Archive | August 2013

Friday Tots – To Writers and Readers

Sorry it’s coming late and not on the usual platform. Here’s my Friday Tot for today. Please read and share.

TL

Write Right

If you are a writer, then hear this – the reader is not under an obligation read anything you wrote, no matter how brilliant it is. In the same way we must not kowtow to our readers for deeming it fit to read what we write, we must not develop an entitlement mentality about them reading our work. It is a choice they make, a choice to either spend their hard earned money, or very precious time on our work. And we must not forget this, ever. It’s one of the things that drives us to make our work better.

There is much competing for the reader’s attention. TV, radio, work, family, kids, surviving, other writers. We must continually seek to make our work not only what will win this battle for attention, but we must ensure that the effort they must take to get our work is drastically reduced. Remember the old adage that where the desirable is not available, the available becomes the desirable? It rings true in this case. The TV is a remote control away. Radio is now an earpiece away. So we must recognize this and apart from being agile enough to use these media to deliver our writing, we must also continue to creatively use whatever means that is available to get our writing to the people with minimal disruption to their schedules. Let me site an example – we publish a book and put it in the bookshops. Getting a book from the bookshop might hold a great experience for many avid readers, but the vast majority that I know in the main centers will only enter that bookshop if their schedule takes them there. They will probably not leave their houses, fuel their cars or take a bus solely to go to the bookshop to buy a book. These same people daily buy pirated copies of the works in traffic willingly for two main reasons. The first is that buying in traffic doesn’t disrupt their daily schedules. The second is of course cost considerations. Why therefore can we not produce low cost versions of our books and leverage the established distribution networks by getting them into the hands of the guys that sell in traffic. We can still keep the premium editions in the bookshops and cater to that market, while expanding to the new markets. And then deliver via mobile devices, via audio devices, expanding the market and form, while keeping the substance. That should be our aim. If nothing else sticks from this piece, it should be this – readers are not obliged to read our work; we have to create the desire and then deliver our work to them with ease.

And to the reader, it is important we appreciate our writers. The journey to being a renowned writer is a long arduous one, fraught with huge doses of frustration and self doubt. Many Nigerian writers have taken to blogging to put their work out there for a couple of reasons. One is the fact that many have tried to get published and have suffered rejection. They come to blog for self expression. They also come to prove to themselves that their writing is not as bad as the many rejections would have them believe. They come to build a brand and to give away free work, in the hope that when they do finally put out their published work, you would buy. So please when you read these free works on the blogs, be a teeny-weeny bit nice. Where you want to critique, try to be objective and specific. Try not to condemn the writer’s whole work for a single error in a single story. Remember that the writer might have a frayed ego and a fragile belief in their ability at that moment and that it isn’t easy to put yourself out there. Try not to generalize your criticisms. And where you have enjoyed the free work for a while, when the writer does pull the resources together to publish something, buy. There’ll be different options – you’ll probably be able to buy on mobile devices, in traffic, in bookshops, online from the various e-commerce sites like jumia, konga, lushdeals and dealdey. Whatever you do, in whatever form, the essential thing is that you buy that author’s work. Show that you value the author enough to spend your money on his/her work. Help spread the word about the work. It’s the least you can do.

In building this thing, both the readers and the writers have roles to play and mindsets that will need to change. One thing is certain though – there’s loads of writing going on in Nigeria and loads of reading going on too. Now, let’s make it profitable for the writers and enjoyable for the readers.

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HELL HATH NO FURY 3

Here’s the concluding part of Moyo’s interesting 3part series, Hell Hath No Fury. Enjoy…

woman painting

“No Oju ! You can’t come here ! I’m busy ! Yes really ! What ? That what ?! Yes ! Then leave me alone ! Fucking hell ! Don’t ! I’ll tell the security not to let you in. Oh ? Oh no ? Try me.” Yemi cut the phone and tossed it at the wall in anger. By this time, Yemi had reached his wit’s end. Saying he was frustrated was putting it lightly. This bitch was crazy. How did it get to this ? Ojuola had become this girl who acted like she couldn’t breathe without him. How could breaking up be so difficult ? She didn’t understand the easy-to-grasp concept of “Leave me alone, I’m no longer interested”. She’d show up at his office or at a local bar claiming undying love for him. She’d call everyone’s attention and say that he was her husband and he didn’t want to come home anymore.
Yemi was going to church when he saw what happened to his car. Yemi had used the first ever 15 million he made to buy it. A 2012 Range Rover Evoque in matte black. The entire interior was black leather with silver accents here and there. This car was his pride and joy. Yemi was so emotionally attached to this car and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. Not like there was anything to deny, it was an awesome piece of European engineering. His head lights were broken in, his wind shield had been shattered to shards and there were huge dents in the car doors and on the hood. He nearly passed out after he saw the damage.  All he could think was why ? On the passenger seat there was a brick that was wrapped in paper. He unwrapped it, read the contents and exploded. He then threw a tantrum befitting of a 4 year old.
“Look at what you make me do when you ignore me. Love always, Ojuola.”

***

Yemi relayed the entire episode to Jide and was near tears, fixing his car was going to cost at least 5 million, which wasn’t the problem. The problem was that after everything she did to him and his car, she was still incessant with the threats, apologies and claims of love.
“I’m going to kill this bitch. I swear to God. I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her.” Yemi shouted angrily.
“Keep your voice down Yemi, chill.” Jide advised.
“No! Jide I’m tired! She’s is wearing me out !” He shouted louder.
Jide hadn’t seen his friend this angry since… since… thinking of it he’d never seen Yemi angry.
“So fe lo s’ewon ni ?” Jide asked.
“I’d rather go to jail than let that psychopath bully me into loving her.”
“I know guys they specialize in this sort of thing.” Jide said quietly.
“I don’t need a fucking therapist !” Yemi shouted.
Jide threw him a dirty look.
“Did you hear me ? I said I know GUYS that specialize in this sort of thing.”
Yemi noticed the emphasis on the “guys” and furrowed his eyebrows.
“Jesus Jide ! I know what I said but I don’t really want her killed ! I just want her to leave me alone.”
“Killed ke ? They’ll just rough her up a little bit, threaten her and get her shaken.” Jide replied.
Yemi looked skeptical. Jide went on and explained everything in detail. He called a few people right there and then and made plans.
“So you’re sure they won’t hurt her ?”Yemi asked uneasily.
“Yes.” Jide answered this question for the 100th time and he was beginning to get annoyed.
“How do I pay them ?”
“I’ll take care of that Yemi, just go and fix your car.”
Yemi signed off, thanked him and left with a heavy heart.

***

Yemi paced around his bedroom on the night of the “operation”. He had prayed to God, although it was kind of stupid, considering. His phone rang and it was a private number.
“Oga ! Oga ! Problem wa o!” The man on the other end shouted.
“What problem ? What problem ?” Yemi asked, his heart beating twice as fast as normal.
“As I use knife touch ‘in neck, na so she jump.”
Yemi was silent.
“Hello ? Hello ? Sir ? You dey there ?”
“Yes. Yes I’m here.” Yemi answered.
“What happened?”
“I think she don die sir.”
Yemi paused and his next question surprised him, “Are you sure ?”
“Yes sir, she no dey breathe.” He replied.
A wave of guilt and relief flooded him.
“Wetin you want make we do sir ?”
“Leave, leave her there, leave that place.”
Yemi took forever to fall asleep that night and when he did Oju plagued his dreams. From that night on all he dreamed of was her. It was sickening to admit but he missed her, the normal loving her not the crazy her. He missed her smile and unassuming answers. He missed her body and the way she smelled. He cried a number of times and said a prayer for her soul when he remembered. He thought of her so often he began to see her, only in his mind’s eye at first, but she began to appear behind him in the mirror or under the desk in his office. Yemi knew his sanity was slipping away.
One morning, Yemi was backing out of his driveway in his newly fixed range rover when he saw Oju in his backseat. She was lying there with only the white of her eyes showing and a slit throat. Her dirty nightgown was raised up above her hips and she had cigarette burns on her thighs and crotch. Yemi had never had an out of body experience before and he didn’t even know what it meant. All he knew was his fright separated his spirit self from physical self. He watched himself step on the accelerator, burst out of his gate and hit an oncoming motorcycle, but could do nothing about it. The motorcycle and it’s rider flew right across the street broke into the wall of the opposite house.
3 weeks later, Yemi found himself in the hospital, waking up from a coma. His mother and Jide were by his bedside. He watched their faces light up. Elated, Jide ran to get doctor and his mother began calling everybody to share the good news. He was surrounded by his family, friends and co-workers in a matter of hours. He felt very loved. He was feeling weak, and he smelled a little but he was glad to be alive. Amidst the celebration, he learned that the motorcycle man died. Yemi was sure he was going to hell now, he had killed two people. After everyone had left, he told his mother how he had the accident. Convinced that her son was being haunted by her husband’s family, she rushed out and came back with her pastor. Like Paul and Silas they prayed and prayed and sang. He never saw Oju after that and he was thankful that he was free.
***

After the accident Yemi had to move, his old apartment and it’s 3 flights of stairs wasn’t working out anymore. What with the crutches and all.  After some months at his months at his mother’s place, he moved to a big bungalow that was closer to work. It had a ramp built just for him. He didn’t like the idea at first but it grew on him. The place was so spacious and the interior designer did a fantastic job. A middle aged woman who believed in feng shui and energies and qi. She was fully Nigerian but she had lived in China for 32 years, something she referred to at every opportunity. The house was infused with Chinese reds and deep ocean blues. There was pot pourri on every surface and a hanging scroll on every wall. It was an ideal bachelor pad. He loved to have people over just for bragging sake. The place was straight out of a magazine and truthfully, coming back home was usually the best part of his day.
***
Somehow Tuesdays were the most stressful days of the week and he dreaded going to the office. He had numerous deals to see through and all clients visits were scheduled on Tuesday. Yemi was the managing director of Dulux Nigeria Paint Company. He was something of a prodigy at 32 and was successfully leading the paint industry in Nigeria to a new place. All his colleagues were older him but that was okay because they treated him with respect and admiration. They all knew how intelligent and hardworking he was. He landed the Coca Cola deal after stiff competition with Julius Berger and today he was to meet with the major players from Coca Cola and discuss details. Yemi walked into the conference room with his game face and his crutches. What amused Yemi was that they were all young men and the meeting he dreaded had turned into a gisting session filled with laughter and undue celebratory champagne. The branch manager of Lagos, a lanky guy with a gap tooth was the funniest of them all. He knew they’d be friends when he made fun of Yemi about his “one and a half leg”. The chief accountant of Coca Cola, Abuja, a short serious guy called Seye, was the voice of reason and kept trying to avert everyone’s attention back to work. Who eventually gave up and joined in the fun. The last person in the group was Ahmad Chikwe, an igbo muslim. He was a pretty interesting guy. He was handsome and obviously born with a silver spoon. He didn’t talk much but he had the loudest laugh. After a long meeting of arguments about music, people they all knew and minor deliberations about the deal, Yemi rounded off the meeting. They all exchanged numbers, promising to meet up outside of the office. Finally he awarded his pleasantries and wished them a good night’s rest.
Arriving home, Yemi noticed his front door was left ajar, it wasn’t the first time he had met it that way though. Rushing off for work in the morning made him very forgetful. He walked in, closed the door behind him and sat down on his couch. His eyes were tired and his mouth heavy.

Rubbing his temple with one hand and unbuttoning his shirt with the other. He got up and switched off the tv. He could walk without his crutches but it hurt a lot when he did. He limped all the way through his corridor, using the walls as support, he was completely distracted by his pain.
Groping around the room in the darkness, he hit his leg against the frame of the bed and cursed aloud. He bent slowly to rub his shin and relief himself of pain. Then he heard a giggle. A female giggle.
“Who’s there?” he called out.
“I’ve missed you.”

Rekiya’s Tale – Episode 11

Week One of the Three Weeks for sending entries in for the Baba Risi Illustrators Competition is gone and entries have come in. Looking forward to the more entries over the next two weeks. If you haven’t heard about it, read about it here https://tlsplace.wordpress.com/2013/08/20/baba-risis-court-boys-scouts/ Enjoy today’s Rekiya’s Tale!

TL

Rekiya Seyi

FARIDA CONTINUES

Never pray to be faced with the kind of choices that I was faced with as I entered Rekiya’s living room that night. None was easy, both would hurt and the options were limited. I had the choice of sharing what I had found out and saving my friendship with Rekiya but destroying whatever fragile trust she had left in men, or not sharing and letting her keep thinking of me as the villain.

I hadn’t thought I would meet all these people here. Rekiya’s dad, Ochuko and a lady I now recognized as his wife. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw Ochuko in flesh and blood. How the hell had this guy survived that plane crash? For a couple of minutes, I lost my tongue and couldn’t say a word. And I could see that Rekiya was about to fly off at me now. I tried to recover and say something, to ask how Ochuko was here, but she spoke faster than me, and she was shouting.

REKIYA CONTINUES

When your world is determined to shatter, it seems everything you hold dear in that world looks for the highest cliff and jumps off its face to smash into smithereens.

All eyes were fixed on the door as Farida came in. She had changed from the dress I remembered her wearing, and she seemed even more beautiful scrubbed free of makeup. She must have rushed here from wherever she was coming from, because she was still wearing a hairnet. And I know Farida, she would almost never be caught dead in a hairnet outside the house.

“I obviously forgot to take my keys from you abi? That’s why you can still let yourself into my house and show your face here. What did you forget to finish en?” I was shouting at the top of my voice.

“Rekiya, what is the problem? It’s Fafa you are talking to like this.” Daddy said sternly, reprimanding me and holding me back. Then turning to Fafa, he apologized on my behalf. Hearing him apologize to her enraged me even further and I blew my lid.

“Daddy, are you taking her side now? She’s the reason I lost my baby and even almost got Ochuko…”

“Will you stop speaking and listen to yourself young woman? You are blaming her for what exactly?” I did not respond and he continued “I thought so. I am disappointed in you Rekiya, highly disappointed that you would even speak these type of things. Come on!”

I felt ashamed of myself and knew Daddy was speaking the truth. But I kept struggling with it. The only way I was holding off the torrent of self blame was by passing it on to Farida. Admitting now that she wasn’t guilty meant only one thing. The dam would burst open and I would break down. I crumbled onto the floor and the tears began to flow. “I killed my child,” I sobbed. I took it all on myself now. I turned to Fafa and said from the floor through the tears “I was wrong. It was all my fault. I should have…”

If I hadn’t been such a mess that day, I would have noticed that she was struggling with something as I spoke. What she told me later was that she couldn’t bear seeing me take the blame for what I didn’t do, and knowing me, I could do something that would make her regret not speaking up for the rest of her life. It was that thought that helped her make her decision. She interrupted me and said “there is something I have to tell you” in a monotonous voice. Something about the way she spoke caught my attention and the tears stopped for a moment. Daddy raised his eyebrow and said “we are listening.”

As an answer, Farida brought out her phone and pressed it for a few moments. I thought she was calling someone and my eyes darted to the door, wondering who else was going to walk through it this night. I was surprised when I heard Farida’s voice play out from the phone. It was a conversation she had recorded. The male voice was unmistakable; I had been speaking with him just a few hours ago. It had only gone beyond greetings when I burst in.

“Farida, what is this?” I asked, even more confused. I mean, what was she doing speaking with Doctor Phillips? It was all so confusing. She hushed me and merely said “listen” and then restarted the playback. We all listened in rapt attention and as the conversation progressed, things became clearer. A part of me wished I never heard the conversation.

“What the hell? This man did this to me? How? I’ve known him for as long as I can frigging remember, what the hell, he probably took delivery of me. Why? Farida, you aren’t saying anything. Are you behind this?”

“That drunken drinking fool!” daddy exclaimed. That unexpected and uncharacteristic outburst caught me by surprise and I turned to him.

“What is it daddy? Are you saying he did this simply because he was drinking?” I got up as I spoke, a thought creeping into my heart, a thought I fought hard and tried to kill. But as I looked at my dad, and I saw the way his eyes averted my gaze, it tore through my heart to my mouth and the words came tumbling out “daddy, did you have anything to do with Doctor Phillips killing my baby?” I trembled as I spoke, a mishmash of emotions tearing through my body.

“Look, angel, you know I love you, right? And love does what has to be done, no matter how much it hurts,” he said, trying to touch me.

I shrank from his touch and snarled “I did not ask for a lecture daddy. I simply want to know if you had anything to do with that conversation we just heard. It should be a simple yes or no answer sir.”

He hesitated briefly, then as if he thought “whatever”, he shrugged and said “I did what a father should do! Rekiya, you were being stubborn and was ready to become entangled with this dubious godforsaken fellow for the rest of your life. You were willing to make it difficult to find a husband. Make no mistake, once a child is between two people, there is always a reason for the person to be part of your life. I am the one that taught you that abortion is bad, so when I advocate it, shouldn’t that tell you that it is in your best interest? When that opportunity presented itself…”

“I hate you. With everything in me, I hate you” I said in measured tones to him, meaning every single word I spoke.

“Rekiya, listen to me. I did what I did for you. You are the reason. You might not see it now, but you will be thankful I made the sacrifice. It was the best thing to do in the circumstances”.

Without stopping I continued muttering “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” like a mantra and kept evading his touch.

Daddy turned on Farida “so you are happy now? You have made us enemies and so you are happy?”

Farida was about to answer when we heard it. We had totally forgotten about them, wrapped up in our world. The sound of the gunshot shattered our bubble and we were brought back to reality. Ochuko lay screaming on the floor, blood all over the place especially around his left leg. She stood across him, smoking gun in hand, looking incredibly calm for someone who had just shot her husband’s kneecap off.

Smiling eerily, she turned to us and trained the gun on me. “Now, shall we all sit down and talk over this?”

When we all hesitated, probably out of shock and disbelief, she fired a shot that whistled past my ear and buried itself into the thick couch. Sharply, we all came alive and all hurriedly sat down on the couch.

She smiled again and then turned to me “you are running your mouth and hating your father for what he did today?” I didn’t say a word and she trained the gun on me and said menacingly “young lady, when you are spoken to, respond!”

I nodded my head vigorously. Pleased, she said “you can answer verbally. Now answer the question.”

“Yes I was angry at him,” I said tersely.

“Well, it was the more reason he had to do what he did. You are a foolish child. Do you know what he delivered you from? He delivered you from becoming what me and five other women have become.”

Was I hearing right? She was telling me that there were five other women who had borne Ochuko children. I listened with rapt attention as she continued.

“I’ve had to do this, or something like this, five times. I’ve travelled to five different countries, met five different women. And each time, he would beg me, plead with me and promise me he would change. I believed him every time. So you, Rekiya should be thanking your father, and not disrespecting him like you are doing. Now kneel down to him and say thank you.”

I refused to budge. That was how much I hated this man. I didn’t know who I was dealing with. She calmly walked over to Ochuko and blew another kneecap off. He screamed and writhed in agony. I didn’t wait to be told a second time. I was on my knees before daddy immediately, saying thank you through chattering teeth, thoroughly rattled by what I had just witnessed.

“Good. Now you can return to your seat. Oh, and learn to listen to good friends like this one. You don’t get them often, and if I had listened to mine, I would not have ended up with this scum. Do you understand?”

I nodded my head vigorously once again and she smiled that eerie smile again. “Good, now that your lessons are learnt, let me end this.”

She calmly walked up to Ochuko who was still in a pool of his own blood on the floor and kissed him on the forehead. She looked at him in the eye, smiled and said “I love you, always,” loud enough for all of us to hear. Then she straightened up and blew his head off. She turned to me and now even the eerie smile was gone and her eyes were glazed. It was as if by killing Ochuko, she had disconnected from whatever was keeping her last strands of sanity. I knew I was in big trouble.

FAFA CONTINUES

All I could ask myself as I sat in that couch beside Rekiya was “who send me message come this place today?”

HELL HATH NO FURY 2

THE 2ND PART OF MOYO’S SERIES, STARTED LAST WEEK. HERE’S THE 1ST PART https://tlsplace.wordpress.com/2013/08/15/hell-hath-no-fury/ . ENJOY…

woman painting

Yemi took her out to this Indian restaurant and they had the worst time. The service was poor, the food was cold and there were too many people.

“I had low expectations for tonight” she paused, “but this…” she waved slowly at the noisy hot restaurant, “this is ridiculous. Take me home !” She demanded.

Yemi settled the bill and they left. They were very quiet on the drive back to hers. Yemi felt so stupid. He didn’t even know where to begin his apology. He was so angry at himself. His phone rang and he let it. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. It rang again and saw it was his friend Jide. He asked Oju if she minded and she shrugged, so he picked it.

“Yems, my main man !” a male voice boomed through his car speakers.

“How’s it going man ?” Yemi replied.

“Happy Birthday o ! This one you cancelled on everybody lojiji ! What happened now ?”

Kissing his teeth jokingly Yemi said, “I had more important things to do.”

“More important than the big three zero ?”

“Far far more important. We’ll celebrate next weekend, I promise.”

“Alright alright, you okay though ? you sound a little down.”

“Yeah, just a little tired, I’ll hit you up later, so gbo?”

“Alright, take care of yourself man.”

“Alright, later.” Yemi ended the call and kept driving.

A wave of embarrassment flooded Oju. It was his birthday ? And he took her out ? She didn’t even know why she was giving him a tough time. He was nice and made every effort to make her smile. He even wanted to take her somewhere else but she refused. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat till they arrived at her place.

“This is me.” She announced.

“This is you.” He said fake smiling.

She undid her seatbelt, held the back of his neck with her left hand and kissed firmly him on the lips.

“Woah !” Yemi exclaimed.

“You owe me a second date.” She said and got out of the car before he had the chance to say anything. He sat in the car stunned for a while. Pinching himself.

***

You’d think Yemi would learn after that. On their second date, He took her to some shoddy Mexican place. She thought she ought to be stupid for going out with this guy again. But somehow, surprisingly, it turned out to be the best date of her life.

It wasn’t so much the quesadilla that was bursting with flavor or the great lighting or the slow sensual Spanish music but him, Yemi. He was charming with a quick wit, he was humble even though he knew he was well to do. His warm brown skin and single dimple on his left cheek didn’t knock his chances either.

They went out frequently after that. He took her to weirder places and some turned out great, others average, and most horrible. But she was a good sport about it all. He made her laugh and kissed her every chance he got.

Oju wasn’t completely over her ex. He became a topic that came up frequently but was never discussed in depth. When she spoke about him, there was something in her eyes he couldn’t recognize. When she cried about him, like she often did, a paralyzing dullness followed suit and it disfigured her face. She didn’t look as beautiful. He tried to comfort her but it was difficult. She could be weird and dark when she was sad and the things she said left him breathless. There was this time, in between sobs she said “I’ll kill you if you ever break my heart.” Yemi was  caught off guard and he just stared at her. She laughed it off to ease the awkwardness, but he didn’t forget it. The second time she said it, he replied with “Oju, I’ll never do that, you’re safe with me. I love you.” Only she didn’t laugh this time.

***

After months of dating, he was planning on getting some. She had been stubborn and he liked it. She’d tease him till he was just about to put it in, literally. It was delicious and maddening at the same time. He wanted their first time to be special. He wanted her to want it as bad as he did. So he planned and planned for months. He finally booked a small studio apartment in Maitama for the weekend. It was a run by an old couple who rented it out usually. It cost him a shiny penny but it was worth it. She was worth it. It was nested beautifully on one of the smaller mountains. The front of the apartment was made of glass. It was tastefully furnished with beautiful paintings and small replicas of the old Mesopotamian culture. It had large kitchen that opened to a living room and a narrow corridor led to the master bedroom. The décor had a color palette of creams, peaches and browns. It was all very modern. It had that new house smell of faint paint and leather furniture, the place must have been renovated recently. His only niggle was that it was a little cold but that was the point. She’d snuggle closer in bed. He confirmed that he’d be arriving around 9 to couple. Their bedtime was 10 so it worked out perfectly.

Yemi called Oju and said, “I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

“I’ll be waiting.” She said excitedly.

“I love you.” He said, reassuring her as well as himself.

“See you soon.”.

She didn’t say it back but it was okay.  She’d be screaming it tonight. He did his little dance and got ready. He wore his special cologne and wore his favorite white dress shirt. He matched it with black pants and black loafers.  He bought her red lacy lingerie, a =N=400,000 bottle of wine and lavender and blueberry scented candles. The works.

He got to her place and told her to come down. He watched her as she walked to his car. She was wearing this beautiful fuchsia pink dress and her lips were the same color. It was tight and mid length. The dress left little to imagination and he thought about her body. That body. He never liked big women but… Her. Her ! Good Jesus, he thought, those hips, that ass.

“You’re so beautiful.” He blurted out, immediately she entered the car.

She rolled her eyes and laughed, “Thank you Yemi.”

“No, you don’t understand.” He paused. “Your beauty is more than just being beautiful. It’s more than that. It’s everything about you. It’s the way you..” he trailed off. “You’re dizzying.” He said finally.

They arrived at the place some minutes to 9. Oju was hardly ever amazed but she had to admit that he outdid himself. She knew it was all in a bid to have sex and after everything she put him through, she decided she would allow herself love him tonight. She’d give him everything and show him that patience was a virtue. A virtue that was worth being rewarded. She would set fire to his passion. He’d been so wonderful to her, showing her special attention, showering her with gifts and making her feel like the only girl in the world.

After watching a movie, eating and hours of talking, Oju disappeared to the room and came out in the lingerie he bought. Yemi wiped his mouth severally from drool. Oju cat-walked back and forth for him, rolling her waist and flexing her butt cheeks. She gave him a lap dance and kissed him passionately. With his eyes closed, He carried her to the bedroom and made love to her. He was slow and gentle, he wanted to remember every moment. Remember every fold, every curve, every dimple. His hands wandering and wondering. She was so soft and her breasts were so full. He licked her everywhere. He clawed her at her back and squeezed her ass. He was pleasantly amazed at how flexible she was. Yemi admitted to himself that she was the best sex he ever had.

“If your body is hell, then let me burn for all eternity.” He whispered in surrender, then he came in her.

He rolled over and slept soundly. Just like that. Oju could not believe this, No cuddling ? and where were his ever present “I-love-yous” ? She was a little upset but she let it go. She kissed him on the head and slept too, she made an excuse for him that he was just exhausted.

The next morning, Oju woke up to an empty bed. She wandered to the kitchen where she saw an already cold breakfast with a note waiting for her.

“Last night was awesome, had to rush out for a meeting today. Love you sexy. Oh and drop the keys with the couple next door, they’ll call you a cab home.”

Oju pouted with disappointment. She’d call him later in the evening to thank him for last night and ask how his meeting went.  What type of meeting did he have on a Sunday anyway ?

Yemi was glad with himself ! He called Jide, Ken and Osama to watch the Nigeria-Ghana match and have beers and suya all on him.

“These Ghanaians sabi play !”Ken cheered.

“Abegi!  Wetin you know for soccer sef ? You that your team is Liverpool ?” Osama said.

“Ey, ey ! Don’t add liv…”

“You guys ! Forget that one ! Come and hear what Yems just said !” Jide said, holding his sides from laughter.

“What ?!” Ken and Osama asked in Unison.

“That Oju babe finally opened leg for him yesterday and he just.. he just.. he just.. Ahahaha.” Jide laughed too much to complete his sentence.

“Don’t answer him o!” Yemi said with a half serious-half joking expression on his face.

“Stop holding out ! Gist us ! What happened ?” Osama said.

“Yeah, we…” Yemi said, using his hands to gesticulate.

“We ? What did we do ?” Osama asked.

“We.. We.. We..” Yemi stammered was unsure of why he felt embarrassed.

“Wait, who is Oju again?” Ken asked.

“The fat half cast one.” Jide answered.

Ken, Osama and Jide burst into laughter. Yemi tugged at his ear and smiled uncomfortably.

“Look, guys it was just a sex thing.” Yemi lied, and felt a huge pang of guilt.

“No now..” Jide laughed

“Yemi has caught the now-that-I’ve-had her-I-don’t-want-her-anymore bug.” Osama laughed.

“No now ! Yemi likes this babe, can’t you see he’s acting different ?” Jide accused.

“Acting how ?” Yemi played dumb. He had feelings for her, but after they thought she was fat and teased him tirelessly he knew he had to end it.

Baba Risi’s Court – The Guardian

I’m naughty 🙂 I tried to not write this, but it jumped out of my fingers. Y’all have The Guardian who commented on the Baba Risi Awoof for Illustrators yesterday to thank for this 2ce this week Baba Risi. (No come think say if you vex for comment, I go post am 2ce a week every week o). By the way, saw his follow up comments on giving out a Wacom Intuos Graphic Tablet for the winner. Big ups to him. Hit me up on twitter @tundeleye or email me at ajileyeb@gmail.com so I can get the details for getting that for the winner. Enjoy “The Guardian” inspired The Guardian episode of Baba RIsi’s Court 😀

TL

big smiley

After that interview, Baba Risi thought he would have to lay low for a while. But for where? The number of cases he had to judge had increased by four folds now and the gate takings from the spectators was quite a handsome pile. He had just finished one case where one foolish corper impregnated the twins selling bread and ewa aganyin and the clerk was calling the next case now.

The complainant came forward with swagger. He was wearing a starched linen top with chinos trousers, trekkers and a pair of glasses. Altogether, he had the overall look of a very brainy person. The second guy behind him who Baba Risi initially thought was with the complainant but who turned out to be the accused in this case was dressed like all those bankers. He hastily removed his lapel pin and ID card before Baba Risi could make out which bank he worked with and went to the other side.

“Yes, who collect who wife out of two of una,” Baba Risi queried. This was the only reason he could think of where two successful young men would come before his court. Except this type of new crowd was attracted by his interview with NOI and Sikiru, in which case, all join!

The complainant responded “Baba Risi, my name is The Guardian, and I am angry. Angry for you and for me and this nonsense guy” he pointed at the banker looking guy, “is the reason why I am angry.”

Baba Risi sat up “what is this about? Wetin the guy do?”

Rosco and some other boys move in close to the banker guy, ready to exact some judgment once Baba Risi gave the signal.

The Guardian, pleased, continued “no mind am. He says he’s a writer and blogger and he had been writing about this your honorable court since, using your name to make himself popular. The worst one he now did is the last one.”

“Shooo, oga talk am quick abeg, wetin he do now?” Baba Risi was getting impatient.

“I am an illustrator, I draw images. It is a very noble profession, and this man disrespected us. He asked people to draw you, as many people that are illustrators out there looking to be popular. They want to use your name and image, Baba Risi, free of charge. And he now said he was doing awoof to we illustrators, that he will give us one nonsense Nokia Phone like that, Lumia 520, that is like 27K. What nonsense!”

Baba Risi looked incredulously at The Guardian.

“Oga, how e take affect you now? As Eldee the Don talk, is it your money? Abeg, make dem dey draw me dey go, maybe I go be like governor wey the face dey dey everywhere. Ngbo, Ogbeni writer what do you have to say?”

Immediately, the banker guy raised his hands in the air and said “Baba n Risi, twaile, you much too much o!”

Baba Risi could not help bursting into laughter. The sight of this suave looking guy displaying like one of his boys was just too funny. “Oga wetin be your name o?” he asked

“My name na Tunde Leye, and I just dey do small play play ni. This our small prize no be for Oga at the top like this chairman here o. Na for upcoming people, make dem for popular small, see big work of 200k per job like am.”

“haaa! Oga Guardian, na true? You dey collect 200k per job to draw person like me?” Baba Risi asked in disbelief.

“Of course. That is the minimum I charge for such character conceptualization jobs. It could be much more,” the Guardian said, adjusting his specs.

“And you never do prize for upcoming illustrators to become like you? You come dey vex for person wey dey try help with him small thing?”

The Guardian saw he had misjudged the reason for Baba Risi’s disbelief. “Errrm,” he stammered.

“Sharrap! Na my judgment be this. Since you respect una work much, you must to contribute to this prize and the thing wey you must put must pass the phone wey Tunde Leye dey put. Rosco follow am now now to go collect the thing!”

“I was going to give something to support but I still wanted him to show some respect for our profession…” The Guardian said but Baba Risi cut him short.

“Sharrap, you are still talking? Take 5k fine from this man jor,” he said. Immediately, Rosco frisked him and 5k in crisp ATM type bills came out. Baba Risi thought that he should have made it a bigger fine, because there seemed to be money in his hand.

“Now, forward march to go and buy something that is of value for Tunde Leye to give, before I fine you again for delaying carrying out judgment,” Baba Risi said, standing up for effect.

The Guardian beat a hasty retreat from the imposing figure of Baba Risi and made for the door, closely followed by Rosco and Tunde.

**********************************++

The Guardian eventually donated a Wacom Intuos Graphics Tablet for the TLSPLACE ILLUSTRATORS AWOOF. J

NOW, IF YOU HAVEN’T STILL TOLD YOUR ILLUSTRATOR FRIENDS ABOUT THIS, PLEASE DO. LET’S HAVE FUN CREATING WHAT BABA RISI LOOKS LIKE JOR. HERE’S THE LINK TO HOW TO ENTER.  https://tlsplace.wordpress.com/2013/08/20/baba-risis-court-boys-scouts/

Baba Risi’s Court – Boys Scouts

And its finally here. Baba Risi and Sikiru the international weed seller of Oniru come together in this episode to deliver a rib cracking episode. I had immense fun with @SagaySagay cooking this one up.

ANNOUNCEMENT. TELL ALL YOUR ARTIST FRIENDS 🙂 TLSPLACE AWOOF

ILLUSTRATORS ARE RARELY CELEBRATED, SO LET’S HAVE SOME TLSPLACE FUN. IF YOU ARE AN ARTIST, YOU DRAW, OR YOU PAINT, SIMPLY MAKE A DRAWING ILLUSTRATING BABA RISI. READ THE STORIES HERE https://tlsplace.wordpress.com/category/baba-risis-court/ TO GET A PICTURE OF WHAT HE SHOULD LOOK LIKE AND ENSURE YOU DRAW HIM FROM AT LEAST THE WAIST UP. EMAIL YOUR BABA RISI IMAGE IN JPEG FORMAT TO ajileyeb@gmail.com

I’LL PUT UP THE ENTRIES I GET ON THE BLOG AND HAVE PEOPLE VOTE FOR THE BEST.  THE WINNER GETS A BRAND NEW NOKIA LUMIA 520 FROM ME. YOU HAVE TILL SATURDAY THE 7TH OF SEPTEMBER TO SEND AN ENTRY IN AND VOTING WILL LAST FOR A WEEK FROM MONDAY 9TH OF SEPTEMBER. GOOD LUCK PEOPLE AND FOLLOW ME @tundeleye FOR DETAILS.

Enjoy.

TL

Baba Risi and Sikiru

The smartly dressed female anchor looked straight into the camera and adopted the ‘I’m serious leaning on one arm forward’ pose as she said “Good evening Nigeria, and this is the show you’ve all been waiting for. I have here with me in the studio, the liveliest and most unexpected mix of guests today. We’re talking about the economy and what it takes to build a business in Nigeria today. I have here the honorable Minister of Finance and Coordinating Minister for the economy, Professor Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala.”

The camera changed focus and the erudite professor filled the screen on the millions of Nigerian televisions tuned in for the broadcast. Sporting her trademark headtie and Ankara attire and glasses, she did not smile for the camera. “Good evening Nigeria,” she said simply and the camera move away.

The anchor continued “also here with us is a successful business man, with business interests spanning” she coughed here and she searched for the words “agriculture and downstream oil, Mr. Sikiru Oniru.”

The camera panned to Sikiru and zoomed in on his face. His Oyo tribal marks contrasted his sparkling white shirt and cardigan. Sikiru was looking like something from the pages of GQ, all you had to do was cut the scarred head off and replace with one of those sporting waves carrying guys. He had come a long way from his jeans and t-shirt hustling days on the sands of Oniru beach.

He smiled for the camera, exposing a Mecca acquired gold tooth and said ebulliently “Thank you very much for asking us to come. How are you Naija?”

“And my third and final guest for the evening is Alhaji Kazeem Faisal, better known as Baba Risi.”

Baba Risi came into view donning his favored white kaftan and skull cap. The AC in this Nigerian station was not working like the Aljazeera one. Naija sha. He raised his hands and said boisterously “Fellow Nigerians, welcome to the show. As I always say Ni-gee-ri-ya yi ti gbogbo wa ni” he burst into the popular Sunny Ade song and he was joined by Sikiru on the refrain “Ko ma gbodo ba je…”

When they were done, the anchor found a point to cut in and then completed her introductory talk “yes, I have interesting guests today, I’m sure you have seen some of this already. So call your friends, family, neighbors and everyone around. I’m your host, Adaku Achimologu. We…”

“Wetin be that oooo?” Baba Risi interrupted.

“What exactly sir?” Adaku asked, trying hard to mask her embarrassment. They were on air for Christ’s sake.

“Na so dem dey call your name? with sprin sprin like that wey we no go hear.”

“Abi o,” joined in Sikiru. “I dey watch am as she call madam name, call my own and your own join with this pho-ne wey I no understand. I say, even if she no know how dem dey call all our names, she must sabi her own name. She come talk the thing like this,” and he mimicked how she had pronounced her name.

“Madam, your name na Ada-aku Ashimologu” Baba Risi said pointedly in his thick Yoruba accent.

Ngozi had refused to comment until now, but with the murderous way both the owner of the name and the correctors had pronounced it, she stepped in addressing Adaku.

“How long were you away for?”

“Three years,” Adaku responded.

“I take it then that you were already an adult before you travelled. How then did you so quickly forget how to say your name correctly? I’ve been away from Nigeria for much longer and I still say Ngozi properly. Lady and gentlemen, the correct pronunciation is” she cleared her throat and said in the proper Ibo accent “Adaku Achimologu”.

If Adaku was white, she would have been red in the cheeks by now. They quickly went for the commercial break and she did all she could to regain her composure by the time they got back on air. If the monitoring systems for viewers tuned in for a TV program worked in Nigeria, they would have seen a sharp upsurge in the number of people that tuned in during the commercial break. Word of the small drama had spread on twitter and blackberries already and people tuned in. Even Femi Fani-Kayode’s statement about long term and intimate relationship with Bianca Ojukwu did not generate such interest.

“Welcome back viewers,” Adaku said, with the accent noticeably toned down. Twitter went gaga again for those few seconds with everyone falling over themselves to capture the moment in 140 characters. Adaku addressed Ngozi

“Recently, the midterm report on the economy you gave showed a lot of positives but it also drew many reactions from Nigerians. Can you shed light on this viz a viz the impact of such macro economics on Nigerians who want to do business?”

Ngozi cleared her throat “we have grown the economy by over 7% in the last five years, and inflation is single digit. Nigeria’s rating on ease of doing business has consistently improved year on year. Our banks are stronger due to banking reforms. Non oil revenue accounts for a larger chunk of our GDP now than it did five years ago. It is easy to do business and succeed in Nigeria.”

Adaku turned to Sikiru “Mr. Sikiru, what are your thoughts on this?”

Sikiru smiled “Madam dey blow grammar o. E no easy to do any business for Naija. Which inflation is single digit? Single digit ko, double barrel ni. Which bank dey borrow us money sef? Abegi. And she sabi how much we dey pay as ‘roger’ to police and wey we dey spend for generator? Even if her number dey talk 20% growth, that one na grammar. And as P Square talk am, grammar na for dictionary.”

Baba Risi cut in “I see am wey madam dey talk say e be like cake. Abeg, how many of the people wey she dey follow talk don chop cake this year? If she come my court, come see the number of cases of generator dispute wey I dey settle weekly. If light dey, people go dey fight on when to on generator? She dey talk GDP sef, who dey feel our GDP apart from PDP members? Me, I dey with Sikiru on this matter.”

Ngozi fumed. She had agreed to this debate on the advice of her PR team who told her perception was that she talked above ordinary Nigerians.

“Mr. Sikiru, you pay the police willingly only because your business is not legitimate. Are you not Sikiru the world renowned weed seller?”

“An an, Madam Ngo, this is not right. All of us have our sides that we don’t want to say here now. Why you no mention my chain of filling stations? Abi, you wey dey talk, na only Minister you be? You think say we no know Venture Capital ni and how the ownership structure be? Fifty Million Dollars to Jonjon. No call dog monkey for us abeg.” Sikiru responded.

“What the hell are you insinuating mister?” Ngozi asked, flaring up visibly.

Baba Risi laughed “Ngo, calm down now, oya drop hand for pastor. We know say na where you dey work you go chop, na why dem dey call am workshop, so we no dey talk say you do bad thing to put your brother as oga for the company.”

Adaku saw that the minister was about to boil over and she quickly moved to salvage the situation “Gentlemen, please refrain from making such sweeping statements.”

“An an, Adaku, no be she first accuse Sikiru ni? Anyway, oya we dey hear you.”

“So Madam, what would you say is the most important attribute a business must possess to stand strong?”

Ngozi adjusted her headtie and cleared her throat before responding “Like any good organization, a business must strive to improve transparency, accountability and leverage key alliances. They must keep on raising the bar, keep on pushing boundaries…”

“Kai, madam, with all this your English, you for come meet the man wey dey my court two days ago, Mr. Romanus of Haba Habatically People’s Congress! That one na for book o, e no dey work for streets. Adaku and Nigerians, abeg make Sikiru wey don build business tell us how he do am jare.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? Can’t you be civilized and let people finish speaking, wait your turn before jumping in?” Ngozi exploded.

Baba Risi responded “My honorable minister, you don vex ni? Oda no vex, I just dey…”

“Adaku, I’ll endure only one more of these outbursts!” Ngozi said.

“Yes ma,” Adaku said respectfully and then turned to the two men with a scowl “Gentlemen, I urge you to be civil.” Then she managed to wear a smile and then said “Now, Mr. Sikiru, please share your expertise with us as regards my last question.”

The gold tooth flashed again for the camera “On the streets, na only two things dey involved. One, you must make people know you as the person wey dem associate with the product. Me now, dem dey call me Sikiru Oniru. That rhyming alone don make am stick. Then the product, SK, na the same as my nickname SK. So when people talk say dem wan buy SK, na me dem dey think. Na that one madam Ngo people dey call branding. Na why dem do the re-branding programme the other time before dem dump am. All na street. Second thing be say make you fit defend your product. For my zone, nobody else fit sell my product, dem never born the mama. I sure say for Baba Risi side, nobody fit judge any case outside him court and once he judge, nothing fit shake am. Na wetin we dey talk be that,” Sikiru flashed his teeth again.

“Beeni, one hundred percent correct!”

Suddenly, there were sounds of scuffling people from outside the studio and they all froze. Seconds later, some men in military uniform stormed into the studio.

“Ha! Coup d’état! Please don’t Okotie Eboh me. Please!” Ngozi said as she stood up and raced behind Baba Risi who was also standing now.

Adaku exclaimed “ha! I don die o. Jesus come and save me o, biko!”

The soldiers ignored both of them and addressed Sikiru.

“So you think you can take away our petrol abi? And made a fool of us in your filling station. You now have the guts to show your face on TV and call yourself a business man. Your own don be today!”

Sikiru knew that he was in serious trouble. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He was cornered and cornered for good. Already, two of the soldiers were closing in on him.

Somewhere inside the production room, the producer was yelling that they should keep the cameras rolling. This was vintage footage and he was going to get it.

“Oga, we can settle this amicably,” he said, eyes roving, looking for an exit. The only entrance into the room was manned by two hefty soldiers. On her seat, Adaku was transfixed, shaking like a leaf.

Baba Risi stepped forward. “Oga officer, you for wait am now, to settle this thing after we commot for TV, abi…” one of the overzealous soldiers stepped forward and landed a dirty slap on Baba Risi’s face.

“How dare you…” he was saying as he acted, but suddenly reeled backwards with a bent arm. Rather than moving Baba Risi, it was the soldier’s hands that the slap bent.

“Ah ah, you no know person? Na me you raise hand to slap?” Baba Risi asked, incensed.

The soldiers had shifted back a bit now.

He turned to Sikiru “My friend, you prepare come?” he asked.

Sikiru shook his head “Na TV station we dey come Baba, so I no prepare at all at all come o.”

“Kai, Sikiru, you should always be like Boy Scout, be prepared!” With that, he reached under his shirt and pulled out a string with beads tied on and handed it to Sikiru.

“Na from Ilishan that one come, anybody wey e touch, na to begin shake for floor. These ones wey their mates dey for Maiduguri, dey pursue Shekau to collect seven million dollars, come here come fight civilian. Una go take!” Baba Risi said.

With that, they both turned to the soldiers and moved towards them menacingly. “Oya come, make I nack you something,” Sikiru said, waving the beaded string. The soldiers backed toward the door, with the slapper clutching his twisted hand.

They did not notice that one of the soldiers at the door had left. Suddenly, the door burst open and soldiers began pouring in. About forty soldiers crammed into the small room.

“Ahhhh, battalion ke? Sikiru, me I don go o,” Baba Risi exclaimed. With that, he lifted one leg and he immediately disappeared.

Sikiru exclaimed “me sef dey come o” and he was gone too.

Pandemonium broke lose as all the soldiers scrambled to exit the room through the single door.

THE BABA RISI ILLUSTRATORS AWOOF PRIZE. GET DRAWING!

THE BABA RISI ILLUSTRATORS AWOOF PRIZE. GET DRAWING!

Rekiya’s Tale – Episode 10

I’ll be posting the collabo episode of Baba Risi and Sikiru tomorrow. You cannot afford to miss it. And yes, I’ll be announcing another tlsplace giveaway too, so tell everyone you know to read Baba Risi’s Court tomorrow. Enjoy the 10th Episode of Rekiya’s Tale.

TL

Rekiya 4

Rekiya’s Perspective

Life has a way of making the thing you hope will not happen be the very thing that occurs.

I struggled to clean the tears from my face and put myself together before going to the door. His reaction told me clearly that my struggle had been in vain. My father was the last person I wanted to see me like this. I mean, I am the one who keeps saying I can take care of myself and hold my shit together, and here I was, a hot mess.

He walked past me into the house and took everything in. for a moment, he looked like he was going to scold me or even say something in the line of being thankful we were finally rid of the baby. I was already preparing my defense, my comeback to whatever he would say, but he simply turned around and hugged me close.

Lord, I have never been more grateful for a hug. I forgot all my thinking about looking strong and all and crumbled into tears in his arms. Daddy rocked me back and forth gently and we just stayed that way for what seemed to be a very long time.

“Doctor Phillips called me and told me everything. I was not in town but I rushed back as soon as he told me and came here straight. I would have called you, but considering how we parted the last time, I thought it better to just come here.”

I just kept sobbing and he gently carried me to the couch. “Sorry my baby, I’m so so sorry. You are all I have left and it breaks my heart to see you hurt this way. And I’m really truly sorry about Ochuko.”

As he mentioned the name, the dams burst and my sobs gave way to fast flowing tears.

“Daddy, I killed him,” I wailed.

“You did no such thing dear, you didn’t. he died in an unfortunate accident,” He responded.

“You don’t understand. He would not have been on that plane if it wasn’t because of things I did. And now he’s dead…” at this point I nearly choked on the tears.

“You could not have known dear, you could not have foreseen anything. Bad things happen and it’s not our fault. I need you to stop blaming yourself for this,” he responded, patting down my unruly hair.

At that moment, there was another knock on the door. My eyes dashed to the wall clock. It was past ten. I stirred like I was getting up, but daddy held me down. “Whoever it is can come back tomorrow,” he said. But the knocking was persistent and it got increasingly louder, until he finally got up out of exasperation and went to answer it. I strained to hear what was being said at the door, but try as I did, I couldn’t. I only had to wait for a few minutes before he returned with a strange women behind him.

“This lady insisted she needs to see you urgently and since she

mentioned something from…” Daddy was saying. As soon as she emerged from behind him, I recognized her.

“Daddy, this woman isn’t my colleague, she is Ochuko’s wife.”

My dad spun around, eyes blazing and growled “how dare you deceive me like that to get into my daughter’s house at this ungodly hour? What if I hadn’t been here? You want to come and do what exactly?”

She calmly spoke with a thick British accent “sir, I only came to see if she was real and to confirm things for myself from her before I decide on going through with the divorce or not.”

“Well, she doesn’t want to talk with you or anyone that has anything to do with that scoundrel of a husband that you were married to,” he responded angrily.

“I am still married to him as we speak sir, so there’s no reason to refer to our marriage in the past tense,” she said in a cold but polite voice.

I stood up from the couch and went around my dad to face her directly.

“Well, Mrs. Except you guys in the UK can be married to dead guys, then your marriage is just what he says it is. Past tense. Over.”

She looked at me incredulously. “What are you saying?”

“Ochuko left Nigeria today to come and see you. And the plane he was travelling in crashed, with no survivors. So madam…”

“What are you saying? I just…” she was saying in response when the door opened. I thought it was Fafa letting herself in, but I almost passed when Ochuko emerged from the doorway, panting. He had obviously been running. Whenever I’m watching Nollywood and they see something like this, and say “you are not dead?” I laugh at them and remark on how silly the question is. But I found myself saying exactly those words right now.

“I can explain Rekiya,” he said, his eyes pleading.

“You had better began to. Because, if you are not dead, I just might make sure you truly die tonight, you this numbskull.”

He turned to his wife and said “Akudo, did you really have to do this? We could have sorted it out between us.”

“Shut the hell up, Ochuko or whatever name you are known by here. I needed to see her for myself. I kept telling myself it could not, was not, should not be true. Until I walked through the door and actually set my eyes on her, I still hoped it was a lie.”

Ochuko gave her the same pleading look he had given me moments earlier and repeated the same words “I can explain…”

Lord, the hatred welled up within me, stronger than it had been before. This man was a despicable charlatan and I had fallen for him and had been grieving for him until moments ago.

“You don’t have to explain anything Ochuko, it’s becoming clear to me,” I began. In spite of the rage welling up inside me, the old, calm and clearheaded me was returning through the haze. I continued “you obviously didn’t get on that plane. You lied to me about travelling, sent me flight details just to keep me off Ochuko. You are a 419er. The question though that I ask myself is why. Why go to such lengths?”

“He didn’t want you meeting me.” Akudo responded before he could.

“Huh?” I said.

“The moment my friend told me about you, I booked to come to Nigeria and told him I was coming. But I lied to him and told him I was coming with a later flight so I could catch him off guard. He simply told you of a flight around when I told him I was coming in. and told you he was travelling to keep you away for as long as I chose to be around.”

“Hmm, I see,” I said. We both sat down, ignoring the men, two women wrapped in our world of hurt over the same man. We were talking like old friends.

“I asked my friends to find out about you the moment I got your details off the blog story. I got your address and asked a cab to bring me here.”

“Well, I’m not really married to him, that was something my friend Farida and I cooked up, as part of our plan to deal with him for lying to me and getting me preggy.” I responded. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“Water would be fine,” she responded.

It was then we heard the crash that brought us both back into the living room. My dad had hit Ochuko who reeled backwards, nursing his jaw.

“Daddy stop it!” I shouted. He seemed to get a hold of himself and he sat down, clenching his fist. It was obvious the punch had hurt his old hands as much as they hurt Ochuko’s jaw.

For a third time that night, my door opened and Farida walked in.

**********+++++++++++**************

Rekiya says: Again, there are bits of the tale that we’ll need to shift to Fafa telling us. So, in Frank Edoho voice, the voice you will hear till the end of the episode will be Fafa’s

**********++++++++***************

FARIDA’S PERSPECTIVE

I was going to let things rest that night, but somehow, it kept floating around in my head and tugging at my mind. Then, like those cartoons, it would seem a light bulb flashed in my head. There’s this toaster I have who works in the phone company. He’s one of the fringe guys who gets only polite attention from me. He would jump off a cliff if I asked him to.

I called him and he picked on the first ring

“To what do I owe this honor,” he said. He obviously found it hard to believe I was the one calling.

“At least say hello, Mr. Deji Aduwa.” I said.

“I’m sorry, so sorry,” he gushed.

“Not to worry Deji, it’s fine. There’s something I need your help on and it’s real urgent”

“Oh, anything for you my darling,” he cooed. See men en, give them an inch, and they take a mile. Which one involves darling in this matter? Because I need him to do something abi? Anyway, I brushed that aside and focused

“I need to find out which numbers talked to a certain number today, and at what time and if there’s any one between three and five PM today, can you let me know their text messages?”

“Ha! What you are asking me to do is illegal o. it requires a police request and… he prattled.

“So you cannot help me?” I said, a threat of never calling or picking his calls looming in the air. The young man considered for a few moments and then said “oh damn! I can’t refuse you anything when you ask like that. what’s the number again? I’ll need about twenty minutes, since I have get someone in the office to get the info for me. And if this gets out in any way, if you mention me, I go deny o.”

“Oh thanks, you’re such a darling” I gushed and pictured his head swelling to fill the room. Worefa, he should sha get what I want.

Twenty minutes later, my performer rang me with a different number.

“I am calling with another number cos we record calls some times. I’ve emailed the only text message to you. The number that sent the text is also the only one he spoke with during that time frame you spoke about. So I was thinking…”

I quickly cut him off before he started telling me about the wonderful date he had planned and checked my email.

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed when I saw its contents. I grabbed my keys and headed to the car park. I needed to see Rekiya tonight.

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