Wewe – The Song

If you don’t know what Write Right is, you can see all the pictures from the Prize Giving Event HERE.

Those that were at the event will remember the superb performance given by the duo of vocalist Naomi Mac and guitarist Femi Leye on that day. The song is based on the Write Right 2 Winning Entry, Wewe by Ifeoluwa Watson. I got them to go into the studio to record the song and they produced this beautiful piece. Enjoy and share. 


Wewe Song Poster


FF on twitter @femileye @NaomiMac @ifewatson and @tundeleye :)

Boiling Pot Of Madness – 3



I’ve been on the case of freeing the Nigerian Citizen, Yusuf Ishaq held by security agencies for live-tweeting since hence didn’t post early. Our voices are rising and I ask that you join to pressure the government to disclose his whereabouts and release him or charge him to court.


Today, we have @DisFeMISef with the continuation of BPOM…believe me when I say today’s post is so totally awesome and jaw dropping..Share comments and feedback with us, would mean a lot to us all..Enjoy


Dimeji Femi Harold

Afonja smiled.

Everything was going according to plan. Better than planned even. The nation had had no idea what hit them. He smiled again. Finally, his people would no longer have to live with those barbaric and uncivilized northerners, nor would they have to grapple with the thieving Easterners, nor would they have to suffer those idiot slouches from the South.

OluwaseungbogboAlayaki was a big man. He had a high forehead and deep set, cruel eyes. He had a large nose with comically large nostrils. And his black lips were small in comparison to the rest of his face. He was the leader of the OPC. His followers had decided to call him ‘Afonja’. Afonja was the equivalent of a Field Marshall in Ilorin which was then under the control of the Oyo empire. Afonja had engineered a successful rebellion that had taken Ilorin outside of the Oyo empire’s rule.

This was exactly what the present day Afonja was doing now. He was taking his Yoruba people outside the rule of this oppressive country, ruled by people who were not fit to tie his shoelaces. It was a fitting name.

The OPC had dwindled. They were no longer the force they once were. Oh, he remembered with fondness and nostalgia all the mayhem they had caused in the late 90s and early 2000s. When the military faction had just broken off from the main party, led by their dear leader Ganiyu Adams.

Afonja was the next head.

He had vowed to take them back to their former glory. They had been feared. They had been revered. Those days were coming back.

He was looking over reports from various specialists on issues regarding boundaries for his new nation. The land of the Yorubas. He chuckled to himself as he imagined naming the country ‘New Ife’ or ‘Ife Tun Tun.’ Yes! That had a nice ring to it. He also had his computer before him giving him the latest information on what was going on. The easy part was over, now was the hard part.

They were going to have to negotiate peacefully with his other warlords as to how the nations would be divided. He still had his eye on Kogi and maybe even Edo state to add to his ‘Ife Tun Tun.’ He was liking that name more by the minute. The biggest problem was going to be Lagos. Afonja knew that the Yorubas had claims to it, but he was sure the other warlords were going to make a play for it too. He had a couple of plans on how to deal with these inconveniences though. He’s started putting them in motion ever since the plan had been revealed to them.

This brought him to think about the ‘Iron Lady’ Margaret. He laughed. She thought she was smart bringing four warlords together, but she was way over her head here. He had to hand it to her though, her plan was brilliant, but she was too much of an idealist. This was all for the best, this way, everyone would be happy. His belief was that the best thing for Margaret to do was to disappear, that was unlikely though, as he fully expected her to be dead by now. There had been no place for her in the grand scheme of things. She had played her part brilliantly. When she had told them of the plan to execute the Executives and how to go about it, the opportunity was glaring. In fact, it was he who had persuaded the others to agree to the separation. The politicians that could have stood in their way were either dead or too scared to do anything. Margaret was too much of an idealist to agree with the plan for separation. She was gooey eyed and believed that with the executives out of the way, the nation could move forward in peace. Afonja knew this was impossible. It was impossible simply because it was never meant to be in the first place. So on hearing the plan, Afonja just tweaked it a little. In separate nations, they could all progress. It was a pity Margaret had to die. But that was the way it was, sacrifices had to be made.

An assistant came in. He saluted and held out a phone.

“Sir, won pe yin”


The assistant didn’t respond, but he looked uneasy. Afonja grabbed the phone.


He heard the voice on the other end and froze.

He couldn’t believe it.

Speak of the devil.

It was Margaret

Afonja tried to stay calm.

“What the hell was that? I don’t remember agreeing to this?”

Her tone irritated Afonja. She was a woman, she had no right to talk like this, like she was ordering him or looking down on him. But he kept his cool and answered,

“We made a few adjustments to the plan”

“And I wasn’t a part of it,” Margaret asked. “You tried to take me out of the picture?”

“I’m sure you understand Margaret, it’s for the greater good” he answered smoothly.

She was incensed.

“No! No! No! No! No! No! No!” she exclaimed. She was silent for a while. Then she exhaled. “You will all regret tangling with me.” She said this in a quiet, dangerous voice. Afonja had to admit he was a little uneasy.

“We can work this out Margaret. Come, let’s have a meeting.” She didn’t answer. He knew she was considering it.

“Goodbye Afonja”

“Wait Margaret, let’s try a…”

She had hung up. Afonja gritted his teeth. The nerve! He gripped the phone rather tightly. Then he stopped himself. He relaxed.

This was just an annoying little obstacle, an inconvenience to the greater plan, he’d take care of it, and her.

She wants a battle ehn? Oh, she’ll definitely get one.

Afonja smiled.

Boiling Pot of Madness – 2

Today’s post is by the very efficient Dimeji @iStalkWriters, give it a read, leave a comment and share with everyone. Have a lovely day. Cheers!

We’ll be starting a book club very soon. Details should be up on the blog on Monday. 


Dimeji Femi Harold

There were screens on every flat surface in the room. They dotted the walls, the table, even the peephole on the door had been replaced with a state of the art infrared camera that could read heat signatures. It was connected to a screen on the side of the door where the occupant would ordinarily peer through to catch a glimpse of his guest.

There were no guests here. Everyone who came into this room had a reason for being here. A reason and clearance. You had to have a reason for being in a titanium bomb proof room buried 20 feet beneath the famous Zuma Rock accessible only by a special tube service which connected the room to Aso Rock, the National Assembly and the SSS headquarters. On a regular day the room would be completely empty save for the skeletal staff that operated in shifts to keep the machinery in top condition for a day such as this.

The room was full with nondescript men, clearance tags pinned to their chests all in a mad rush but going nowhere. They were moving helter-skelter like flies trapped in a bottle, each afraid for their lives, their nation and of the only woman in the room.

Miss Onyebuchibe Ogoegbulem was seated on a dais at the rear of the room where she could watch everyone but she could barely notice the flurry of activity. “Ogo” was what her mother called her, Margaret or Madam for everybody else. Her reputation had earned her the name of the former British PM. Her eyes were glued to the screens around the room. It was election day, 2015, the day touted as the day to replace June 12, 1993 in the annals of Nigeria history. Today would definitely make the history books but not for free and fair elections.


The first report had come in about an hour ago: the Lagos State Government House had been attacked. The SSS had been slow to respond. Then there were reports of explosions in Ibadan, Enugu, Port Harcourt.


Margaret was strolling in the compound of her top secret government-allocated villa when the explosions occurred. Eye witness reports claimed that Eagle’s Square erupted from the centre – like it was a volcano. The tremors shook the foundations of her villa. Her driver and bodyguard, Musa had dived out of harm’s way, completely forgetting his mandate to protect her. Margaret was still.

She had the benefit of foreknowledge so she knew exactly what was going on. That knowledge did not make the reports any more incredulous. When the reports of the kidnappings started to come in she could feel the men around the room simultaneously become apprehensive. With each new dial-in reporting another kidnapped Governor, they would all move a little faster, work a little harder, to locate the remaining and identify the perpetrators. They were completely unprepared.

When Michael Famutimi, a 71 year old veteran who still came to work because he said stopping would kill him, stood up and announced in dignified solemnity “The Eagle has been taken. I repeat. The Eagle has been taken” the room fell into deafening silence. Everyone was holding their breath. Margaret was the first to let hers go with a sigh. Then chaos followed: trained men and women in utter panic, as though letting go of the breath they held at bay had unleashed terror into the room. Perhaps it had, but not for Margaret, her sigh was one of relief.


They had done it. She had actually doubted that they could. But they had. Reports were still filtering in. RotimiAmaechi had just been taken, in a Peougot 206 of all things. The perpetrators had rammed into the convoy hurrying to return him to the safety of the government house from his polling station. The Lexus SUVs the Governor insisted on using were no match for the brutal force of the Ford F150 King Ranch the perpetrators had used.

She was proud of them, proud of herself. Because today was the birth of a New Nigeria. She had obeyed Nigeria’s call. The past few years she had become more and more disgusted with the politics of the Nigerian democracy. She could hear Nigeria calling to her, begging her to rid it of the vermin at the reigns of Africa’s giant. She obeyed.

For months she tried to do it on her own – assassination attempts via poison and the likes, but they always seemed to survive. She had once taken a shot at an Emir who was secretly funding the Islamist terror group Boko Haram, pulled the trigger herself from the rear seat of a Mercedes Benz G500. The monarch had been in critical condition but after two weeks in a Saudi Arabian hospital under heavy guard he had begun to recuperate.

It was frustrating for Margaret, having to try and fail, while the nation was in a steady decline. Then she hit gold in the most unexpected place. The groups she had spent her career hunting. She recognised something of herself in them, a passion for Nigeria, they were obeying the call just as she was. So she had gotten in touch with four of them, the most powerful; MEND, MASSOB, OPC and the terror of the moment, BOKO HARAM.

The night of the meeting where all their leaders had been convinced that a major arms deal would take place. They had been about to tear each other apart in the conference room when she walked in. They fell silent partly because they all knew her and her reputation partly in fear that they had come to the end of their respective lives. Then she began to speak and she laid out the plan and they agreed. She knew they would. Even the date had excited them, the day scheduled for the continuation of the old would be the birth of the new. New Nigeria.Shekau had whispered the phrase at the end of the meeting and they had all repeated it. They were kindred spirits, combined in their love for a nation in ruin and all they wanted was a new Nigeria.


So when the screens flickered and the images switched to a stage with the Nigerian flag as a backdrop everybody was surprised but Margaret. By the time anyone found out that the transmission was possible because of her override codes Nigeria would be safe. The whispers of confusion died out as the four most wanted men in the nation casually walked onto the stage together. To the people at home, some of these men were unknown, enigmas but to the people in this room, they were more familiar than family.

There was movement in the corner of the screen then one after the other, the kidnapped governors were ushered onstage at gunpoint. As the leaders claimed responsibility for the carnage, as they coldly executed each erstwhile sovereign she felt a swelling pride, a sense of accomplishment.

Shekau stepped forward. “Today is the birth of a new people. For the past 55 years we have lived in an arranged union. A union a product of as much thought as it takes to draw an image on a map. Named by a harlot. Today that is no more. We stand before you acknowledging and respecting our differences. The reason we have been struggling to create one Nigeria for half a century is because it is not meant to be. Today, Nigeria is no more.”


Margaret was in shock for the first time that evening. She left the room without picking even a pin. There had to be some mistake, a joke. This was not the plan. She got into her car, the black Lexus LS350 F roared to life as though sensing her urgency, it screamed its way onto the express as she headed straight for her villa. She needed to think, to strategize. Her confusion was responsible in part for her failure to notice the two F150s that were bearing down on her till it was almost too late.

The men in those trucks had been handpicked from all four sects, they were the best. The driver, Nnamdi, an MIT trained bomb specialist and car enthusiast chuckled and wondered to himself what kind of woman would drive a sports salon with matte black paint, blacked out lights and black rims, it was like a yahoo boy’s wet dream. When Margaret finally noticed the trucks, she smiled in her rear-view, flicked a switch on her dashboard and put her foot to the floor, hard. When all the lights in and on the Lexus went out and it suddenly rocketed out of reach of his headlamps, instantly blending with the night, Nnamdi’s question was answered.

Boiling Pot Of Madness – 1

So whilst I’m on break, fiction here on tlsplace is not. I’ll be posting a 4-Part series over the next weeks. It’s a collaborative work of three writer – Oladimeji (@iStalkWriters), Harold (@haroldWrites) and Femi (@disFemiSef). It’s called Boiling Pot of Madness, and I must tell you, it’s something. Read and enjoy. This 1st Episode is by Harold.


Dimeji Femi Harold

The Bayelsa State Coordinator of the NYSC, Mrs. Osarodion Eboma arrived as early as 5.30 am at the NYSC secretariat, Yenagoa to give a quick pep talk to corps members who were successfully recruited as ad hoc staff for the elections. Today was a memorable one in the history of the nation. Apart from it being the most anticipated election in the annals of the country’s history, it also marked exactly one year since the Islamic Militia sect, Boko Haram embraced the amnesty package given by the Presidency in 2014.

The international community had lauded the wisdom of the President in being proactive in packaging an efficient amnesty deal with the Islamic sect, even though till date no one knew the exact terms of the deal. Whatever it was, no one really cared anymore since the deal had proved to be successful. Ever since the leader of the Islamic militia sect announced on Youtube in 2014 that they had agreed to cease fire sine die as a sign of embrace of the amnesty deal, the country had experienced unprecedented safety. Boko Haram actually kept to their word; they went into oblivion – like they never existed. And as a sign of support for the country’s election today, they had posted a Youtube video the day before, wishing the country a successful election. Such was the harmony which existed between them and the country.

Mrs. Eboma kept her talk short, simple and straight to the point. She admonished the corps members who were awaiting vehicles to take them to their different polling units to shun electoral malpractice of any form. She charged them to make their country proud as history would forever remember this day and relegate June 12, 1993 into eternal abyss if today’s election could manage to surpass the standard set by that election. She made them understand that they held the future of their country in their hands.

After the talk, corps members were led to different buses within the premises and each bus on being filled up, departed for neighboring local governments.


At the large compound of Junior Boys Grammar School in Otuoke, Ogbia local government area, Bayelsa State, the crowd which covered the field as early as 7.00am was like sand at the river bank. Everyone came this early in anticipation of the President’s arrival. It was earlier announced that the President would be casting his vote here in his home town in Otuoke. Personnel from the various security outfits in the country manned different spots. The NSCDC controlled the crowds, the Police escorted INEC officials and staff, the FRSC controlled vehicles, the soldiers stayed in nearby bullion vans…


The international media also made their presence felt, not just in Otuoke or Bayelsa, but throughout the country. The CNN, BBC, Aljazeera and CCTV were amongst the most visible international media houses spotted in different states.

Here in Otuoke, the CNN had their bus stationed within the compound of Junior Boys Grammar School. A reporter was seen interviewing a host of people.

Voting materials arrived in no time, and accreditation of voters began. There were widespread reports of peace, calm and decorum in different states. The turn outs were also quite impressive across the federation. Local media houses were already reporting that history was truly being made. By 9.00 am, most pooling units in different states had concluded accreditation of voters and the voting process had already begun.

Governor Godswill Akpabio was captured on NTA as he cast his vote in Ukana Ikot Ntuen village, Essien Udim LGA. His face beamed with smile and happiness. It was as if he had foreknowledge about something positive.

Senator David Mark had earlier in the day commended the efforts of the INEC on TV. He confessed to never experiencing such efficiency exhibited by the electoral body. Governor Babatunde Fashola was seen with his wife casting his vote in a community square in Isale Gangan, Lagos State. Governor Jonah Jang was also captured dropping his ballot paper into a box somewhere in Plateau State.

Some minutes before 11.00am, it was announced that the President had arrived Junior Boys Grammar School in Otuoke, Bayelsa to cast his vote. All local and international media switched attention to him. History was about to be made. The President that would be responsible for the freest, fairest and safest election in the country’s history was about to exercise his electoral franchise.

He was escorted into the school premises by a host of dignitaries, security personnel and loyalists. He waved at cameras as he made his way to the ballot box. The crowd applauded and sang his praise as he inked his paper. They hailed the bravest president the country ever had; the man who fought the Boko Haram epidemic with charisma rather than with combat; the one who gave Nigerians back their lives.

Just as the President was about to cast his vote, an orderly could be seen hurrying towards him. He handed a phone to the President. The President placed it by his ear. In no time his face was wrapped in a frown. He looked disturbed. The crowd stopped clapping. Everyone wondered what the person on the other end of the call was saying to the President.

In that silence, some could hear the President mutter, “What?” He wiped his face and said, “When?” Then he signaled to the I.G of Police who was in his entourage. They both whispered to each other in disturbing silence. Some members of the crowd could however make out some words like “Alausa” “Government House” “Attacked.”

The I.G appeared to be nodding to every question the President asked.



The electronic media houses started running the news. The Government House in Lagos had just been attacked. Gunmen who had infiltrated the premises had taken the security by surprise. They had burst through the massive gate with a tanker and launched a missile immediately at the Government House. Sporadic shootings rented the air as scores of bodies fell to the ground. The Ikeja Shopping Mall which was situated close to the government House was also hit in the attack. Masked gunmen had rushed into the venue, shooting uncontrollably at every living thing within sight.

After about fifteen minutes of sporadic shootings, the Mall was razed and brought down with grenades. The CNN reported casualties to be in the region of 3,000 bodies.


Somewhere in Uyo Local Government Area of Akwa Ibom State, children were playing football at the Methodist Church field by Oron Road. Their ball rolled off the pitch on to the busy road. One of the children waited for the vehicles on the road to slow down before making an attempt to pick the ball up. As he bent over, a bullet whizzed through thin air and struck him in the centre of his head. His mates panicked and scampered towards his lifeless body. At that point they saw a car screech to a stop before them and the doors opened. Some masked men with cutlasses rushed and lashed at the boys, slitting every one of their throats.

At the central roundabout of the city popularly known as Bipers, a bomb detonated, dismembering over 200 bodies in the process. The Ibom Tropicana, a leisure resort experienced a similar happening. The twenty-story edifice was brought to unidentifiable debris with bombs.


Somewhere in Plateau State, a group of people gathered under a shelter, watching a football game between Chelsea and Wigan. The score line was obviously favoring one side as the lowly-rated Wigan side was running with a 4-1 lead, and with less than five minutes of stoppage time, the Chelsea faithful felt they had had enough for one day. They slowly made their way to the exit door as fans of rival clubs, Arsenal and Manchester United chanted, “one by one, them don they go!”

As the door screeched open, the shelter exploded in flames. A bomb had earlier been planted at the spot. 132 bodies scattered all over the place in unidentifiable pieces.

Four other attacks were reported in Jos, Wase Town, Riyom Town and Miango.

Al Jazeera reported over 5,000 deaths.



The President stood shell-shocked at the revelation from the I.G of Police. The country was under some siege. There were numerous attacks in different states at the same time. The country’s borders were also reported to be breached by unknown forces. The securities at the borders were caught unawares and consequently overpowered.

Across the nation, market places, community squares, tourists spots, worship centres, election polling units, school boarding houses, and even the very roads where commuters plied were suddenly overtaken by blood-seeking masked men.

“What’s going on? Tell me you have everything under control,” the President whispered. Before the I.G of Police could respond, some gunshots not far from Junior Boys Grammar School rented the air.

“Your Excellency, we have to leave now!” the I.G screamed. “We have to get you away from here!”

The gunshots drew nearer. The crowd at the school field scampered in different directions. The President was being surrounded and hurriedly led towards a chopper by a group of fierce-looking security personnel.

In the scuffle, he yelled at the I.G, “What’s going on?! Talk to me!”

“Your Excellency, we can’t say much for now,” the I.G mumbled. “But I can confirm to you from information reaching me that some state governors have been reported missing….”

“What? What do you mean “missing”?”


“How many?”

“28 and counting, Sir.”

They were now by the door of the chopper and the President was being assisted into it. Then it happened. An explosive rocked and everywhere was in flames.


Reading Tunde Leye on Okadabooks

Hello tlsplacers. Whilst le editor keeps me grilled with getting my next book, Guardians of the Seals out (and keep me away from blogging), we put some of your favorite Tunde Leye stories together as free books. You can download them on the Okadabooks app for android phones. We have Baba Risi’s Court, Rekiya’s Tale, Burnt, Broken Mirrors and Burden of Proof. Click on the image below to get started.  Download the app to your android phone, search for Tunde Leye and download away. You should get familiar with the Okadabooks platform – it’s one of the platforms you’ll be able to get Guardians of the Seals on when its finally released.




Write Right Two Prize Giving Event – The Pictures

Right, so on Sunday March 9th, we held the Prize Giving Event for Write Right 2, where we presented the winner, Ifeoluwa Watson with N250,000. We had truckloads of fun. Ember Creek was a great place to hold the event. We had fashion, comedy, performance of the song Wewe by Naomi Mac and Femi Leye, auctioned the painting of Wewe by Ekene Ngige and premiered the Baba Risi Animation. Awazi held down the red carpet and Tolu was a fantastic host. Thanks to everyone that came out, and see you all at the Write Right 3 Prize Giving Event as it continues to grow beyond what we imagined. A documentary on Write Right should be out next week. Of course you’ll be the first to hear about it. Enjoy the pictures. TL. THE RED CARPET DSC_2443 Nike DSC_2151 DSC_2161 DSC_2165 DSC_2166 DSC_2168 DSC_2172 DSC_2184 DSC_2198 DSC_2200 DSC_2202 DSC_2210 DSC_2225 DSC_2252 CHILLING AT THE WATERSIDE BEFORE THE EVENT STARTED DSC_2249 DSC_2250 DSC_2175 DSC_2179 DSC_2182 DSC_2187 DSC_2196 DSC_2201 DSC_2220 DSC_2223 DSC_2248 THE TURNOUT WAS MASSIVE. EMBER CREEK WAS FULL.  DSC_2364 DSC_2348 THE FINALISTS THAT WERE AROUND DSC_2679

Mircacle Adebayo


Opeoluwa Olubode. At 14, her’s is a great story. She entered for the 1st Write Right and came 6th, just outside the top 5. She didn’t stop, but entered for Write Right 2. This time, she made it into the top 5 and got the 2nd highest number of votes.


Ope Receiving a dress from the CEO of Ma’am Clothing in recognition of her resilience. We are sure she’ll do great thing.

Two of the Finalists – Jeremiah Nzere and Akinwale Agbaje couldn’t make it for the event.



Ifeoluwa Watson, The Write Right 2 Winner









DSC_2290 Clap












Ekene Ngige, the animator and painter.



The painting was sold for N60,000 to LitCaf.




























DSC_2278 DSC_2281













DSC_2323 DSC_2323 Chudi DSC_2333 DSC_2357 DSC_2359 Nike DSC_2361 DSC_2362 DSC_2363 DSC_2368 Osita DSC_2369 DSC_2370 DSC_2372 DSC_2380 DSC_2405 DSC_2407 DSC_2409 DSC_2411 DSC_2412 DSC_2413 DSC_2414 DSC_2416 DSC_2419 DSC_2423 DSC_2424 DSC_2426 DSC_2427 DSC_2430 DSC_2430 Dimeji DSC_2437 DSC_2438 DSC_2440 DSC_2443 DSC_2445 DSC_2450 DSC_2453 DSC_2454 DSC_2455 DSC_2456 DSC_2458 DSC_2459 DSC_2464 DSC_2467 DSC_2470 DSC_2475 DSC_2476 DSC_2478 DSC_2487 DSC_2492 DSC_2495 DSC_2500 DSC_2501 DSC_2503 DSC_2505 DSC_2507 DSC_2508 DSC_2580 DSC_2592 DSC_2598 DSC_2603 DSC_2610 DSC_2631 DSC_2637 DSC_2641 DSC_2642 DSC_2652 DSC_2675 DSC_2689 DSC_2693

A Little Bird Said – The Finale

The Write Right Two Prize Giving is finally here. See the details below

  • Venue: Ember Creek, Awolowo Road, Ikoyi
  • Date: Sunday, March 9th 2014
  • Time: 3Pm to 6PM.

Red Carpet begins at 3PM and the event proper kicks off at 4PM.

There’ll be a song written based on the winning entry. The song is titled WEWE, and it’s written and performed by guitarist Femi Leye and vocalist Nayo.

There’ll also be a painting based on the same winning entry by Ekene Ngige. We’ll be auctioning this at the event.

Vintage fashion label Ma’am will give a free specially made bespoke outfit to Ifeoluwa Watson, the Write Right Two Winner. Ife will also be reading from her winning story.

Finally, we’ll be premiering Baba Risi’s Court, The Animated Episodes at the event.

To attend, simply save the IV below as your e-invite to the event. Hope to see y’all there. Thanks for all the support for Write Right.


Esmeralda had come to the house envisaging a full day of erotic frolicking. When she had seen the picturesque house, fairytales sprung into her head and she smiled. The lady she knew only as RC1 had completed the picture that left her salivating. With a smile, RC1 had led her into the single living space. There was a bed in the middle of the room, with white satin sheets, red rose petals scattered all over and scented candles.

“Like it?” she heard RC1 ask. She must have let out some unconscious shriek, she was certain. But she glad she had agreed to come here instead of her hotel room? In the corner, there was a raised platform. At the head of the table was an assortment of erotic toys. RC1 picked a pair of leather padded handcuffs and then patiently began to explain what they would do.

“Here’s how the day will go. You are my slave for the first half of the day. You’ll wear these handcuffs and for starters, I’ll use these leg restraints to strap you to the platform. I will be at liberty to do anything with you and you’ll have to work your way to freedom by giving me every pleasure I desire. The better you are, the quicker you’ll win your freedom from your restraints and then become the master and I the slave. Am I clear?”

Esmeralda nodded like an obedient child, enthralled by the whole arrangement. She moved towards RC1 to hug her but was rebuffed her with a shove. “Who permitted you to touch me slave?”

It took a while for it to sink into Esmeralda that they were already in the role playing game. Obediently, she backed away.

“Good girl. Now, get into the lingerie on the platform and I’ll slip the handcuffs on you and strap you on to the platform.”


Acharu arrived at the cottage and retrieved her phone. She had made up two plans in her mind, depending on which of she or Morkly arrived first. She was glad she got here before him, it was the easier scenario. She called up his text message and quickly typed a response to him, instructing him on what to do when he got there. She moved quickly after that, since she didn’t know exactly how long she had before he arrived. She dialed the number she had sent the first text message to and the lady on the other end picked it on the first ring.

“What’s up?” the lady said

“I just got here, I’m at the gate. Do you have her immobilized now?” Acharu asked.

“Yes,” the lady responded.

“Good. I’ll let myself in then. We’re going to have an extra guest at the party. The nutty professor himself is on his way. But I’ve got an appropriate welcome planned for him anyway, so that shouldn’t be an issue. Prepare the restraints for the man”.

With that, she ended the call and looked over at the sleeping man. “We’re back together, you and I, as it should have been.” Then she went down to open the gate and drove in right to the front door of the cottage.


It was a good thing he wasn’t driving otherwise he would not have been able to read the text message when it came in. “Ah, she finally got to read my text,” he mumbled to himself when he saw the ID of the sender. He opened it quickly. It was in short, terse sentences, outlining a plan.

“Got your text, great work. We’ll proceed without Senayon. Headed there with men from HQ. They’ll secure the premises while I wait for you by my car. Come Quickly”

Quickly she said. He had been in the traffic at Lekki Toll Gate for more than thirty minutes and it seemed he was only halfway through it. “Billions of blistering bumbling bickering blasted blue barnacles! And that autocrat of a governor has banned okadas. That would have been my saving grace now” he exclaimed in anger. He slumped in the chair and adjusted his neck scarf.


“Are we expecting someone?” Esmeralda ventured. She was meant to be the obedient slave, speaking only when spoken to, but if someone else was going to be involved in whatever plans her madam had for her, she thought she should know.

“Shut your dirty little mouth” the lady responded to her.

Unsure if it was merely the character of the madam that had spoken to her or the real RC1, she decided to clarify.

“I’m not asking as the slave dear, I’m asking as me. I just think I should know if…” The pain registered before her mind deciphered that RC1 had just tasered her. She found herself twitching uncontrollably.

“I said shut your husband-hopping dirty mouth!” The lady spoke calmly, but every word was loaded with menace, amplified by the fact that she was tied up, helpless. She opened her mouth, took a huge gulp of air into her lungs and screamed at the top of her voice. The lady waited for her to exhaust herself and then told her with a devilish chuckle “you can scream all you want, but I’m sure you remember how this house looked as you came in. Only the trees will hear you. You are dense, you know that? Anyway, give me a moment.”

With that, she straightened her dress, brushed her hair and went to the door.


From the hole in the fuzzy realm he was floating in, Senayon heard a familiar voice scream. The scream was like a powerful hand pulling him up at breakneck speed and he suddenly burst into the surface of the hole.


“Sumbo, where the hell are you? He’s stirring. We need to get him inside and immobilized before he wakes up fully!” Acharu shouted.

She saw her partner was all dressed up. “Vain girl” she thought, remembering the first time she had met this girl. Sumbo had been a broken girl after her breakup with Charles Obaro. She had been the strong one who helped Sumbo recover from the breakup in the self-help group they belonged to. But as if to reverse the situation, she had fed off Sumbo’s anger at men. One evening, they had watched an episode of Deadly Affairs on Crime and Investigation together and all of this Ring Collector business had started as a joke until Sumbo suddenly said “you know we can pull this off and get back at all of them that hurt us?”


Esmeralda watched in horror as the two women carried a man that looked vaguely familiar in. she couldn’t see well because of the way she was lying down. “Who is he?” she asked.

“Oww, you’ve forgotten the man you bore a child for so soon?” Sumbo asked.

“Senayon? What is this about? Answer me!” Esmeralda asked desperately struggling with her restraints.

Acharu answered this time as Sumbo prepared a syringe with the same substance she had used on their second victim. “Senayon was supposed to be mine, but you had him. Charles did to Sumbo what Fuad did to me. And you my dear did the nasty to Senayon with that pastor and then left him for the baba olowo.”

As Emeralda heard the names, she realized what was happening. These were the people responsible for all those gruesome murders she had read about on the blogs. But all their victims had been men. “So why do you want to kill Senayon then?”

“Why do you assume we want to kill Senayon?” Sumbo asked.

It dawned on Esmeralda that she was the one. She screamed again as they propped a Senayon who looked awake and perceptive but otherwise immobile up against the wall.

“Senayon is the Ring Maker. He’s the fulcrum of all this. He should have fought harder for me, but wasn’t man enough. It was his failure that created me as the Ring Collector. You know, after collecting and destroying all your rings, like the Lord of the Rings, I have to destroy the Ring Maker. So he is here to see the last ring collected and then be destroyed. If I can’t have him, then he shouldn’t be alive.” Acharu said, with Sumbo nodding in agreement at the eerie and illogical logic she just espoused.

Acharu’s phone beeped. Morkly’s text message came in.

“Delayed at toll gate. Now past it and should be there shortly”

“Nutty prof is almost here. Let me go and roll out the carpets. Take this and shoot into the air when you get my text” Acharu said as she handed a pistol over to Sumbo along with a police two way communicator.

In the corner, Senayon watched all, and heard all. His mind was still very active, but his body didn’t move. He recalled reading of such a drug being used by the Ring Collector in Fuad’s murder.


Acharu took a crouching position beside her car the moment she saw Morkly’s cab pull into the close and quickly sent Sumbo the text.


Morkly was wondering why Acharu was crouched like that when he began to hear the gunshots. He quickly pulled his gun and rolled on the floor to her side as his taxi man sped away without waiting to collect his money. Suddenly, the gunshots stopped. Acharu’s communicator crackled and she reached into the car for it, maintaining her cover. She returned with a smile on her face.

“They’ve got her!” Morkly exclaimed in excitement without waiting to be told. He sprang up and wanted to race into the house but Acharu held him back.

“Cautious approach sir,” she said. “we don’t know if she’s alone or has someone crouching somewhere waiting.” Morkly didn’t know how true that statement was but he calmed down and approached the gate cautiously.

When he entered, he expected to see policemen in position. When he didn’t see anyone, he turned back to tell Acharu something was wrong. She had a gun pointing at him. “Drop your weapon,” she ordered.

“Acharu, what Iscariotish behavior is this?” Morkly asked.

“Drop the damned weapon or I’ll blow a hole through you right here,” she responded.

Morkly saw she was serious. He slowly dropped the pistol on the soft grass by the side of the walkway.

“Now, turn around and walk towards the cottage.”


Acharu observed the look of shock on Morkly’s face when he got into the room.

“Yes mister professor, that’s how we outsmarted you. You were looking for one Ring Collector, when in fact, there were two. I collected Charles, she collected Fuad. I collected the pastor and now she is collecting Esmeralda. We will then both destroy the Ring Maker. You, you are just collateral damage. You should not have been able to figure this out, but then again, you were always too smart for your own good.”

With that, they cuffed him to one of the legs of the platform Esmeralda was on. Then, amidst heart-wrenching screams from Esmeralda, Sumbo set about taking her head off as Senayon and Morkly watched in horror.

When she was done, she carefully placed the head on the navel and then took pictures of the gory sight with a phone she pulled out of her tool bag. She tweeted the images and put the hashtags

#ongoingevent #finalringcollection #ringmakergoingdown and then tagged all the people she knew would spread the word on twitter. When she was done, she turned to Acharu and bowed “Final Ring Collection Completed.”


Acharu went forward to look at Esmeralda’s now lifeless body. When they had started, Sumbo had been the queasy one. They were originally meant to start with Fuad, since her own relationship with Fuad was relatively unknown. But because Sumbo wasn’t sure she could go through with such a gruesome killing, they had swapped and Acharu had gone after Charles first. Now, watching how Sumbo finished Esmeralda off, she realized that the girl had come a long way. Suddenly, she felt a pain shoot through her body. She crumpled to the ground wondering “what tha fuck”


When she came to, Acharu found herself cuffed to the leg of the platform where Morkly had been before. Sumbo and Morkly were standing over her, while drug immobilized Senayon stared at her unable to move. “What is happening here?” she asked, directing her gaze to Sumbo.

“Why did we collect rings?” Sumbo asked back. When Acharu didn’t answer, she continued. “Because they don’t know what being faithful to the people they love means. They callously leave people that loved them. Now, think about it. Aren’t you being hypocritical here? Who better fits this description but you? You left Senayon for Morkly, left Morkly when he had his troubles and have been using men to climb since. You are just as bad as all the others, if not worse cos you’re a hypocrite.”

“Morkly?” Acharu said, directing her gaze at him.

“I knew all along. You see, I suggested this whole business to Sumbo. Think about it. Who approached who in your self-help group? Who reached out more? Who suggested that you guys embark on this killing spree after you guys watched that Crime and Investigation show that day? Now that you think about it, it’s Sumbo, right?”

Acharu closed her eyes, hit with the realization that Morkly was right. In spite of Sumbo’s seeming reluctance to go along with the killing initially, she had been the one suggesting everything, the plans, the methods, everything all along.

“Sumbo saw through your hypocrisy dear Acharu. You tried to use her but we have ended up using you. You remember the only chance for me to be saved from going to that mad people’s home was your testimony. And rather than give the testimony and save me, you took the deal the police command offered you and refused to testify. You played the good lover for a while but got tired of visiting me. You see, I knew, and I did not forget.” Morkly said.

“But how do you know each other? How?” Acharu asked hysterically.

“Social media has made the world a very small place dear. It isn’t very farfetched that a disillusioned nearly mad professor will meet a popular and disillusioned social media personality. That’s all I’ll tell you about this. Now, remember how you turned away and let me go and run mad in a psychiatric home? I’m about to repay you by turning away now, literarily. Sumbo?”

As he called her, Sumbo walked over to Acharu with the still bloody saw she had used on Esmeralda. As Acharu began to scream, Morkly turned away.


Sumbo finally did what she had wanted to do since the beginning. She hated Acharu’s guts. Acharu represented all the reasons men gave to justify cheating on women and treating them badly. To cap it all, she saw herself through rose-tinted glasses and blamed everyone else for what her irresponsibility with men brought on her. Stupid fool. She killed with even more viciousness than she had done with her two other victims. The only person she would have killed with more venom was Charles but she didn’t get that chance. She was so engrossed that she didn’t hear a thing. It was only when she was done and Acharu lay in a pool of blood that she turned around and got a shocker. Senayon was standing on his feet alongside Morkly and they both had pistols trained on her.


“Morkly, what the hell is going on?” she asked calmly.

“Collateral damage is inevitable in the best worked plans. You my dear are collateral damage in our plan,” he responded.

“What do you mean OUR plan? The only OUR plan is the one you and I have mister, and it doesn’t involve you and Senayon pointing guns at me,” she said.

“Ah, you assume. You see, the plan was to get these two women without killing them ourselves.” Morkly said.

“How did you break free from the effects of the drug? You are supposed to be able to see and feel without being able to move. How come?”

“Antidote dear, brought in and administered by the professor,” Senayon responded. Then turning to Morkly, he said “We got them both. Now, shall we destroy the evidence?”

With that, they shot Sumbo.

I’ll be taking a break until right after Write Right Two Prize Giving to put together the event and also set the ball rolling on the editing of my next book Guardians of the Seals. See ya with the next series after the Prize Giving

ff on twitter @tundeleye