatest barometer, as far as our society is concerned, is whether at the end of all your endeavors as a woman, you have a husband to ‘gloriously’ crown your efforts. Therefore, if on the voyage called life and on the path to greatness, you perchance forgot to marry along the line before you clock 30, you should be gravely sad and depressed for life should not be worth living in your case. Well, I think that’s about it for now. Until then, thank you for your understanding.
Arikor Collins Ogonnaya,
Do you agree with Collins? Let’s know what you think.
Arikor Collins Ogonnaya is Nigerian Writer and blogger. He tweets as @CollinsOgo. Feel free to “attack” him there…:D
MISSING THE BUS
That was how you missed the bus; you had awoken earlier than the usual time and skipped your normal morning routines. Yet, you still missed the damned bus! Only three buses made the journey from Abeokuta to Abuja daily and you missed the last one and the only one that would get you to Abuja in time for you to sleep and prepare for the examination.
You stand by the bus stop to contemplate upon traveling to Lagos or Ibadan to get another bus, your earpiece blasting sad tunes from your favorite musician Regina Spektor. You swayed your shoulders to the left and then to the right, singing along offhandedly.
You missed the call of another Abuja bus conductor calling aggressively for three more passengers. You move slowly towards the Ibadan cabs, the extra fare that you would need to pay to get to Ibadan turns your stomach. You bite your tongue and wonder why you had punished yourself. You mistook the driver’s gesture of trying to point you to the fact that the Abuja bus still had two more seats, to him insulting you because you felt embarrassed when you caught some people watching you as you did a dance move that you had practiced overtime.
You trembled at his huge tribal marks; a warning rang in your head not to exchange words with him so you turn quietly towards the cab. You entered his cab and sat down at the front seat, ready to go to Ibadan. Then your earpiece falls off and you hear ‘Abuja one, Abuja Enikan’. You jumped from the Ibadan cab forgetting about the restraint of the seat belt and fell back. You slowly detach the belt and made your way to the Abuja bound bus only to meet the pretty girl who lived next door whom the neighbors had told you said that you were proud and arrogant, going towards the same bus.
You keep walking, eyes on the prize, seriously concentrating and pretending as though you had not seen her. Then you get to the bus before her, you notice that she had seen you make the last minute dash for the last seat on the bus, yet she still kept coming towards the bus, smiling as though she had just won a lottery.
“You are David Agboola, are you not?” she said as she spoke to you, her face still aglow with that victorious seeming air as she got nearer to the bus. You couldn’t find your voice and hoped that you never find it so that you would not have to say something wrong, so you nod instead. She brought something that looked all too familiar from her hand bag that had the letters MUSCHINO largely printed on it, evidence that it was probably a knockoff; that was when you realized that you had misplaced your wallet. Your hand went straight to your back pocket to seek succor but you were left disappointed.
She had made the effort to bring you the wallet all the way from your house at this hour of the day; it suddenly began to dawn on you that she expected gratitude as she handed the naira filled wallet over to you. There would have been no way for you to pay for the bus that had gone earlier, if you had not missed it, you manage a grunt and suddenly felt out rightly emotional and since words were failing you, so you get off the bus and gave her a hug.
Tolu Daniel is a fiction writer, blogger and administrator of A Poet’s Diary. He blogs at http://toluojuola.wordpress.com and is @iamToluDaniel on twitter.
SISI by Tolu Daniel
‘Sisi, touch me, touch me in that sweet and sexy way, the way you touch those boyfriends of yours’ Chief Kunle said in that husky tone of his, as though he was whispering to some unholy genie that would appear as he rubbed the tip of his penis back and forth. He was already far gone, intoxicated by his drive for sex and not planning to get sober any time soon. He wondered for a brief moment how any woman could resist him especially since his instrument of digging was already out and throbbing for a ground to sink. He thought about the way Sisi smiled and laughed at his crude jokes, he had been certain that she wanted him and hence any resistance she gave would probably be likened to a chicken dance.
The way she’d wiggled her tiny waist, whenever she walked out of his office always made him crazy. He had been watching her for a longtime, sometimes through the security camera that was attached to his office. He had imagined a lot of things that he could do with her, how she would stay on top and ride him like a cowboy on a bull and ride him into oblivion, he didn’t give a shit about the consequences. Who thinks about consequences when the girl is as set and as sexy as Sisi.
The first time he had tried to pin her down and ensured that he got a piece of her. He had ensured that he grabbed her breasts, the two generously swollen mounds on her chest that made her look like a black Kim Kardashian; he had not imagined that she would not be all over him and begging him for more. But she had resisted, mustering all the energy she could but he had still blown his load on her before she could escape, the white mucus thingy falling haplessly on the sofa and landing on her dress. She had had to clean herself up before she left his office and he had continued doing the same thing, believing that someday, she would stop resisting and give in and probably give him some head too.
His colleagues from other departments had seen her too and the mere sight of her ass had sent them drooling but he had warned them off her and told them in no small words that she was his and they had stayed away. Some of them had advised him to ensure he smashed her as much as he could reminding him of the legend of Edo girls and their monstrous sexual appetite and he had sworn to get his piece from her. None of them knew that she was resisting of course. After all, he was taking care of her, buying her gifts, making promises of retaining her services immediately her service year was completed, isn’t that the dream of every Corp member? To get a job after their service year, she had never rejected anything from him not even the meager five thousand Naira he always threw at her after their numerous episodes hence he believed that her resistance would wear thin sooner than later and that delicious looking ass of hers would be his to excavate. He knew about the legend of Edo girls, how crazy their sexual appetite was and he was certain that Sisi’s was probably as crazy as the legend’s if not crazier. The last Edo girl that had completed her service year in his office had been a Yoruba girl of Edo descent and had done crazy things with him.
He had never been able to satisfy the girl sexually except maybe sometimes when he had his Viagra around or when he had taken some of the concoction that the Baba whom his driver had brought to his office when he hinted him of his situation as regards his inability to last longer than three seconds. The mixture had done wonders the last time he spent his vacation with his wife in the United Kingdom. Since he had taken up this political appointment, he had decided that it was a sensible thing to keep his wife and kids abroad, so that he could keep them safe from the prying spectacles of the press and also the unfortunate eyes of the detractors of his political party and rival groups that may have mischief on their minds.
The first week he had flown his family out the country, he had spent most of his nights in hotels and brothels; Oloshosor roadside prostitutes as they were called were his specialties. These girls would ensure that they milked him well before they left him; some of them even stole from him. And the result had affected his accounts way too much.
He stopped using this method and adopted a simpler and cheaper way of satiating himself sexually but he never enjoyed sleeping with any of the women that he had to settle for, married women and unattractive spinsters that worked with him at the office and moreover there was too much drama about it all; once he was sleeping with a particular woman who was so possessive of him as though he was married to her. He decided thereafter to keep his little man zipped based on a philosophy that cheating was way too expensive and dramatic and as such, he would rather get laid whenever his wife was in the country or whenever he visited.
All these resolutions were till an old friend of his, introduced him to his niece and informed him that she wanted to complete her service year in his office, reminding him of a business deal. With a wink of an eye, the deal had been agreed and the niece was be payment. Chief Kunle could not be certain if the girl had been briefed about her role in the deal but agreed immediately and requested that the girl, Jessica be posted directly to his office.
He didn’t need to say much to get Jessica’s attention as it seemed as though the girl was compensation for all the money that he had spent while whoring the city because not only was she ridiculously pretty, she was ready for whatever he offered.
He found out sooner enough that sleeping with the Corpers posted to his office was more cost effective and had never looked back ever since. Since her first day on the job, Kunle had been certain that he was going to have her. And have her he did, for one full year, taking her along with him on all his official assignments at home and abroad only careful enough to avoid taking her to the United Kingdom till a replacement came and that had been how the cycle had been for all those years with the other female Corp members.
‘Sisi, come on’ Chief Kunle said, walking close to her as nicely as his baulk could muster. ‘Don’t deny an old man of your sweetness’.
Sisi looked at him, her eyes filled with disgust but Chief Kunle could not see it, infact he kept walking towards her with a solemn grin playing around his face, his hands still holding on to the flaccid attachment to his body. It was clear, Sisi was confused, she wasn’t sure she knew what she was doing, either by refusing him or by allowing him, it was all registered on her face, perhaps this was what the Chief saw . Revenge was heavy on her mind, she wanted to do something that would hurt her ex-boyfriend but she wasn’t sure this was it.
It was almost certain that the one that would hurt most from this would certainly be her. It had been quite a rough week, the idiot had broken off her relationship of over five years only two nights ago, a relationship she had given so much of herself into, and the worst part was the fact that he had not given her a tangible reason but she was sure that it had something to do with that Skunk of a girl that he met the month before, the one that he kept telling her about.
She was in such a bad shape, normally it would have been easy to escape Chief Kunle, she had done it so many times, even though in recent times it had not been a clean escape, but it had been an escape nonetheless; she was in such confusion that her mind could not play out an escape route for her. There was nobody she could talk to; it was as though the other members of staff in the department were in on the conspiracy somehow, because there was always a strange smirk on their faces whenever she emerged from the office of Chief Kunle.
The coolness that the air conditioner in the office brought seemed to have vanished as Chief Kunle closed in on Sisi, trapping her with his round belly to an angle in his office that have served him so well whenever he strafed any of the other girls. There was nowhere to run to now, she couldn’t possibly back away any further, the wall was a willing ally for the chief. The chief was sweating profusely like a buffet pig and it seemed like he might die if he didn’t get what he wanted, his eyes were bloodshot and his face was void of an expression. Chief Kunle wasn’t exactly optimistic about what could happen or what will happen with Sisi, because he was not thinking with his head any longer, he had lost control of it; he was like a zombie trying to capture a person in order to eat their brains.
‘No sir, I can’t do this…..’ Sisi managed to say, as the bigger man drew her closer for an involuntary kiss but before she could finish talking, Chief Kunle’s larger lips had already crushed hers and they were locked in a perverted kiss that looked as though the Chief was going to eat her up if she didn’t disentangle her mouth from his. Sisi was not totally surprised at the audacity of the chief, he had done it before. She felt like she might pass out because his cologne could knockout a fully grown whale. All she could muster was a soft moan that escaped from her throat that made it look as if she was enjoying it instead of trying to breath just as the Chief molested one of her breasts.
The moan was all the encouragement that Chief Kunle needed as his mouth left hers and made its way to her chest where he fought her for the right to taste the sweetness of her breasts. His beefy fingers had violated her enough because she could feel his hands already in between her legs and she really was not gonna have him go to second base without her permission. This wasn’t the first time that he would be fighting her for the rights to touch her down there, Sisi slapped his hands away and from some strange reasons, the Chief snapped out of his trance momentarily and allowed his eyes to settle on Sisi’s half exposed cleavage.
Sisi seized the moment and made to escape the trap that she was in. Her head was clearer now; maybe it was because of the little triumph of winning the battle against the chief. She adjusted her shirt and made to clean her face while trying to ensure that she kept him within at least three feet from her. But as she was making for the door, Chief Kunle grabbed her ass from behind, it was so unexpected that Sisi tried pull away from him jerking her hands free of his hold with such force that they both fell down flat on their backs, the Chief on the marble tile and Sisi fell on the chief.
The fall was awkward for two reasons, the Chief’s shrieked like a girl who just saw a ghost and Sisi for a brief moment thought maybe her tight trouser had let her down and that the Chief’s hard penis had gotten a safe passage into her because he had been so stiff just some minutes ago when he had hugged her but then again, it didn’t seem right, because she only felt his stiffness for a couple of seconds after she fell.
As she made to stand up, she realized that the Chief was not moving and when he in fact opened his eyes, tears pooled in his eyes. Sisi saw why he had screamed and she stood up as fast as she could, he looked sorry and helpless. She had accidentally broken his penis, it was still rounded and had lost its outright stiffness, the white tip now had a shade of purple – an eyesore.
Sisi heaved a deep sigh, stood up and left the office without casting a glance backwards. Chief Kunle had it coming.
Tolu Daniel is a fiction writer, blogger and administrator of A Poet’s Diary. He blogs at http://toluojuola.wordpress.com and is @iamToluDaniel on twitter.
Yes…..too long. A while since any post made it here…Apologizes…
Today, we will be posting series of short stories by our Tolu Daniel and a new writer Arikor Collins….do enjoy.
INEFFABLE by Tolu Daniel
You wished you could say those words, that you’ve been told she wanted to hear but you couldn’t, logic says no, logic does not understand the language of the heart, so you are stuck with throwing mindless and thoughtless tantrums till you lose her.
Four years later, you meet her at the airport on your way back from a journey to the states, she smiles sweetly at you waving her hands at you. She told you that she has been seeing you on television and had read all your books over the years hoping you’d be impressed that she had finally taken a liking for books like you always wanted her to. You felt a tinge of pride; your success had been a major hit. You had expected that she would definitely have heard about it. And you were indeed impressed that she had chosen not to forget you even if she never contacted you.
Then, it suddenly dawned on you, the reason for her wave of hands, as the blinking ring on her engagement finger caught your sight. She’s getting married she announces; You are not moved, you didn’t smile nor congratulate her, Logic who had always been your best friend starts denying you like Peter at the Crucifixion of Christ.
You are still single, she is now engaged; you couldn’t confess your feelings for her back then because you were scared of immediate commitment. You were scared that you were not man enough for her; your bank accounts as at then couldn’t boast of a thousand naira. She had told you that she didn’t mind starving so far she was with you.
You didn’t believe her; you had seen what the lack of money did to your parents. How it was your mother that had been responsible for most of the things in your house because your father lost his job and broke his spine in an accident that condemned him to the wheelchair the rest of his life. You saw what that had done to him, how hurt his pride had been whenever he had to collect money from your mother to do anything. You had sworn to work as hard as you could possibly work to ensure that your father’s fate never befalls you.
You felt sorry that you couldn’t ask her out back then or call her your own. You felt that she deserved better than you could give; not that you had anything to give her anyway. Now the same commitment that you had eluded back then is all you are looking for but it is nowhere, four years down the lane; you are a successful writer and speaker of international repute. You had slaved yourself over the years to editors and publicists to make a hard living and when success came it had not come with all the perks that you had imagined it would come with, though it had been overwhelming but you couldn’t find anyone who could love you for who you are and you feared that you were still in love with someone who you never expressed your feelings to and whom you are now finding out that she’s engaged.
So you mouthed the words in a mumble that sounded like the gibberish that came readily available to you and didn’t allow them to come out clearly.‘I loved you back then and I still love you’ Bisi strained herself to hear you clearly but you did not say those words again. This is not a movie, you thought to yourself, this is life and this is the shit that happens when you don’t talk when you were supposed to, so sulk it up and move on.
“I could almost guess what you were thinking you know” She says watching your mouth drop as you fear that she may have figured out your gibberish. “You’re thinking of what happened between us those years ago and how it was possible for me to move on after you broke my heart.”
Words failed you; you stared after her in disbelief and wandered for a brief moment if you would ever have the chance to tell her how you really felt about her. “It’s not like that Bisi, and I know you know that too” You say, your guilt renewed like a newly fueled fire.
“It’s never like that with you, everything has got to be complicated and you never talk, you never truly open up except maybe in your books. I read all of your works and hoped that maybe somewhere inside it there was a hidden message for me, something to hold on to, but I found none!”
“That’s not true Bisi, all or at least most of my works were a message to you. I didn’t want to start something that I couldn’t finish with you. I thought you understood that.”
“Understood? Sola was right about you. You really are heartless. Did you ever sit down to consider how I felt?” The mention of the name Sola brought back cruel memories to you. You remember him clearly; he had been the one who gave her the attention that you were not willing to give; the rich boy who roamed campus with his father’s car, who had almost everything given to him on a silver platter. He had been your arch-rival from the get go and despite your best efforts to stave away the trouble which his rivalry might cause to your friendship with Bisi, he had continued to debase you at every opportunity he got.
She could see the effect of her words on you, so she backed off. “I had feelings for you back then and I think I still do. I just couldn’t do it as at that time. I couldn’t handle a relationship then and I didn’t know how else to break it to you than the way I did.”
“I don’t know what to say to you…I’m sorry” she said as a tear rolled down her ebony cheek. You blink back the tears yourself.
“I’m sorry too, so when’s the big day?” You managed to say, struggling to catch your breath, you felt a lot better after saying those words to her because it had been at the tip of your tongue since you discovered the rings on her finger.
“It’s next Saturday and I’m getting married to Sola.” You stared at her in utter disbelief, you felt really angry, not at her nor at Sola but at yourself. You managed a smile even though your heart was in sharp contrast with what your face was producing. You felt like a thousand knifes were stabbing your heart at the same time but you smiled still and urged her to send you the invite to the wedding.
Tolu Daniel is a fiction writer, blogger and administrator of A Poet’s Diary. He blogs at http://toluojuola.wordpress.com and is @iamToluDaniel on twitter.
Caught by Tolu Daniel
I have heard about the stars that encircle around a dazed man’s face after receiving a knock on the head or a brutal blow to the face, but I never thought any of it was real. My unbelief could have stemmed from the fact that I saw so many cartoons while I was growing up. Those yellow suspended birds that hover around the cartoon characters always seemed mythical to me; I never imagined that they could ever become so reachable, almost touchable. But there I was, standing in front of the igbo trader with the enormous sausages that were supposed to be his hands, as he dazed me with the biggest slap that my face had ever encountered. It felt as though I had run into a moving train, for a split second, I was in a universe that was neither here nor there, it was though all was on a merry go round. The birds danced, they even sang, so was the glory of Chibuzor’s slap on my face.
I would have cried a fountain, I would have shed buckets of tears there and then, because the sight of Chibuzor’s beefy hands should have been enough to make any child cry, but I was not a child or was I? A scrawny looking and witty nine years old with what many described as a bad habit would describe me. I didn’t feel any pain after the slap; however my head suddenly felt lighter, the world appeared as a shade of many colors with my brain suspended for a little while in a sepia configuration; the little birdies were still dancing around my head. I knew what I did was termed as wrong by the society but I had issues with societal stereotypes and what everybody defined as wrong or right. I couldn’t help myself, I felt as though I had a responsibility, like superman’s was to save the world, mine was to defy the generational belief system that certain things were wrong and certain others were right; I had questions that nobody was willing to give me answer to. So I developed theories for myself and ensured that I live by these theories, these seems a little too impossible for a child of nine, right? But I was not just any child.
For as long as I could remember, I had developed an affinity for seeing movies; I loved seeing movies, in whatever genre the movie was, I would watch. I remembered once when my mother needed to send me on an errand and after she had yelled my name over six to seven times, she had decided to come looking for me and found me sprawled carelessly on the rug, body facing down and my two arms holding my head firm, mouth slightly opened in reckless abandon as a long slimy salivary rope connected the floor and my mouth as I paid raft attention to the movie that I was seeing. My love for movies was never derailed by the fact that I lived in a town that could not boast of a single cinema, the best we could do was to buy these movies from the movie store at whatever price.
So whenever I went to Chibuzor’s store to buy movies, I always picked one extra without his knowledge. I was subscribed to the school of thought that stated that Chibuzor was cheating me, that the movies that he was selling to me were a lot cheaper than the amount that he was selling them and that I needed to ensure that I did my own back, a tit for tat philosophy from a nine year old could never go wrong, but I was mistaken, the music of the birdies still lingered in my head and was an unsubstantial proof.
Today Chibuzor un-customarily asked to check the backpack that I had brought into his store. As a witty nine year old, I tried to get myself out of the mess, I stalled, insulted him in Yoruba but unfortunately Chibuzor insisted that he had to see the contents of my bag. So, reluctantly I allowed him to check and the expression on his face was one that would remain with me even in my adult years.
“Ewo….oooo!!!” Chibuzor exclaimed, his eyes bulging like a ripe volcano ready to explode, I should have made a dash for the door at that instance, but I didn’t want to, I thought that I could talk myself out of it like most of my usual escapades. I was certain that he would understand once he heard my opinion and the reason why I was doing what I was doing, but like many of the things that happened that fateful day, I could not have been more wrong.
“You skinny little thief” He screamed as he threw my bag at me and followed it with a thunderous slap. I would have replied him like I normally do to my older siblings when they accuse me of testing out my theories on them, ‘what sort of nonsense was that? How dare he insult me like that? Who does he think he is? Who does he think I am? Just a mere road side trader’: but the slap was so resounding, that it drowned every thought from my head, Mr. Kokosari my Elementary School teacher whose palms my face had grown accustomed to would have been proud of Chibuzor.
I was still in my dazed state when I realized that our little squabble had attracted several on-lookers and interested participants and there was a crowd gathering slowly at the store and somewhere in my head, in the deepest of my recess, I could hear some diabolical chants or maybe it was my mind that was playing games on me.
“Ti owo ba te ole, Pipa ni e pa, ka roun jeba lola”
(If a thief is caught, he must be killed to make an example for the rest)
For a child that grew up in a very superstitious environment, who watched tales by moonlight without missing an episode, who was subjected to listening to ‘Nkan nbe’ by Kola Olawuyi on the radio every Friday night and who never missed a chance to sit by grandpa who was a major exporter of unrated and scary tales, I was certain that I was going to die; that song was always accompanied with bloodshed in all of grandpa’s tales and those crappy Yoruba movies that we saw at home, and yes, there were no age restrictions to most of them.
Chibuzor dragged me with the back of my shirt and dragged me outside to the main-street, and rained down another set of slaps on me, I didn’t wince once, neither did I pretend nor behave as though I felt any tinge of pain but I didn’t miss the chirping birds that hung over my head. The scene was so overwhelming; I could not bring myself to look up, by now I was feeling ashamed that I got caught. I still felt that I was supposed to get a chance to defend myself, because my unfortunate theory still lurked somewhere in my mind.
Among the several persons that were gathered watching the seeming movie that was unfolding, was a rather strange woman; she was strange because of the fact that she was strangely attired. Garbed in a traditional white attire, the blouse was hanging loosely to her lean shape and the Iro was held tightly too, she was jeweled in cowries and shells, and fairness of her skin made her all the more attractive. Chibuzor and his slap seemed to become the last thing on my mind as the woman got nearer. There was a longing in me to know more about her and the longing consumed me: She reminded me of the Yoruba mythical character called Yeye Osun , the first wife of Sango, the one whom a river in South-western Nigeria was also named after, she moved nearer to the scene where I was being manhandled and said something that I could not really understand to the orderlies that were with her and the next thing that I could remember was the manner in which the orderlies yanked me out of the clutches of Chibuzor and his cohorts.
“Don’t you know that this boy is the son of the soil?” the weird looking lady screamed at the angry igbo traders from whom I was just yanked off. “Do you want to take the law into your own hands?” I wondered what she meant by ‘the son of the soil’, I wondered if my crime was made any easier by the fact that I was an indigene of the town or the fact that I was a Yoruba and Chibuzor was Igbo. And why ethnicity was always a tool so easily used during the smallest of squabbles.
“Madam, I no send law o, do you know wetin my oga don do me because of this brat?” Chibuzor barked back at her. “Where law dey that time?”
“So you think beating him to death because of a few Nairas won’t cause you wahala? Abi?”
Chibuzor was angry and for good reasons too, the woman seemed as though she was not trying to understand at all. Ignoring Chibuzor she just snapped her fingers, a rather strange act that seemed overtly dramatic but which he orderlies understood only tool well as they came to drag me inside an ancient looking white 505 Peugeot.
“Madam, make I no disrespect you o, where you dey carry that pikin dey go? Me I wan collect my money…you think say I dey crase?” as he was uttering those words, the crowd was slowly thinning out, some of the onlookers were slowly losing interest, that was how such matters were solved these days, when the intertribal sword was drawn, nobody dares tackle it without having a better weapon in the fight. And without uttering another word back to Chibuzor, the lady checked her white handbag and removed a minty whole one thousand naira note and handed it over to Chibuzor. Despite myself, my eyes twitched with rage, I struggled to get free of my captors but they were a lot stronger than I was.
“But ma’m, he does not deserve the money”
“Did you deserve to get beaten?” she asked looking at me with face like an eagle, as though she could follow it up with a scarier version of Chibuzor’s slap. I had to change the direction of my gaze; her hawk face seemed to have had some sort of Kraken effect on me.
Tolu Daniel is a fiction writer, blogger and administrator of A Poet’s Diary. He blogs at http://toluojuola.wordpress.com and is @iamToluDaniel on twitter.
Read other Works by Uneñ Ameji on African Stories
How We Fall by Uneñ Ameji
It was like every other Monday.
The traffic was long enough to compete with the legendary Niger Bridge under political contention and Ms. Joe as usual was running late. A last-minute being and an uncompromising sleeper, Joe was one to sleep to her fill and took motorcycles from her house to wherever the traffic stopped before jumping on the next available bus heading to her work place 3km from home. A journey indeed it was. She didn’t mind – a good boss and an impressive salary didn’t come easy in the capital city.
But today was not like every other Monday.
The black bearded ruffian in what Joe decided were lice infested rags sped and maneuvered the meandering traffic as if hoards from hell pursued. She wasn’t in the least worried about the speed. The faster she got off the death trap, the better chance she had at escaping invisible lice that she felt crawling up her skin.
In what will be only fit for the movies, Joe in the middle of her thoughts saw the door of a moving vehicle in the go-slow open and within seconds was flying off the bike with her large bag and landing heavily in the green lush bush few meters away from the main road. Her first thoughts were for the safety of her laptop and phones as she lay there momentarily confused at the flight and why she wasn’t hurting.
Hanging on to the wet grasses and hoping she wasn’t bleeding internally; she mentality scanned her body for pains and felt none.
A look at her black shirt revealed she was not stained but a look at the scene unfolding before her caused creativity to pool at the base of her brain. A crowd had gathered with cars stopping and bike drivers holding the passenger who had opened the door without looking. A slap from a bike man initiated a little drag with the man that had opened the car door. The black ruffian on the coal tar was shouting to the heavens as if he was great pain. Joe knew he wasn’t. He wasn’t an actor.
“Are you okay?” it was a good looking man in a well fitted black suit blocking her view. With smart looking glasses perched on his nose, Joe did the next thing she knew would get her to the office without transport fare. Tears clouding her pretty brown eyes, she shook her head in the negative.
“I am sorry, I didn’t see you guys coming” it was the man who had opened the door joining the man who offered her his hand. Supporters as well as castigators moved to her.
“Can you stand?” it was the handsome man. He had lovely pink lips and bushy knotted brows too.
“I can’t” Joe said, the tears already pooling at her lids threatening to drop if she blinked. It was going to smear her makeup for sure but the prospect of getting a free ride to work wasn’t too much a price to pay. Moreover, she got kicks acting. It was her first love.
“Here, let me help you” he said as another supporter helped her up.
The whimper was fake but they didn’t know that. Joe was the ace faker when it came to dodging work or getting freebies.
“You need to get to the hospital” the man in black suit said as the traffic began to clear. A look at her wristwatch told her she didn’t have time for checkups.
“I am good” she answered as the tears rolled down her eyes.
“No, you are not” he stated and indicated they help him carry her to his car parked just few meters from the scene.
“I will go to the office and sign in first” she sniffed as she saw the lice-ladden bike man collect 2 notes of a thousand Naira.
“Where do you work? Let me take you to sign in and then take you to go checkup” the man whose perfume spoke volumes helped Joe along to his new Toyota Camry. Joe smiled inwardly.
‘A.C’ she almost sighed aloud.
“Fiji Consulting, Maitama” she said as she tip toed along with their hands, stopping momentarily to make sure her acting is believed. Just then, a woman who had since followed her decided to speak up as she settled on the passenger seat.
“Let me stretch it. It will swell up if you leave it” and just like that, she was on her knees grabbing her right leg immediately. Her eyes had dried considerably but as soon as the woman touched her, she twisted free and fresh tears flowed.
“Pleaaase” she cried holding her leg and twisting it free from the strong grip. Taking a hand she came to realize was the man in suit, she pulled him closer as she smelt him and he held her closely.
“Sorry” he muttered as she nodded and let her tears fall.
‘When will I get a part in the movie industry?’ she asked herself with an evil grin as she pressed her face into his stomach.
Soon, the woman decided she heard a click and stood up feeling like the latest traditional leg puller.
“She will just rub Aboniki. It have set” she said to no one particular, clapping her hand.
“My dear, sorry ehen, all this bike men are very careless” she continued breathlessly.
“Sorry oo” she rubbed Joe’s head and Joe raised her head in a nod. Her big eyes were already red as she sniffed. She saw the crowd stand up in roaring applause at her performance.
“Feel better?” the man in suit asked with such sweetness, Joe gave a small smile as the invisible audience disappeared.
“Let me take you to work and then we check the hospital” he said as if he didn’t just hear the leg puller declare her leg ‘set’.
“Ok” was the only word that came out from her mouth. Joe wanted to get out of here.
“Here” it was her zipped bag. The supporting man who had helped her up handed it over to her.
“Thank you” she tried a small smile with a sniff.
The crowd, desperate to continue hanging at the accident scene dispersed slowly and soon Joe was headed to work in a cold car and a handsome man beside her.
“Still aching ….” He asked as he joined the highway.
“Joe…., no, it feels much better” Joe answered settling into the ride. She would be in on time.
“I’m Kene” he said looking at the being sitting beside him. Kene had seen her fly from the back of bike and had stopped to offer his services as a ‘life saver’. He smiled inwardly at the thought. Kale, his closest friend called him a life saver ever since he decided he was going to be a doctor at the age of 10.
Joe nodded and stared ahead only too happy for the free ride.
He was cute but she was in a relationship – surely she couldn’t go out of her way to be friendly with fine men especially as she knew how scared she was of her approaching nuptials. When she was afraid, Joe was a flight risk. Yomi, the groom was sweet. The perfect man for her but sometimes, she wished she would just catch him cheating and have a valid reason to be single again – to take a breath of fresh air. She longed for the days she didn’t belong to no one; days she could decide to stay indoors and sleep rapture. But those days were days of old.
She was getting married.
“Are you okay?” his voice startling her from her sad thoughts.
“Yes. Thanks” she released a small sweet smile and she saw him smile back.
“You fly really well” he cracked and he was rewarded with a hearty laugh. Kene liked what he saw and when that woman had gone down to twist the poor girl’s ankle; it took him a lot of restraint not to tell her to leave it alone.
“Thanks” Joe said.
“So Joe?” he continued the conversation.
“Josephine” she said and he nodded like he understood.
“I like Joe” he smiled as he neared Maitama and she directed.
“Me too” she laughed again and she pointed at the blue building at the Close.
“I will wait and take you to the hospital” he said as she made to get down.
“No, no need really” she was already hopping out.
“Did I mention that it is my hospital?” he asked coming out to help.
“No. you omitted that” she said in a small laugh.
“Well, now you know. And it is free too” he said as he helped her out.
“Now how can I refuse?” she feigned disappointment and he laughed. It sounded like a snort.
“You simply can’t” he said as she leaned in and he helped her past the curious security guards.
“Let’s have your card doctor. I will come in as soon as I get the vibe that I’m becoming an invalid” and that got her a hearty laugh. Joe was dismissing him.
“Right” he said after she limped into the reception.
“Thanks” she waved his card as he left. She waited for him to leave, limped to her office and as soon as she sat down took out her heels and her laptop.
She got to work.
It was 3:00pm when Anna called her from the reception.
“Your Doctor is here to see you?” it was a question.
“My doctor?” Joe asked trying to finish tidying her accounts.
“Oh! I am coming” Joe said changing into her flats and taking a quick look at her mirror. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and a clean wipe of her oily face she made to the reception with slow calculated steps. Perhaps he could take her back home too.
“Hey Doc” she called happily as she approached the good doctor without his suit. The sleeves of his purple shirt folded at the hands and neck opened at the collar, he looked friendly and younger.
“You didn’t come, I was in the neighborhood and I decided to checkup” he said smiling.
“I …….” Joe was saying as an awkwardly tall male walked into the reception. His eyes looking out for someone and then he focused his round eyes briefly on her before walking up to them.
“I see you have found her” he said and the good doctor turned to acknowledge him.
Joe looked at the tall man and suddenly felt like a dwarf. She itched to climb some inches. She could tell he could see into the middle of her head and she didn’t like the feeling it evoked.
“Yes, I did” Kene said smiling.
“How’s your leg?” the tall man was asking. Joe didn’t know if she should answer. Kene helped her.
“Better” he said and Joe looked at him with a smile.
“So are we taking her in?” he asked fixing her with a look that Joe didn’t find pleasant.
“No, you are not taking me in” she finally found her tongue as she looked from one to the other.
“See! I told you she was okay” he finally said smiling at a confused Joe. Anna, who had been watching the exchange, picked up her ringing intercom.
“Oga is calling you” she said after dropping her intercom.
“When are you closing?” Kene asked.
“5:00pm” Joe said feeling the eyes of the tall man piercing into hers.
“I will come take you home” Kene said excitedly and Joe simply nodded.
“Kale Kanwa” the tall man extended his long hands fit for a pianist and Joe momentarily wondered if he played. His Adam’s apple danced as he laughed at Kene hitting his hand away.
“Joe…” she said simply as she smiled at their exchange. They looked like an interesting pair.
“Joe who?” he asked as Kene pulled him out of the reception because Anna was already beckoning to Joe.
“Joe Nathaniel” she answered as she made to walk away.
“Joe with the broken ankle, we coming to pick you up at 5:00pm” he said as he gave in to the tugging from Kene.
“Don’t let him scare you. See you soon” Kene called and they left soon. Joe smiled as she watched them go. An odd pair…she shook her head.
The next hours flew past and by 5:10pm, she looked like she needed to be re-hydrated. Hanging her large bag containing her laptop on her shoulders, she stepped out of the building and decided to make it to the junction. Calling Kene to take her home will be asking for trouble.
“Are we ready?” the familiar voice called from the car park and she turned to see the awkwardly tall man leaning on a white SUV that looked like a jalopy. It was covered in dust.
“Like my car?” he said reading the expression in her eyes. She smiled.
“Where is Kene?” Joe asked looking around.
“He asked me to come pick you up. He got another bleeding case” he said without emotion. Joe laughed.
“Great! She has a wicked sense of humor” he laughed and made to open the door for her.
“Anything for a short woman” he called as he gave an evil laugh.
“Awkwardly tall man” she retorted and laughed at her reaction.
“Put on your seat belt” he said as he walked over to the other side.
“So are we going to meet Kene?”Joe asked as they left her office.
“Awww, she has fallen in love with the good doctor” he said looking at her briefly before focusing on the road.
“I have not fallen” Joe answered angrily and amused at the same time.
“Nopes….we are taking the little woman home after buying some ligament nonsense – Doctor’s order” he winked and Joe laughed. His Adam’s apple danced again as he swallowed a laugh.
“So how’s the leg?” he asked as they joined the express and he sped on.
“Doesn’t need amputation” she said and he laughed again, sparing her a side glance.
“So what do you do at Fiji Consulting?” he asked as they drove in silence for a while.
“Keeping their account. Thinking of committing fraud though. Just in case you see my photo in The Guardian” Joe said and she got another side glance. He laughed through his nose and the sound sounded lovely yet strange. She was definitely getting in over her head.
“Why The Guardian?” he asked after his original laugh.
“Boss reads only The Guardian” Joe replied as they reached the traffic.
“Makes sense” he gave a smile. His lips upturned and Joe wondered how it would feel in a kiss. A quick mental slap and she was good.
“You live in Karu?” she asked as he kept a straight face and drove with rapt attention.
“Nopes” he answered, another side glance.
“So Kene requests that you take me home”
“Yes. He wants to know where you live so that he can monitor your leg” he gave another evil laugh.
“Evilly” Joe said as she heard him laugh.
“Goodily” he replied naturally as if they were longtime friends
“So you want to listen to your favorite song?” he asked as they inched closer to home.
“I don’t have a favorite song” she answered and watched him play a track.
“Miranda Lambert – Over You, if you are wondering” he said as he turned up the volume and continued to stare straight ahead.
“I wasn’t wondering” Joe answered as they neared the diversion that was taking her home. Luckily, the traffic flowed and she briefly wanted an impromptu traffic that will keep the conversation going.
He was awkwardly tall – she couldn’t get past that but then he was cute with his round roving eyes, hyena-like laugh, impressive hairline and an Adam’s apple that should worry her but it did more to fuel the quiet interest that was building within her. She didn’t dwell on the lips and long fingers; that would be asking for trouble.
She definitely shouldn’t ‘like’ any other man and in less than 12 hours, she had met interesting ones.
“What do you do?” she asked.
“I am waiting for my inheritance” he answered seriously with a wicked look that got a laugh he wanted.
“Construction. Lovely to build masterpieces. I’d take you to some of my sites when your leg lets you. Be warned – my works are taller than me” he answered easily as they arrived at the roundabout.
“Left” Joe answered with a shake of her head as she directed him to the house.
Soon she was home and he remained in his car clutching the steering while he waited for her to get down.
“I’d love to” Joe answered surprising herself on agreeing to see his sites. If she was any truthful, she’d say she wanted to spend more time with him.
“Great! And you should give Kene a call. Tell him I drove like a human being” he winked and soon he was zooming off. Joe stood smiling as she watched him drive off.
She definitely was going to get tangled with this one…
…Kale…she turned to walk into her flat and missing a step, she was falling into the gutter……a thick blackness overwhelming her as continued to fall…..
Grrrrrrrrrrrrggh! Grrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!! Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!!! Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!!!!
Joe woke up to the angry doorbell blaring so loud she jumped off the bed and rushed to the front door to open it without asking who it was. It was probably Maimuna – her flat mate who liked to play with the doorbell just for the fun of it after her club nights.
It was a Saturday and Joe was earning her beauty sleep.
What was she dreaming about again? She searched her fuzzy brain as she unlocked the door. She blinked and shaded her sleep-raw eyes as the hot sun blinded her with her right hand.
“Good Morning” a familiar voice greeted.
“Yes?” she answered finding the source of the voice as she cleared the mass of long borrowed hair from her face.
And there he stood looking down at her with warm brown eyes, amusement lighting his roving eyes and his twitching lips as he studied her appearance. Dressed in a flimsy sleeveless shift shirt that hung off her shoulders and clearly displayed her provocative chest, Joe looked like a sleep-demon. She looked down at herself and back at him.
“Do you find it to your liking?” she snapped, irritated at his height advantage and the delayed smile tugging at his lips. He laughed then and Joe found herself stepping back.
Surely he wasn’t real.
“Is that stubborn Maimuna home?” he asked as he fixed Joe a stare after his original laugh. It was him, the dream guy; her brain trying to retrieve her dream as fast as it could.
“And who wants to know?” she asked heating under his stare. His Adam’s apple.
“Kale Kanwa” he answered.
A rush of air from her tensed lungs.
It couldn’t be.
She was getting married in 2 months.
Read more from Uneñ Ameji on the Okadabooks App. Love on the 25th – a corporate love story set in Nigeria is her latest. Get Courting Baida and Finding Baida on African Stories. She is @UnenAmeji on twitter.
**How We Fall is dedicated to a new friend. #AwkwardlyTall