nigerianweblogs.net

The fact is that I must take a much needed step back to reorganise my life. For two weeks, I have churned on many story plots trying to find the right words with which to carve out a most intriguing and spell binding tale. Alas, the words fail me and I am bereft of tales to tell.

I am two weeks into the first semester of my final year and staggering under the sheer weight of responsibilities, commitments and plans that I am in a constant battle to see realised. Everything dances just within reach, enough to remind me that they aren’t.

*Sigh* the trials of a woman with an imagination on steroids. I am fatigued and yet emboldened. And definitely in need of a vacation.

Link to the original site

“You have to help me get to where I need to be. I kind of gave him the impression that I knew what I was doing and now he thinks that once I get the position, I know what to do.”
In her desperation, she was talking too fast and Souman was trying his best to not only follow her side of the conversation but also process the information she was passing on.

“Why would you lie about a thing like that?” he had to ask.

She bit back on her statement and had the good graces to look a bit ashamed. “I really wanted it so I…”

Souman sighed. It was not her fault. She was not the first person that he knew who was trying their darnedest to be where she was trying to go. And it seemed that she had somehow led Martineau to believe that she deserved to be there.

“Do you know what you are asking me to do?” he asked her again because he was quite sure that she didn’t.

“Yes,” she nodded profusely, her long braids swinging back and forth in their high ponytail, “you have to help me.” then she arched an eyebrow, “or are you helping someone else?”

He returned the look, “Maybe”

“Souman,” she sighed, moving closer, her breast brushing against the sides of his arm, “Please Souman…”

Even though he sighed and feigned irritation, he knew that he would give in and give her what she wanted. He also knew that with all his help, she would not look back even for a second once she was within Martineau’s grasp. And yet, what could he do. He was helpless against Mikhaila. He was even grateful she had only asked for what she had asked for because he knew that had she asked for more and the impossible, he would have given it to her.

Thus began their sessions for two months. She would come over after classes and he would coach her for four hours. Initially, it was for twice a week but towards the end, it was almost everyday. Everything he knew, he taught her and she was a quick and effective learner. Sometimes, when he watched her replay something he has shown her, he was no longer sure if indeed she was the novice she had claimed to be.

The last time they met, she was quiet. And so was he. Things had changed. He was now angry at himself for having invested so much time and effort because for her, it had been only been about the sessions but for him, it had been so much more.

“Thanks so much Souman.” she whispered, her small voice floating from behind the veil of her hair to caress his ear. It hit him like a slap. Tensing he moved away so his thigh was not touching hers.

“When do you meet with Martineau?” He knew he should not ask but the words left his lips before he could stop himself.

“Tomorrow at nine…” she rubbed her eyes, “Funny, I was so looking forward to it.”

“And?” he asked, his ears perking up, hope causing his heart to jump in his chest.

“I….I….” she shrugged and never finished her sentence. And that was how they left it as she got up, got dressed and left.

He did not know why he had suddenly been paralysed with misery. It had suddenly enveloped him and crippled him to his bed. Work, he did not get to not; fortunately it was a weekend. He just lay in bed, clothed in his boxers and the memories of Mikhaila.

He remembered how the first time, when he had taken her as carefully as he could she had taken a sharp breath and then quickly covered her mouth as if in apology. He had had to kiss her fingers away, coaxing her to relax and focus on his lips until he could begin to move and take her with him where passion was leading. Or the smile on her face the first time she made him scream his incoherent release against the contracting muscles of her throat. He remembered everything. Every gasp, every moan, every touch, every chuckle, whisper and soft scream. He even remembered the time she had been laughing so hard that she had farted and how he had laughed himself silly at the mortified expression on her face.

He remembered it all. As well as the fact that the only reason she had come to him was because she had lied to Martineau that she so much more sexually aware than she was. From the corner of his eye, the green lights on the digital clock said that she was probably continuing that lie with a very convincing performance. He curled up on his side and tried to go to sleep.

Her cold hands on his back propelled him awake. Her eyes blinked back from him from behind a screen of braids.

“What are you doing here?” he looked at the clock. He had only been asleep for thirty minutes.

She shrugged and moved to take peel her jacket off her small shoulders. The lace of her corset peeked out at him.
“You know you did not lock the front door. Has it been like that since I left?” She asked.
He nodded.
She took off all her clothes except for her panties and crawled beneath the sheets with her back to him.
“I did not go to him.” she whispered, “just in case you are wondering.”
He nodded and pulled her form against him, burying his face in her hair with gratitude.
“I propose you never do.” he said to her.
“I agree” she replied.

Link to the original site

Labake picked through the huge tray of rice slowly. She sought malformed and darkened grains and flicked them off her tray onto the dirt beyond the verandah where the chickens helped themselves to them as a meal. Her head was bent and face hidden but it would have been apparent to anyone watching her that all was not well. For one, her normally proud shoulders were slumped and she seemed surrounded by an air of fatigue and sad defeat.

Her daughter, Eyiwunmi was no where to be found. For the past three days, she had been avoiding her mother and Labake in turn had been ignoring her thirteen year old. The house had been shrouded in a foul and uncomfortable silence since their bitter exchange of words when Eyinwunmi brought her daugher home from the taxi car park whn she returned from her trip to Lagos. Both were in a place emotionally that in their darkest nightmares could have imagined that they would be.

From the corner of eye, Labake saw a form coming towards her. She looked up slowly, mentally preparing herself for the conversation from yet another visitor come to welcome Eyiwunmi back from her trip and to see for themselves what a person just returned from Lagos looked like. For almost every one in Igede Ekiti, Lagos was the mecca of all cities and Labake and her daughter were much envied for the opportunity that the girl had had to visit and stay for a whole month. Even Pastor Ajidagba, the town priest had only stayed for four days. So, Eyiwunmi was the town’s hottest topic especially as some witnesses had indicated that she had arrived clad in oyinbo clothes and her head full of oyinbo hair.

It was Motunrayo or Mama Olumide as she was called by everyone and Labake’s friend for twenty of her thirty eight years. She walked with a limp, her right leg deadened from a deforming case of polio when she was two. In left hand was her signature walking stick that she leaned heavily on as she hobbled her way over to her friend. Labake neither put her tray down nor rise to meet her friend. Motun smiled softly to herself as she reached the shade of the verandah.

“Ore mi, bawo?[1]” she asked in greeting. Labake raised her head and Motun gasped when she saw that her friend had been crying.
“Ha!” she exclaimed, “Mama Wunmi, don’t be like that…”
Labake shook her head slowly as if with profound sorrow, “How can you say that when one’s own child decides to put pepper in her eyes?”
Sighing, Motunrayo lowered herself onto the verandah floor so that her legs were spread out in front of her. She reached over and placed her hand on her friend’s thigh.
“Wunmi came to me this morning and told me what happened….”
“Did she say what she said?” Labake interrupted, “Did that ungrateful thing tell you what she said?” she put down the tray suddenly and began to tap her feet in anger. “You were right, I should never had let her go to her father’s house. Trust him to turn him against me.”
Motunrayo shook her head, “She has not been turned against you. She just wants to go live with him.”
Labake rested her head in her hands, “What can she know that she is doing? All she sees is the flashy, flashy things. She does not remember that he has not come to look for her since she was born.” she turned to her friend, “remember, he almost did not come for her naming ceremony?”
Motunrayo nodded, memory causing her to sigh.
“And that woman…!” Labake grimaced, “Does she think that Beatrice will be nice to her? She spent only one month and thinks that living with them will be pleasant. Omo yen kan se oju aye ni.[2]“
“Be e ni” Motun nodded in agreement, “But I say you let her go.”
Labake whirled on her friend, nearly unsettling herself on her small stool and upseting the tray of rice. “Iru kantan kantan wo lo n so yi[3]? What kind of nonsense are you talking? Have you been listening to me?”
Motun smiled, “I have heard you and I agree with you. I have also heard her and agreed with her. She says her father has told her that he will start to pay for her school fees and all her expenses. Think of the better life she will be able to get when she goes to a Lagos school. How much can she grow here? And maybe seeing her has reminded him of his responsibilities. O sa mo bi awon okunrin se je.[4] Out of sight is out of mind.”
Labake hiss was her only response.
“Yes she has been enticed by the life in Lagos,” Motun continued, “but she also deserves to have a relationship with her father. We thank God that he is not dead. He is alive and she should take anything he can give. You know you can use with the help. I mean, look at where you are….” she gestured towards the old and fading bungalow that had once belonged to Labake’s late father, “where we both are.”
Labake looked at her friend as if she was just seeing her. “Sometimes, I wonder at you. O ma n jo mi loju sa.[5]“
Motunrayo smiled, “If I don’t tell you my honest thoughts, who else will?” she looked away from her friend and out into the small yard where the chickens were making an issue over the rice, “let her go. It will all be okay.”

*************************************************************************************
Eyiwunmi pinched herself to stay awake. It was already 11.30 pm and she had school in the morning, yet she could not go to sleep. There was no way she would survive the beating that Beatrice would met out if she came into kitchen and found that Eyiwunmi had stumbled off to bed. She tried to amuse herself watching an ant make its laborious journey across the kitchen floor bearing its find of a grain of garri. She tried not to think of her mother and their house in Igede.

“Wunmi!” Beatrice’s voice barked through the house and by reflex, she responded, her body jumping up and breaking into a small sprint in order to reach the woman before she got riled which was quickly and dangerous.
She made her way through the narrow corridor and into the Blue Sitting Room where Beatrice and her two partner’s in crime, Alhaja Dubai and Sisi Lanko were cackling over another one of their ribald jokes. Trays of half eaten chicken lay discarded infront of them and the air reeked of heavy perfume, alcohol and cigarettes.
“Iwo omo osi yi i, se on ka mi lohun ni?![6]” Beatrice demanded immediately Eyiwunmi appeared. Immune to her unpleasantness and smart enough not to point out that she had appeared even before her name could be called a second time, Eyiwunmi dropped to her knees and immediately apologised.
“I am sorry ma.”
“Useless girl, mase anfaani osi, ode buruku,[7] ” Beatrice spat the words out with speed and ease, “whether your useless village mother has a house like this for you to be dallying in. Abi, what kind of nonsense, lazy girl is this?” she asked of her friends who regarded Eyiwunmi with scorn and disdain.
“You really need to wake up and stop being lazy, “Sisi Lanko told the kneeling girl, her tobacco rancid breath rumbling through the air to assault Eyiwunmi’s nostrils. The girl did not even flinch; memories of what had happened the first time she had recoiled from the woman were still fresh in her mind. Instead, she nodded and tried not to stare at the woman’s orange skin or her friend’s bright yellow hair.
“I don’t know what your father was thinking, leaving you here while he travels all over. I am sure he has gone to meet another one of his mistresses. Then he will be bringing his bastard children to come and pollute my household.” Beatrice remarked unkindly.
“I have always said you are too nice.” Alhaja told her friend, her gold tooth appearing periodically behind black-lined lips. Sisi Lanko nodded.
“Remove these and get out of my sight.” Beatrice retorted.
Eyiwunmi quickly rose to her feet and did as she was bidden. As she slowly made her way out of the room and to the kitchen, she heard her stepmother say,
“That useless girl. I should send her back to that useless gold digger of a mother.”
Her friend’s commiserating mummurs were the last thing Eyinwunmi’s heard before the door closed behind her. All she could see was the barely touched piece of chicken thigh that she would pounce on when she got to her room. Dinner had not been given to her and she suddenly felt some comfort as she remembered the small garri she had kept for herself.

Translations
[1] My friend, how are you
[2]That woman is only pretending
[3]What rubbish are you saying?
[4]You know how men are…
[5]You always surprise me
[6]You useless girl, are you wasting my time?
[7] Useless girl, good-for-nothing, retard

Link to the original site

When I saw them scurrying down the steep slope, I remembered the conversation myself and my friend Yetunde had had only thirty minutes earlier when she had exclaimed “Can you imagine the audacity?!”

Sensing the humour behind the question, I had laughed and asked “What is it again?” because she had only just outlined the most ridiculous plan ever to find herself a husband.

“It is these two rats here,” she replied hissing, “they are fighting in front of me…”

I had imagined her facial expression, the two tiny things oblivious to their audience and started to chuckle.

“Chase them away naa.” I had suggested.

“Ehn, me?” she must have shaken her head because there had been the sound of movement against the phone, “Noooo, before the vex and bite me. You remember what happened to Sylvia when she said the rat in her house threw something at her from on top of the cupboard when she was chasing it?”

So, that was why when I saw the two squirrels hurtling down the steep incline of landscaping near the road, I did not move to stop them; ask them to slow down or point out that it was rush hour and that cars were speeding down the street.

I looked away only for a moment and that was all it took for one of them to launch itself on the street in a bid to get to the other side where the trees were plentiful and filled with nuts and unripe fruit for their possibly famished bellies. It happened so fast. It probably never saw the grey Toyota Corolla coming and I am sure neither did its driver see Brown Squirrel Number II.

It was an excruciating two minutes watching helplessly as the tiny form struggled to hold on to this incarnation, its tiny limbs thrusting out rapidly and furiously in the air as if to grab at the tiny thread that was life itself. What could I do? Nothing. Though not a fan of the pesky critters and always the first to complain how the laws in this country prevented me from indulging myself in some fresh bush meat stew, I still was not hardened in the face of pain.

So, I said to it, “Let Go. Move on. You are done here. May The Blessings Be.” And meant it. I hoped it had learned all the lessons it needed to afford it a return into a higher state of consciousness and that it realised that the use of speed while moving should be in combination with caution and good vision.

It must have either heard me, realised what I had said was true or both because its limbs slowed to a still certainty. It had crossed over. Painfully, but over nonetheless.

I looked to see if Brown Squirrel Number I was somehow standing at the roadside, his/her hat in hand mourning the vicious and abrupt passing of their comrade. There was nothing there. God knew what He was doing when He made souls at all different levels. For them, it was all about survival of the fittest.

My bus arrived and I too moved on.

Link to the original site

“Thank you for coming.” he says to her. They are looking into each other’s eyes and she is trying not to blink. The words sound to her like she imagines they would if he were talking to one of his clients at the office. She does not respond. She neither wants to be there under the circumstances nor is she about to make the whole process easy for him. She is pissed and a whole lot at him.

He sighs. Then he rubs his eyes. They look tired. She mentally chides herself for filling sorry for him. She wants him to feel as bad and as hurt as she is. He senses her coldness and the weight of it make his shoulders sag. He is upset with himself that he is the result of her pain.

“How have you been?” he asks, then wonders what he expects her to say. She does not disappoint.

“How do you think I feel?” her retort is sharp and swift.

He tenses. She is spoiling for a fight and he refuses to give her one. First, there is no reason to fight and second, they are in a public place.

“This is not where I expected to be. You must understand that.” he tells her.

“I should know,” she replies sarcasm drenching her words and bringing her upper lip up in an unpleasant snarl, “I am supposed to be on my honeymoon.” She pauses and touches her finger to the lip as though in thought, “but no, no, my fiancee has broken it off to go be with his…”

“Be careful” he warns, the tone of his voice sending a chill down her spine and bringing tears to her eyes. He never would have spoken to her like this in the past. Now…

He sees he has shaken her and is immediately contrite. He reaches for her right hand that she has placed on the table beside her untouched glass of water.

“Barbara, I am sorry…”

She shakes her head and pulls her hand away to reach in her purse for her handkerchief. She needs to stop the tears and buy herself time for composure. He realises that some of the other patrons in the restaurant are beginning to stare at their table. Most of them are staring at him in accusation; especially the women. They seem to all know that he is responsible for her distress. He sits back in his chair and looks at the table setting before him.

“I only came because it seemed like no one was going to leave me alone until I did.” she says finally. Her voice is no longer as strong or as bitter. Now, she too is showing her fatigue. It has been a long day and a long year for both of them.

“I never got a chance to say how sorry I was. I promise you that I never betrayed the relationship the way you always imagined….”

“I know that you never slept with her.” she tells him.

This is news to him and it shows on his face. “Then why…?”

“It is not only through sex that one betrays a relationship. No, you never cheated on me physically but yes, you betrayed me. Because every moment that I thought I was sharing my life with you, you were sharing yours with someone else. What I don’t understand is why you played along until the very end. You would have married me, wouldn’t you, had I not called it off?”

He does not answer and instead looks at his hands.

“How is she?” she asks. He thinks about how she is and a small smile comes to his lips. Barbara sees it and a little part of her dies an abrupt and painful death. It takes all of her not to gasp out in pain. Instead, she channels all her energy into maintaining a fixed mask of tired indifference.

“She is doing great. She sends her regards. She would have come…”

Barbara knows that too as well as why she didn’t. She knows that Khaltoume does not need to come to speak with her because she already has. It was that conversation that has propelled her to meet with Martin in this restaurant overlooking the lagoon.

“I am not sorry I love him or that he loves me. I am only sorry that our doing so is causing you pain. We never planned it or even worked to make it happen. It just did. It is okay if you never forgive me but you must forgive him because he fought to stay with you for as long as he could.” Khaltoume had said.

To Barbara, that statement makes no sense at all. All she knows is that her boyfriend of three years and fiancee of one is now married to her daughter.

Link to the original site

I am razz. And proudly so.

I speak my mother tongue, read and write it well.

I can transition between the crudest of accents and hold a convo in pidgin.

I love that I can balance a tray on my head and roll up a scarf to support it.

I always gather the folds of my bubu under my pits and tilt my head tie to the side.

I can dance the yahoozee, galala and s-wooo very well

I have thighs strengthened from gripping to the sides of okada for long periods of time as well as….

I have a nose piercing

I snap my gum when i chew

I would rather eat at mama-put any day

I talk loudly all the time and I don’t care…

I speak my mind as long as I know I can 1) handle the consequences, 2) I can beat up any one who objects and 3) my house is not too far if 1&2 don’t apply

I sometimes go for lunch at Mama Beatrice, the woman who roasts corn, yam and plantains on my estate

I lace and gele is a necessity for every woman.

I wear huge costume gold jewelry

I have about three Alhajas in my family and they all sell fabric, have gold teeth, wear fake lashes and drink stout.

I am razz jare. No long thing.

Link to the original site

If my aunty asks you where her iphone is, tell her that I don’t know.

I am serious, I don’t.

Wait, let me stop this music so I can see who is calling me sef…

Like I said, I don’t know

Link to the original site

I saw him.

I wanted him.

I facebooked him.

I added him.

He added me.

I messaged him.

On something that had nothing to do with him.

He replied me.

Then we chatted.

Then we emailed properly.

With our gmail accounts.

There we chatted as well.

Then he asked for my number.

Then he called me.

Then I called him.

Then he was coming to town.

So he asked if he could see me.

I said ok, that I would like to see him.

So we met and we saw each other.

We had fun.

He came back.

We had more fun.

Then I went over.

And had more fun.

Then I came back home.

And invited him over.

He came.

It had been all planned.

I was ready.

And I let him know.

It was magical as expected.

The next morning we talked.

And talked.

We were going to make it work.

We did.

It took us four years.

We made it work.

Then he tied me to him with a good old fashioned rock.

Over cake and wine, he said to the guests

“He that findeth a woman….”

I smiled to myself.

Because if anyone had been foundeth

It had been me finding him

Link to the original site

What the hell do you think you are doing?

What do you mean?

I am asking you what the hell you think you are doing?

I…

Do you know that I almost fell out of my bed with fright?!!! I thought someone was dying!

Dying! Where?! Why?!

I can’t believe this shit!

What are you talking about?

What are you doing?

Wha…Oh, you mean…?

Yes, I mean…

I was rehearsing.

For what? How to wake the dead?

(laughing) noooo, now, blogville idols.

U’re fucking with me.

What? You don’t think I can win?

U’re fucking with me.

What?

Have you heard yourself?

What do you mean?

Let’s just say that if I could bottle your voice, I can bleach metal.

What?!

Ya heard me

You are mean

My dear,I am your friend. I won’t lie to you. Your voice is the stuff of nightmares. Look at my hair, it is still standing.

That’s gel.

Uhn uhnnnn

yeah uhn

I applaud you your faith in miracles and I know I can’t stop you but please don’t melt the phones with your singing. Or aren’t you having to call in?

You’re mean

I am just saying. I am going back to bed, please don’t make me wake up screaming like a woman.

Whatever man, u’re just mean

No, Catwalq, I am telling you the truth….

Link to the original site

Dear Wise Sistah,
I have been started and deleted this email to you so many times that I have lost count. I knew that for me to get the healing that I so desperately seek, I would need to do this. Talking to you is the final phase of ripping the band aid off the wound that is my bleeding heart and battered soul. I know that this email will confuse you as you think you have no idea what I am talking about. But I can assure you that you do and in your own very brave way, you tried to prevent us all from going through the same experience but we were too absorbed by your tale to fully understand the bright red flag of warning that you waved. I for one, thought myself above such mistakes and thus walked right into one. Now, I have to retrace my steps and have returned to my starting point, bruised and bewildered but very grateful that I was even able to return at all. It seems that many others have not been so lucky.

I only have one question. It will explain the ramblings in the paragraph above to you and I know that your answer will help me immensely. Like you, I was lured into believing that life outside of blogville was just as believable and predictable as life within it; a place where the blogger and his words are the same.

How did you survive HIM? I am trying to and it has been devastating. I have lost myself in a most horrific way. I was wrenched away from my reality and everyday is a struggle not to loose all else.

Sincerely

Little-Enid-Blyton

I read the email over and over again, each time heart sinking to an even deeper place in my chest. Just when I had imagined that the past was all wrapped up and put where it belonged: on hot embers so they could be turned to ash, it seemed that a little piece had escaped the fire and floated up on the softest breeze to taunt me. I was suddenly enraged. Rising out of my seat with a loud, almost inhumane scream that tore itself from my tortured breast, I hurled my mug of coffee away from me and at the wall. The ceramic piece shattered releasing its dark contents in a splash against my curtains that were in its way.

I realized I was shaking; and so much that saliva was collecting in my mouth and coming out in small spurts. Tears sprang to my eyes and gushed out and before I knew it, I was sobbing. Not just for myself but for her. I slowly sank to my chair but had knocked it away when I stood up so instead my body sank awkwardly to the floor. There I sat in a most uncomfortable and undignified manner.

Then suddenly, I knew what I had to do. I was going to say what I had been threatening to say and what HE had threatened me not to. I no longer cared that he said he had emails from me that would contradict my allegations and turn me into the woman scorned and the stalker spurned. I did not care that he said he had me on video doing unspeakable things in the nude, so drunk that even I could not remember. I did not care about all he had said. All I knew was that I was dealing with a very sick and twisted individual who needed to be stopped. Someone who used the cloak of anonymity to befriend and betray the trust of innocent women; Sistahs of mine.

All of us had become bloggers for different reasons and had been grateful for the camaraderie and friendships we had found. We had made the mistake of taking it outside of the realms for which it was intended. The hand we had extended had been horribly maimed. Our bodies and minds horribly raped. The result of mine lay in some dumpster somewhere along with other unformed human waste that could only be found in such clinics that performed the service.

It all had to end. And I had decided to bite the bullet and do the deed. I picked myself up, pulled my chair back and returned to my computer screen. The email was still open, Little-Enid-Blyton’s email sitting undisturbed and unflinching. I opened another tab and logged into my Blogspot account.

That motherfucker was going down.

Link to the original site