New Listing! To Live Again by Ray Anyasi

Featured

tla large - Copy

Blurb: When crises broke in the tiny, crusty village of Gumau, Dami Koka and her colleagues found themselves lost in the vast savannah of northern Nigeria. Seeing her friends fall one after the other into the fatal hands of savage men and wild beasts, she began to rethink the essence of life – her life. But most importantly, if she must go back to her widowed mother in one piece, she must find a route to civilization before the beasts…and God knows what else find her.

About Author: Ray Anyasi is the author of several books which include; Ujasiri, Bloodline and This Town: a postcard of terror. His writing influence is majorly the extraordinary stories of ordinary people who have to confront monstrous challenges they do not orchestrate, yet must overcome. He is also a poet and has published a poetry collection, “Lines of Thoughts”, that includes the acclaimed Ogbanje. Anyasi has contributed articles severally to The Guardian Express and continues to partake in the global conversations that concerns political and social developments; his book, How to Terrorize Terrorism is one of such contributions. Fresh out of the University, Anyasi published his first book, A Poll of Vampires, a political crime thriller. Since then he has published over twenty titles. Anyasi is also a certified Copywriter and Content Developer. He currently works for Naphtali Publishers as Director of Publishing. His current hobbies are tending a backyard vegetable garden and engaging fans of his craft on social media. He is @RayAnyasi on twitter. He enjoys feedbacks. Write to him @ raynaphtali@yahoo.co.uk or visit his website: http://www.amazon.com/Ray-Anyasi/e/B009EVPRCC.
Lovely week!

41N+E4fvmGL._UY250_

51CM1A6QnDL._UY250_

91BRMlkj-hL._UX250_

Look! New Book “Dejected” by Ade Lero

Featured

DEJECTED
Hey guys!
Happy Valentine’s day!
African Stories is pleased to announce new book Dejected by Ade Lero.
Dejected tells the story of 3 men and their journey to drug addiction. Focusing on the causes of this derogatory act, Dejected tries to pinpoint the societies role in the journey of Most drug addicts.
Click for FREE Download!
https://adelero.wordpress.com/226-2/
He is @therealadelero on twitter

All New Series! Two Lives and a Soul by Ojay Aito

Featured

Hey guys! New series “Two Lives and a Soul” by Ojay Aito now on African Stories. From the hilarious “Life of a Barrack Boy”, Ojay once again delivers a captivating yet fluid Nigeria story. “Two Lives and a Soul” is a story about…..let’s not let the cat out of the bag.. We hope you enjoy reading it as much as we did.

Two Lives and a Soul – Episode One
Tick-tock, tick-tock, I blinked twice as I stared at the table clock. Waiting. Waiting for it to come alive. Today, I just happened to be awake earlier than my alarm clock. Seated idly at my room desk, I traced the frame of the medieval time piece with my eyes. For the first time I imagined the scope of knowledge that had conceived the idea of creating a device that served two purposes. As the world grew older, innovations have led men to create devices that met more than one need. And after having read the Blue Ocean Strategy, it was easy for one to realize that such models have been long ingrained into the business world as well.
No, I’m neither into the whole hocus-pocus of the business world, nor into the scientific postulations of propagated theories. I’m just a twenty seven year old sales man, with a 1907 alarm clock as the only bequeathed property from my grandfather, a man I met before my brain could keep vivid memories. He died only a day to my christening. So my dad named me after him. His name was Eli.
As I held the tiny time device in the palm of my hand, my vision focused past the tiny fingers of the clock, unto the golden lining of its interior. But instead of seeing through the intricacies of the mechanism that make the tick-tock sound, as Hollywood would make us believe is possible, I saw something I had never seen in all the time I had this ‘priced’ possession. For the first time, I realized the golden lining had an inscription written inconspicuously along the circumference of the inner frame. Perhaps it was a farewell message that came from the design company.
My grandfather was a traveler, more like a pirate as I later grew to understand, so he had a few precious artifacts that had not a Naira’s worth in this day and on this side of the world.
It was just five minutes away from five o’clock when the tiny little knocker would come alive, hitting the two cones on its both sides; but before then I stood from my creaking flat wooden chair and moved towards the only source of light in the room with the metal device in my hands. I lifted it towards the dull white light, away from the thick shadows of the clothes by the wall. The inscription on the inside of the clock was guarded by the thick concave glass, which prevented me from tracing it with the tip my fingers. I thought about my grandfather for a sec. Johnny Depp in his thick pencil shadowed-eyes was the only well represented pirate I could imagine granddad looked like. Or was it the other way round?
As expected, the inscription wasn’t in English. Neither was it French, ‘cause I spoke both fluently. Didn’t look like Spanish or Portuguese either, thanks to the little exposure I got at Mary Hill, back in the day.
Was I the first to have noticed this? Well, I couldn’t think of anyone who had had it at this proximity for the past twenty two years. I tried again to read the statement. Although I never learnt about its history, I always thought of the alarm clock as a prize grandfather had won during his days of adventure. Except that right now, I thought of the possibility that it was, you know, a stolen piece, perhaps, not conspicuously missing from one of the Persian castles in the Middle East. Don’t blame me for that, blame the Pirates of the Caribbean for my weird imaginations.
I tried reading out the words which simply refused to make any sense still. It all of a sudden became a necessity that at least I tried to make some meaning to it, because I needed to be done with all of the distraction by the moment the alarm jolted on to life. That would be the start of my day, and to beat the traffic in a twenty first century Ambode Lagos, I couldn’t be at home by 5:30. Some of my colleagues at work insisted that if I only had to wake up by five in the morning, then I was one of the luckiest people in the city. Some of them had to leave their homes an hour before my wake up time. I sometimes wonder why they had to go home anyway. Anytime I thought about what they said, I profusely refused that my life should be anything worse than it already was. I believed there were those who had a choice of when to go to work, and I was sure they weren’t of a different human empirical nomenclature. Soon, someday, I would choose to wake by ten in the morning, and leave work say 11 that same morning, with my bank account looking like an international phone number. How about that for living in Lagos?
Aoys fun umendikayt ir gekumen, fun umendikayt ir vet tsurikkumen. I kept trying to pronounce the words as I moved away from the source of light, back towards the table. I dropped the time device on my rickety desk, as the seconds seemed to count down to my wake up time. I didn’t know why I just didn’t stop the alarm from going off, guess I was conditioned to hear it go off every day. As I moved away towards my mattress at the other corner of the room, I became conscious that the words I had read from the clock still clung to my tongue. At that point, I knew I had to shake it off vigorously. With the way my mind worked, my head could surprisingly keep nonsense information, and totally betray me when I had to remember vital data during the defense of a project at work. If I didn’t force it out, it could either become a song on my lips, or a cliché for greeting strangers on the street.
Umendikayt might just mean How do you do?
Tried as I may, the words still came off my lips one more time before the clock fingers finally struck five. The alarm came off hard and loud, like it beat right on my ear drums.
I moved towards the table clock and stuck my index finger between the tiny hammer and one of the bell cups. My finger vibrated somewhat, and I waited patiently for the time piece to stop its hammering but one minute after, the hammer still hit my finger at the same spot. I made a mental count of how long the alarm was suppose to last. With the speed of light, my mind spanned many years, even back to my days in boarding school. There was never a time it went this long. Two minutes, and it kept on with its vigorous hammering. And then the words came again. Before I knew it, I was speaking the unknown words out loud.
Aoys fun umendikayt ir gekumen, fun umendikayt ir vet tsurikkumen. Suddenly, I saw a dim shade of light haze out of the circumference of the clock’s frame. It shone brighter. And even brighter. And the vibration became harder, and even harder. The whole of my hand began to shake violently, till it spread through my entire body. I couldn’t pull out my finger from the device which now made the entire room glow with a fluorescent teal color. I screamed, but I wasn’t sure if my vocal cord was able to produce any sound, because I couldn’t hear a thing apart from the clock alarm which now seemed to beat from my chest.
The light from the table clock engulfed my whole body before I felt it finally disintegrate me into a million light particles.

****
I became aware of life again as I shook violently from my bed. I breathed heavily without opening my eyes, but I was glad that it was all a dream. It had to be a dream, however surreal it was, it was only a nightmare. I felt soaked in my sweat, the cotton bed sheet sticking to my back. There seemed to be so much light in my room, and I tried hard to recollect whether I went to sleep without turning out the light. Finally I slowly opened my ears, squinting a little to the brightness of the fluorescent light screwed to the ceiling of my room. Again, I was sure it seemed brighter than normal.
As I opened my eyes fully, I realized that people stood over by bed staring down at me on either side. I blinked a few times and opened my eyes wide. They were there. Strange people I have never met in my life. Four ladies and… a guy. All five of them were black save for the one who stood by my right arm. She was young, beautiful, and white, with deep blue eyes and a European nose. I looked from side to side without moving my head. I didn’t know anyone here. And I wanted to scream. The eldest of the ladies quickly put her hand on my left shoulder, and the softness of her palm immediately calmed me.
“Hello son,” she said with a smile.
Son? I thought about it. This wasn’t my mother. Her skin looked fairer like she hadn’t been under the sun for months, with fewer wrinkles than my mum’s. The tone of her voice sounded pleasant. Who were this people? And where was I? I wanted to ask, but the softness I felt from her touch was also in her voice.
Yes, I remember! I was supposed to be getting ready for work. But wasn’t that a dream? And where was I now? This wasn’t my room? And these people, who were they? Where am I? All five people that surrounded my bed had genuine smiles on their faces, and the beautiful white lady on my right side suddenly bent over and pressed a kiss on my cheek. It kinda hurt, but it felt good.
“Sam, I’m glad to have you back. Thought I lost you,” she said.
Sam? I am no Sam. My name is Eli, and who are you? Who are all these people? I wanted to sit up from the bed. I was late for work. But as I tried, the woman who called me son touched me again, and I simply let back my head onto a very soft pillow. A pillow? I didn’t have any pillow. I hate using pillows, but this was soft too. Very soft. My eyes slowly closed, and I said to myself. This is only another dream. A dreadful dream from a beautiful nightmare?
“Hey buggie,” the guy who was by the end of my bed called out to me. I looked up at him, and a strong force pulled me towards him. “Soon, you would be home, okay?” He had a smile that looked like mine. In fact, apart from his cornrows and the crucifix pendant on his chest, two things I didn’t possess, I would say he was my reflection.
Soon I would be home. But really, where was I? And who were these people?

About Ojay Aito
Ojay Aito is the writer of the popular Barrack Boy Series “Life of a Barrack Boy”. A Chemist, he has since vied into the literary world, writing for metro journals and working as a radio producer.
As he patiently awaits the publishing of his debut novel, he continues to chunk out numerous works of fiction mainly on his blog barrackboy.com and a few fiction sites within and outside the country.
Two Lives And A Soul is a story that breaks out of the boundary of contemporary Nigerian fiction and sets a different stage for readers who have no reservations for the yet unimaginable…
He tweets via @1Ojay on Twitter.

Get a Man as you would a Car. Top 5 Checks +1

Featured

“Money may not buy happiness, but I’d rather cry in a Jaguar than on a bus.” ― Françoise Sagan
There is something almost erotic thrilling about buying a car that gets you restless, overly eager to get behind the wheel… to determine how much speed will take you to where you need to be, when to leave the house, where to go, which route to take, what music to listen to and gosh how your car smells! The complete control of deciding these variables leaves one euphoric, breathless, even orgasmic. Ok, that’s going over the top. My point is, buying a car is one thing that signifies a level of accomplishment. If it is your first car….it is certain that sleep eludes you days before actual purchase.
In a typical Nigerian scene, the mother is running out in wrapper and rushing to molest rub, shout and anoint the new automobile while calling neighbors to witness how good papa God is andloudly shaming the devil on his failure to stop her child from buying a car. The father is majestically walking with a stick, looking to the skies, muttering ancestral sentences before breaking into a shout “my son, you shall be great; you have made me, your father, Mazi Ekene, proud”. Again, I digress.
So why do I say get your man as you would a car? Well here it is – it is because more often than not, you are going to be heavily invested in the new ‘liability’ and when the need arises for repairs, routine maintenance or selling – and trust me, it always comes up – no one is going to borrow you cash to fix your car or take it off you in a heartbeat. Unless your car is kabu-kabu a taxi that generates revenue for contingencies like these, you are going to shell out serious kudi; and if your man is kabu-kabu a taxi that generates revenue – emm, male ashewo in your employment, then by all means simply ensure his engine is solid and can pick up at any given time, T and you are good to go.
Now, whether you want to buy used or tear-rubber car, it is inevitable that you ask for information about cost, availability, car seller, car features among others. In no particular order, here are six things you need to check for before making that purchase.
I. BRAND NAME
Let me put it out there before we go further ‘Never allow another person buy a car for you without physically inspecting – especially if you are paying for it’. Everyone has an opinion of the best car for you – from the engine type, fuel consumption rate to suitability for your gender. If you are a woman looking to get a car, you will be lectured about cars *meant for women – when you see the cars, you will understand my irritation. Apparently, gender inequality has infiltrated into cars. But again, I digress.
Is the man in question a Toyota? Lexus? Jaguar? Lamborghini? Ford? Honda? Mazda? Audi? Kia? or our Innoson?
You have got to know what brand suits your personality. A colleague would rather be amputated than drive a Picanto. Know what type of man you want. Kind? Sensitive? Rugged? Smart? Funny? Creative? Hustler? Efficient? Dependable? Economical? Strong? Fast? Sophisticated? Of course there’s the combination of character/traits found in these cars as there is in men. Find the right mix for you. Don’t depend on third party recommendation or validation of the merits of a particular brand over another. Find the best combination and make an informed choice on the brand that suits your person.

2. MILEAGE AND ENGINE CAPACITY
So we have decided what brand you are most comfortable with but equally important is your budget. This largely determines if you are getting a new or used car. Getting a new car is like getting a new man with no encumbrances. You kick and it starts – usually, this is a new born male. Unless you are a pervert, a new born baby shouldn’t sexually excite you. In the case of getting a man, darling, he is a used good. Accept it. He is above 18? Then yes, he is used. Let’s talk used car.
You need to check how many kilometers it has covered. How far has he gone in his life? How old is he? Does the man have excess baggage? Married, Divorced with kids? Has a baby mama or a host of babies mamas? Does he have a career? Is he broke? Comfortable? Where is he financially? Is he emotionally matured and spiritually ready to kneel in prayers and not allow you carry that part of men’s cross that they conveniently hang on the woman’s neck?(for our religious audience). Is he a V4, V6 or a V8? What is the capacity of the engine and how sound is it? Is he fast? Economizes fuel? Does he have HIV/AIDS, Sickle Cell Anemia, Low Sperm Count, Diabetes?
And still on engine – you have to check his ‘garage’ to make sure he is parked well. You may have to use bed methodology if it is right for you. If it is not, you may have to take a verbal confirmation of soundness from the man and hope the ‘engine’ is in perfect working condition for the use you have in mind for it. Some ladies demand a test-run and others wait for matrimonial verification exercise – by all means you have to CHECK if he is working! Use your hand to measure by the planned touching or accidental brushing method. Is he long? Strong enough? Staying power of a horse? Rise and fall ability? This is the time to sample with eyes, hands or *clears throat.
You have to be sure he is sound and ready to serve you for a really LONG time. We don’t have the luxury of getting another car especially when we drive out of the car mart aka wedding venue. Oh well you can, but hopefully you don’t.

3. EXTERIOR AND INTERIOR
Some ladies may not mind a modest or ugly car interior or exterior but some of us do. A car is a car they say. I used to think so too. Not anymore. A car is not a car. You have to ascertain your man inside out. Is the man well put together? Ok plain English – does he look good? Smell good? Brush his teeth? Wash his socks? Air his shoes? Cuts his nails? Groom his beards? DOES HE BATH AND WASH down there???!! There is a level of being rugged that is sex appeal and then there another that is pure dirt…..unattractive and repulsive. He is clean on the inside? His thoughts always negative? A pessimist? A chauvinist? A beautiful mind? Brilliant? Ordinarily, the exterior can be fixed (usually expensive and with the cooperation of the man) but the interior is almost impossible. You may want to avoid unnecessary problems and sidestep men with interiors that need Jesus.

4. PAPERS AND REGISTRATION
If you don’t like those maroon and brown uniformed people and their demonic colleagues in white and black stopping you and collecting cash (legal or illegal), I suggest you get your papers in order. Does the car have custom clearing? A vehicle license, proof of ownership, road worthiness and permits, insurance certificate? Seller agreements? Are the car papers in your name?
You have to make sure you don’t go out and some chick walks up with gum in her pouted mouth, claiming your man. Avoid situations where you can’t go out with him or tell your family about him because he is married, not up to your ‘class’ or simply unavailable. Living on the edge may be thrilling and especially for cheaters enjoyable but nothing beats going out with that man confidently that he belongs to you.

5. FUEL CONSUMPTION, AIR CONDITIONING, AIR BAG, SOUND AND NAVIGATION SYSTEM
Usually, I don’t care if the car leaks fuel but there is no way I am using a car with no air conditioning. Minus the noise it cuts out when one is driving, there is a feeling of ease, rightness and contentment that air conditioning brings. You need to choose a man that brings peace, ease and comfort. A man that makes you feel comfortable in your own skin. A man that is affordable – what do I mean? He needs to be within the range of what you can afford financially and emotionally. Some men are emotionally expensive. They stretch your patience and ability to swallow shit and drink piss. Relationships are not supposed to be hard and one-sided. It is a give and take. If he is not emotionally available and financially low, you will be the fulcrum. Bills on you. Days of uncertainty all on you. Are you ready to be with him even if it is draining your pocket?
Air bag….hmmm, saves lives. I tell you the whole truth. Does the man give you a sense of security? Can he save you when you hit a rock? How secured are you with him? And ah yes! Sound….do you want a man that can keep a conversation or you would rather he is quiet and allows you do all the talking. Either ways, make sure he is right for your person. Navigation – He really needs to know where he is going sweetie. Yes, navigation systems in our cars here have issues taking you to the exact destination but sadly we know what’s responsible for that. It is one of two things, know where you are going to and take him there or make sure he knows where he is going and he takes you there. Our church people call it vision. Does he have a vision or he is just looking to follow the crowd? Ask him questions, observe his ways, study his decisions and determine if he is the right man for you.

6. SPARE PARTS AVAILABILITY AND RESELLING OPTION
So we agree that it is impossible to change a human being. But what if his spare parts are readily available? What if he is easy to change his mindset or decisions about issues that are negative and unproductive? What if he is one who listens and tries to reason with your suggestions? Hey! I am not saying push it down his throat madam I-too-know. Polite suggestions work best….yes, I happen to have that experience.
And in cases where you simply need a transition car, then you need to consider his reselling option. Can you dispose of him quickly or he is going to be hanging on your neck for years? Sometimes, when it is not working, it is best the cords are cut civilly. Don’t have an ex that just won’t leave the picture but keeps haunting you for the rest of your life! Make sure you are not tied down with a man that only takes up space in your garage. Like they say, nothing lasts forever.
Buy Get Smart, Drive for Miles.

P.S: I would love to have your comments….share your experiences on getting a new car and relate to what you want in your mate. Should be fun.

Have a great week!

Written by Uneñ Ameji. She is @UnenAmeji on twitter

The short-story of a Simpleton and Big English

Featured

ignoramus
ˌɪɡnəˈreɪməs/
noun
noun: ignoramus; plural noun: ignoramuses
an ignorant or stupid person.
synonym; a clodpoll.

Why must Big English be used? A fool is simply a foolish person; not an ignoramus. An ignoramus does not even know what ignoramus means. How then does an ignoramus know he is an ignoramus?
We must learn to be simple.
Writing as an art may have evolved from articulating thoughts and languages to be read, understood and appreciated but it certainly does not mean writers must intentionally twist their thoughts and opinions; leaving a growing community of manically bewildered Simpletons behind. What is the use of writing an impossible read filled with Big English? A Simpleton asks.
Man no suppose dey chop biscuit-bone peppersoup wen beta peppered boneless chicken dey table naw.
Writing, an interesting phenomenon, is the safest and cheapest time traveling machine there is and contrary to what our wishes may be, writing is the only legal and sane way of reading minds. Suspended in time, A Simpleton sees the future, past and present. A Simpleton that can read minds! A Simpleton that is no longer an ignoramus.
But why, when given the opportunity to redirect a people, a chance to change perceptions and privilege to entertain, must writers complicate it with this brawny Big English? A Simpleton asks.
Perhaps Big English is entertaining and gives deeper meaning to words and sentences, weighty and thought-provoking too. A couple of Non-Simpletons have indicated their preference for meat and not milk. Perhaps this Big English is only for those with Big Teeth.
If truly writing is art, A Simpleton asks that writers must not make it abstract. An abstract art is not worthless but what pleasure is there in hanging on your wall a meaningless piece of masterpiece? Aesthetically pleasing, yes; it goes perfectly with curtains, absolutely. But art wasn’t meant to complement the curtain, it was meant to be understood. A Simpleton insists that writing must be fluid, succinct, remarkably engaging and revelatory.
A Simpleton knows these things.

P.S: Words have more meaning when understood. Writing should be understood not guessed.

Kind Regards,

@UnenAmeji

Men of the Cloth, their Raincoat and their kind of God

Featured

It often bothers me how Men of the Cloth, yes, the ones speaking in hot tongues and casting out devils while asking for bribes tithes and sacrificial offerings, refuse to allow the Church – people question their modus operandi and contradictory sermons they spew on their holy altars. One moment they are on the mountain seeking for powers to perform miracles, the next they can’t even heal the sick. Did someone say raise the dead?
It is disappointing especially when they preach half-truths as whole and when confronted, they say they prophecy in parts while opening their heavy bibles to where they have marked for such occasions as this. We don’t know it all – they say. Why didn’t you say that on the pulpit when you were vibrating and calling down fire? Perhaps there is need for these Men of the Cloth to have caveat emptor on their signboards and bills.
Come and See the Power of God
P.S if He wills for I know in parts and prophecy in parts”

Fake Prophet

Chapter One
Tithing Vs. Abundance

The charismatic, vibrant, power-gushing young man of God is saying heathens are prosperous, the children of the world are succeeding while the children of God are paupers, the next he is saying only tithing can give you the amount of riches the heathens have.
???
Question: Did the heathens pay tithe for their riches?
Question: Have God visited them with plagues and collected their riches because they did not tithe?
Question: Could it be that they simply work hard or smart – whatever or they were born with diamond spoons and teeth?
Certainly not all the rich heathens are *shedding the blood of the innocent ones and even if they are shedding or pounding new born babies in mortars, there is God and He is yet to cut them down. Infact He just may be planning on how to save them.
You see, when the issue of tithing is brought up, many cringe – some cringe because they pity you for not paying it and others cringe because they know the 419 collector is at it again.
People pay tithes and bad things still happen. BAD things.
Question: Why was the devourer not kept away from their pockets?
Men of the Cloth: Because they sinned one way or the other
Question: But you said if they paid my tithes, He will keep away the devourer and they’d experience abundance. Why is their resources dwindling and their suffering knowing no end?
Men of the Cloth: You see, the word of God is not entirely exclusive. You have to be 100% perfect. Moreover, there are times for tribulation. Doesn’t matter if they pay tithe or not, tribulation is going to come.
Question: Why didn’t you say this on the pulpit?
Men of the Cloth: I prophecy in parts….the grace of God is abundant. Amen.

FakeProphet

Chapter Two
Pain Vs. Backsliding

When your loved one dies – doesn’t matter that the doctor literally murdered them or a brainwashed suicide bomber decided to do some blowing – Men of the Cloth says nothing outside the will of God happens. He allowed it because He knows best. He creates, He takes. Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust….glory to His name.
I am not even going to ask if His will includes the rest of us still living…..like the rest of us whose lives and existence has been shattered by His will. Men of the cloth says who am I to ask questions……to ask questions is seen as an act of disobedience – so shut up and take the pain like the humbled believing servant you are supposed to be. It doesn’t matter that Jesus’s disciples asked questions every step of the way and with all the answers Judas betrayed Him and Peter denied Him when it mattered the most.
When you lose a loved one, you are supposed to be stoic, praise Him continuously for taking them away and serve Him with all your heart and all your might if not, you are as good as an unbeliever ….in most cases worst because you have known the truth. and he who holds the plow and turns back will be burnt forever
A woman is raped by a man at 15 years of age. God is watching but does not do anything. People rape people everyday. No biggie. If Eve didn’t eat the forbidden fruit, we won’t even be talking about rape. Say what?
Question: Wasn’t it all part of the master plan – His will – like the one where your loved ones gets to die and there is nothing you can do to stop it?
Men of the Cloth: You dare open your mouth with His breath inside you and ask questions…..are you mad? You want His wrath?
The woman gives birth to a daughter.
The rapists starts raping daughter at 11 years of age. He has developed taste for younger fish lips girls
God is watching. The man is prospering – he has married another woman and has two beautiful children. He is a respected man in the society. He is a church goer and a tither.
The girl is rescued at 16 years. After 5 years of abuse and several suicide attempts.
The law does not prosecute.
The society is quiet.
The family eats kolanut.
The man goes back to his life.
The girl with pain, destroyed life and smelling vagina is asked to forgive her father because God says people who don’t forgive are not His children, infact He demands that we forgive….she has no choice, she must forgive.
Question: Why is God more interested in her forgiving her father-rapist than in punishing the beast?
Question: Is God a man?
Question: Where are the angels He gave charge to watch over her so she doesn’t hit her foot against a stone? I mean so she doesn’t get brutally fucked raped repeatedly?
Question: Why is God still blessing the works of the rapist’s hand? Getting promoted at work, building new houses, paying tithes, serving as an elder?
Men of the Cloth: You see, God is never late. Leave it to God and see what He will do.
Question: What if God forgives him?

Men of the Cloth: God works in mysterious ways. It is not His will that any of His children perish
Question: What happens to the persons whose lives have been wasted, destroyed?

Men of the Cloth: God is multifaceted. We can’t simply question Him. His will be done
Apparently, if you are dealt with a bad hand in life, you move on and die when your time comes. It doesn’t really matter if you get justice or not. Justice is for those who can take it without being caught….like killing the doctor who murdered or the thief who shot your husband. If you can revenge and not get caught, by all means go ahead and come ask for forgiveness.
He forgives all because when these evildoers find God, you will be the only one left with the soiled plate. The rest is blot out by the blood.

Chapter three
Level of Grace

This is a favorite of many Men of the Cloth. This is the part where you cannot speak against them because they are servants of the almighty. Who dare speak against the appointed? You going down-down-down….
Thunder Strikes!!!
It is so refreshing to have a cover of grace – do anything and grace covers you. The kind of grace that passes your understanding as a person who has not been called….the kind that only covers the Men of the Cloth when they sin, keep malice with their fellow Men of the Cloth, when they dupe people of their earnings or have sexual intercourse with church members because the body is weak but the spirit is willing.
fake-pastor-cartoon-logo
Question: Isn’t this level of grace available to the girl who was brutally raped and refuses to forgive her father? The one who wouldn’t raise her hands in worship of a God that refused to save her from harm all those years? The one who has been told it is His will that she be abused because in future the purpose of the abuse will be revealed to the glory of His name?
Question: Where is this level of grace for the grieving woman who doesn’t go to church or pray to a God who failed to save her loved one because His will is supreme?
Men of the Cloth do not console. They condemn and tell you to shout halleluyah seven times through tears and blood. I don’t understand why or when serving God became punishment? Why is this level of grace that covers their shit not able to cover your anger, doubts and hurts?
Alas! only Men of the Cloth can access this level of grace….when they goof, the grace raincoat covers them and there is absolutely nothing you can say or do about it. How convenient.
Everyone should have this grace raincoat….. this magical raincoat will all serve our selfish, hypocritical nature.
1039c6fbc86dcd69cff1755856c383fa49608985

Chapter four
Conclusion?

We must come to a conclusion – that perhaps God cannot save us all. Perhaps it is really His will that some of His children suffer and others enjoy for His glory. It doesn’t matter if you are the one suffering or enjoying or having a taste of both.
We must realize that as much as there are those with testimonies, much more are dying with pain and no, they are not heathen – they are His children….#confessed
We must accept the fact that we are strictly responsible for the justice we get….if you want justice, you have to take it by force….just like everything else. If you want a better card than has been dealt? Pick another.
You see, it is simple….there is no need for half-truths. God doesn’t need Men of the Cloth sugarcoating His personality.
He says He kills and makes alive
He loves, He hates
He killed all of Jobs’ children just to prove a point to one of His creation that He has conquered….but He did compensate Job.
He says He has given you choices – life and death, He also says choose life that you may live….emm, that’s technically not a choice…just direction.
There is nothing like free will – it is a myth.
God is not good, God is not evil. He is both and He is what you make of Him.
If you must follow Him, you should know that He is not afraid to hurt you for His glory, He is not answerable to you or remotely concerned if you never make it back to trusting Him again. You talk too much and He will raise stones to take your place. However He is the only one who can give you a semblance of security – after death-wise….and if you don’t believe in the afterlife – then be ready for whatever comes after – if there is.
Perhaps He might decide to change His mind from the everlasting blazing pit – but then again, who knows what His will concerning you is –
There are no guarantees, just choices, hope and time.

****
Uneñ Ameji
Author of Love on the 25th on Okadabooks http://goo.gl/hmsKnv
Follow @UnenAmeji on Twitter

M.O.T.I.V.E.S – Episode 8 (Series Finale)

Featured

Hey guys!

The final episode of M.O.T.I.V.E.S by Uneñ Ameji is here. As promised, this episode is unusually long. The compiled e-Book will be available for downloads soonest. We will keep you posted on that. Without plenty yarns, have fun and don’t forget to recommend reading.

M.O.T.I.V.E.S, a story set in old and modern-day Nigeria, is a riveting, stimulating, suspense-filled tale of a myriad of absorbing characters with Uneñ Ameji’s fluid style of delivering engaging stories of greed, love, lust and power that leaves her audience on the edge of their seats, guessing and usually clamoring for more.

The story features Nigerian Tycoon and powerhouse Bello Badmus. A man who gave power as he willed, a man who controlled Presidents, a man who put men and monsters in seats of power; Florence Ohiemi aka Naomi Mambutu and her identical evil twin Josephine Ohiemi aka KudiraT Sadika Bello who are ever in battle of wills – good and evil, where evil prevails.

In a thrilling twist, the events likened to a classic game of chess sees each piece on the board take power and lose it and take it all over again. An illusion of power, an illusion of control.

Find out if good or evil prevails after all.

Read all Episodes here

*****
Episode 8 – Series Finale

Victor Dakar – 28th August, 2011

“Business tycoon’s illegitimate son inherits estate” – News Dailys
“Chief Badmus Bello, Most Influential man in Africa disinherit family, names illegitimate son as next of Kin” – The Compatriot
“Pastor of TrueWord Evangelical Church of all Missions disinherited, mistress with love child revealed, wife files for divorce” – The True News
“Kole Badmus found dead in UK apartment, killer arrested” Concord Times
“Son, illegitimate heir to resume office, commission gas plant in Benin”
“President orders immediate relocation of the command center to Mubi, partners bordering countries” National Conscience

Several weeks after the reading of the Will at The Castle and Victor was still reeling from the effect. The increasingly sensitive expectations, suspicious managerial appointments, constant change of residence and flying out to The Castle every other week left him emotionally and physically tired. The unexpected silence from his mother despite her promise to explain why she walked him out of her life twelve years ago was more than maddening, if not frustrating. What ever happened to Bello’s wife? and her children? He wanted to know. The silence was uneasy and whenever he brought it up, she would say she had since released them. Where were they if she released? He expected some form of resistance but for the past months, it had been anything but that.
He roamed the premises of the new residence his mother had ordered they stay, like a caged cat. He had so many questions and unfortunately he wasn’t getting them. The resounding silence that answered back every single time the questions and doubt came to him made him want to scream and curse but he couldn’t. The last thing he wanted to look like was a weakling. Somehow Charity made him want to be stronger, better and that was enough for him.
He had waited with abated breath days after the reading of the Will for the headlines. And they didn’t disappoint him. They were all about him and Kudirat Bello but none about their arrest. That was suspicious but that was the least of his problem. His problem was overseeing his father’s company. His call to appoint new Board members was met without a fight and now the ongoing acquisition process left him winded. He remembered the headlines again, made up new ones and took a deep breath. Definitely it was going to look fishy – selling his father’s company barely five months after taking over as the Chief Executive Officer. He was highly conflicted.
The headlines went from hateful to furious, then to comical in the last months. It was as if the News houses wanted to outdo each other with derogatory headlines about him and Bello’s wife. The media had also been agog with tales of the Pastor Debola who had an affair with a church member and a bastard son. The embittered wife had since taken him to the cleaners but report was that the man was yet to defend himself nor did he show up at preliminary hearings. If there was ever a time he regretted the day he met Charity, it was now.
“You mustn’t look so sad” it was Charity in his boxers and cropped sleeveless see-through chiffon blouse coming up behind him as he walked in the cool garden. The two had remained inseparable since the reading of the Will and he was beginning to love and hate her at the same time.
“What’s fucking wrong with picking up your phone and calling your son?” he voiced loudly the moment she offered him the hot mug of black coffee she was carrying from the house.
Charity was also tired of the series of calls and instructions Naomi passed across. If it was not submitting a petition at the court, it was leaving a new house in the dead of the night. Moreover Victor was beginning to irritate her with his insistence whining. Naomi was his mother after all and with her new siblings, she absolutely refused to be dragged further into the Bello Badmus vortex.
He was dead and the group of evil men who were involved in her father’s disgraceful death lay in burnt pieces. As far she was concerned, she had gotten her revenge. All she wanted now was her Grandma and something told her Naomi would not find her in-house sex activity with her son so agreeable. It was time to cut the cord – whatever that meant.
In the last months, she had also endured series of outings at the Federal High Court following Naomi’s directions to initiate legal proceedings contesting the content of Bello Badmus’s Will. The woman was highly contradictory. Why would one contest a Will that left her son the sole heir? To what end? But she did not question the directive and she had filed the petition that was leaked to the press causing another week of embarrassing headlines. That also was the beginning of the Court house charade that lasted months. She served petitions refraining Victor from taking over his inheritance until a paternity test be carried out, petitions preventing him for carrying out his duties, petitions preventing for even stepping in the Castle. The result was always the same – Denied.
As a legal representative to her siblings, she had simply made a mockery of herself. The Newspapers and soft sells had a good time calling her degrading names even going as far as comparing her to her greedy father. The judge had thrown out the petition after she failed to provide her clients for testing. A fault of Naomi who wouldn’t produce the Pastor who was having his own episode of shaming and Laide whose mansion was being repossessed by the bank.
It was all happening so fast.
How the gossip magazine got their stories about her relationship with her clients didn’t bother Charity. She knew Naomi was playing a game but what game? The media loved the sordid tale of affair between her father, Nigeria’s top activist George Ajero and wife of Chief Badmus, Kudirat Bello. Their lives splashed across soft sells and major Newspaper houses were a distraction to what was going on at The Castle. It wasn’t long before Nollywood titles such as Corporate Whore in Hasso Rock made top Naira in the market.
If there was an angle to the circus, Charity was beginning to suspect that Naomi was using the distraction to her advantage and it wasn’t until Naomi told Victor to nominate new Board members and had instructed her to head the merger and acquisition team for the purpose of an outright take-over while offering a ridiculous price Naomi referred to as a bailout did she realize the grand plan of the woman. Naomi Mambutu wanted Bello Badmus’s company and had worked tirelessly to get it. One had to respect the woman’s tenacity.
“It is going to be fine” she reassured Victor by rubbing his back as she moved to go back to the house. Victor knew he was going to sign the finalized agreement in less than 24 hours and he was agitated. He was torn between preserving his father’s legacy and acting on the instructions of his manipulative mother.
“I am tired of being caught in the middle of all these” he said as he stopped her by holding on to her upper arm, stopping her from leaving.
“Me and you both” Charity tried a smile that was plastered on her face that was suffering from a major breakout.
“What does she want with his company? I can’t understand why she would keep moving us, getting all those people voted in and buying the company?” he struggled to understand and for a moment, Charity saw the conflicted child.
“Either ways, you get a good percentage. You are her son after all. What does it matter who has the company?” Charity voiced, looking away as Victor moved closer to lift her chin.
“I don’t care about being on the Board or working in any of their companies. I know she is using me and will throw me out again. She has done it before” he watched her bite her lower lips and smiled.
“You don’t believe me” he noted throwing the cup of hot coffee on the perfect lawn.
“I should?” she asked with a small smile.
“Yes, yes you should” he gave a rare smile as he found her hands and held her softly, massaging them in circles.
“Don’t” she said prying her hands from his manipulation.
“What are you going to do when all this is over?” Victor asked as they stared at each other.
“Is there an end in sight?” Charity chuckled.
“I should hope so” Victor chuckled as well and she laughed.
“Well, I will take a vacation with my grandmother” Charity said wistfully
“You have a grandmother…where is she?”
“Oh I don’t know” she shook her
“What do you mean you don’t know?” he asked finding her eyes shifting around without focusing on him.
“Naomi has her” she stated painfully, looking at her feet before removing her hands and walking back to the three bedroom bungalow sitting on a large green perfectly mowed lawn.
Victor stood watching her walk away. He didn’t stand a chance with her, his parents made sure of that.
Angered, he made to go after her when he noticed the greyish green metallic gate open and black sedan drove in.
It was his mother.
“About time too” he muttered under his breath as he watched the car drive into the parking lot.
*****

Florence Ohiemi, 26th August, 2011

Florence knew the decision to buy the company didn’t go down well with Victor. The decision was arrived at after she listened to Bello’s plan at getting rid of her and her son. Moreover, with the series of meetings she had attended with Jafal, she came to realize that several subsidiaries were mainly a cover for the funds that somehow found their way to purchasing arms and training more recruits. It funded their operations and buying the company was the only legal and smart way of cutting off the funding of the terrorists activities. She knew that to stop flow of funds, she had to handle the affairs of the company. The chip she had left behind on impulse after recording the meeting had brought her the greatest revelation and idea. Every other meeting, she improved to include photos and videos. If she was going to get Bello, she damn well was going all rhw way. All she had to do now was get Inale who remained adamant at being called Victor aware of the the situation.
Bello had been supportive over the past months, teaching her how to behave like Kudirat so that the 7-man group would not discover she was an impostor. Florence laughed at such lessons. Who was he fooling? Himself definitely. He acted as one who had her interest at heart. She followed Jafal to several meetings with the service chiefs, the arms dealers and group members. It wasn’t surprising to find sponsors from international community at such meeting and as always, she recorded the conversation on her phone and where possible took discrete photographs of the faces of the men she didn’t know. Every meeting was more deadly than the last. She knew she was risking her life but what had to be done had to be done.
When she had gathered enough evidence, she had excused herself by saying she needed to take care of domestic issues. Akin, the Vice President was more than happy to follow Jafal on his meetings.
“I see that your illegitimate son is still handling affairs” it was Jafal on their last trip together.
“It seems I must be present or do everything myself” she said refering to failure of her hit men to carry out the assignment.
“You must let the boy go soon. We are going to need more funds after the blast and you must be positioned to get us the funds” Jafal said almost in a sneer. If Florence had not heard the discussion Jafal and Bello had about her, she would have believed she was being taken serious. But it all worked to her advantage.
The irony was, while they thought they were playing her, she was the one playing them. It suited her well enough. On one hand, she was taking over his company, on the other she was gathering enough evidence to nail their coffins firm and save millions of lives that would be at stake if their plans succeeded. The only problem however was that she had no idea when the attack was going to happen. Somehow, they never mentioned it in their meetings.
“Make sure the boy is gone within a week. We can’t hold off any longer” it was Jafal as she got into her private car she had waiting for her at the Nnamdi Azikiwe airport.
“That will be done Sir” she said playful and left him there.
“Ganbo, where is my son now?” she asked her ever faithful driver and body-guard of over thirty years. He had been with her through the years and his loyalty rivaled none.
“I took them to a new place” he answered as he greeted her and opened the door for her.
“Take me there please” she said as they left the airport.
“We are being followed Ma” he said as he watched a car follow them out of the airport.
“Lose him” she directed almost politely.
“Yes Ma” and he did lose the tinted car.
It was only fair that she played their game and win them at it.
The need to see Victor as soon as possible arose because he refused to sign the document after the newly inaugurated Board approved the sale and witnesses had signed their part. Charity made sure of it but failed to persuade or force her son. She knew of their affair but that was not an issue she bothered about. She smiled as she saw him stand impossibly tall and proud. If only he knew.
She came out as soon as Ganbo parked and opened the door for her. She stretched and gave a tiring smile. She was exhausted but she knew it was not yet time for rest. She had few more errands to run.
She walked in her unhurried fashion to the entrance of the house. He stood watching her approach, hands in pocket, lips held tight.
“Such a cozy property” she tried a jab. He didn’t return it. They stared at each other wearily before she smiled and nodded at Charity who came out on hearing the car drive in
“Good evening mother” he greeted finally as she beamed at him before walking past him to the house. They followed her.
“So how have you been?” Florence tried a chit-chat as she sat down comfortably taking in the quiet surrounding. Charity offered a drink she refused to take. There were no friends in the game.
“As you have commanded” Victor returned with a childish air. Florence smiled passively as she made to get her phone from her bag, unhurried.
“I suspect you have issues with signing the document” Florence said to no one in particular.
“I would hesitate too if I were you. However you must believe the worst of me to think I will take over a man’s life work without good cause. I have been away a lot because there were things, people I had to meet, information that would benefit a lot of us” she continued leisurely as she found the files she was looking for on her phone.
“I would like you both to listen to these recordings and watch the videos. Let me know if you still have issues signing the documents. Charity, you have done well. The balance of your fees will be paid into your account but first, you two will be flown out tomorrow” Florence stated easily as if she were talking to her staff.
“Is she doing well?” Charity’s voice shook, her eyes misting at the thought of finally seeing her grandmother, not believing that the end had come, on a day she least expected it.
“What makes you so sure that I am going to sign those documents?” Victor asked, cocky as he stood up at her signal.
“This will” Florence said as she pressed the play button, dropped her phone and leaned back with eyes closed.
The voices flooding the cozy cream-colored room and warm red furniture soon had Victor shifting and looking at the face of his mother. Every word, every minute was revelatory. Charity and Victor sat frozen to their seats, goose pimples running on the surface of their skin as plans after plans were revealed. As one meeting finished, Florence would press the next button and more of the plans were revealed until it got to the voice recording of Bello Badmus and Jafal plotting their death.
80 minutes of listening to the recording and watching raw footage of videos from her top-level meetings achieved the effect she knew was needed to push the sales through. Of course she could decide to force him into signing the documents but it wasn’t necessary. The boy should know exactly why he had to sell his father’s company and shouldn’t be denied the exhilarating feeling of revenge.
Victor sat stunned as the last recording played out. Without being told, he knew who the person in the last recording was and he knew exactly what they meant when they said there was need to get rid of him.
“You understand why I do what I do now?” it was Florence putting her phone into her bag.
“Bello Badmus is alive?” it was more of a statement than a question. Charity knew that voice in her sleep.
“Yes” Florence confirmed.
“And he wants me dead” Victor completed standing up and squeezing his eyes shot. The rush of emotions blinded him momentarily. His own father wanted him dead – for a company he didn’t even want.
“I didn’t ask him to make me his heir! Why did he have to make me his heir only for him to turn around and kill me?” it was a shout.
“I think he enjoys the game he plays” it was Florence, calm.
“He is going to kill you too. You knew he was alive?” he asked again, taking a new sofa.
“I knew he was alive, I was aware of the simple plan of him playing dead so that we could catch my evil sister and expose her lies and plans to eliminate him for the cabal. It was for a good cause he said. I had no idea Josephine was going to go big with her bomb blast. I suppose it served his purpose just as well” Florence wasn’t sure anymore on why she had agreed with him to work on the plan of making her sister pay for her deeds. The game plan had since changed and she knew Bello had been taking her for a ride.
“What is the story with your sister?” Victor asked, watching his mother carefully as he saw a rush of cloud wash down her countenance.
“She sold me to some spiritualist when I was pregnant with you. She married your father after destroying our relationship. She killed my assistant and tried to kill you the day I sent you away, with the help of Charity’s father of course. She would have killed you when you started working at The Castle as a driver. I had Ganbo frame you up and bail you out the next day. I couldn’t allow her find you in your father’s employment. Ganbo leaves you for a week and you find yourself some trouble no?” Florence gave a small smile as she remembered the panic attack she had suffered when Ganbo who had taken a leave of one week reported on resumption that her son was now in employment of Bello Badmus. She had sacked Ganbo’s replacement with immediate effect.
Charity looked away as Florence looked at her when she mentioned her father being part of the plan to eliminate Florence and her son.
“So I take you have scores to settle with your sister” Victor said as he watched his mother with awe.
“That is correct” Florence answered simply.
“After working with him, Bello wants you dead” Victor repeated
“From his conversation, yes”
“Why?” Victor pressed.
“Why is the devil evil?” Florence answered
“Because he is the devil?” Victor tried dry humor and they shared a private chuckle.
“Exactly”
“So what is the plan?”
“Get those documents signed and get you out of here” Florence sat up.
“I mean about you” Victor continued
“I have work to do” Florence volunteered freely.
“Those people, they are responsible for the terror in the North East” Victor said after a moment of silence. He saw his mother in new light and respect. He knew that to have had access to the recording, she must have taken risks. Not only had she saved their lives, she had gone at the expense of her life to save the State. He was proud to call her mother.
“Yes”
“And you intend to expose them” he questioned like a little child, Charity was getting irritated at the questions.
“That’s the plan” Florence smiled at the easy rapport and wondered what their relationship would have been like if there were no craziness.
“How do you intend to do that?” it was Charity.
“I may have to find a way to the President but even he can’t be trusted. He may be compromised”
“I may know someone” she supplied helpfully.
“And who is he?”
“She. Omoni Osagie” Charity continued.
“How sure are you about her integrity?” Florence was skeptical and watching for signs of betrayal.
“I can stake my life on it” Charity vouched strongly
“And how do you know this Omoni?” Florence asked
“She saved my life, paid my way through law school and she is married to Peter Osagie” she offered as they both looked at her with blank stares. “The acting Director General of the DDSS” she volunteered.
“We should set up the meeting” it was Florence. She had heard that name mentioned behind Jafal’s back by the other members of the group but she wondered why they all couldn’t mention his name in Jafal’s presence. The joke was that this man was the only one who could stop Jafal. If this was the man, it was good.
“We should” Victor added looking at his mother before breaking into a full smile at her raised eyebrows.
There was no need for words. When life is threatened by a common enemy, forces are joined. Florence had no doubt about that.
*****

Bello Badmus – 26th August, 2011
Bello Badmus sat in his recliner chair and sipped his drink. All was working according to plan.
Daba had finally located where Florence had taken Kudirat and her children. The same building! She seemed to be more careful than usual at first then she got careless. He found it surprisingly though that she stayed away from Inale. If she did, Daba did not report it.
Florence entertained him, with her double entrees and eagerness at playing his wife and her twin sister, Kudirat at the same time. He laughed out loud as he remembered the first time he met her. He remembered the first night he had her, how eager and naive she had been – eager to please, eager to be pleased. He remembered the bright pink coloration of her labia the first time he had kissed her maiden head. It was breathing hot and shy. He smiled as he remembered the dark skin coloration of Josephine’s labia and mole just beneath her abdomen. The sisters maybe identical but they deferred where only him knew. Their sex.
He had figured that out the next semester after his first night with Josephine. At the beginning of the semester in January, Josephine was impersonating Florence, coming as Florence to his house, asking that they forget about her sister – Josephine and harping on about continuing from where they stopped. He knew Florence would never push that much but then it had not dawned on him. The feeling and conversations were simply different and when they made love, it was too hurried and loud. Florence was anything but loud.
Night and after night until he stumbled on it. The mole and coloration.
His first reaction had been anger at being played and he had thought about going to confront her. If the sisters were playing on his intelligence, it was time to stop it. But when he told Sule, his closest step-brother, Sule had laughed and told him to play along and date the two sisters. If they wanted a game, Sule suggested he played along. The idea had been perfect, even desired but no matter who he met, there was the mole and the dark coloration. And the sex was fast, loud and sweaty. It was then he began to suspect that Florence wasn’t Florence but Josephine. After being pressed, Josephine (now impersonating Florence) revealed that her twin sister – Josephine had deferred her admission from nursing school. That had been the lie that raised his antenna. He should have called her on it but then he let the game play for so long that he let it continue. After all he was going to get rid of her when he got tired of the game.
Why he had gone ahead with the game of deceit to the point of marrying Josephine, he never knew. Perhaps it was because he wanted to hurt Florence for deserting him. After few months, he went back to his old style of having many girls on campus. When Josephine claimed she was pregnant for him, he knew the game was over and he had lost. Confronting her about impersonation her left Josephine threatening to get him kicked out of school and had gone ahead to ingrain herself with his father. His father had immediately insisted they marry and when Josephine had decided to convert to Islam for the sake of unity, his father was ecstatic.
He regretted playing the game but there was nothing he could do. They were married months later and both of them had continued having affairs until Josephine had fallen in love with George. There was no way he was going to let her enjoy being in love when she had denied him the same. The affair with George had been to spite him, he was sure. He was not a jealous man but even he had pride and there was no way he would allow himself be cuckolded. Nothing had made him happier than when the he-goat had been killed. It was the perfect punishment for the crime of impersonation and adultery.
When his father died shortly after their marriage, Bello began his search for Florence but she had simply vanished. It was not until Naomi Mambutu appeared on the radar after so many years that he found who he was looking for.
The random checks of high-profile investors in his multimillion Naira produced the woman he had being looking for for years. Florence was Naomi Mambutu and like a bee to a flower, he couldn’t resist going after her once more.
The walk on the beach in Seychelles had been planned. With Sekinat in his hands as the perfect excuse to be on a holiday, he walked into her blindly on a cool breezy day. The breath had gone off her lungs as soon as she saw him and he could see her trying to decide what cause of action. He didn’t allow her though.
“Florence” he had called, surprised and holding on to her hand as he pulled her up.
“What?” Florence muttered, looking away.
“Florence Ohiemi!” he continued holding her, ignoring Sekinat who was always more than eager to follow him around the world offering bald pussy service.
“My name is Naomi”
“Naomi Mambutu? A major shareholder in my company?” he asked, eyes fixed on hers. Florence had smiled then and he had too.
“Naomi, yes” she recovered, shaking his hand.
“I know you are Naomi Mambutu but to me, you are Florence”
“Who is Florence?”
“The first and only woman I ever loved” he said casually still watching for a crack in her face.
“I see” she said walking away, baffled at his utterance and shaking at facing Bello so many miles away from home and unprepared.
“You look so much like her” he continued, trailing after her.
“I am sure” Florence answered as she walked to her house by the beach.
“Please tell me. You are Florence. I know you are and I am not going anywhere unless you tell me who you really are” he said simply, looking boyish with grey hair and ridiculously long eyelashes and fading pink lips.
“I am Naomi Mambutu and I don’t know what or who you talking about” Florence had feigned ignorance and gone into her beach house.
Bello had smiled at her denial and remembered what it had felt like to chase her over thirty years. Sekinat was sent back to Nigeria the next morning.
He would court Naomi Mambutu the rest of the week. Offering rides, flying her out to lunch, sitting outside her house at sunset and sharing a cold bottle of wine as they shared tales of travels, funny experiences and favorite foods. He was sure Florence had fallen again. The first night they kissed under the receding moon, he knew she was Florence and when he had her in bed that night, his first point of call was her labia. He was not wrong..…they were bright pink, hot and shy.
He had found his Florence.
When she revealed she was indeed Florence and had a son for him, he knew it was not long before things changed. Her tale of finding him married to her sister, George’s affair with his wife and what hand she had in setting him up for his final fall flowed freely. The weeks that followed, he revealed that Josephine had plans to kill him for the cabal and take control of investments possibly to fund the budding terrorism in the State and like his sweet naive mouse, she had swallowed his story and she had gone with the flow.
It was sad that her darling son was going to go but now that he had caught a glimpse of his son in the news, he was having a rethink. Perhaps he could let the boy live. The problem was getting him to do what he wanted. Would he be as pliant and cooperative as his mother? What would he do if he found out that the subsidiaries were covers for illicit operations? What would Florence do? Leave him? Inale was definitely going to the press. He couldn’t allow that. They had to go. Too much at stake and he was one who loathed loose ends.
Just then, the business headline news caught his attention. The Newscaster was saying the sale of his company had being finalized and the new company was being introduced shortly before a clip of Victor shaking an unknown man filled his screen. He knew the company that bought his company. It was Naomi’s!
His roar was enough to bring the house down as he sped into his room where Florence had been last night.
“Florence! Florence!! Naomi!” he called furiously, his heart beat increasing exponentially as Daba came forward.
“Where is she?”
“She has gone out”
“When?” he asked already planning
“Since morning”
“I see” Bello knew something was wrong.
“Get ready, call Sekinat, I need you both for a quick trip” he said as he walked to his room and opened his electronic save hidden behind Florence’s painting.
*****

Josephine Ohiemi – 28th August, 2011

Josephine had since given up on escaping or being released. It had been months since Florence had locked her up in the private quarters. The environment was always quiet, humming.
Some days she was convinced Florence had forgotten about her and other days she waited for the day she would come and pull the trigger. The recent change in treatment was welcomed but worrisome too.
Her meals had changed and she was allowed to bath and change into clothes provided for her. It was after such mornings that she found Florence sitting in her cleaned new room.
“You startled me” Josephine said as she came into the room from the bathroom.
“What did I ever do to you?” it was Florence, sitting on the side single sofa and watching her sister move around the room in her pair of white cotton trousers and navy blue blouse.
“What?”
“Your countless plans to kill me, taking what belongs to me…..all of it, Why?” Florence asked as she unfolded her arms to reveal a pistol. Josephine froze.
“Florence” she called gently, taking a seat on the bed as Florence signaled her to.
“Yes, I am listening”
“Don’t use that, please” Josephine begged.
“That’s a first. The deadly Josephine, wife of influential Bello Badmus, begging” Florence said, waving the gun.
“Florence, you need to understand it wasn’t about you. It was about me, I was just evil” Josephine excused
“I was hoping you wouldn’t use the ‘this has got nothing to do with you’ line” Florence mimicked and stood up as Josephine flinched. After five months in captivity with four of those months living in deplorable condition, Josephine knew Florence was not the person she knew.
Florence watched her sister squirm and smiled. It was surprising that she lived her life for this moment and now that it was here, she wondered why she had wasted her emotions on her all those years. Her drive for revenge on her sister and Bello had kept her up at night, planning, scheming. She felt better as Victor and Charity were flown out that morning. She had driven herself out of Bello’s mini Estate after instructing Ganbo to load his private plane with explosives in the dead of the night before asking him to take the evidence to the man in Mubi. She remembered the serene happy look on Bello’s face as she left him that morning. It would be the last look she would remember him with.
“I see you haven’t heard the news” it was Florence, going back to sit down. The urge to pull the trigger since leaving her.
“No” Josephine answered shaking her head.
“Bello is alive”
“Bello is dead” Josephine said darkly.
“No, he is not but he will soon be” Florence confirmed, eyes firmly on her sister with the ready silencer.
“I killed him. He was blown up” Josephine argued
“You blew up an empty casket”
“No. He was pushed. I arranged that”
“You didn’t push himself Josephine. Moreover, he was on to you from the beginning, well not exactly from the beginning. At some point, I believe Jafal must have sold you out for the seat of the President”
“That is not possible. I saw him lie in that coffin!” Josephine argued
“Are you sure it was Bello you really saw him?” Florence laughed at the expression on her sister’s face. It was the one of being played a terrible joke.
“No” it was barely above a whisper.
“Your husband is alive sweet sister and he has been really busy with Jafal”
“And you? How do you know all these?”
“I have been busy as well” Florence gave a small smile as she pointed the gun at her sister again.
“Wait! Before you shoot me, where are they?”
“Who?” Florence chuckled knowingly.
“Where are my children? Please” it was the first time Josephine referred to her children with the look of utter surrender on her face.
“They are safe. I don’t know for how long though. Somehow, Bello knows where they are and I heard him say he was going to kill them and then you, if I don’t get to it soon”
“Please don’t let him get to them. They have nothing to do with this and Kole needs to be warned”
“Kole is dead Jose” Florence informed pitifully.
“Noo! Noooo!!” she shouted and began to shake and sob. Kole was her favorite mostly because he reminded her of his father, her first love.
“Nooooo! Noooooooo!!” Josephine broke down in tears, heartbreaking sobs escaping her lips. Florence sat through it.
“How did it happen?” Josephine asked finally, standing up and going to the water dispenser that had been placed in her room the night before. She knew she had to distract Florence and collect the gun from her hand. A plan came to her. It was now or never. She chose now.
“He was slaughtered in his UK apartment. His body found after many days” Florence said, standing up noiselessly as she watched her sister fill the glass cup. She was smiling.
“Of course he did! The bastard, the devil, I will kill him, I will kill him” she cried, swearing, her eyes erstwhile downcast shone with revenge and in a blink of an eye turned around to pour the glass of hot water on Florence with the intention of blinding her to take the gun.
Only it wasn’t hot water. The water dispenser had been tampered with to produce only lukewarm water. The look on Josephine face as she noticed Florence standing without flinching gave Florence all the joy in the world as she shot her sister on her right shoulder blade.
Josephine screamed at the impact of the bullet, her shoulder blades enveloping in heat and pain as she landed on the perfectly laid white bed.
“I was hoping you would do that”
“Florence, Florence, don’t. Please I beg you”
“Close your eyes, pray for forgiveness from where you may get it”
“Florence please, forgive me”
“I will see you in the afterlife. Say hi to Bello and George” Florence said wickedly before pulling the trigger at pointblank range.
The scream that started died in Josephine’s throat and calm soon returned to the room.
*****

Peter Osagie – Mubi, 28th August, 2011
It was Farah who told Peter to take residence with the traditional bone setter who served the community in his red old hut built as an attachment to new stalls in the old community market that had since grown to include new houses and stalls for traders. The house attached in the rowdy community had dried herbs and animal parts hanging out in the open.
Peter had arrived Mubi with his team in disguise. With grown beards and dirty kaftans, they made their way to the man who was to give them a cover. Farah swore he trusted the old man and he knew they would blend into the community with the old man as their master. But it was a set up. Farah’s identity had been compromised and for his life, he had told Peter what Yakubu told him to. Although Farah did not understand why his boss and colleagues had to be put under surveillance, he knew that their assignment had been compromised but there was nothing he could do about it especially as he had been tied among the other captives.
On arrival in April, the old man had received them warmly as he took to the task of setting the bone of one of the locals. That night, he had discussed the problem of the insurgent with Peter deeply, speaking in Hausa and vigorously defending the people taking the law into their hands and fighting the Boko Haram. The old Mallam pointed fingers at the governors and financial faceless backers who unfortunately were untouchable.
Peter followed the story quietly and seemed interested in what the man had to say although he was unconvinced. He couldn’t quite place it but he knew something was amiss.
“These people caused this menace, now it has become war, they leave the community to pay for it” he said indignantly in good English. Peter was surprised at his clarity of facts but refused to show his shock or question his sources.
Days turned to weeks and weeks into months and still they were not closer to real evidence of sabotage than they were when they came. It was one attack after another, the terror spreading and residents going about their daily activities with trepidation. The so-called command center gathered no intelligence that was substantial, if anything it seemed it was a hopeless cause with soldiers conducting themselves without rules of engagement and high-profile officers reporting wrong figures to the Head Quarters and news outlet. The figure of casualty was always reduced and number of bomb blasts reported rarely reflected the sporadic explosions across the state.
In reality, the soldiers were losing ground and the superior fire power of the Boko Haram members more than ever convinced Peter there was a plan for show down soon. The problem was timing.
Omoni was still adamant about her position on him being at the center of the deadly attacks. He reassured her of his safety times without number when he took breaks to see her. The last time she had evoked a promise. If nothing happened within the next month, he would come back and be with her as her delivery date drew near. And then her call had come in.
“Hey love” he called sweetly moving away from the other occupant of the room to answer her call.
“How’s my favorite husband?”
“Your only husband is sweating and missing you” he replied, smiling into the phone.
“Well, your days of sweating and missing me are over. It seems what you are finding in Mubi is right here in Abuja” she said, smiling and wishing she could see the look on his face.
“What do you mean?” he was on high alert.
“I got a call from Charity, remember her?”
“Yes, yes” Peter barely remembered her.
“She called saying there were voice and video recordings on the sponsors and some photos. She didn’t call names but she vouched for the authenticity of those recordings”
“Names and video recordings of the sponsors of these boys? I have to leave right away”
“No need. I mentioned you were in Mubi Township and the recording is on its way to you. I have not seen it but I have a good feeling about this. I really want you back her with me” she cooed.
“Very soon too”
“It had better”
“And how is he supposed to locate me?”
“I said to find the bone setter in Mubi Township, Mobil Market. The messenger is familiar with the part. You will know him when you see him”
“I hope so”
“I know Rambo” she teased and he laughed.
“Love you”
“Love you too” she returned and dropped the call to go check on her Irish potatoes she was boiling.
She had just finished lunch, barely an hour later when her doorbell rang.
Standing up heavily, she walked to the door and opened it. The man she saw there made her weak at the knees.
*****
Peter tried to call his wife throughout the day but the phone was switched off. How was it possible that her battery was off? Even the guard’s mobile rang off. He worried deeply and was considering making the trip down when his phone rang. It was her thankfully.
“Hello sweetheart” it was Omoni, her voice sounding rasp and heavy. Peter knew immediately something was wrong.
“What is wrong?”
“I …” and the phone was taken from her as she tried to answer the question.
“I suggest you think really carefully before you do anything with that list” it was a voice he would forever detest, that deep dark voice of a killer.
“Jafal” Peter called with heavy breathing.
“Father would be nice. How are you?” Jafal asked, watching his son’s wife shoot daggers at him with her eyes, she was a feisty one.
“If you as much as harm her, a strand of her hair and I swear I will find you and kill you” Peter threatened darkly.
“Common on son, you know I wouldn’t do anything to my grandchild. Congratulations by the way” Jafal dragged, almost laughing. This was the reason a man like him didn’t have a woman. It was always an Achilles’ heel.
“Let her go immediately” Peter commanded hotly, frustrated and trying to hide his fear. He knew what his father was capable of.
“Destroy those tapes and burn those lists son”
“And what tapes are you talking about?” Peter stalled.
“You know what I am talking about. If I do not receive a call to that effect, I am sorry I must vent my anger on someone” Jafal said darkly.
“And how would you know if I destroy these evidence against you that I don’t even have?” he asked, exasperated. He noticed the eyes of one man in the room shift continuously and his chest grew heavy with anger. A mole in the room.
“I have my sources. The ball is in your court. Get back here with your team or say goodbye to your wife and my grandchild. She tells me you are having a baby girl too” Jafal taunted before cutting the call abruptly.
“Jafal! Omoni! Hello, Hello!” Peter flung his phone on the wall and what remained of the phone fell to the ground as he looked around the room and charged at the man in dirty kaftan and brown beards.
“You!” he said rushing the old bone setter, raising him and smashing him on the wall. His group was beside him in a second and prying the old man from his hand. Umoru his second calmed him down.
Peter looked at Umoru, took a deep breath and left him fall to the floor in a boneless heap.
“Let me have your phone” he demanded quietly albeit fearfully.
“I don’t have a phone” he said in Hausa. The slap that would fling the man across the room mixed with the first sound of explosion miles away.
Umoru searched the old man’s body and produced a phone hidden in his girdle.
The old snitch’s phone provided the confirmation that the information indeed was right.
“Lock him up. Get the SWAT team up and send them to my house. My father has kidnapped my wife” Peter commanded before taking the motorcycle and heading to the Mobil market to wait for the list or whoever had it.
*****

Peter Osagie – Mobil Market, 30th August, 2011

The man in sparkling black suit and a definite spring in his step was not missed. Peter waited as he saw the man approach steadily.
“You are looking for the bone setter” it was Peter on the motorcycle waiting in front of the stall which housed the old snitch’s properties. He had since relocated his team to an abandoned blown up cathedral and was keeping the man in one of the pastor’s room that was largely unaffected by the fire.
“Yes” Ganbo answered the stranger and looked closely at the man. He looked like the picture he saw in the papers and online reports of the newly appointed Director-General of the DDSS. If he was not good at disguise himself, he would have missed him.
“Come with me” Peter said and brought the motorcycle to life as Ganbo hopped on and they drove out of the busy market few minutes before the first blast would start.
*****

The team watched the videos and listened to the recordings quietly. The cold silence and anger was targeted at only one man in the room. Ganbo’s father.
Ganbo had seen his father tied up the moment he had stepped into the room. Peter was particularly too angry to explain the situation but Umoru, his second in command explained to a disappointed Ganbo. The old bone setter was Ganbo’s adopted father and mentor. He had been instrumental to Ganbo’s upbringing as a man who stood for what was right and his belief that evil needed good men to stop it. After so many years, Ganbo was disappointed to see that the man he called father and held in high esteem was a traitor to his people, a gun for hire – like himself. The only difference was that he did correct evil and it made all the difference.
“I am disappointed in you father” it was Ganbo, eyes red shot as he watched the man he had admired growing up. It was sad that he had become the monster that spied on his community.
“I had no choice” the old Mallam said, tired and weak from the random beating Peter melted on him whenever he thought of the danger his wife and baby girl were in.
“You do. There is always a choice” Peter swore loudly as they heard the gun fire begin in earnest.
“The attack has started. What do we do now?” it was Umoru, looking at Dante and Scorpio. The duo rarely spoke but were quick with the guns and loyal to a fault.
“Jafal has Omoni, he will kill her if we get the names out” Umoru continued, turning to Peter who was calling the Ibro, the head of the SWAT team Umoru had assembled. Every hour counted and he couldn’t even imagine a world without Omoni. He would piece the beast he swore hotly.
“We must call in reinforcement” Peter was angered because the call wasn’t connecting and was about flinging the locally made phone at the wall. He couldn’t think straight. Umoru collected the phone and began to dial a number.
Peter could only sit still and hear the raid continue in the distance, as the massacre went on.
“Get me Mr. President” Peter announced thickly after 30 minutes of brooding silence. Umoru nodded and made the call.
*****

Eid el Fitr – 30th August, 2011

The day was a black day. Thousands of Nigerians lying dead as rain washed their blood from their stiff bodies.
The multiple attacks started at 9:20am and lasted through the day. The emboldened members went of a rampage, over powering the military barracks and camps in communities in Borno, Yobe and Adamawa states. Several coordinated suicidal attacks in hospitals, markets, mosques, churches, schools, filling stations and motor parks while they raided residential areas and captured women and young girls. The live stream of the destruction brought the country to a standstill leaving the entire country in mourning.
The military had gone on the defensive leaving their posts, running into hiding as the terrorists gunned them down, taking over major towns, burning their barracks, destroying government houses, police stations and major businesses owned by states and private entities. In some communities, the soldiers surrendered willingly as they gunned them down and marched the senior officers along with their convoy.
The mosques and churches had since been blown up and now the number of displayed persons rose from 10,000 to hundreds of thousands as some fled to neighboring countries while others ran into neighboring Nigerian states before coming to the capital to seek help.
Many families separated, mothers looking for their children, fathers looking for their wives, children lost and weeping as images of persons rushing to border towns for safety filled television stations. The international community and news centers had their spot light on the crises in Nigeria leaving many calling for the resignation of the President. He had failed his first and foremost obligation – to protect every Nigerian life and property, analysts say.
In less than 24 hours, the senate had convened and the move to impeach the President began. The citizenry drove the move as the President was yet to make a statement. There was simply no word from the Executive House and people worried that he was not affected by the dastardly act or more plausible, there was nothing he could do about it. He had failed the Nigerian state and must step down. The analyst called for a military government, other called for separation of state while others simply blamed corruption and past leaders.
However a few argued that the act was an attempt to frustrate the government into submission. These few people couldn’t have been any closer to the truth but the notion of simply sabotaging the government for sake of change of power by killing thousands of Nigerians was more than a larger group of activists and Nigerians could swallow and so did what every society would. They took to the streets as they called for resignation of the President, appealed for international help and condemned the attack in the highest regard before they retired at night to take a bottle of cold beer and steaming plate of peppered assorted meat over heated debates before taking to the streets the next day.
*****

The SWAT team moved noiselessly, steadily advancing the hideout where the signal of Omoni’s phone was strong. Omoni had taken an extra phone as she had being bundled out of the house and had sent Peter a text at night, nearly 72 hours after she was allowed to go alone to the bathroom to ease herself.
She had locked herself and sent the text promising to leave the phone transmitting when he was sure the team was ready.
The text had been received after Umoru had patched Peter’s phone up the night of the attack and he had sent it immediately to Ibro. In an hour, Omoni had requested that she be allowed to ease her bowels again. Tired and irritated, the bulky man guarding her allowed her as she placed a call and left the phone on top of the WC floater and returned to the room where she waited.
One by one, the snipers took out the men guarding the facility and Jafal who sat smoking his cigar in his bedroom and wondering where Bello had disappeared to, was the last one to discover they had been discovered. The game was up.
“Where is she?” it was Ibro as the team came in, taking down Daba who was too late in drawing his gun. Ibro advanced into the room, pointing the gun at Jafal at point-blank.
“Somewhere in the building” he said totally relaxed as they cuffed him minutes later and led him out to the bullion van.
The rescue of Omoni was swift and the news of Jafal’s arrest came with the release of the names of the cabal and the tape of violence in the morning of 3rd of July, 2011. Three days after the devilish attack.
Peter had left Mubi on the eve of the blast leaving his team behind. He couldn’t stay another hour despite the threat of possible attack. He drove his bike to the nearest town, passing bodies and meeting roadblocks set up by the members of the sect. when asked who and where he was going, he simply said he had a message from Yakubu to deliver to their sponsor in Taraba state. The lie was well received and immediately they let him pass as he looked and talked like a holy warrior from Syria. He took an abandoned truck at the outskirt of Maiduguri, hot wiring it and driving for hours, stopping only to refill his tank at deserted filling stations.
He arrived Abuja 24 hours after the attack and had attached himself to the rescue team. The moment he found her seating beside the bulky man she had knocked with a stool and shot with his gun, Peter was laughing with relief as he rushed to her side. She smiled as she saw him and as she made to get up, her water broke.
“On my God, Oh my God” she was saying in a laugh as he carried her off her feet and members of the SWAT team came to secure the room.
“Is it time?” he asked as he carried her out of the house and saw his father turn to look at him before they led him away.
“I don’t care. I just want her out already” Omoni gritted her teeth at her first pull of pain.
In less than 8 hours, Peter was a proud father. His fierce baby girl was bellowing and angry at being birthed 3 days early.
“She has your eyes” Peter comforted as he watched the feisty little tyrant sucking angrily at her mother’s milk breasts.
“She sucks like you too” Omoni said as Ibro entered the room.
“Sir, the president is on the line for you” it was Ibro. Peter after the rescue had sent Ibro with the package to be delivered to the president and ordered Ibro to begin arrest of the names on the list.
“Your excellency” he said into the phone as he eyed Omoni who was making a face.
“I am indebted to you. You have saved us, the country and me” he said. One could hear the relief in his voice.
“I believe you owe thanks to a certain Naomi Mambutu” he said repeating the name the man with the limb, Ganbo had told him.
“I will find her and do so accordingly. However, I need to make this official. Seeing as I have no Vice, would you consider having my back for the next 6 years?” the President asked and Peter laughed heartily.
“I am honored Mr. President but I would rather serve than lead” he answered, looking at Omoni.
“Thank you Peter. I shall speak to you soon”
“What was that about?” Omoni eyed her husband with suspicion.
“He wanted a Vice” he said as he hugged both of them, his little one already asleep.
“And you refused” she confirmed.
“And I did”
“Good’ she answered cheerfully as he took her lips in a kiss.
*****

The recording, videos and photos had since become viral as arrests were made from all spheres. Kudirat Bello had been found dead in her house with a suicide note. The arrest of the service chiefs, his Special Adviser – Nurudeen Soyemi, Vice president – Akin Jolojolo, Jafal Asiedu and the well-respected Cleric shook the country amidst cheers of victory. Bello Badmus had since gone missing but to the populace, he was dead.
He was nowhere to be found and Peter knew he still had his work cut out for him. But Bello could wait. His family was paramount and Omoni wouldn’t hear of it. Perhaps in future he told himself as he watched his wife and baby sleep several days after they were discharged from the hospital.
The country turned vicious after initial celebration taking into the streets, armed and advancing on properties of the arrested men and destroying their businesses and properties. The wives, children and relatives of the evil men were rounded up too and brought in for questioning, Debola and Laide Bello inclusive. The Castle was flooded into by angry youths and it took the intervention of the Police to restore calm after burning buildings.
With appointment of new service chiefs, the quick clean of the Boko Haram group was swift. The funding had been stopped and French supplier caught while international help from the U.S, A.U, French and German countries poured. Analysts began a new discourse and the vote of confidence in the President increased as his impeachment proceedings came to a halt.
The new change brought about a change in war tactics and the flush of fleeing Boko Haram members from their camps revealed women and children held under captivity while several hundred members of the sect were killed and over two thousand captured awaiting trial.
And for the first time since Nigeria’s independence, the country was truly one.
*****

Epilogue

Venice, Italy – September, 2011
His sweet insistent tugging of her brown nipples made her toes curl with excitement, heart racing.
“Stop it” Charity stressed pushing him from her exposed breasts.
“I can’t. You make me sane” Victor tickled, pressing his length down her thighs
“My grandmother is right inside” Charity begged as she tried to leave his arms.
“Not until I have you wife” he said hotly before planting himself in her warmth. The words forming on her lips died a natural death as she welcomed him, holding on to him in the private pool as they enjoyed their first as a married couple.
*****

Nigeria, September, 2011
Florence watched as the private helicopter took off from the helipad and gave a small smile thumbing the remote in her hand.
“Goodbye Bello” she said as she pressed the button and the helicopter in the distance blew into pieces. It was only befitting that Bello Badmus died in flames, a bomb blast.

*****

Seme Border – September, 2011
The man in dirty rags crossing the Benin Republic border attracted little attention. He was sitting in the white bus with little luggage and as they were stopped and told to come down for routine checks, he came down and smiled at the patrol guard with the big head and flappy ears.
“Oga mi, abeg give me small money for bread naw” the patrol guard joked when it was his turn.
“Na you suppose give me some money” the man said in terrible pidgin.
“Where are you going?” the patrol man asked as he watched the dirty man, his face familiar.
“I am going to Cotonou” he replied in good English.
“Where is your passport?” the patrol man asked suddenly in haste to continue his search of other passengers as he saw a new car arrived at the border.
“I have it here” he said going to bring it out.
“Go, go, go” he waved the man away as he noticed his colleague approach the new car.
The man in rags smiled as he walked back to the bus and took his seat, scratching his fake horse beard with a deep satisfied smile on his face.
“Adebayor Kokoro Philips indeed” he muttered under his breath as Bello chuckled watching the patrol guard in rear mirror pocket clean crispy notes and waved the new car past, his private thoughts returning to him. His little Sekinat and Daba must have exploded in his private plane, he smiled wearily at his erection. Florence had won in the end, but did she really win? He asked himself humorously.
The old white bus continued its journey steadily and every mile, every hour took Bello closer to his destination – freedom, a new man. A man who could do as he pleased with his Cayman island account. Perhaps he could buy his company back, perhaps he could find Florence or find a new pastime. He chuckled at the revelation. He could do anything he wanted. Anything.
Whoever said evil did not prevail? Especially if he were wise like the ant who saved for rainy days.

THE END

*****
M.O.T.I.V.E.S is written by;
Uneñ Ameji
Author of Memoirs of a Justified Gold Digger on Amazon.com
See new book Love on the 25th on Okadabooks http://goo.gl/hmsKnv
W: http://bit.ly/1Il23U3
T: https://twitter.com/UnenAmeji

All Episodes here. Share, Comment, Enjoy.

Like Us on Facebook or Follow African Stories on Twitter and you’d never miss any of our postings.

Enjoy your weekend.

Cheers