Looking Glass
Old African WomanImage: iStock Photos Ma Pwamoreno knelt to pray. The cracking sound in her spine told her it would be an uphill task getting up from this position. ‘She might as well take her time’, she thought. She couldn’t possible cause any more harm to her 70 year-old body. She went into a flurry of thanksgiving prayers. As she bowed in obeisance to GOD, her mind began to drift. Aspects of her life flashed through her mind until she was completely lost in thought. *** Pwapradi Zadok remembered the family she had been born into. She was born to a progressive family that believed in the white man’s education. Her father had worked for a white family who introduced Christianity and formal education to him. In his view, white people could do no wrong. Her father was a good Christian man. He treated her mother right. He ensured that they always had food and good clothes; which was a far cry from what her neighbors had to contend with. He encouraged them to read books and study the Bible. Her mother was the perfect match for her father. She was such a good woman! She couldn’t remember if her parents ever fought. She only remembered that they were a much disciplined family and though her parents never told them they loved them, they could tell that they did. By ‘they’, she meant her eight brothers and sisters; her parents had seven boys and two girls. Though it was a large family, there were always extended family members in the house at any given time. It was a testament to her father that he raised good children who were all stellar citizens in their community. As the last child, Pwapradi was called “Mummy’s carbon copy”. She had the same mannerisms and even looked almost exactly like her mother. Their similarity was so much that when she cooked, her father couldn’t tell if it was his wife or his daughter. When it was time to get married, her father worked extra hard to get a very good man for her. He picked the choir master of the church who was a young and promising teacher in the village primary school. Pwapradi remembered how her mother prepared her for marriage, her expectations as a wife, her duties and her reward. Pwapradi flushed under her skin when her mother told her to just lie down and accept her husband’s overtures because ‘men have been cursed with huge desire for sex’. Pwapradi’s marriage to Cletus Pwamoreno had been a simple affair, after which she settled into her role as wife. Cletus didn’t want her to work. He wanted her to be a house wife. Like her mother taught her, she obeyed him completely. He also didn’t want any other person cooking his meals. So she had been cooking for him for 58 years. She woke up early, cooked his breakfast and lunch and then took his bath water to the bathroom. She would wake him up and then set about sweeping the house. As he bathed, she would do other house chores to reduce her workload. When he was done, she would serve his meal and send him off with a ‘Have a good day‘ pat on the back. When he got back home, he would arrive to the aroma of steaming Bamta or Kwaa Bawei soup. Though he would always rush to the kitchen, she would get him to bathe first before eating his meal. After his meal, she would massage his feet and back as he read a newspaper or studied the Bible. Even as they got older and her bones got weaker, she continued her routine every single day of the week. When the children came, there was more work for Pwapradi but she took it in her stride; after all, Bachama women were known for their strength. She gave birth to five children before GOD decided it was enough. She remembered how she never raised her voice when talking to her husband. They had been married for 58 years and she never shouted at her husband. When they quarreled, he did all the talking while she stared at the floor. When he was done, she would say, ‘I am sorry Sir. It would not repeat itself.’ He thought she was acting in the first few years of their marriage but he later realized that she was made that way. Soon, quarrels became nonexistent in their marriage. Her mother taught her that her husband’s word was law and she obeyed him to a fault. As he became more prominent, their marriage became the poster child for perfection. People wanted to emulate them. Couples came to them for advice. They were both co-opted into the church counseling unit. She heard that her husband always said, ‘My wife never raises her voice at me. She never disobeys me. She does everything I say and that is why we are so happy.’ He would always end by saying, ‘Get your wife to be like mine and you have the perfect home.’She on the other hand would say to wives, ‘Your husband is the head of your house. If you want him to treat you right, respect him, obey him and be a good wife to him.’ She remembered her children. They were all married now. She had a flurry of grandkids she only saw during the holidays. None of her kids lived close to her. They were spread in Kaduna, Lagos, Port Harcourt, and Abuja. No one wanted to live in Numan; a glorified village. So she got to see them once every year when they came for Christmas. She thanked GOD for her life. She had lived a good life. That thought had not finished forming when another came into her mind. Had she really lived? Was her life worth thanking GOD for? Though foreign, she pondered on the thought some more. She had always wanted to teach. She wanted to impart knowledge just as her father had done. She was lucky to have been formally
Dad, Mum…You Failed Us!
Mrs. Jatau saw the light on her phone before it began to ring. She was almost sure it was her first daughter calling. She was not wrong. ‘I am just putting the last touches to my makeup. I will soon be there’, she rushed before her daughter could say anything. ‘Okay Mum. We are waiting for you.’ Annabel responded as she dropped the call. Mrs. Jatau sighed. She could not put it off anymore. She took her keys and purse, sent a prayer to heaven and left her house. She was going to her daughter’s wedding introduction. *** ‘Daddy, come out of your room now! Ha ahn! Do you want the guests to come in and wait for you?‘ Sandra all but shouted. She was the last child of the Jataus’ and had grown up when their parents had gone soft. She could say anything to them; which was slightly different from her four elder ones. ‘I said I am coming now! Go away and leave me alone.’ he responded in his rich tone. ‘Daddy, if you are not out in two minutes. I will break your door oh!’ She returned, pouting her lips and stamping her feet. She may be 20 years but she was all child. ‘If you like, burn the house sef. I will only come out when I deem fit. And I can see that mouth that you are pushing up. I have always told you that it makes you look like fish…a Tilapia.’ Sandra laughed and walked away. Mr. Jatau sighed. He could not hide in his room anymore. He admitted he was scared. But if he remained in his room, that would be awfully rude to the guests he was expecting. Though he had never had a good relationship with his oldest daughter, this was not the time to completely ruin what was left of it. He sucked in air into his large tummy and opened the door. The sooner he got over this, the quicker he could go to the club house and share some laughs with his cronies. He walked down the stairs to his living room. *** This was the first time in 18 years that the entire Jatau family was seated in one room. Oliver, the first child, was reclining in one of the sofas. Tall, buff and selfish, he managed to look like a king. The three daughters sat together on the sofa, with Robert, their adopted brother, sitting in between Annabel and Elizabeth while Sandra sat on the floor. The sitting arrangement was such that both their parents sat opposite them. Mr. and Mrs. Jatau managed to sit as far apart as possible without looking like they were trying to do. Annabel sighed. She cleared her throat and began. ‘Dad, Mum…before our guests turn up, we have some things to tell you. I will start and my siblings will join in.’ She looked from one parent to the other and then her sisters. Her parents were trying all they could not to squirm but it was not working. It was as uncomfortable for them as it was for her. She sucked in her breath, stared at the floor, and started talking. ‘Today is exactly 18 years since you got divorced.’ The finality in her voice had a ring of judgment to it and it got the desired effect on her parents; guilt and shame. Even though they had been divorced that long, Mrs. Jatau maintained his name because in Africa, you are better off with a ‘Mrs.’ attached to your name. ‘I will start with you, Daddy.’ This time she looked straight at her dad. He dropped his head and put his arms between his thighs; the classic pose he took when he was insecure, sad or contemplative. Annabel knew she had to get the edge off her voice. ‘Daddy, you were never nice to Mummy…well, not never. But in most cases, you weren’t. I grew up seeing Mummy pick up the slack when you should have been taking care of us. You were more a man-about-town, spending for other people, than you were in catering to your family’s needs. Mummy never let us go hungry, even if you never brought in any money’. That was Elizabeth’s cue. ‘Daddy, all through our stay in school, you never paid school fees on time; sometimes paying the first term fees in second term. We got to be known as one family that alwaysdefaulted in fees. It was so bad that one teacher came into the class to drive students who had not paid school fees and as soon as he entered, he said “Elizabeth Jatau, I don’t need to look at the list to know your name is on it. So pack your books and go home.” I wanted to die Daddy! Everyone in class laughed. I acted like I was okay but my spirit broke’. ‘Even when Mummy paid our school fees, you beat up Annabel for daring to accept the money’, Sandra said. There was a catch in her voice and that pricked her father and mother. She was their baby, and they were all fiercely protective of her. Mrs. Jatau started crying. She didn’t plan to but her eyes couldn’t hold back anymore. Mr. Jatau maintained his stoic expression. He still had his head down. Annabel continued. ‘When the divorce finally pulled through, you banned us from seeing our mother. When, after less than three months, you married again, and our lives became a living hell. Your wife would maltreat us…’ Annabel’s voice wavered. The tears were about to drop, but she controlled it. She sniffed just as Robert rubbed her back. She smiled at him and faced her father again. ‘I remember when Mummy bought us school scandals. You came home, went straight to our room like you knew Mum had brought us things. You rounded up the scandals and poured kerosene on them. With one strike, they went up in flames. We watched them burn, knowing you were not going to
Inconsiderate Neighbors
Flustered Black Woman.Image: Huffington Post. Papa Emeka was home. Oiza knew this because the horrible sound of his rickety generator set woke her up from her first opportunity to sleep in five days. And this time, she was pissed! The stress from her office was enough to down a mule and whenever she got home, the sound of a generator badly in need of repairs kept her awake at night. She got up with such fierce anger and decided enough was enough! She was going to give Papa Emeka a piece of her mind. As she put on her slip, she remembered how she had reached this point. ••• Oiza Anave was the only daughter of Adam and Ozohu Anave, a middle class family who lived a comfortable life in Kaduna. Being the only girl in her house, she was the easy favorite of both her parents. Coupled with the fact that she was the last born of their five children, she held a good spot as the baby of the house. Like most last born children, she was almost smothered with the fierce protectiveness of her father and brothers and the unabashed love of her mother. She grew up almost in a cocoon and didn’t have the opportunity to venture out, make friends or even date. But university cured her of all that. As soon as she tasted freedom, she couldn’t go back to being caged by her family’s love, no matter the good intention. She prayed her compulsory National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) would take her as far away from home as possible, hoping that she could finally get to live in the bustling city called Eko, or to non-indigenes, Lagos. She didn’t get Lagos but at least one of her wishes was fulfilled; she got sent to a faraway city; Gombe. As soon as she arrived Gombe, she promised herself that she was not returning home. She was finally her own woman and could live how she wanted and follow her own dreams and aspirations. When she was done with her service, she stuck to her word and refused to go back home. Despite pleas and threats from her parents and siblings, she remained adamant. To try to convince her, her father got the family together and commanded everyone not to send her money or render any help to her. She wasn’t bothered. She had learned to manage what she had and had saved N50,000 from her NYSC ‘allowee’. She set out looking for a house and got one that cost the exact same price. The house was in one of the less affluent neighborhoods but that was the only option she had. She needed to vacate the ‘Corpers Lodge’ and houses in better suited areas were either too expensive (N90, 000) or not even in her price range (N350, 000). In the end, she felt she could live in a gutter and still be comfortable if she really wanted to. So, she got a friend to loan her the rest of the rent and went to pay for the house. When she got to the house, she realized how crappy it was. She had only been told of a house and had not seen it before hand. As she looked at the house, she saw that the paint was peeling off as a result of water rising through the blocks. She also realized that there was a permanent putrid smell in the room and upon further examinations, discovered that a gutter ran directly behind it. It was a two bedroom apartment without a toilet and kitchen, which meant that Oiza would have to share with other members of the compound. The toilet was not a pit latrine as is expected in public houses but a water-closet system. Oiza didn’t like that one bit. Diseases could easily be transmitted from her neighbors to her. What was worse was that the toilet was really dirty when she glanced in, prompting her to quickly scrunch her nose and pull her head back out of the toilet. Though Oiza was in no way happy with what she saw, she still paid for it because of the pressure to move out of the lodge. That same day, Oiza moved into her new house. As Oiza settled in, she started noticing some really horrible attitude of her neighbors. Now, there were ten two-room apartments in the compound and each room, with the exception of Oiza’s had at least four people in them. There were whole families and friends just living together to cut costs. So the compound was really full. As soon as they restored electrical power, the occupants of each room – seeming to compete with the others – would put on their radios and television sets at the highest volume. It was usually a competition between some Bauchi-based Gospel artist and the likes of Don Moen; a horrible mix for all she cared. And to make matters worse, the loud music always competed with the sounds of Catalina fighting Diego and Amarachi placing the curse on the people of Akpogwu! There was never any peace or quiet in that compound. Since Oiza spent almost all her time at the office, she felt she could handle it even though it irritated her to no end when she was at home. What she couldn’t handle though were the dirty toilets and bathrooms. They were never washed! They stank like dirty toilets should and Oiza felt poisoned every time she went in. People – grownups – used the toilet without flushing, leaving their disgusting fecal matter for others to see. One night Oiza was pressed and she ran into the toilet. The smell hit her before she turned the light on. What she saw made her rush back out without much ado. She didn’t use the toilet again for a whole week! Each time she felt pressed, the sight she saw came rushing back. That was enough to shut her excretory organs.
The Gods So Decide
Image link here. Amara was still shaking. The village juju-man, Opowkri, was baffled by the blatant refusal of the evil spirits to bow to his incantations. Did the spirits aim to ridicule him? And in front of the entire village?! Well, he was having none of that! He cast a furtive glance at her parents who were huddled in the corner and quickly turned his attention to the shivering girl lying on the thatched mat in his dimly lit mud hut. The room was smoky from the tiny calabash filled with dry, burning herbs and he had to refrain from coughing as the smoke choked him. He was, after all, the intermediary between the gods and the people. He took the white speckled fowl he had asked her parents to bring and raised it to the sky. He implored the gods of hale and hearty health to prove the uninvited spirits wrong; to show he was stronger than these spirits. The fowl cackled, seeming to know that its end was near. Its loud crows were nothing compared to the cacophony Opowkri was making. He finished his incantations and in one fell swoop, pulled out the head of the fowl from its neck. Blood spurted everywhere. He quickly directed the spurts towards the naked body of the girl. In normal times, her parents would never have allowed their daughter to be naked in front of a man but these were not normal times. He had insisted that they removed her clothes so he could work his voodoo. And as expected, they quickly obliged. She was their last surviving child; having watched six of their children die in the last three months. They didn’t want to lose her and at that point, they would have done just about anything. Opowkri rubbed the blood all over Amara’s body, pausing ever so slightly on her breasts and trying his best to hide his arousal. As his hands traipsed over her body, he muttered incantations that were only understood by him and the gods. The fetid smell of fresh blood mixed with smoke from the burning herbs was enough to make anyone retch; and that was what he was going for. On cue, Amara raised herself up and retched, only managing to miss hitting him by a few inches. ‘Yes! Get out of her you evil spirit! Get out of her! Remove him from your body my child!’ And he went into more incantations. He started dancing around Amara, chanting, beguiling and asking the gods to show them strong. ‘Wa….wa…I ne…eed wat…ter.’ Amara croaked. The juju-man paused in his dance and shouts and watched her for a second. Her parents scrambled to give her the calabash filled with dirty stream water. ‘NO!’ The juju-man bellowed! Her parents cowered and froze inches over her face. ‘The spirits are getting weak and they need to increase their strength! She will not be given anything!’ Her parents retreated to their corner of the hut and held each other. The ‘dance-cantations’ continued for two hours; two hours where Amara progressively got weaker, threw up five more times and croaked for water over and over again. The filth was not cleaned up nor was her thirst quenched. The smell in the room was worse than the village outhouse at the edge of the forest. The last time Amara vomited, she didn’t even have the strength to raise herself up. She just threw up and gargled in her own vomit. After that, she stopped shaking. She was no longer hyperventilating or as Opowkri came to find out, breathing. Her parents started screaming. ‘Get out!’ The juju-man shouted so loud, her parents fled the hut. That didn’t stop the whimpers of her mother from filtering into the silence of the hut. He checked Amara and saw she was perfectly still. Her skin was losing the hotness that it had a few minutes ago. For the first time since she had been brought to him three nights ago, she looked peaceful, finally at rest. He didn’t need a fancy white cloth and a rope around his neck like that missionary medicine man in the village square to know that Amara was dead. This was the twelfth child he had seen die in the last two moons; and all of them in his tiny hut. He had told the parents that the gods were punishing them for taking the little drops of evil liquid from the missionary medicine man. The evil man had invoked the anger of the gods when he said the gods were non-existent. He had gone further to say that diseases were not from the gods to punish them but as a result of their dirty environment. He said he had a thing that could prevent diseases and that was when he convinced some parents to take those little drops of his own type of voodoo. It didn’t matter that every child who wasn’t sick before they had taken the city man’s evil medicine was still hale and hearty. It didn’t matter that the families who had made certain lifestyle changes like weeding the grass in front of their houses, boiling and filtering their water and using his fish net to sleep were healthier than those who didn’t. It also didn’t matter that the man had insisted that Amara was suffering from the disease of the mosquito and dirty water and that he had something he called ‘drugs’ for them. What mattered was that he wasn’t going to allow any other medicine man take his place in this village. His father had been the village juju-man as had his father before him. He was definitely not going to allow a twit from the city come up and outwit him. His mind made up, he got up from his kneeling position in front of Amara and wiped some vomit off his knee, unaffected by either the smell or the grossness. He turned to the door…and walked out. The people gathered around him. He shook his head and
Ripple Effect (II)
To get acquainted with the first part of the story, read (here) After what seemed like eternity, the lights came back on. He opened his eyes and saw himself. He looked around, noticing how small he had become, how very insignificant and…trapped! He felt the presence of seven different entities, all vying for dominion of his body. The angrier they got, the more they pushed his spirit into something smaller, something less significant. As the entities vied for power and control, he couldn’t help but remember just how bitter and aggrieved his spirit had been because of his deformity. He also recalled how he found out about the cause of his deformity; a result of a failed abortion by his mum. The memories came flooding in. His mum had wanted to be a career woman. Even though she said yes at the altar, she wasn’t willing to give up the power that came with independence. This was clearly defined when she refused to have sex with her husband without a condom for more than three years after the grand wedding. She definitely was not about to lose the career she worked so hard for just because her husband preferred to go skinny. A broken condom was how he had been conceived. A cliché indeed! Haniel remembered how he had overheard them talking about it one night when his mum was drunk. She had lost her job and found solace by befriending the liquor bottle. He remembered he had been seven then. As she shouted at his father, she called him a ‘freak of nature’, an ‘unwanted child’ and went on to call him a ‘mistake of the highest order’. As the forces continued to fight each other for dominance, he couldn’t help but think of the sadness he had lived with just because of his mum’s admission. He had hated her with all his might, blaming her (rightly!) for creating a freak of nature. While that thought danced in his memory, he also remembered how his father never came to his aid, never looked at him like a person, never hugged him nor allayed his fears. His brothers, who had been born seven years after him, were no solace to him. All attention shifted from him as his parents basked in the perfection they had created…and at one go. As his brothers grew up, they went from awed wonder at his difference to downright meanness. The picture of his brothers taunting him until he couldn’t cry anymore kept flicking in his head. He didn’t know when he had become hardened, but hardened he was. His only solace was porn and he was sure that if he hadn’t been addicted, he wouldn’t have been in the mess he was in now. A force stronger than the others bellowed from somewhere outside of him. He watched as a cloud hovered in front of, and around him. The cloud was both a person and not a person: there but somehow elusive. He was sure of one thing: he was freaking scared! Never before had he felt such a malevolent spirit like the one he was seeing. The others paled in comparison. He wanted to run, but even without the other forces, he was sure he couldn’t have been able to go anywhere. The spirit spoke in some language that could have been Klingon for all he cared. While it sent down chills up and down his spine, it had the effect of stilling the other forces. He watched as the spirit walked – literally – into his body, experiencing in totality all the vile forces which its invasion enacted. Even his cells seemed to shrink in the presence of the ‘being’. His body bent forward and began to convulse. His eyes bulged to the point of popping and the searing pain he felt in every nerve ending of his body was something he could not have fathomed possible. He wanted to die at that point! He begged death to take him, to have mercy on him. It seemed like forever but it was soon over. In his view, it was still the worst moment of his life! The being settled and all was normal…or as normal as it could be. As soon as it settled in, making sure the other forces were cowering in its presence, it made Haniel’s body stand up. It looked around, seeming to look for something. Then it (using his body) walked to the door, put its hand on it…and opened. He was no longer in control of his body. It had taken over and become one with him. With purposeful strides, it marched down the stairs and followed through to the dining room. Though he was completely taken over, he couldn’t help but enjoy a brief moment of satisfaction at seeing the horror and revulsion on his family’s faces. His dad dropped his wine glass, shattering it, while the clattering sound of his mum’s cutlery could have been deafening if he had not been enjoying himself so. The being strode to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. His brothers, with mouths agape, stared at him. ‘Serve me a plate mother dearest.‘, it said in a voice that was deep, husky and surprisingly very, very sexy; something his voice had never been. The pensiveness of the forces was escalating and they wanted to have a go at his family. They were bustling to escape his body, to attack his family. He was not surprised that he didn’t feel any iota of pity. In his view, they deserved what they were going to get. They had put him through so much and now, maybe they would feel a tiny bit of the pain he had had to suffer. He hated them and he was unapologetic for that! The domineering spirit turned in his body and looked at him. He cringed, trying to make himself even smaller (if that was even possible) than his minute existence. The spirit grew bigger,
Ripple Effect (I)
Credit: Google He was masturbating at his bedroom desk. He had become addicted to self-pleasure since he had clocked thirteen. The internet had become his haven and pornography his past time. The past three years had been a breeze for him. He didn’t have to deal with the abject rejection that spewed from his parents and the pity that came from strangers. It all began at his birth. Everyone balked at his deformity. He had lazy eyes, his mouth askew; resulting in a constant drool of spittle down the side of his chin. His arms and legs were thin and could hardly support his malformed torso. His head was constantly lolling to the side, requiring his shoulder for balance. As he grew up, it didn’t take him long to realize that people were repulsed by his grotesque figure. It wasn’t long before he learnt to keep to himself. He had asked his parents to remove the mirrors and all shiny surfaces from his room. Even he couldn’t look at himself. Whenever he looked at his body, he was greeted by the ugly, huge splotches like eczema traversing his entire body. He found they were called psoriasis. The only parts of his body that had developed well were his brain and his penis. At sixteen, his brain was as sharp as Albeit Einstein’s and though he hated it, his penis was as huge as Mandingo’s. While most people with a brain like that would have thought of changing the world, he couldn’t be bothered. The world had rejected him and he was returning the favor with a flip of his middle finger as the nice Cherrie on top! There were two things that couldn’t be taken away from him; his active imagination and libido. Put those two together and even the best porn sites couldn’t match the scenes he came up with. He pulled up dark, painful ways of having sex. His imaginations aroused him so much that he masturbated every day. It started out once a day until he was fully addicted to getting off. That was his only respite from the life he was forced to live. After all, he couldn’t pretend anymore that the looks from his parents were anything but hurtful. When, at fourteen, he told his parents he could home school himself (using the internet), it was all they could do not to jump in glee. They gladly accepted his proposal to shut himself in his room. Even his personal maid couldn’t look at him without that slight disgust ‘normal’ people gave the physically challenged. One day, he cooked up a plan to see just how repulsive he was to the world. He lay naked on his bed as his maid was about to do her routine. When she entered, her reaction was epic! Though her scream was funny, it showed just how much everyone in general (and women in particular) was repulsed by him. He wasn’t ever going to get laid by anyone, so he did himself. His room was his prison but the internet was his gateway to whatever world he wanted to see. His family would be having Sunday dinner now. The maid had brought his in and told him she’d see him tomorrow. Her jangling backside in her uniform had set him on edge. As soon as she closed the door behind her, he went to his desk with his body oil and opened his new fetish: lesbian porn. He was slowly working himself to pleasure when a pop-up ad caught his attention. ‘Want to have women flock around you and kowtow to your every desire?’ He stopped his rhythmic stroke and looked at the pop-up again. He moved his right hand to his mouse and moved the cursor to the ad. For a second there, he was torn between continuing his pleasure ride and finding out about women bowing to him. In the end, masturbation was okay but he wanted to bury himself in a woman. He clicked the ad and was redirected to the full webpage: Satan’s Lair. He quickly skimmed through the introduction and perused the website, mentally praising the creators for their ingenuity. He admitted to himself that the moment he saw the domain name, he thought he would see images of what the world defined as demons, but all he saw were well clad people and simple, everyday grammar that anyone could understand. He wanted to exit the page and continue his pleasure when the screen metamorphosed into a slide show of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. The message popped up again, this time, bolder. ‘Want to have women flock around you and kowtow to your every desire?’ At the base of the message was a simple ‘Yes’. No ‘Not now’ or ‘Maybe later‘ nor even ‘Cancel‘. He laughed a bit. ‘The devil is pretty cocky huh?’ He thought to himself as he clicked the ‘Yes’ button. The page expanded to show a sign up page. Odd. No ‘Sign In’; just ‘Sign Up’. He shrugged and started filling in his details, making sure to fill the wrong ones. Full Name: John Huge (he snickered as he typed that) Email: johnhugeD@yahoo.com Password: ************** Re-enter password: ************** I agree to all terms and conditions SUBMIT He hovered over the submit button, a small part of him urging him to read the terms and conditions, but he was too eager to see what the site could offer. He quickly submitted. The screen went blank! No icons, no nothing, almost like he had turned off the computer. He bent down to look at the CPU, and saw that the system was still running. He took his head back up just in time to see the monitor come back on; opening at the sign up page with his details. Like something out of a movie, his entries deleted themselves, one letter at a time, slowly but surely. His eyes were riveted to the screen, shocked beyond measure. That was when he felt the presence of something malevolent, something deliberately evil and very rotten at its core. He wanted
Side Chick II
People at an airport. To get acquainted with the story, read SIDE CHICK I here . This sequel was written by Abe Onche. Would the police be waiting for her? She wondered if she was wanted or not as she idly flipped the pages of her passport. With nothing but her hand luggage, she was intent on not staying too long in the airport. The busy streets of Lagos would welcome any stranger and it wouldn’t really be that hard to disappear. It was good to be home again. The humidity of Lagos was never to be missed, but still, it was more Nigerian than any other place in the country, and it was a perfect contrast to bring her memories of Paris bubbling back up to the surface, not unlike her last glass of champagne down by the Seine. More nerve-wracking than she’d admit, she approached the immigration workers who searched her with dull, tired cow eyes and waved her off. Well, not completely. There was one gentleman who seemed to focus on her for just a little too long, but she didn’t press the issue when he turned awkwardly away as she shot him “the look”. Toasters…Ugh. She had fifty-seven messages by the time she remembered to put her SIM back in her phone, though it wasn’t strange considering she had just up and left for two weeks. She spent most of the ride to the local terminal laughing over the myriad texts from her besties. They all thought she was dead, and she knew she would be once they found out she’d up and gone like a shot to the City of Lights. “Good thing I brought treats”, she chuckled. There were a few more serious text messages from her boss. The old lech must have been worried sick over where his golden goose had gone off to. No doubt he would have tried to reach…”him”…but Masha reckoned “he” wouldn’t have been entertaining too many calls considering the state she left him in. No…he wouldn’t be entertaining anything for a while. *** Port Harcourt was home, and Masha felt exactly that. She had managed to forget virtually everything that had happened in the past month, what with all the busybodies that surrounded her constantly. Her sisters were ecstatic going through her phone, cooing at all the selfies Masha had taken with the crème of Paris. It was a good thing her childhood homie had up and become a designer straight after secondary school; otherwise she might not have swung it. It was hell and a half to salvage any of the clothes she bought from them, but she laughed at the wardrobe nostalgia. Port Harcourt was turning out to be as much fun as she could have at home. Mildred and Zeke – Who-Must-Not-Be-Izzy, her BFFs, came in from Warri and spent a whole weekend catching up. They all skirted around Kaduna until she was ready to talk about it, but she never mentioned Nonso, or what he did to her… or what she did to him. She had buried it deep behind her smile, and it wasn’t that hard since she could get lost in the lives of everyone around her. They went to the cinema after one particularly slow morning though, and they relished the chance to see something new besides Masha. For some crazy reason, they had the hall all to themselves so they were more than happy to recline on the cushions, put their feet on the headrests and throw stale popcorn at each other. It was just like old time, with a little twist though. Mili and Zeke had apparently started dating when they met up in Warri, and they’d been dying for a chance to tell her in person. She’d seen it coming a mile away; they were so in love it was almost annoying. Whenever they looked at each other, they were so warm and fuzzy, they made her feel warm and fuzzy. She was happy for them, truly, but she couldn’t help thinking of herself, how she had been happy and now she wasn’t. “Mash! Snap out of it already! You’re zoning out again!” Mili poked a carefully lacquered fingernail gently into Masha’s cheek. “This is Houston calling Masha. Please respond.” “Careful.” Masha said, chuckling “I’ve seen people lose fingers like that.” “Oh puh-lease dear. If one finger is going to get you back from the twilight zone, then girl, there is a reason Zeke here has ten.” ‘Hey!’ Zeke quipped. ‘I need these too y’know. Who’s going to play the piano on Sunday?” “Sunday” made something lurch in Masha’s stomach. Like some kind of password, it rushed blood to her face and suddenly she felt oven hot and clustered as though she were in a boiler room. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down. Zeke and Mili were chatting on, oblivious of what was happening to her. She did her best to zone them out, trying to focus on breathing. Then like a surge, memories began to flash in her head, conversations with Annie, being at Our Family Church, the choir over and over again, singing the same songs, the voice of the pastor talking about priorities, Annie bringing more membership forms, loading up the bus on Kaduna road, the prayer sessions….the speaking in tongues, the kabashing, droning on endlessly in her head…Nonso kneeling in front of the bed, praying…naked Nonso kneeling…Nonso getting on the bed, touching her…Nonso tied on the bed…his eyes focused, his mouth moving with no words coming out…the knife in her hand…Nonso in her hand… “MASHA, CUT IT OUT!” “Jesus!!” she yelled out loud, nearly jumping out of her seat. She turned to Mili and Zeke, who stared at her as pale faced as two Africans could be. “Mash, what the hell is wrong with you?” Zeke’s tone told her he was in problem solving mode and she knew the jig was up. An interrogation was bound to happen. “We have to go,” she said. *** “WHAT WERE
Terror In The Dark
Scared black man.Image: Naijaloaded This is based on real events… Bashir jutted out of bed! 2:46am. He stilled himself and listened. There it was again! There was no mistaking the sharp grating noise of someone trying to open his gate. His instinct was to jump out of bed and confront the person, but common sense (mixed with a healthy dose of fear) prevented him from doing so. He tip-toed to his window instead. Heart in mouth, he raised the curtain slightly. Four men. All holding sticks and machetes. Not too burly, but with those weapons, they looked like giants. Bashir turned back. In the darkness of his room, he couldn’t really see much but he was acutely aware of the sleeping form of Aisha – his fiancée – who had come over for a sleep-over. His heart leaped into his mouth. What would they do to her? He couldn’t bear to picture it…them…over her…holding her down…NO! Now he knew real fear! ‘Who is there?!’ His father shouted. Like most Muslim Northerners, Bashir lived in the same compound as his family; living in a separate apartment to give his family space, but close enough to protect them if the need arose. The need had risen! ‘Who is there I said?’ His father hollered at the intruders. ‘Your Father!‘ One of the men hollered. ‘You in for it!’ At that, Aisha jumped out of bed. ‘Go down baby.’ Bashir whispered before drawing up air into his lungs for a good ole scream. His sisters beat him to the punch. ‘Thieves! Thieves! Thieves!’ Bashir quickly joined in the shouts as Aisha dove straight for the tiles. Though all the men were heading to the main house, one turned towards Bashir’s apartment, with his upraised machete. Bashir ran to the spot beneath his clothes hanger and coiled up in a ball, not knowing if the assailant had any fire power. He didn’t make the slightest sound, though the thumping of his heart was deafening. He hoped it wouldn’t give his location away to his assailant. The robber opened the window of his sitting room and flashed his torchlight. ‘No one is here.’ he shouted to his colleagues. He tried the bedroom window but it was firmly bolted from within. All the while, Bashir’s sisters, mother and father kept shouting that there were thieves in the house. The shouts reached a crescendo when neighbors in other compounds joined in the screams. Bashir got up and started towards the curtain again, only to be plumped down by Aisha. ‘Don’t go there baby!’ She whispered hoarsely, her fear palpable. He pried her off him, trying very hard not to be rough. ‘I just need to find out if they are still here.’ Aisha wouldn’t listen to anything. She kept pulling him down when he tried to get up, refusing to let him put himself in harm’s way. Bashir’s phone rang. There was that moment of frozen silence just before Aisha grabbed the device in a fear-frenzy, trying all her best to end the call. Bashir grabbed the phone from her hand and answered it. The look Aisha gave him (as reflected by the soft glow of the phone) could have quelled a lesser man. He turned away from her and… ‘Hello?’ he all but croaked. Aisha was beyond livid. How could he receive a call in the middle of a robbery? She wanted to slap the sense into him, but she was powerless to do anything. ‘Did they enter your house too?’ he asked the caller, whom Aisha was really beginning to loathe. Bashir listened a bit. ‘Okay…I think they have gone but please, keep calling the police men.’ He listened again. ‘Okay. Thanks man. I owe you one.‘ he said as he ended the call. This time, he got up and went to the curtain. He looked through and couldn’t find anyone. He stood at different angles, using the moon’s guide to search the length and breadth of the compound. Still no one. He knew that it would be fallacy to think they had gone. He remained in his room and listened for any foot falls. There were none. Bashir went back to Aisha. He touched her and felt her jump a bit. ‘It is okay baby. I think they are gone.’ ‘How can you know that?’ ‘I don’t. But I’ve checked all around and I can’t seem to find them. They cannot afford to still be around, especially with the community shouts for help. The police have got to be on their way soon. So…let’s hope for the best.’ Aisha was still skeptical, but she allowed herself to be pulled into his arms as he pulled her into bed. As they laid together, they could both hear their hearts thumping in their respective cages and that seemed to pull them closer. They held each other, urging the other to sleep but not dispelling the adrenaline fast enough to allow that. They were scared, but they at least had each other. *** The ruckus outside jolted Bashir from his sleep. 3:52am. He heard a slight scuffle. Aisha was up like a lightning bolt. She had not slept, listening for the slightest sound and worrying to no end. It seemed like the robbers had returned with reinforcements. The gate was kicked in and five men in the Nigerian army uniform bust into the house. One quickly went into the recesses of the compound, while the others placed themselves strategically around. Though Aisha couldn’t see all that, she quickly went to the floor. ‘Come out.’ One of the men bellowed. Aisha started praying. She felt like this was going to be her last day on earth. It wasn’t surprising when no one responded. One of the men went up the stairs and banged the door. ‘Come out!’ Bashir had already made up his mind that he wasn’t going to respond when he heard his father open the door. He quickly went to his own door and opened it. He had to protect his
Side Chick
Woman Screaming.Image: Politics and Fashion Masha Agada got into her car and finally screamed. She had just calmly walked out of her boyfriend’s…no, ex-boyfriend’s house, after telling him it was over. She was shaking vigorously as she gripped the steering wheel. The tears were seconds away from cascading down her eyes, but she had promised she wouldn’t let any man see her cry, especially not the jerk called Nonso. Well…she could cry now; in the comforts of her car. But she wasn’t going to! She gulped in air and tried to steady her nerves. When her heart rate wasn’t shooting off the roof anymore, she put the key in the ignition and slowly pulled out of the street. *** Masha was new to town. She had been transferred by her bank to the Kaduna office in Kakuri. Unlike most people, Masha relished the transfer to Kaduna. She had wanted to leave Port Harcourt and all the drama she had accrued; from the fiancé who had shattered her heart when she caught him cheating, to finding out her boss whom she held in high regards was stealing from the bank. And even though she was one of the hardest working marketers in the bank, her refusal to have sex with many clients meant she often couldn’t meet her monthly target of ₦50 million. It was the perfect excuse for her boss. When he initiated and approved her transfer, it was so he could keep his secret. So when Masha heard Kaduna, she jumped at the opportunity; even though she knew no one there. When Masha finally resumed in Kaduna, she was welcomed with very open arms. It seemed people were falling all over themselves to be friends with her. She quickly felt at home. After her first week at work, she asked one of her colleagues – Annie – about the churches in town. Annie attended Our Family Church and invited Masha to check it out. Masha agreed. On Sunday, she was dressed in her fashion-best and ready to enjoy a great service. When she pulled into the parking lot of the church, she was welcomed with bright smiles and effusive hugs. Masha felt overwhelmed! She hadn’t known church could be such a warm, welcoming place! What part of the world had she been living in?! When she finally entered the church, she gasped in pure delight because the interior decoration was perfect! As the service proceeded, Masha drank in the exuberance of the choir, the message, the way they welcomed new comers and the general atmosphere of service. At the end of service, Masha had decided she was going to be a member of the church. She asked for membership forms and filled them out. When Masha got home that day, she knew she had found a new home. *** After six months undergoing membership training, Masha finally became a full church member. She quickly joined the church choir and totally gave herself to the community. Masha had a triangle of movement: home, work, church, and back home again. Her social life was her church and most times, she only went home to sleep. It wasn’t long before the church started buzzing about the new girl and her dedication to the things of God. With her growing fame, so were her suitors. All types of men came her way. She always turned them down because, for the most part, they were lacking in something she truly desired: better knowledge about God than she had. Most of the men just didn’t quite hit the mark. Many were willing to compromise on issues and most especially on sex. It wasn’t like she was a virgin; she had just made a commitment to God to not have sex again until she was married! So when ‘brothers’ couldn’t get her resolve, she dropped them from her friend list faster than they could holler ‘Hallelujah!’ She deftly parried the advances of the single guys until the day she met Nonso. *** Nonso was not Masha’s dream man. He was short, not conventionally handsome, and had his facial features burned by acne. When he talked, saliva gathered at the edges of his lips. He also walked funny: something that would have been suave with a taller man, but seemed weird with him. What he lacked in physical looks, he more than made up with his voice. When he spoke, he could turn heads and melt hearts. He would have made a great public speaker, but he chose a career in real estate. He was the chief consultant at one of the leading real estate firms, with a knack for ‘sniffing’ what property would rake in millions. He was invaluable to his firm. In church, he maintained an aloof distance, saying he couldn’t be in any department because he was too busy. And because it was a fast-growing church, no one noticed him. When he walked up to Masha, she was ready to brush him off with a quick smile and a harried ‘Hello’ when his voice stopped her in her tracks. Masha was not impressed with his command of English because he tended to use big words where small ones could do. She stayed talking to him only because of the quality of his voice. When she eventually left him, she was glad he hadn’t asked for her number. She just didn’t have the time for men. *** When Masha got called to her boss’ office on Monday, she was not ready for what he was about to dish. ‘So…heard of Barkley’s Real Estate?’ he asked. Masha nodded her head to one side, thinking. ‘Only vaguely.‘ ‘Well, they are the biggest real estate company in the North, with headquarters here. We have been trying to get them to bank with us, to no avail.’ From the tone of his voice, it was easy to see how much he had tried. Masha, thoughtful, replied. ‘Okay…let me study their portfolio and see what strategy we can use to lure them in.’ Her
The Proposal
Image: Xinature The sun kissed the waters in warm, flirty tones. The churning sea returned the kiss with as much fervor, reflecting the purple-burgundy complexion of her lover. The sun was withdrawing its warmth from the corners of the earth as she prepared to take a snooze. The wind, in defiance of the sun, picked up her dance, ruffling the trees clothing the bank of the seas. It wasn’t a surprise when the wind playfully lifted her skirts. She twirled and twirled, laughing, basking in the slowly-cooling dance of the wind and the ebbing heat of the sun. She was happy! It was her first time at the beach. Somehow, she got convinced to take a break from her usually hectic life. She felt so glad that she had come. Only one man could have made her do so. She stopped twirling, turned to him…and smiled. He walked languidly, until he was abreast with her, the squish-squish of the wet sand the only evidence he wasn’t gliding towards her. His smile said it all. He was happy too! And better still, he was happy that he made her happy. Like a child, she squealed in delight and jumped into his arms. He twirled her until she became dizzy. They both fell to the sand in ecstatic laughter. All was right with the world! Roy and Melanie were perfect for each other. They got up and started walking the wave-kissed bank, arm in arm, two love birds enjoying the last of the sun’s glory and the company of each other. Roy stopped Mel. She looked up at his tall, handsome physique, and still managed to blush while smiling. Roy’s face was set in stone. Something was wrong. He stared at Mel with such intensity that she began to fidget. ‘What is wrong baby?’ Roy stared at her for a few more seconds. He then dropped on one knee, taking her left hand. Mel gasped. She tried to pull away from him. He held her hand firmly. ‘Mel…’ he stared at her, his expression like someone who swallowed a wasp. He looked so uncomfortable that Mel wanted to run the other way. He put his hand in the back pocket of his loose slacks. Mel was fidgeted. ‘Roy…don-‘ He put his finger on her lips. ‘Shhhh! don’t speak baby.’ Mel kept quiet. She couldn’t speak if she wanted to. Blood rushed to her head. Roy turned his face away, like he was a king in a drama. Mel wondered if he was acting or really feeling all the emotions his face was showing. He pulled out something and with the toothiest grin ever, and opened his palm. In his hands was a Toblerone chocolate; dark Toblerone. ‘Why on earth don’t you like dark chocolate?’ he asked. Mel nearly died…of relief! She breathed out a huge ‘phewww!’ The blood rushed back to her face and her skin began to look more alive than before. She playfully jabbed him and pulled him up. She ended up hugging him. ‘I almost thought that was a proposal…whewwww! I just did-‘ She paused when she noticed that Roy was more interested in unwrapping the Toblerone than he was in listening to her. He had become all serious again and this time, Mel knew she was in trouble. Roy opened the chocolate and there in the shiny paper lay the most beautiful sapphire ring ever! ‘I love you baby…and I feel like I’ve been in heaven since we started dating. Well, not always heaven, but it is as close as it can get. I want to have this piece of heaven for all eternity. Will you, Melanie Davidson Olaolu, be my wife?’ This time, Mel pulled away from his arm. She took a couple of steps back from him. She had lost all color and happiness, becoming a picture in sadness. Roy could feel her soul disconnecting from him. It wasn’t just a physical pull-out. She began to wring out her fingers, a clear sign that her nervousness was beyond her control. ‘Mel…’ She pulled further away, such that she was no longer fully facing him. ‘Say something…’ Mel looked at him and he saw his answer in her face, her demeanor, and her sad eyes. She didn’t need to say it, but Roy needed to hear it. He needed to know that what he saw was really true. ‘Bae….I’m sorry.’ Roy crumbled, though he remained kneeling, whether by sheer will, or because his brain couldn’t move past the icebox that had suddenly frozen his heart. ‘I am not ready to get married any time soon. I want to wait for at least…’ she looked at his face, his stony expression and she shut up. He got up and stood looking at her. ‘We have been dating for four years. When is the right time to get married? Huh?’ The increase in the pitch of Roy’s voice wasn’t lost on Mel. He was definitely angry! ‘I just…phewww…marriage takes a lot out of a person. It sucks a person until they totally lose themselves in their spouses. With the rate of divorces in the world today, this is not an institution I want to rush into and just jump out when it gets hard; and it will get hard! So…I don’t want to lose myself before I’ve found me.’ She reached out to touch Roy but he shrugged her off. ‘Since you are all about finding yourself and not losing you, I hope it all works out fine because you just lost me.’ He said with certain finality. ‘Goodbye Melanie. Enjoy your great life. And… when you find you, tell her I said she is a coward who is too afraid to get out of her comfort zone and trust a person. You know what? Scratch that! Maybe I just dodged a bullet! Goodbye!’ With that, he stomped off in the direction of his car. The squish of the sand couldn’t remove the determined anger that every step signified. It didn’t matter that that was also Mel’s ride.
