Write Right Two – Week Four Top 5 Entries

We have the results for the 3rd Week of the 4-part series by the Write Right Two top 5. View the results HERE 

Today, we post the final episodes of the series. It’s been a thrilling ride. We should have our Winner next week and then we’ll share details of the Prize Giving Event. So keep voting for your best and keep rooting for them. One of the finalists took a bow out from the competition by not sending in an entry this week. Writing is very hard work.

Pictures from the Meet, Chat and Buy Naija Books Event will be up tomorrow, so you can come and check.


Write Right


“I just wanted you to feel relaxed and say your last prayers. Now, you have done just that” she said to me. Before I had the chance to reply her, she pulled the trigger. The bang of the gun alone made me think I was dead.

I closed my eyes expecting to see heaven next, but then, I heard another gunshot. It was either she targeted wrongly or she actually didn’t intend to shoot me. I heard the shattering of glass next. Surprised, I looked up from my teary and blurry eyes to see about ten policemen in the auditorium and more coming in through the shattered windows.

The shot came from the police. Thank God they had finally come. The policemen rounded them all up, handcuffed them and led them to their bullet-proof van.

As Kemi was being handcuffed, she whispered to me; “You may have won this battle, but you will never win the war.” And she smiled again. Tola started laughing uncontrollably, scaring me a little.

I closed my eyes and said a prayer of thanks to God. One of the policemen placed a call to the emergency service of Lagos University Teaching Hospital requesting for an ambulance. One of the guests who happened to have been a doctor checked Simi properly and observed that her heart was still beating although very slowly. She was unconscious and had entered a coma. Dre and I were okay but the unit leader of the rapid response squad (RRS) suggested that we needed a few sessions of counselling and trauma therapy.

When the ambulance came, Dre warded off the paramedics, carried his bride up and placed her on the stretcher. The best man did the same to me. I looked into his eyes and I knew that I had found my other half. Or maybe my brain was blocked with all that had happened.

Simi was taken to LUTH. Two of the doctors that were on ground in the Accident and Emergency ward examined her and told us that the bullet had pierced through one side of her lower abdomen and had come out from the other side, it had missed the six week old pregnancy and vital organs by a few centimetres.

Dre then had to spill the beans. He had gotten her pregnant exactly six weeks after he proposed and exactly six weeks before the wedding. Although I know that they fornicated, I’ll just say God works in mysterious ways by allowing the bullet miss the baby.


Kemi, Tola and the thugs they had hired were put in jail. My father wanted to charge them to court so he hired a top-notch prosecution lawyer who won the case even without visual evidence.  Kemi was charged to court for attempted murder and for possession of firearms, Tola was charged as an accomplice to attempted murder and possession of firearms as well.

There were three hearings in total within the space of six months. At the end of it all, Kemi was sentenced to ten years in prison while Tola and the thugs got six years each


When I woke up the following morning, I looked down from my window and saw so many cars in the compound. I went downstairs to find out what was wrong and when I saw the various sad faces, I knew my coming downstairs was a bad idea. The house was crowded with so many so-called sympathisers, including people that didn’t show up for the wedding. I had so many pings, direct messages and texts from friends and relations asking if I was okay and if the wedding would still hold.

One man even walked up to me and called me to a corner. I followed him thinking he wanted to tell me something important. The man then opened his mouth to say; “your brother’s bride-to-be got shot, why do you look happy?” I ran upstairs to my room as fast as I could.

I started crying as soon as I made it into my room. Why was this happening to us? Why was the very first marriage in our nuclear family ruined? Demilade (Dre’s best man) came to check on me (he came to see the both of us but seemed more concerned about me). He later drove Dre and I to one of our therapy sessions. He took me out later in the evening to get ice-cream after dropping Dre off at home.

He asked me out on the drive back home and I told him I would think about it. Guys just don’t know the right time to express their feelings, mentally I’m definitely not ready for any advances talk less of starting something. My thoughts still revolved around Simi and the events of the wedding. For some weird reason though, some part of me felt elated that he finally made it out of the friend zone.

The following morning Dre and I went to visit Simi. She had been placed on life support because she was in an induced coma. When we got there, her parents were just leaving. The nurse on duty led us to her bedside and told us that she believed Simi seemed to respond to sound. Dre sat down beside her, telling some of the sweetest words I have ever heard. He later faced reality.

“Simi, please come out of this for me. I’ve not been the same since Saturday morning. No amount of therapy can make me forget all that happened. Simi, you know I love you no matter what.”

I was by her side sobbing and getting emotional. Her fingers began to twitch slightly, Dre’s words definitely had a huge impact on her. He stood up, holding her fingers and kissed her cheeks. In the strangest fashion, all of a sudden, Simi opened her eyes, smiled, and whispered “I do!”



THE END!!! Uhm, not yet.

One year later

Here I am, the aunt of a bouncing baby boy, Oludare Junior (the way this Yoruba people like transferring names though. We’ll call him OJ for short). He’s almost five months old. Just about the way I imagined it, Mum ‘backing’ OJ, Dre is cuddling Simi on a couch and I’m on break also helping out with the baby. Demilade is with me and helping out as well. We are together now *wink*


Simi wedded Dare yesterday in the city of Abuja. Only our family members and a few guests were invited. Simi got to say “I do” once again, but this time, it was at the altar, in her wedding dress. OJ was with my mum at the time. The second wedding was a good one, I saw Dre dance for the first time in my life (apart from church dance of moving from left to right and clapping your hands).


Kemi entered her seventh month in prison last week and Tola ran mad one month after her sentence. She is presently in a psychiatric hospital. The thugs escaped from prison and the police is currently on the look-out for them.


Now, this is the end.



It took Charles all of 5 minutes to calm Tunde and Lanre down. He sat across the table from them in a fast food outlet opposite the University of Ibadan. Charles had opted for the venue as he did not want them informing Tamilore’s mother of the news of her daughter’s abduction until he had all the facts. They were understandably agitated, having never witnessed an abduction before. It took a repetition of the story and several questions before he got the complete picture.

“So, where’s the box she gave you?” Charles asked.

Tunde gladly handed the box over to him. This was too much trouble over such a small box. All he wanted was his friend and his bride back.

Charles unlocked the box, and checked the contents. He extracted a disk drive from the box and returned it to Ovie.

“What do we tell her mother?” Tunde asked.

“Anything to buy us time.” Charles replied.

“Can you hold her off till tomorrow?” He asked Tunde.

“I’ll think of something” Tunde said

“I’ll get them back.” Charles said, attempting to reassure them. If they were going to be of any use to him, they had to get their wits around them.

He held up the disk drive. “This is all I need. I’ll be off to Abuja tonight. If I can get this to the President, I would be able to get his intervention.”

Tunde asked the question they were all thinking, but no one dared voice out.

“Would they still be alive?”

“I cannot tell. But I’ll do my very best” Charles promised gravely. All his hopes lay on the President now.


Charles was true to his word. The very next morning, he had marched into his director’s office and presented the report. The director had taken it to the State House immediately, promising Charles that the president would look at it that morning.

That day, the president sat in his office in the State House, Abuja, head bent, and half-moon spectacles perched precariously on his nose. His face was settled into the characteristic frown that showed he was in deep thought. He had been studying the file on his table for about 45 minutes now. The SSS1 had delivered it that morning, classifying it as being of the utmost importance.  The report in his front was from a comprehensive 3-year investigative study into the Nigerian oil industry that detailed dates, places, transactions, amounts, and most incriminating, names, with photo evidences in some instances. The list of people indicted in the report could as well have been an attendance list of an inner caucus meeting of his political party, and a roll-call of the power brokers in Nigeria.

He had commissioned this report when he had been naïve of the debt he owed to those who had installed him in this office. When he had hoped he could radically transform Nigeria. All those were fanciful tales now. He filed the report in a special folder. That was the end of the matter. The report now would only be useful as leverage against those who would dare move against him in the coming election year.

That was dispensed with. He pressed the intercom and informed his ADC that he was going to leave in five minutes. He was scheduled to see his medical team again.

He picked his private phone, and spoke into it.

“I have the report. Let the boy disappear quietly. We don’t want to raise any dust.” He ended the call.

It was a necessary evil. The boy knew too much, and with the way these APC2 people were growing stronger every day, if they got this kind of information, they could summarily impeach him. Dead men don’t talk.


Tamilore blinked as the door opened. The first shaft of light since she had been kidnapped entered the room. Before awaking in the room, the last thing she had seen was the blazing headlamp of an oncoming vehicle. She had awoken in the dark room, and had faint memories of being interrogated, but they were fuzzy.

“Get up” a gruff voice said. A hand roughly pushed her to her feet. She was pushed half stumbling, half walking outside the room, and into a corridor. She was led down the corridor into an opening. There were about ten men, dressed in military fatigues in the enclosure, but she didn’t notice them. She saw only Ovie, for the first time since their wedding eve. He had lost weight, and was shabbily dressed, with four days growth of stubble; but he had never looked more handsome to her as he swatted the hand of the soldier who held him back from walking towards her. This was the Ovie she had fallen in love with.

“Ah the lovebirds.”  One of the soldiers said, smirking. He appeared to be in charge here.

“Put them in the wagon” He directed.

Ovie and Tamilore were blind-folded and hand-cuffed, and escorted to a waiting Tundra truck. They were bundled into the back of the truck, and it trundled out of the compound down a dirt road. As the truck rolled, Tamilore bumped into Ovie.

“I’m sorry for getting you into this.” Ovie said hoarsely.

“Shiiiish” She said.

“I’ll rather die being with you than live away from you.”

Suddenly, they were thrown forward as the truck gave a lurch and stopped.

They heard several shouts of “shun sir” and a gravelly voice ordered,

“Release them.”

Tamilore felt hands helping her down from the truck. The blindfold was released, and she looked around. She could see a body of water stretching out to her right. It could only be an ocean. Where was this? Surely, the Atlantic did not extend to Ibadan? The gravelly voice spoke again. It belonged to a clean-shaven, black man who towered over her. He inclined his head at Ovie.

“I am Major-General Ali Salem. I have been ordered by the President to release you and escort you to Aso Villa, Abuja.”

Tamilore turned to Ovie and flew into his arms. He held her, and they spoke no words. None was needed.

Charles Alidu smiled, walking away to give them privacy. He had been about to introduce himself. He had been summoned by his director to accompany the COAS3 to rescue Ovie. Everything had gone well. However, this was one more story he couldn’t share with anyone. Even if he did, no one was going to believe it. They would think it was simply an adaptation of one ill-written American action movie. He climbed onto the helicopter, waiting for the entwined couple staring at the Atlantic as the sun set in the distance.


2 hours before.

The President walked into the State Office. The meeting with his medical team had left him drained. He checked his watch and prayed it was not too late to right some wrongs. He picked his phone.

“General Salem, I’m issuing a counter-order with respect to Ovie Keyamo.”

“Yes sir” the general replied.

“He is to be released A.S.A.P.”

“But Mr. President,” General Salem began.

The president cut him short.

“Are you questioning a direct order?”

“No sir.”


He ended the call and settled slowly into his seat, like a man bearing a great burden on his shoulders, and studied the sheaf of papers in his hand.

Five minutes later, his phone rang. It was the ex-general. Things had been strained between them recently. He infused some warmth he did not feel into his voice.

“Baba, it’s a pleasure to….”

The ex-general cut him short.

“Are you out of your mind?”

The president blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“What’s this I hear about releasing the boy?”

“Yes. I made that decision.” The president said. He was getting slightly irritated, and did not feel like having this conversation.

“You have to reverse that decision. Don’t you know the implications for all of us?”

“I don’t care.” the president responded.

“You are clearly not thinking straight.”

“With all due respect Baba, I do not appreciate being insulted.” The president said, tapping his hands on the table. This old man was going too far.

“You are obviously going down, and I do not intend to drown with you. You are on your own in this.” The ex-general said. He ended the call.

The president held the phone to his ear. It appeared he was not even in charge of the armed forces. What would make a soldier question his orders, and report him, the president, to an ex-general? Wasn’t he still the commander-in-chief of this country? He was going to have to reshuffle the military brass.

He dialed Major-General Salem. He was brief, and straight to the point.

“General, you would personally retrieve that boy, Ovie Keyamo today, and bring him here. It would be your last act of service to this country.”

He clutched the sheaf of papers his medical team had given him. In the midst of all the medical jargon he couldn’t fully comprehend, he understood that he had less than 6 months to live. A neoplasm. Very rare.  Difficult to detect. He was truly going down. And just this morning, he had been planning how to win the next election. Power was truly a fickle flicker. The country was going to see a very different president for the next six months.


“Do you Tamilore take Ogheneovie Keyamo, to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love and to hold, in sickness and in health till death do you part?” the pastor intoned.

Tamilore could have died in that moment. Everything was so perfect.

She whispered, “I do.”

In the first row of the right aisle, silent tears streamed down Omawunmi’s face. She was sure that somewhere in heaven Rotimi was seeing this and smiling.


Over the next couple of weeks, a series of seemingly random events occurred. First, it was rumored that the President’s health was failing, and that he moved round with a medical team comprised of Nigeria’s best specialists. It was even said he had been secretly flown to several hospitals under the guise of attending international conferences. Then, an ex-general had a public falling out with the President, and they parted ways for a while. Next, the President retired all his service chiefs. From the outside, they appeared arbitrary, but to insiders, it was all ordered.

1. SSS-State Security Service.

2. APC-All Progressives Congress:Nigeria’s main opposition party.

3. Chief of Army Staff.



Clouds. Tufts of blue and pink cascading through the ethereal hemisphere. They rode on the hydro-horses. The farther they went, the thicker the clouds became. They came to a place of trees – tall and leafy and many-fingered branches planted in pools of clear sparkling water. Beyond, there was an endless stream of light. A mighty gust descended and flapped away with one of them.

Sade spread-eagled on the car’s bonnet, amid the shards of glass that was once the windscreen, heaved a ragged breath. It was her last. Anike’s glassy stare saw and yet could not comprehend. Her throat willed her mouth to scream but the flap of skin drooled a mixture of saliva and blood on the inflated airbag. Rotimi’s hands still gripped Wewe’s waist. He’d pulled and held her strong. Even when he’d heard, krack krack, the sound of his breaking fibula as the driver’s seat had crushed it, he’d not let go. Blood from a laceration on Yeye’s forehead trickled down her face. She ignored it. Yeye opened the door on her side and ran to the still form of her daughter. In the blinking glare of the headlights, Tanwa was a bloodied mess. Yeye yowled like a wolf.


They stood over her. She was placed on her side. The masked figure made an incision. He cut away the muscle and fat and tissue. Then, he nipped the ureter from the organ. The ruptured kidney went into the petri dish. The surgeon straightened and the scrub nurse dabbed sweat from his eyebrows. It had been a laborious five-hour surgery. Unuttered relief hung in the air. It was short-lived.

“Shit!”the surgeon swore as he watched the urine in the catheter bag turn a bright red.

The surgeon untied the strings of his face mask and peeled the gloves off his hands. This was the part of his job he hated the most. Facing patients’ relatives and telling them the dismal condition of the patient.  With drooping shoulders, he walked out of the operating room.

In the theatre lobby, Yeye’s thighs trembled as in a spasm. She’d stayed there all night. She looked like an Egyptian Mummy with her head swathed in a white crepe bandage. When she saw the surgeon approach, Yeye rose in expectation.

“How is she? Is my Omotanwa alive? Please tell me,” she said, gripping the surgeon’s hands.

The surgeon steadied her. “Madam, you need to be calm. Please.” Yeye nodded even though the words flew past her ears like buzzing houseflies. The blaring siren of the ambulance that had transported them to the University College Hospital resounded in Yeye’s ears. Sade had been pronounced D.O.A. Anike had suffered a partial stroke and broken ribs. Apart from his broken limb, Rotimi had appeared fit and Wewe had come out unscathed. The nurses had restrained Yeye in a bed, to stitch her forehead as she’d continued shouting her daughter’s name.  “Omotanwa mi o! Omotanwa o!”

Yeye’s mind snapped back to the present as she watched the movement of the surgeon’s lips.  “Your daughter’s kidneys were severely ruptured as a result of the impact. I removed one of the kidneys and tried to repair the other….” The doctor paused and cleared his throat.

Ehn, ehn? So, what happened?” Yeye asked, in a hysterical state.

“The repair failed. Your daughter is bleeding profusely. I will have to perform another nephrectomy.”

Nefre kini? Please speak in clear terms, doctor.”

The surgeon told Yeye they will have to remove Tanwa’s second kidney. Since she could not live without a kidney, Tanwa needed a donor in the next 48 hours.

48 hours! Yeye fell back into her seat with a squishy sound. Everyone knew about the long list of renal patients awaiting transplants. Tanwa would have become a skeleton by the time her name reached the top of the list.

“It would be best to get a family member to volunteer,” the doctor advised and walked away, to the observation room.

Yeye would have gladly given Tanwa her kidney but she could not be a match. She had the selfish AB blood type that could receive from all but only donate to its like. The surgeon had mentioned relatives. Yeye’s mind drifted to her co-wives and Tanwa’s half siblings. They would laugh her to scorn if she dared step into their compound. When her husband had died, Yeye had moved out of the family house and left the other wives to squabble over the properties. As always, when problems surfaced, Yeye depended on her wealth. Who would sell their kidney to her?


She lay on the couch in the sparsely furnished room. Her eyes were glazed and half-closed. He sat on a chair at the head of the couch. He told her to think of water – gushing from a tap or gliding down a rock. “The water is falling on you. Is it hot or cold?”

Wewe answered, “The water is very hot. He poured it on me. He said bad girls get burned.”

“Did he touch your burned skin?”

Wewe’s face contorted. She chattered gibberish and let out indiscernible grunts and growls. Then, she was limp. She told him of the many men that had come morning and afternoon and night. How they had forced her on her knees between their legs and the look of pleasure on the men’s faces and the disgust she felt. She began to weep.

“I was just a little girl. He called me a bitch! A-good-for-nothing piece of crap! Yes! He said he’d picked me from the dunghill. I was lucky he’d kept me!”

Wewe laughed. She croaked like a frog as she repeated, lucky, lucky.  The psychiatrist pushed his spectacles higher on the bridge of his nose. He waited for her distress to pass. When she was still again, he continued.

“Do you like your skin?”

Wewe shook her head. She did not say the words. So, he repeated the question. She erupted into a long flow of words.

“I hate my skin. I want to remove it. He took me to that red-lighted hall every Friday and Saturday night. They told me and the other ladies to remove our clothes. We danced and danced and danced until our feet ached. Some of the men wanted more and we took them behind the curtain for the VIP treatment.”

The rain of words halted. The psychiatrist waited.

She resumed. “One night, I removed my clothes and pulled at my skin. A thousand pins pricked at it. I pulled and pulled but it would not come off. I ran out. I kept running across the valleys and thick bushes and over many rivers…until I found home.”

“Where is home?” he asked.

A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Home is where the man with the blue halo over his head is. He is mine and I am his. We belong together.”

The psychiatrist was confused. He knew the blue-halo-man and the wicked man could not be the same.  He looked at the clock on the wall. It had been an hour. He moved to the final step.

“You can remove your skin now. You’ve become a new person. You’re free from the pain of your past. Step away from that dark shadow.”

Wewe whimpered and wiggled on the couch. Then, she was calm.

“What is your name?”the psychiatrist asked.

“Wewe,” she replied and came out of the hypnosis.

Wewe sat up on the couch. She looked around the room. She ran her fingers through her matted hair. “Who are you? What am I doing here?” she asked. The voice in her head had gone silent.

The psychiatrist smiled in satisfaction. This was yet another patient he’d treated successfully with the controversial procedure of hypnosis. Some of his psychiatric colleagues had labelled him an unorthodox therapist and others called him, a magician.

After the accident, the doctor at the Moniks Private Hospital had sent the critical cases to UCH. He’d admitted Rotimi at his hospital and sent Wewe to the mental hospital since she had no injuries.

A nurse came into the room. She took Wewe by the hand and led her to the bathroom. There, she washed the caked grime off her skin. They cut the matted dreadlocks and cool breeze caressed her scalp.

In the psychiatrist office, his mobile phone rang and vibrated on the table. It was the doctor at the Moniks Private Hospital calling.

“Hello ore, I have another case for you here o.”

The psychiatrist beamed. The Moniks doctor had been his classmate in medical school. He was one of the few who still reckoned with him.

“You know I appreciate your referrals anyday. I just finished with the lady.”

“Ok. Thanks. They will soon arrive at your hospital.”

Rotimi’s leg was cast in a POP. He was wheeled into the mental hospital. Immediately, he began to twist on the wheelchair; turning this way and that way. “Where is she? Where have they hidden her?”He asked. She entered the room in a loose-fitting white gown. Time stopped ticking as they beheld each other. Wewe ran to him. She knelt before him and they wrapped their arms around one another. The orderly watched open-mouthed. The distressed man he’d wheeled into the mental hospital had been replaced by this tranquil being.

The psychiatrist watched the pair. Now, he knew who the blue-halo-man was. He walked back into his office. The new patient had all he needed to be well with him.


Yeye had been on the phone all day. Now, in frustration she swiped her fingers hard across the phone’s screen.

“Don’t tell me you’ve not found someone yet! Dondee! I gave you just a simple assignment.” The man on the line stammered. He was Yeye’s right-hand man.

“Madam, I’m trying…bu-t you know it’s someone’s body part we talking of….”

Yeye cut in. “So? Won’t people do anything for money? I have raised the offer to ten million naira! Find a donor before morning!”

As she turned in the direction of the ICU where Tanwa had been admitted, she saw the pair. They were moving towards the adjacent orthopaedic ward. Rotimi hopped on crutches and Wewe walked by his side. Yeye rushed to meet them. She stopped in her tracks like a zombie when she encountered the transformed Wewe.

Yeye picked her jaw off the floor. She spread her palms open. “Rotimi it’s so good you are here. Please, I need your help. I know you loved her once. I know you won’t want her to die. Please, Tanwa needs a kidney from you. Please,” Yeye pleaded, as she dropped on her knees before him.

Rotimi shifted uncomfortably on his good foot. “Stand up, stand up! Don’t kneel before me,” Rotimi said. Yeye quickly got on her feet, relief dancing in her eyes. She looked at him full of hope.

“So, will you follow me to the surgeon now? To have you matched?”

Rotimi waggled his head. Yeye went over the top. She popped full blast like a champagne cork. “No! You will give your kidney! You will donate it! You will!” she screamed. Wewe stood in front of Rotimi warding Yeye off. Yeye stopped her rant for a moment and stared at her.

“You’re my daughter! You’ve to save your sister! Please!” Yeye’s words poured forth as if hot yam scalded her tongue. She told Wewe of the nine months of carrying her in her womb. She told her of the heart-wrenching pain she’d felt for many years whenever she remembered. Then, she began to weep. “I’m sorry I threw you away. I was young and stupid and scared. Please, forgive me.”

Yeye was on her knees again. She wrapped her arms around Wewe’s legs. Wewe looked at her – long and hard. Then, Wewe pushed her away.

“I have no mother or kin.”

They left Yeye sitting smack on the concrete floor. Passers-by turned to watch the disarrayed picture she painted.


She limped from the wardrobe to the bed with her clothes. On her second trip to the wardrobe, she caught her reflection in the mirror. She began to sob. The left side of her face was a canvas of keloids. For the past three months, she’d barely stepped out of the house. When she went for check-ups at the hospital, people stared. Tanwa could not stand it anymore. She’d resolved to leave.

Yeye entered her room and her eyes took it all in. “Omotanwa, what are you doing? Why are you packing your clothes? Ehn?”

Tanwa looked at her mother in disgust. This was the woman that had made her to suffer for sins she had not committed.  “I’m going to the UK. I will never return. I’m leaving you to your bad luck and wickedness,” Tanwa spat, between gritted teeth.

Bile rose to Tanwa’s chest and threatened to spill into her mouth, whenever thoughts of Rotimi and Wewe entered her mind. Tanwa was grateful to Wewe. She’d saved her life. But she could not just stand the thought of her love with another. Wewe had sought the surgeon out herself. She’d been a perfect match. It was not until the kidney was inside Tanwa, that Yeye had known its owner.

Yeye had begged the surgeon to allow a paternity test be conducted from the tissues and blood they had taken from Wewe. Yeye was not surprised with the results. It showed a 99.9% probability of Wewe being her offspring.

Yeye dragged the packed bags and tried to open the zipper. “You’re not going anywhere! You’re my one and my only. Please, don’t leave me,” she begged. Tanwa’s determination was unrelenting. She looked out of the window until she saw him enter through the gates. The driver from the travelling agency had arrived to pick her. Tanwa tried to drag one of the bags along with her. She winced as the added weight bore down on her bad leg – another aftermath from the accident.

Yeye gripped Tanwa’s arm. The intense glare and the deep-seated hatred in her daughter’s eyes caused Yeye to let go as if she’d been scorched. She watched helplessly as the driver came upstairs and carried the bags. She moved to the porch, robot-like and gazed until the car faded into the distance.


They sat in the armchair, closely like two turtledoves. They paid no attention to the movie showing on the television. Their eyes were on each other. They basked in the euphoria of their love. Anike hobbled past them, her limp left foot, flopping pa, pa, pa on the tiles. She tried to ignore the couple but they were everywhere she turned to – in the bathroom, they giggled under the shower, splashing water and having a soap fight; in the kitchen they washed plates, one washing and the other rinsing and on the dining table they fed each other, already sated with their love. Rotimi and Wewe had become a fixture in the house.

There was a knock at the door and the housemaid went to check who it was. Yeye walked quietly into the sitting room. The eyes of the two women met – Yeye, docile and Anike, fierce.

“Wha-t a-re you do-ing he-re?” Anike struggled to speak, as a spray of spittle lined her chin. The partial stroke had affected her speech and her mouth was curved to a side.

Yeye sighed. “I came to greet you and my children.”

Anike’s crooked lips make an effort to pucker. She burst into a hoarse laughter. “Me a-nd yo-ur child-ren? Yo-u can’t ki-ll this re-main-ing one,” she sputtered, pointing at Rotimi who was in a world of his own with Wewe.

Yeye entreated her. She spoke of her empty house. How the silent walls echoed her name at night; how her heart palpitated and how she’d murdered sleep. The last time they had seen each other was at the registry. Rotimi and Wewe had been wedded in a quiet ceremony.  The psychiatrist had warned Anike not to try and separate the two. “They are soul mates. It cannot be explained rationally. Take them apart and you risk a relapse of their condition.”

Anike was embittered. Sade’s photographs on the walls were a constant reminder of her pain. Anike blamed Yeye for her woes. Yeye felt she’d lost more – her two daughters lived but they had neglected her.

Silence prevailed in the room. Wewe took no notice of her mother. Yeye rose heavily to her feet. She left the house, alone – bereft in body and spirit.

Wewe, the name no one knew its origin had come to stay. Her real name enshrouded in her painful past, remained a mystery. She’d refused to remember.

Outside the house, the moon sat resplendent in the sky. Wewe and Rotimi chased each other in glee. The lovers played hide and seek in between the exotic cars – the Chevrolets and Jaguars and Toyotas. In unison, they howled at the old woman in the yellow orbit.



Fibroid. That’s what Doctor Ini said it was.  It was hard to believe that the baby I had thought was growing in my stomach wasn’t a baby after all.

I was sick. How was that possible? There was no history of fibroid in my family. Tade jostled me to the hospital as quickly and silently as possible. His actions were strange; but I read nothing into it. He’d just found out that his wife had lied to him for years. I didn’t expect easy forgiveness. But I also didn’t expect the silent treatment he was giving me.

My operation was scheduled for Tuesday. Doctor Ini had insisted that I be admitted as soon as possible. He wanted to get things over with quickly.

Although I was a bit relieved that I wasn’t carrying the bastard’s child inside me, I couldn’t help mourning the loss. For a moment, I’d thought that God had decided to let me enjoy the ecstasy of carrying a baby again. But of course that wasn’t to be.

Fibroid. The thought sent fear running through my heart. Why did I have to have an anomaly? Why did things like this happen to me?

“Tade, talk to me…please,” he had avoided looking at me for two days. “I’m about to enter the theatre. Please just forgive me.”

I watched him take my hand in his and stroke it gently. “Sometimes, we have to do what is best for ourselves and our family. I understand that.  Perhaps, if I was in the same position, I’d have done the same thing.”

A beam of hope squeezed into my heart. Could that be forgiveness I sensed? I didn’t want to get my hopes up.

“So what are you saying?” I asked, tentative.

“I’m saying, concentrate on your surgery. I need you back alive and then we can talk.”

I nodded. Dr. Ini came in, looking set for the procedure.

“We’re ready. Are you?” He asked.

“You’re doing it alone?” I wondered.

“Fibroid isn’t such a big deal,” he glanced at Tade and an inexplicable look passed between them.

“Still, you need nurses to assist you,” I persisted.

“And there will be. Listen, you’re in good hands Bukky. Just try to relax. When next you wake up, you’ll be a whole lot healthier.”

There was something bizarre about the whole thing but I couldn’t seem to put my finger on it. Perhaps I was just nervous about the surgery. It’d been a while I’d gone through surgery of any kind. I was used to being the doctor and not the patient.

“Okay, let’s go.” Doctor Ini signalled the nurses to wheel me inside the theatre.

“Tade, I’m sorry.” I clung to my husband’s hand like a lifeline.

“So am I,” slowly he bent to kiss me. And this time I wasn’t repulsed.


I was drowning in something.  It wasn’t water. It was red.


I opened my mouth to scream. Instead my lungs began to fill.

Then I heard a voice. Her voice.


My baby; Laide!

I flailed around in the pool of blood looking for her.


The voice seemed to come from somewhere within me.

Laide! Baby! I’m sorry. I struggled to say. The blood seemed to be covering my head.

I was drowning. Really drowning.

I shut my eyes. I’d failed my daughter.

And suddenly I felt like I was flying. A hand lifted me ever so gently and place me on dry land.

I opened my eyes.

I was in the hospital. Alone. I knew then that the surgery was over.

I felt the sharp pain in my abdomen as I tried to sit up. That was when I saw the blood.

It had stained the hospital sheets and my clothes.

I tried to think if one lost a lot of blood to fibroid. I couldn’t remember. Was bleeding like this, normal?

I climbed down gently form the bed, ignoring the searing pain in my abdomen.

Clutching the wall for support, I made my way out of the  hospital room and into the hallway. I needed to find Dr. Ini to tell him I was still bleeding. I didn’t take notice of the people who stared at me as I walked down the hallway; a woman stained with blood.

Where was Dr. Ini’s office again?

Ah! There it was.

As I made to knock on the door, I heard a familiar voice from within.

“She’s still bleeding and it’s the third day. How long are you going to keep her sedated?”

It was my husband’s voice.

“Until the bleeding stops. I don’t want her to wake up and suspect anything. She’s a doctor too and she’ll know immediately that such a surgery shouldn’t require much loss of blood.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Doc? I don’t want to lose my wife.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing? Arranging an abortion without her knowledge! I’m not the one at fault here.”

“I did it for her. For us. She couldn’t have that baby.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Before I could summon the courage to confront them. I saw the ground rising to meet me.

I blacked out.


The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes, was a face that looked so much like mine. I inhaled sharply for a moment, shut my eyes and opened them again for a clearer view. The face remained there, hovering over mine.

“Hi mum.”

I had forgotten how much she looked like me. The last time I had seen her had been a year ago, at my grandpa’s burial. Seeing her now, sent a myriad of emotions washing over me. Suddenly my guilt kicked in and lay on my shoulders heavily. I’d deprived this girl a normal life with me for fourteen years.

I began sobbing. For all the mistakes I’d made and the people I’d hurt in a bid to keep my secret.

I felt no comforting hand reach out to touch me. It dawned on me I was more alone than ever.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered as I wiped my eyes.

“Uncle Tade said I should let you know that he went to the market to get some things,” she was avoiding my eyes. In the fourteen years she’d been on earth, I’d never acknowledged her as mine in public. She was always hidden away to protect my image. The gifts I sent across to her were not enough to appease for my absence or scarcity in her life.

As she mentioned my husband’s name, I suddenly recalled what had happened. How Tade had conspired and deceived me and taken away the baby.

I tried to sit up but was too weak to. I fell back against the bed. I was now in familiar surroundings; somehow I’d been discharged and brought home.

“Come and sit beside me, Laide.” I tapped the bed softly, suddenly craving to be with my only offspring.

She hesitated.

At fourteen she was developing nicely. Her pint sized breasts stuck out admirably on her chest and her trouser hugged her bum, showing off the little curves that were being formed. Her hair was braided into cornrows, just like mine had been when I was her age.

“Please dear,” I urged.

She came, sitting tentatively at the edge of the bed.

“When did you come?” I asked, “Who sent for you?”

“You want me to go back?” A look of panic crept into her eyes.

I took her hand in mine, “Laide, you’re never leaving my side again. I want us to catch up on all the years we’ve missed out.”

“Why now? You never wanted me in your life before.”

The bitterness echoed in her voice almost brought tears to my eyes.

“A lot of things have happened, my dear. I was wrong to keep you away from me. But I hope you know I love you?”

She didn’t answer. I had never said that to her in all her life. It had never seemed appropriate then. She’d always been the unwanted child. Loving her hadn’t been easy, it was a gradual process.

“I love you Laide. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know sooner. I’ve made a lot of mistakes but keeping you away is the worst thing I’ve done yet.”

“What about my father?”

I blinked. I had expected anything but that. “I don’t know where he is. I haven’t spoken to him since I left school fifteen years ago.”

That was a lie. I had seen him once at the former hospital I worked in. He had brought in his wife to have her baby. I didn’t bother acknowledging him and neither did he. Laide and I were better off without him.

“Did you love him?” She was blunt, staring at me with those accusing eyes.

“I won’t lie to you. No I didn’t. What we did was wrong. But I don’t regret having you.”

There was no need telling her that she was the product of my first rape experience.

Just then the door opened and Tade came in, cradling grocery bags. His eyes took in the scene before him.

“Uncle welcome. Let me take it to the kitchen,” Laide scrambled to her feet and relieved my husband of his bags.

“You’re awake,” he came toward me, a tad nervous.

“How could you?” my eyes sprang to life.

“Let me explain.”

“What’s there to say?”

“I did it for us.”

“You did it for you! Don’t you dare lie to me!”

“That child would have had the worst life if he’d survived.”

“It wasn’t your decision to make! You’re a liar and a murderer. You killed my baby!”

I was getting hysterical. Images of the night of the rape flashed through my head.

“Calm down, Bukky,” he was standing so close to me now.

“Don’t touch me you murderer!               Stay away from me!” I was falling apart and could do nothing about it. As his face loomed over mine, I watched it transform to that of my rapist. The snarl on his face as he came towards me was too much to bear.

I screamed.



“Thanks for joining us today Laide.” Dr M, my therapist smiled at my daughter as she shook her hand.

“I enjoyed it. I didn’t know I will,” Laide blushed.

“So do we expect you next week?”

“One step  at a time, doc.” I stepped in, I didn’t want Laide feeling pressured.

“Actually I’d love to come.” She turned to me. “On one condition, though.”

I cocked my head.

“You know how Dr M has been asking you to let Uncle Tade come? Please, let him come next week.”

I sighed.

It was a month since I separated from my husband. There were too many lies between us and we’d hurt ourselves too much to return to the normal life we lived, so I’d opted out. We both needed space and time to figure out what next to do in our marriage.

Since I’d started seeing my therapist, she’d hinted at asking Tade to one of our sessions, saying that it could help our marriage. I’d turned the idea down every time. I wasn’t sure there was anything to talk about between us.

Meanwhile Laide and I were staying with a friend of mine until I could figure out what next to do with my life. Within one month I had come to bond with my daughter in a way I hadn’t known was possible. She wasn’t perfect and was sometimes too strong willed for my liking. Like now, from the look in her eyes, I knew she won’t give up until I agreed to let Tade come to one of our sessions.

“Please Mum,” she blinked.

“I don’t know Laide. It’s too early. I just…”

“Okay then, not next week. Two weeks’ time. Doc, is that okay?”

“Perfect.” Dr M beamed at us.

“Well then, we’ll see how it goes.” I conceded.

“No mum. Promise. Promise you’ll invite him to the session in two weeks.”

Strong-willed girl, like I said.

“Why does it matter?” I asked.

“Because…he’s the only father I might ever have.”

Her words hit me straight in the heart. I’d never given thought to the fact that my daughter needed a father figure in her life.

“Okay then, I promise.”

The hug she gave me was the best reward I could’ve asked for.






39 thoughts on “Write Right Two – Week Four Top 5 Entries

  1. Pingback: Write Right Two Week Three Results | tlsplace

  2. Awwh, I almost feel sad. So wewe is over. Hw I wish d contest cud go on for 10wks lols! Don’t mind me I be oliver twist. I think ifeoluwa shd be renamed queen of suspense. Even in dis last part, she still manages to hold us and we don’t really knw what has happened to Tanwa til d end. But that ending sha, methinks wewe &rotimi still ve madness in dia blood o. Eeya poor dem.
    Akinwale, dat guy is such a baby o. So bcos he wasn’t winning, he had to drop out? Smh. I ve little advice for him. U re nt going to win every contest u enter 4 in life. u lose &win sm. Don’t be a quitter.
    Miracle actually improved in dis last episode. Her narration was clearer. Wish her d best after here.
    Jeremiah, well it was a nice going.
    Ope, I shd just kip quiet, cos I can’t bliv she used 3episodes to gist wobbish &started rushing d end in bits &pieces.
    And d winner of write 2 is ….. 😉

    • OK, normally I wouldn’t comment, but seeing this, I have to. I didn’t drop out. I submitted late (this morning, instead of Sunday). Had a lot on my plate over the week, and I have requested that my entry to posted, seeing as late submissions are supposed to attract point deductions and not outright elimination. Participating in WriteRight2 has been amazing, win or lose. I would never drop out of a competition because I wasn’t winning.

      • Ok. It figures now. Hmm, I wonder if TL already stipulated the punishment attached to late submission before this happened. If he didn’t, then this is somehow.
        Can we still appeal to TL? Pls let us read Akinwale’s story.

      • As much as I was confused by your story, I was looking forward to reading your last piece and figuring out the whole story. However, I think submitting it this morning (not even yesterday ) because you had lots on your plate (I believe others had lots on their plates too) is quite disappointing and most likely showed that this wasn’t of importance to you anymore.
        This is probably why your piece isn’t here as opposed to just getting a reduction from your points.
        Just my thoughts 🙂

      • If I were to be TL, I would not bother posting Akinwale’s final series because of his tone. Yikes, it’s his competition, you can’t dictate to him. I agree with Damilola, all other finalists would’ve had a lot on their plates

    • Akinwale didn’t drop out of the competition, at least to my knowledge. I’m surprised his entry isn’t up, but I’m sure this will be cleared up before the end of the day.

      • @Odun, What’s wrong with Akinwale’s comment? What is so offensive about his tone? as for me it is a pretty harmless comment and he was bold enough to come out in the open and speak his mind. do you have something against him? Competitions have rules which should be made clear to everyone participating (Contestents and audience). No offense to “TL” but its pretty unprofessional of him to decide to eliminate him due to “late submission” just because “its his competition”.. Just saying….

  3. Wewe is overrated abeg….Jeremiah’s story ddnt make any sense at all….Ope, kudos to you, this kinda literature won’t be appreciated in Nigeria, dunno whats wrong with us….its hard to find a writer that can write so much in just one scene. Miracle really impressed me, well done….Akinwale, i understand, really I do!!

    • Wewe is overrated??? Lyk seriously hehehehe, I’m laughing in spanish! I understand opeoluwa is ur friend and dia’s nothing wrong with supporting your buddy, but don’t even try to talk down on d person excelling. Even a little child will know dat wewe is out of the league of the oda stories. So pls remove the bad belle and appreciate talent!
      And you dare call opeoluwa’s story literature??? C’mon wake up frm ur sleep!
      Wewe rocks! Hating or beefing takes nothing frm it.
      Ifeoluwa, kudos! Wonderful end…….

      • But she didn’t say Wewe is not good, she only said it’s overrated and I agree because Fate’s store is better to me and people are so much jnto WEwe that they forget there are other stories. I guess thats what Tolulope meant. You didn’t have to insult her like that.

  4. Wewe…rily unique and different. I like it. The end and Fate’s store were also very nice stories. I enjoyed them. Welldone peeps.

  5. Ifeoluwa shebi you are happy now? I read wewe sote the indomie I was cooking burnt black. It takes an awesome writer to do that. Kudos. I remove my wig for you. U’re too much. Wewe will always be remembered.

  6. Hmmm, writing is not an easy task o! Buh opeoluwa you have gat plenty things to work on, Ifeoluwa kudos. Miracle u left me wanting more. All the best contestants. Now lemme go and vote for……

    • Never commented b4 bt I’m getting so pissed with sm pple here. Wewe sucks, really? So how come the judges think differently? Or you know better than them? u all should just grow up now. for the past 3 weeks, Wewe has been leading and everyone liking it, when the reality of it winning is now staring you in the face, you start hating. Mahn! so so childish. While Ifeoluwa may nt be the greatest writer in the world, as far as Writeright2 is concerned, she delivered and is the best. I wish all the other writers the best, dont stop writing, you;ll get there. peace

  7. Everyone has tried. Writing- fiction is real hard work. I’m happy with Jeremiah’s ending, not many writers can weave contemporary issues so well. I find him most belieaveable. Most chaos in the system are actually ordered. May we never be ‘wakapass’ victims. For a well wrapped up ending and clarity of thought, he has crept behind wewe this week. May the best pen win!

  8. One man’s meat is another’s poison….no need to diss someone cos they don’t agree with your opinion…friends or not, if Tolulope doesn’t think Wewe is “all that” then let her be, she’s entitled to her opinion…..Anyway, you guys have been great and TL u rock…..BTW you dunno how busy Akinwale was or is so you can’t say everyone else “had a lot on their plate just like him” Learn to empathise with people….just assume he really was busy “benefit of doubt?”

  9. ***SPECIAL PLEA*** To TL: pls give us the chance to read Agbaje’s final episode. (though it cant be voted for again). Sincerely, for me, its the only episode I was looking forward to this week. While others seemed to lose steam as the competition went on, Agbaje’s 3rd episode was really intriguing. Maybe a link to the last episode or forward to email addys of those interested. (or just drop it for us under ‘giveaways’ on thurs)
    As for the competition as a whole….. In my opinion…. great writers except for one! Often predictable at one point or the other except for one! Arguably the best storyline is losing and the best writer all round is winning! (voted for her/him for 2 consecutive weeks). And I’m very happy with the voting style (i.e. judges’ votes counting as 50 each). Else this, like many other competitions, would have been a popularity contest and not about the writing. Nice one Tunde.

  10. And so my thoughts on this competition…
    I’m pained about Akin’s issue but I can’t comment on it. Let me talk about his work. Akin, I love intrigue and I feel your story did well on that. Your command of English is superb too, no doubt. I was confused over the characters though and wasn’t sure if you were going to wrap it all up in one last episode. Well, we’ll never know now, would we?
    All the same, well done, Akin.
    Opeoluwa…*sigh* how do I say this and not sound harsh? You still have a long way to go, sweetie. But you have promise. You had a good story but telling it was a problem. Your voice (which was comedic) was lost in the last two episodes. And as a writer, you have to research, research, research before you write. No one can tell a coma from a faint until they get to the hospital and examine the person. Two, you cannot hire a prosecutor; it is the job of the state. And then lastly, the time frame was confusing. You talked about the trial and jail term and then went back to the day after the wedding. Confusing.
    But still, I have respect for you. It is not easy to put your work out there in public and have them criticise you as I’m doing now. Better luck next time.
    Jeremiah, you are a writer, no doubt. Well-structured sentences, nil grammatical errors and quite the story teller :). The only thing you’ll need to work on is suspense and intrigue. Make people salivate. Draw them in, leave them wanting more. But bravo!
    Ife, where do I start? Is it your writing style? Beautiful! Is it your story-telling? Awesome? Is it your use of imagery and power of description? On point! And my personal favorite, twists and intrigue- you put it all in one package. Your work is not overrated dear. You did your research well and presented your work with little flaws. I really have no criticism for your work.
    Miracle, what a comeback! I loved this last episode. That’s more like it! Writing fiction involves two things; the story and the way it is written. You were lacking in the former, although the latter was great but your return showed that you’re a writer who takes criticism seriously. You read the readers’ reactions and worked on your ending. Kudos.
    Well done, guys. Kosi easy. I wish I had the balls to do what y’all did. Unfortunately, I don’t and that is why I’m wishing you all the best.

  11. fantastic I am only sad the weeks have come to an end and wish it could have lasted forever. the writers as usual all gave their best and hopefully the best pen will prevail.

    wewe is my all time favourite though I wish the madness was cured forever on the two love birds.

    faiths store yes I agree took on the criticism in a good light and did a 360 on us well done

    the end I don’t understand the arrangement didn’t quite sink in and a lot of research really ought to have been done by ope, he/she will be good as a blogger though with the comical way the works were written, don’t give up hope because you had a huge followership and votes are really high too so that tells you something

    ordered chaos it still beats me why he had a low vote each week I actually found the write up very good and action packed probably just not his audience on TLS place at the right time, you did a good job I like espionage sturvs

    AGBAJE O AGBAJE I so wanted to read your last episode I kept willing for you to piece the story together please don’t be deterred by the low votes keep the work coming

    Tunde Leye the baba ke in Roscos voice please we will take you to Baba Risi o on this Agbaje matter did he opt out or was disciplined and if the former who sanctioned him plus he has a voting slot when he has no post pls clarify so we have a free and fair voting. Lastly we kindly appeal as was said to give us the last episode he submitted so can have closure plssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

  12. I have been voting for Wewe but this week i will give it to FATE, not that WEWE didn’t rock this week but because Miracle did a great job this week. I can only hope WEWE and FATE come first and second place.

  13. I’ve got mad respect for all the writers irrespective of whatever ‘flaws’ are so quickly pointed out. The judges didn’t make any mistakes whatsoever in shortlistling these fantastic five; anyone who thinks otherwise should please humour me and enter for the next write right and then we’ll see. These guys are upcoming, they’re not veterans and saying one person sucks is saying the judges suck and are grossly incompetent to have handpicked these ‘wonders on paper’. May the best writer win and y’all can only go higher from here on out. Consider it a great achievement you made it this far, that’s highly commendable. Y’all are winners.

    Baba TL, God bless and increase you on every side as you discover and empower aspiring writers. Please Sir, do well to post Akinwale’s story, come what may. Thanks.

  14. Kudos to all the writers.
    If only i could vote for two,wld av voted for Ifeoluwa and miracle,love ur writeup frm d start to da end.
    Sincerely i was lukn forward to Agbaje’s story,curious as to how it will end.
    I cant seem to figure it out and just when it seems its all coming together,alas its nowhere to be found.

  15. Its been a wonderful ride. Wewe was my favorite,I think it was her power of description that distinguished her story but it was a wierd story just like The last days of our lives. TL finally u r d chairman now,i need 2 get done with Akinwale’s final episode n if no one did TL,I want 2 say ur one in a billion with ur writeright idea,many thanks.

  16. The End……not even a fighting chance was given to this story! It maintained the joke it was to the very end. Like what exactly did u do with your imagination? Send it on an undeserved vacation?

    Ordered chaos…..way to go! Slowly but surely u separated ur self from bottom

    Omg! I almost in tears! Wewe was powerful all d way to d end! Wish I cd just seat down and have tea with this babe, find out her muse….I need to see more works from u like I need air. Undoubtedly d best. It’s not every time d deserving winner takes d price, kudos

    Pls kindly post the final episode of These, the last days of our lives. Not for the competition but for closure….tnx. I really would love to see it completely woven.

    Fate’s story….heya, so cool! Thank God. I knew d idiot wd take out d baby

  17. I still dont get why three judges would vote for the same person every week. Her story aint that good na, fate’s store is better. Abi does she know them ni? My opinion tho

    • I cudnt bliv wt I was hearing dats why I came back to check. Dis is so very funny. So suddenly 1000+ pple re voting for Ope, for wt story? Abi it’s anoda one I ve nt read. I will kip my comment until tuesday, bcos I can’t just imagine.
      As 4u Praise, re u frm planet mars? Bcos every1 frm around hia can see dat Ifeoluwa stands out no doubt. D judges were chosen nt to rotate btw d writers bt 2choose d best! Nd d best hia is wewe by ifeoluwa. Stick it even if you dnt lyk it.

  18. I’m shocked to see the voting pattern! The end? Seriously? Voters like these put Nigeria in d situation we r in right now! The only positing the end should be contesting for and actually win is the last one! The winner should clearly be Wewe followed by Fate’s story and then ordered chaos. The only reason the end would have the privilege of taking 4th place is cos of the audience that’s not suitable for these! the last days of our lives and the fact that it isn’t complete! Even the blind can see the effort put in by fate’s story and ordered chaos to alter the sequence of events……..The end couldn’t just be bothered, continued in that lack-lusture pattern relying on good old popularity votes!
    This is becoming a re-enactment of the oyin clegg Sophia saga.

    • Keiskweird. Don’t b too surprised abt †ђξ voting pattern. Only a fool will believe dat opeoluwa suddenly won people’s heart ova with †ђξ bb chat he copied Ãήϑ posted on write right 2 calling dat a story. I’m surprised such watery Ãήϑ baseless stories could be posted for public consumption in †ђξ first place. As for †ђξ votes anybody dat studies †ђξ way †ђξ votes increase ll notice dat opeoluwa’s votes increases by twenty (20) every 2 minutes Ãήϑ dis continues till around 1am. The system’s been hacked men. C’mmon we r no fools. Someone Ȋ̝̊̅ڪ. Being desperate here. But †ђξ question Ȋ̝̊̅ڪ y †ђξ sudden desperation dis final week. I charge U̶̲̥̅̊ all to go Ãήϑ study dis pattern of events Ãήϑ. See things clearly yourselves. I think †ђξ judges should prevail Ãήϑ choose †ђξ best.

  19. Welldone to all the writers. I hope this platform pays off for you guys.

    My best story remains Fate’s store. You did well and I’m happy you were able to take criticism and make your work better. Wewe was good. Really different and had a pull. But the way it ended….I don’t know. They all started off as normal people. What happened? When did Rotimi lose it and why? Dunno. Jeremiah…Welldone! You came around and wrapped up well. The End….I didn’t like the style at all. I didn’t get it. I’m sorry the last person didn’t submit.

    Don’t mind us guys. It easy to sit at home and be commenting. Let the best man win. And here’s to future success for you all.

  20. To me, OPEOLUWA did really well for a 14 yr old. Everyone has done their best as far as am concerned and they all should be encouraged or criticised constructively. There is always room for improvement.

    • I ve bin refreshn d page every 10mins.So eager 2see d winner announced, wonder why it isn’t out yet. Ope is 14? Lyk seriously? Now, I totally understand! Tho age isn’t an excuse 4mediocre writing bt I guess age also matters in one’s experience. I hp her parents consented to her participating cos she’s still underage o. Maybe TL can create a contest also for teenagers, smone like her wud ve a better chance dia.

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