MBC Mashup #1

Third Mainland Bridge, by Devesh Uba

June 2015

A thousand splendid suns Oil on water Seun Salami

Nneka

Ajala Linda Eyekay Loud Tolulope Yemi Tobi Blakkoffee Maskuraid

9 inshes

Sex Life MomoAbiodun

Zebbook Jessica Nektar wives Gazelle RotundaBaba Segi’s Bar Enclave

Ojuju

Linorajj Olliph

Ola

Adeola Lie to me, Dan

Soup-a-star

Oddy4Real Fatimah

Tychus

Saving Dapo

Trey Ogechi

Lollit KanyinTeemah

Kofo Moyo

Shodex Garden

Ayokunle Demola Larmoy Lola Helon Habila mbc Spurs

DamiSeun Odukoya

Umari Ayim

Oladapo OjoAyomidotun

Lola Shoneyin

Safriat Now Your Struggle Continues Fine Boys Say mamaa Twilight at Terracota Indigo

2

Ayomidotun Freeborn Managing Editor

Is a publication of

Nneka Ezealor-Oladimeji Abiodun Awodele Seun Odukoya Fatimah Adeiye Ikechukwu Nwaogu Linda Orajekwe Olarenwaju Odesomi Tobi Moronfolu Yemi Ajala Lola Ogunnupebi Ayomidotun Freeborn Contributors

Moyo Larmie Lola Ogunnupebi Editors Abiodun Awodele Production Adviser Lucid Creative Art Direction 3

Cover Image courtesy Devesh Uba All images courtesy Unsplash www.unsplash.com

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YOU & I Two souls Isolated from the world Lost in each other There are no words None is needed For hearts in sync The feeling of each beat Brings mutual emotional bliss Bliss‌

By Abiodun Awodele

4

Time can stop The world can wait Reality is a bother This is our moment Nothing else matters Besides the perfection Encapsulating the union Of two vibrant souls Made one by love‌ You and I.

“Dipo, come and join us" "Don't worry, let me be the photographer" "Won't you snap with us?"

"Much as I would like to, both of you are giggling and jiggling and squiggling with excitement, and none of the pictures you have taken so far is worth anything. So just pose", he instructed, and he clicked the camera once, then twice more.

The Photograph

A

gain the girls insisted, and got a passer-by to snap several pictures while they posed with Dipo. The girls, Damilola and Bunmi, were course mates, and best friends. They were also close for one other reason- Dipo. Dipo Adesina was Damilola's elder brother and Bunmi's boyfriend. He had just returned from NYSC orientation Camp in the North, and he was taking time to 'flex' with the girls prior to his departure for the North, where he would be until the next time he could tear some time off to visit Lagos again. Their day at the beach passed all too quickly, and soon it was time to go. Dami's digital camera, with its memory card packed full with precious memories, was consigned to the bottom of her travel bag.

By Ikechukwu Nwaogu

The academic session resumed in full swing with both girls studying earnestly for their second semester exams. One sweltering afternoon, Bunmi walked into the library to meet her friend, Tolani. The two nodded amiably to each other and were soon busy flipping through the fashion and style pages of the various newspapers.

"Hmmm, these northern extremists want to destroy this country kpata kpata. Imagine bombing an NYSC Camp", Tolani remarked , "Ehn? Upon the many soldiers who they usually post?

5

Shame", replied Bunmi.

Yet the government still posts people to these flash points, can you believe that? That's a needless waste of life. Imagine, after suffering to send a child to school - primary, secondary, tertiary - and suddenly, while serving the nation, your child is gone. Just like that, and you don't even have a corpse to bury, simply because the child was posted to Kama?

"Ehn? Kama? Are you serious? Thank God it wasn't last batch, my boyfriend was in camp then."

"Abi o, you for just be widow without marriage."

The girls laughed, until silenced by the librarian's angry glare, at which they resumed their quiet page-flipping, passing scribbled notes to continue their chitchat.

Dare got up from his chair and strolled over to the reference section. He was a lanky, bespectacled boy, who, despite his geeky appearance, had a deep, booming voice which could literally command instant attention. He was very involved in student politics and often kept company with other campus politicians. Despite all that, he maintained good grades in school and was a

frequent library user. Seating himself at the table, he smiled by way of greeting and indicated the paper in Tolani's hand. “When I'm through”, she silently mouthed. Nodding, he reached for the stack of magazines and picked out one. Adjusting his spectacles, he began to read. Shortly, having consumed all the articles of interest, Tolani passed the newspaper to him. He took one look, managed to wrinkle his nose, despite the fact that it was supporting his glasses, and passed it back.

“It's an old paper, I even thought it was today's own.” Tolani had been flipping through entertainment, fashion and style, so she had no way of knowing how current the paper was. She retrieved the paper and slid it past Bunmi, toward the pile of old newspapers at one end of the long table.

Bunmi's eyes followed the paper as it slid down the table. “Old paper? I thought it was today's newspaper”. With impatient fingers, she rushed through the pages until she came to the article about the NYSC members.

"Which set was this?"

"The last one", Tolani replied. Roughly, she jerked

6

back to the first page.

"This paper is March, we are in June, the paper can't be.... unless.....”

Those in the library that afternoon remember hearing a scream of anguish and shock, then a panicked Bunmi rushing as far as the library door, before collapsing in a dead faint.

By the time the library attendants had called for an ambulance, after efforts had been made to revive her , she kept turning and tossing, muttering something about pictures over and over. Her closest friend, Damilola, whose elder brother she was reportedly dating, said they had an outing with the said brother, sometime in April, when he returned from camp. The mystery now is, how could he have gone on an outing with them in April, when he died in March? The digital camera they used on the outing was made available, but the memory card on the device has been reported corrupt and unreadable. More information will be reported as soon as possible as the girls are currently receiving treatment at an undisclosed hospital. Thank you very much. I am Ikeadi Umengwu, reporting for 'That's Incredible'

On the death of

Akindele

By Seun Odukoya

Someone I know knows someone who is about to die.

It is fascinating; death is. I mean, for as long as it has been around it still manages to surprise people.

It's something we'll never get used to - we humans. Simply because somehow, we inundate ourselves with ignorance – living in our little bubbles, acting as though there's nothing out there that really matters.

Until death ups in our faces and gives us grandma slaps.

Death starts. Life stops. And the world keeps moving, barely pausing to acknowledge a momentary hesitation in its pulse.

G

rowing up, death was a story. Death was a tale – something we saw in the movies; something that kept the action going. Something that allowed Schwarzenegger shine in his onedimensional acting abilities. It was something that made our parents shake their heads and change the channel from the evening news to something much more lighthearted.

It was something that was never really discussed.

What did I know of death? Nothing –I mean; nothing until the events that prompted me to write this story. My earliest memory of death is so early in my life, I do not remember how old I was.

That fateful afternoon, I returned from school and met my dad with his arms around my mum, whispering softly in her ears as silent tears ran down her suddenly-shrunk cheeks.

7

“What happened?” I asked in a voice I remember was shaking.

I like to think those were the words I spoke. I had never seen my mum cry before.

tall, with a body that agreed with whatever he was wearing.

His voice was deep and soft at once - like black velvet. He knew how to woo a woman, and he knew how to put her in the air without sweeping her off her feet.

“Grandma is gone,” my dad replied.

“Gone?” I think I repeated stupidly. Grandma herself was a hazy memory even back then; I remembered her as a weaklooking but tough woman with strong hands who smelt of soap – cheap chemical soap.

“Gone?” I think I said again. “Gone – to where? Will I see her again?”

I do not recall what my impatient father's answer had been to a whatever-age-I-was year-old, but as I made my way to the room I shared with two older sisters I focused on the realization I wasn't going to see grandma again – and thought about how I felt about that.

But I never came close to death. Not till the university.

Not until Akindele.

I liked Akindele for many reasons. I liked that he always came to pick us; me and my housemate Doris, and take us to campus. I liked how we could tell he was around by the heady musk that preceded him into our house. I liked his booming laughter and sinfully-sweet smile. I liked that he could cook, and he wasn't afraid to cook – and he was generous to a fault. I liked how he held me softly; as though I was an egg…

Oh. I could go on.

I'm just trying to capture how great a guy Akindele was – and how that made his demise more shocking. It's important you get that, you see. It's important you understand that; and in the infinite wisdom of Nigerian sages – in this case the Yoruba, 'Iku o da ojo, arun o da osu' in other words, 'Death has not announced a day, sickness has not announced/agreed on a month'.

He was an amazing guy, everyone who knew him liked him – or so I thought. But whatever else he was, he was amazing. He took care of himself. His car, his house - bore marks of his calm, gentle and caring nature. He could have any girl he wanted, but he had eyes for only one.

And he took his time with her, making her understand why she was who he wanted. It took a while – you have to understand; you cannot hurry love neither can you begrudge a woman her feelings – but eventually she said yes.

And it was a beautiful thing to behold; him and her laughing at something he said, or talking softly about romance and life and faith and so on. They would go, hand in hand, walking on and off campus, showing off each other without meaning to.

They grew together, blossomed, and rubbed off on each other in the best of ways. And not once did he allow her forget why they were where they were; he walked her through her courses or guided her to people who could.

And they shined together; Akindele and Doris, my housemate.

The day Akindele died, I was washing clothes beside the main house door, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and really-not-there shorts.

I was sweaty and stinky.

I had just emptied my washbowl of dirty, soapy water and was watching the bubbles burst while thinking about a particularly hard GST course when – “Hi, B–Girl. Is Doris around, please?”

How apt.

Akindele was in his final year when I was in two hundred level.

He had everything a guy needed to make an impression with a lot of girls – at least girls who were in or below two hundred level at that time. He was good-looking; pink lips, soft beard –

I do not recall whether it was the nearness of the voice or the suddenness of it that startled me – all I remember is I spun around a little too quickly and slipped on the water I'd just poured away.

8

Someone I know knows someone who is about to die. It is fascinating; death is!

They say when you die your entire life flashes before your eyes.

I have no idea how true that is, I've never died before, you see.

I do know however, that my mind wasn't frozen still either. I was afraid – but thoughts were rushing through my mind like – ohthisisgoingtohurthopeIdontbreakanythingor And then, just like that, I stopped falling.

“I'm sorry – I didn't mean to startle you.”

Only then did I notice some pressure around my waist – soft, subtle pressure – and slowly, the facts strung themselves together in my mind, following a sequence: Akindele is here.

apologise. Dorry – “I nudged my friend. “Take this your man away and feed him some of the awesome stuff you've been tormenting my nose with all day!”

They chuckled and turned into the house, while I sat and washed clothes accompanying the chore with sad songs - the kind sung by women who want something they know they can never have.

I couldn't stay in the house – I was sure if I hung around them some more I would do something - say something that would give away my secret. I had to leave so I came up with an excuse about going for tutorials at a friend's – at Kemi's. I would love Akindele from a distance; and as for Doris, if anyone deserved him it was her.

They smiled at me; and Akindele's was particularly bright.

I didn't know it was for the last time.

Akindele is holding my waist.

I can feel his breath on my neck.

Some kind of quick, bright and fiery flame flared up within my core – and what was formerly legs became spaghetti sticks. I wobbled and sagged in his arms, battling with the conflict of knowing that what I was feeling and where I was were inappropriate; but enjoying the sensations of being held against his body.

Up till that moment, I hadn't known it was possible to feel like that in a man's hands.

“Is she okay?”

Doris hurried from behind us to stand beside me and put a soft, warm hand to my head. That is the sweetness that is Doris; finding her man in a compromising situation but understanding there was nothing to it.

He was her man. She trusted him.

It was as simple as that for her.

I straightened – and then pushed myself out of his hands. I nodded and smiled weakly, beaming at the couple who now had arms around each other. “I'm okay, I slipped. Hi. Akindele.”

He nodded. “Sorry I startled you –“ he started to apologise again and I waved him into silence. “You don't need to 9

For some reason, I was deeply afraid to go back home that night. But I couldn't stay at Kemi's either. I kept tossing on the bed, rising and pacing within the confines of her bedroom. I don't know who got frustrated first – but I do know if I hadn't told her I was leaving, she'd have asked me to.

I got home later; dark hallway saying Doris wasn't home and hadn't been for a while. I was happy and sad; happy because I wasn't sure I could hide my heart from her keen innocent sight any longer, sad because I was tormented by the images of what she and her man might be getting up to.

I didn't sleep – or start to, till the early hours of the following morning.

And just when my eyes started to close – the shrill ringing of my phone snapped me back into full wakefulness. I groaned and grabbed the device, half of me wanting to smash it.

It might be Doris.

“Hello love?”

It was Doris – but it was Doris like I'd never known her. She was babbling, crying and sniffing incoherently. The only thing I was able to get out was “General hospital…Akindele…here fast…”

It was a few minutes after four – but I was able to get a cab.

Thanks to the lateness of the hour, I got to the hospital within ten minutes. I called to ask where she was – and got a fever when she said “mortuary.”

The sleepy-eyed guard at the gate helped with directions and then we were there. The cab had barely stopped before I jumped out, racing towards my friend who was standing solitary guard beside a trolley.

A trolley with a body on it.

I could feel the wetness of tears as they slowly seeped from my eyes; as sharply as the dawn wind rubbing all over my face with cold fingers. I slowed down as I neared the couple, trying to control my tears – but as the silent girl turned to look at me, her lips trembling, limbs shaking – I didn't know when my own floodgates opened up again.

“They…they killed him…they shot…my baby…”

I cradled her against my bosom and looked over her head at the body lying on the steel trolley. I could tell it was Akindele only by the clothes the body was wearing.

There was a huge, bloody crater where a face was supposed to be.

Little by little, the gory details came out, and they got uglier by the day. Akindele was a cultist. He was in fact the executioner of his cult. He had been killed in retaliation for a job he'd gone to do in another school. Someone had been paid to betray him.

Doris was spared because it had been only Akindele they wanted.

and all those things they said about him”, she shook her long tresses. “I'm going home.”

She looked like the zombie version of her usual self, gaunt and hungry. I nodded and started to help her pack.

I saw her off to the park and hugged her gently. “Call me when you get home, you hear?”

She nodded sadly and hugged me again.

I waited till the bus started to move, waved till it disappeared and chose to walk back home. As I did, thoughts of Akindele and Doris and the fragility of life filtered in and out of my consciousness. I couldn't get past the realisation that I was never going to see Akindele again, hear him smile and see him laugh, never would I sit in the back of his wine-colored Golf that smelled of pineapples and listen to D'Banj.

My loving him from a distance was never more real.

People die all over the world every second – but we're only conscious about it when it happens to someone we know; someone we're close to. They say 'live each day like it's your last', yet we go about, fighting people and breaking hearts and keeping quiet about the things that matter – as though we expect to live forever.

'Live like…' is sound advice; but few will heed it – and then it's too late for all concerned.

Someone you know, knows someone who is about to die.

What are you going to do about it?

I lived the following days through layer after layer of depression. I alternated between numb, hot and cold for weeks. It was all I could do to comfort Doris, feeling the way I was feeling but I did what I had to; and that was to be there for a friend.

Nobody thought to think I was mourning just as much as – if not harder than – Doris.

“I cannot stay anymore,” she told me one afternoon, wearing her long black boubou, “I cannot function in school, I can barely sleep at home. His face keeps hanging around, 10

Thou shall not live by bread alone.

M

ama Chikodi was a peculiar exception to this injunction because she quite literally, lived on bread. Her eldest son was a big oga in a big oil company, but whenever he visited, which was often, all he ever gave his mother was a loaf of bread while he handed his father wads of cash.

Now this was exactly how Papa Chikodi liked it. He was the owner of his son and heir; therefore he should enjoy the fruits of his child more. What did Mama Chikodi need more than bread for anyway, what did she need money for? If Chikodi started giving her envelopes full of cash like he gave him, she would become proud and raise her shoulders at him. Pa Chikodi liked how she had to cajole him every time in order to get a tiny share out of the money Chikodi always pressed into his palm at the end of every visit.

That was the place of a woman. She had no business expecting huge monetary gifts from her son, because that honour was due to only him. He would still provide for the family out of that money anyway, but mostly he would provide Amaka's needs. Amaka, the sweet baby oku that kept his blood hot, his lust sated, but left his desire on the rise. Chi'm o! That girl was something else! Fresh, yellow skin and big, round breasts. Even her behind was a large feast. Chei! Chikodi better visit this week just as he said he will, because he needed to see Amaka again. He wanted a repeat of that kung fu style she gave him in bed the last time. But the girl was asking for a blackberry, and knowing her from past experience, she wouldn't even let him touch until she got what she wanted.

Papa Chikodi scowled and bellowed “Mama Chikodi wey my food nah?! You wan make hunger end me before you go bring am? You this woman, wetin dey worry you so??� Mama Chikodi hissed in the kitchen. Foolish man! It is in food or money matter that her husband will be screaming like they had injected him with dog vaccines.

Rubbish! In fact, she should have had her people return the bride price so she could be free of the tyrant. How did he expect her to pound yam and prepare ofe nsala in just about 30 minutes. If anybody asked her, this husband of hers was an ndi ara. But thank God for small mercies, Chikodi was coming to visit in two days time, and she was going to get her loaf of bread as usual. That alone made up for everything else. Her special loaf of bread was more than enough compensation. Mama Chikodi's face lit up with a smile as she hurried out of the kitchen to attend to the glutton she married thirty years years ago.

By Fatimah Adeiye 11

Two days later when Chikodi walked into his parents' house, the aroma of different stews from the kitchen permeated the atmosphere. He was glad to be home, even though he had a place of his own now, this place just always had a warm feel to it. He hugged his mother warmly and had to mask his irritation when three seconds later, his father pried him out of her arms and took his arm possessively as he led him to sit. Chikodi sighed mentally; this man was a pain in his behind. The tyrannical man had been merely a figurehead in his life during his younger years. He knew how many loans his mother had taken, how many of her expensive wrappers and jewellery she had pawned off to ensure he had the necessary books and other comforts in school while his father gambled and drank away. Now that he was finally somebody, his father had become a leech, accepting and even demanding cash gifts from him at will. But that wasn't even his grouse. It was that, despot that his father was, if he gave his mother any money, the man would find a way to confiscate it. He remembered an incident that happened when he was in his first year of university. His father had somehow discovered where his mother hid her money - ALL her savings. The bastard man had taken the money and picked up a girl, a girl that he brought to the house and made his mother prepare breakfast for the next morning.

Insult upon injury! Knowing his father, he couldn't do more than give his mother a loaf of bread each time he visited, while he gave his father an envelope full of cash.

Mama Chikodi was sad to see her son go later in the day, but she was even happier that she had seen her baby's face today. Her boy needed to hurry up and settle down so she could have grandchildren to bounce on her knee. Her husband was yelling for food again. Why the pig even bothered to eat at home right before going out to his whores was something she never understood. Why should she be the one to feed him well while he went to exhaust the energy atop those toothpick-legged girls?

“You go wait make I turn garri?' She asked him. “Because all the fufu wey I turn for afternoon you don finish am so.”

“I dey hurry o! I no fit wait abeg. Which kain wife you be sef, wey food no dey always dey ready? If no be for God I for don return you go ya papa house aswear”

By now Mama Chikodi was exasperated. “Abeg abeg! No dey talk that kain word for my ear Papa Chikodi. No ves me.

Why you no go chop for where you dey go? Nor be commot you dey comot so? Mscheeeeeeew!”

Papa Chikodi knew he had just lost any chances he had of his wife making him dinner. Rubbish! He needed energy for that Amaka girl, and now that he had money to give her for her phone she was going to be extra 'grateful'. That meant different, amazing skills in bed tonight, chei! At the mere thought of what would be, his loins stirred. No way he was going to see Amaka on an empty stomach. He needed food as well as liquor-induced stamina. Just then, he saw the bread that Chikodi gave his mother. That would have to do.

“Ok nah. As you nor gree gimme food, I go manage this bread wey Chikodi carry come.”

Mama Chikodi was out of the room in a flash and she snatched the loaf out of his hands just as he picked it.

“Over my dead body! Manage wetin? Manage wetin, Papa Chikodi? The money wen hin giff you, I follow you manage am? No, I ass you kweshon o! I follow you dey manage am? Ordinary bread wey my pikin gimme your eye stee dey enter am? God punish devil!”

Papa Chikodi was amazed. What was wrong with this woman? She wouldn't cook for him and now see as she was screaming at the top of her voice because of bread.

Ordinary bread! He tried to snatch the loaf out of her hands but she held on and glared at him with nostrils flared, murder in her eyes. Thus began a tug of war - they dragged the bread back and forth until the poor thing split in the middle.

Papa Chikodi stared at the bread with surprise. He was completely astounded! Mama Chikodi glared at him with resignation and determination, with her steely gaze, she dared him to speak and see if she would not tear him to pieces. But Papa Chikordi's jaw was still on the floor in shock, for inside that loaf of bread, was a wad of cash with crisp notes. The loaf of bread was filled with money- crisp dollars notes. No wonder she was always happy with her loaf of bread. No wonder.

12

THE CRY OF AN ABUSE. They think I'm proud… …'Cos I don't want to cry out Why?…

‘Cos I don't know how.

It happened a long time ago…

But it battered me on a row Though I fought with all i had…… …But the fight was futile… …for he was all I had.

People felt he loved me so… …But I wish they understood.

They called me an insolent child, But I was merely covering up my pride, For I was battered in all ways that count.

Physically? …I felt it.

Mentally? …I couldn't bear it.

Emotionally? … I could understand it.

Now I'm trying to know myself I'm trying to love myself I was betrayed and defiled…

By the one that 'loved' me so.

I'm not proud…

I'm just reserved.

By Linda Orajekwe 13

THE FIRST TIME I DID IT!

By Ayomidotun Freeborn

Y

ou know how that one incident can change your life forever? It affects you so much that you never completely recover from it. Even though you desperately try to convince yourself otherwise, subconsciously you are still bound to the memories and they occasionally invade your dreams and become the object of your nightmares. I never expected my first time to be this way. To be honest, I really don't know what my expectation was, but I definitely knew I didn't expect what happened.

I have had my fair share of make-outs, but I've never gone all the way. It isn't due to lack of opportunities; I had a good number of opportunities back in secondary school but I always flunked out at the last minute. I know it had a lot to do with my stern upbringing as a Baptist. In my house, children were brought up to believe that the two greatest evils in the world are the devil and the feminine gender (this is contestable), with the latter being a powerful weapon for the former (remember Adam in the garden). So I grew up unsure of what to make of the feminine gender, and my mother made matters worse as she never ceased to hammer it into my head (every opportunity she got) “if you touch a girl, she would get pregnant for you” (as if it were that easy). And then she would go on and on and on… “If you want to bring shame upon yourself, that is not my problem, but I would not allow you to bring shame upon this family. You will not drag the name of this family in the mud, So ti gbo?” At this point (as if on cue), my father would intercept with his all-time favorite adage “A ki n kanju la obe gbona, hot soup is not consumed in a hurry.” .

Although my parents did their best to keep me on the right path, as I approached puberty, curiosity and peer -pressure got the best of me. It actually started with a sneak peek through the keyhole of the bathroom door whenever our house help, Maria was inside. I was always careful to ensure nobody was around to see me. My voyeurism was brought to an unfortunate end however, as not up to a month later, Maria caught me and she threatened to report me to my mother. I knew the consequences would be dire if she did, so I pleaded with her, promising her half of my weekly pocket money. However, to protect myself just in case Maria changed her mind. So I told my mother that Maria had been 14

bringing different men into the house when nobody was at home.

Imagine my mother's reaction - she went ballistic, beating the daylight out of the poor girl before sending her packing. I didn't see that coming, but it made the situation better. My secret was safe.

Maria's dismissal meant I had to find another means of satisfying my teenage lust and I found solace in a magazine called 'Ikebe Super' – an illustrative publication about the raunchy adventures of randy Mr. Nackson. My childhood buddie, Adeola, would sneak into his brother's room and steal editions of the magazine which he'd then bring to my house. We would hide in the house help's empty room to read it. Occasionally he brought Better Lovers along too, which I liked better. It had more colourful pictures than Ikebe Super, which was predominantly black and white. I remember the time I tried to buy Ikebe Super myself under the guise that I was sent by my brother. The stupid vendor Adamu (I am still angry at him), collected my money, ,two weeks of savings' worth, and didn't give me any magazine. He threatened to beat me, and promised to report me to my mother if I ever came back again, so I solely relied on Adeola to supply me with the magazines.

Soon I graduated from reading Ikebe Super to watching blue films and it was in one of such movies

that I learnt about masturbation. I decided to try it out. It was a very nasty experience, that left me all sticky and messy.

I got my first kiss at a friend's sixteenth birthday party. For the entire night, I was all fired up - not because of the kiss, but because of its making. The chit chat, the subtle body language, the intentional accidental brush to the neck and cheeks, and the groping on the dance floor; all of these got me so excited that by the time I made the move to kiss her, I was sure she wouldn't resist. I must admit, I was a bit clumsy. I was clueless as to what kissing entailed. I covered the poor girl's face with saliva, and even bit her lower lip, but that marked the beginning of my sensual adventures. By the time I finished from secondary school, I had done every other thing except the main thing.

I flunked my JAMB examination, so I had to stay at home for a year. It was during this period I met Omaede - her family had just moved into the neighborhood. Things fell into place quickly. Her mother met my mother at the salon, and she invited her to church. Our two families soon became friends, with my mother even suggesting that Omaede should enroll at the same JAMB tutorial centre I attended, to which her mother agreed to. Thus began my friendship with Omaede.

My second attempt at JAMB was a lot better, and I was offered admission to study biochemistry in Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife. I was so excited. But my excitement was short-lived when I learnt Omaede wasn't selected, because we had applied for the same school. I tried my best to console her, using myself as an example. Since it was her first time, I reminded her that I had also flunked my first attempt, and this cheered her up a bit.

As the time for me to leave for school drew closer, she became moody as each day passed, always telling me she was going to miss me. So we ended up spending a lot of time together during that period. It was then I noticed the changes. We had stopped shaking hands and she had started hugging me. Tightly. And longer too. She held my hand often and made other subtle advances like that. Up until that time, my relationship with Omaede had been like a brother-sister thing. I can't deny that we were very close;

I patted her back, rubbed her shoulder, and kissed her neck while she held me tightly as if her life depended on it. I kissed her and she kissed me back.

just the same way I can't ascertain whether what we had qualified as dating. But now, I sense there was something more, even though I can't really explain it.

Then something happened. A week to the time I was to leave for school, one Friday morning, we were in her room chatting (we normally hung out in her room whenever her parents weren't at home). I told her that I couldn't wait to leave for school. I couldn't contain my excitement about how I was looking forward to the new environment and the new friends.. Omaede's response dazed me: “I knew it. You can't wait to run to school so you can meet enough girls. I knew you didn't really like me that much… you just didn't know how to tell me”. This took me by surprise, and for the next couple of minutes I was silent. I did not know what to say. “You see! You can't even say anything because you know it's true…”, she added. Considering the fact that she had been moody lately, I should have known something was on her mind. I can't remember the exact things I said, but I tried to explain to her that I really did like her. Just when I thought I had done enough to convince her, Omaede asked me to prove it. “Prove what?” I asked. “Prove that you really like me as you said”. “Show me how much you really like me”, she added. How do you prove you like someone? How do you show how much you like someone? So I just ran on impulse.

I pulled her closer, and held her in a tight embrace. She put up a feeble resistance but that didn't stop me. Still locked in the embrace, she made me promise not to forget her when 15

I get to school. One thing led to another; I patted her back, rubbed her shoulder, and kissed her neck while she held me tightly as if her life depended on it. I kissed her and she kissed me back. I must confess, it was amazing. We had built up so much sexual tension that letting it all out was electrifying. I pulled up her shirt and reached behind her to unclasp her bra. She stepped back, breaking off the kiss. Gently sliding the shirt off her shoulder, she unhooked her bra, letting it fall off her tender breasts. The moment her breasts were bare, she turned her face away averting her eyes. I couldn't take my eyes off her breasts and I reached out to touch them. She jerked as my hand touched her nipples. Just then a crazy thought entered my head.

You know when you assume you know so much about a person it never occurs to you that you might be wrong. I pulled her closer and whispered into her ears, “Have you done this before?”, she didn't say anything but she shook her head.

“So you are a virgin.” She nodded slightly. I was so scared. Being a virgin is scary enough, but when two of you are virgins? Damn! I knew I couldn't go on. I hugged her tight, feeling her warm flesh on my body, and she started crying on my shoulder. I cuddled her, and told her she was very special and that I loved her (and I think I really meant it). I wiped her tears and we kissed again, softer and

deeper. I helped her dress up, and we lay quietly on her bed with her head on my chest.

ti e je die, Ko fi kan enu“. I am an emotional whirlwind. Grief, love, hate, anger, vengeance, and regret all warring in my seventeen -year old mind. It was too much for me to bear and I broke into tears again for the umpteenth time that day. “Why must she die a virgin?” I mumbled. I didn't know I said it out loud until my confused mother asked, “What do you mean? How did you know she died a virgin?” On a different day, I would have been scared of my mother finding out about what happened between me and Omaede the day she died, but grief has a way of making you careless about such things. I told her everything that happened that day, and I watched my mother's face undergo a transformation from grief to disbelief, to shock, and to anger. I can imagine what must have been going through her mind, but I really did not care. I knew she would never see me as that innocent son of hers again. I kept thinking, if we had stayed back and had sex together then we wouldn't have been anywhere near the bank at that time, and Omaede wouldn't have been hit by a stray bullet. Omaede would still be alive.

After she had calmed down, we went to the bank together because I had to pay my acceptance fee. While I was on the queue, Omaede went outside to get recharge voucher for her phone. I didn't mind because I had noticed a pretty girl on the queue, and I figured that since she was on the acceptance fee queue, then we must be heading for the same school. In the course of filling out my teller, I initiated a chat with her. I was right! We were indeed heading for the same school. So I got her name, and phone number.

As I stepped out of the bank's metal detector, I heard series of gunshots.

People ran helter-skelter, and I joined them. If the gunshots were from armed robbers, then going back inside the bank wasn't a safe choice. I dove behind the public toilet by the wall, only to collide with the bank's uniformed security man already hiding there. Squeezing into this tight space wasn't easy but I had no choice. Baring of the police sirens were followed by rounds of sporadic shooting. The crossfire went on for about five minutes, then the sounds faded.

When everything had calmed down, I got out of my hiding place, laughing at the security man scrambling behind me. I called Omaede but she didn't pick up.

I knew she must be annoyed with me for leaving her alone. I called her again and she still didn't pick up. I knew Omaede could be very stubborn sometimes.

As I walked down the road past the recharge voucher vendor, I saw Omaede's walleton the ground. I imagined Omaede must have run for dear life and left her wallet behind. No wonder she didn't pick my call. I picked up her bag, and asked the sales woman if she saw the girl that owns the bag. The woman screamed and broke into sobs “Yeepa… Omo'lomo!“, placing both hands on her head. Where I come from, this gesture is a terrible sign. I didn't have to wait for her to answer me. Two men carried Omaede's body from the ground and placed her on the bench by the bus stop as people started gathering. There was a big red mess around her stomach where the bullet had gone in, and her head hung to the side. I rushed to her side pulling her to myself. “Somebody please help me!” I shouted. I sat on the ground, with Omaede on my chest.

With every drop of blood she was losing, life was leaving her and there was nothing I could do to stop it. The warm flesh that was warm against mine a few hours ago was now cold.

The loss of a loved one has a weird way of affecting the mind and the memory.

It is funny how I start to refer to things in respect to Omaede. Like when I hear a song now, in my mind I'd go “The song Omaede loved dancing to; or I see a nice blue scarf, and my mind would go Omaede's best colour. She would have loved that scarf.

For those of you that are wondering why I called this the first time I did it, I have this for you: Where I come from, if a woman gives birth to a set of twins and one dies at birth, you don't question the woman if she tells you that the dead baby travelled to America.

Dedicated to Adeola Alao (1985-2009).

For the love you sought, and the love you gave.

The stray bullet had fatally hit Omaede while the police chased down a gang of armed robbers in broad daylight. It's been three days since the incident and she was be buried today. I didn't attend the burial because I am a psychological wreck. I haven't tasted anything for the past three days, and sleeping has been very difficult. Mother has been very worried and she is sitting beside me on the bed in my room. “Oko mi, jo o. Jo nitori Oloun,jeun. Mo f' Oloun Oba be e. Wo, 16

The Right

Incentive ‘Segun woke up on Friday feeling randy, As usual he decided to do something about it.

After all as a Master of the City, He got it a lot, mostly for free.

So off he went, away to his office.

Half-heartedly he strived to do a little bit.

Office work was pure drudgery, When compared to nightfall's bliss.

The sun rose and fell out of the sky, The eagles slept and bats came to fly, Men tucked away good and let evil loose.

Segun, and others, become less civil.

And so he went, to his favourite hangoutSomewhere along Allen roundabout, Downing the dark lager in copious amounts, He chose a girl sitting in the dark corner.

The motion was getting so smooth From practice and being overused.

Many girls had fallen prey, As did Titi, the new girl too.

The girl really liked him, it was easy to tell, But still she refused to be a vessel for sex.

Like he'd done before, he slipped things in her drink.

Happily, she went with him in a blink.

In his Accord she threw herself at him.

By Ajala Yemi Like his pulse, racing to undress him; But with adroit, he kept her leashed As he raced to his condo in Gbagada.

Old man gateman opened with a sigh, Shaking his head at this common sight.

'Segun opened the door with much gusto; To his abattoir, lamb Titi in toe.

Off came his dress, off came hers.

Laid her on the bed, as he preparedTo enter the place, like Tuface said.

On came the rubber, as all things' set.

“Are you using a condom?” asked the girl.

“Cos I'm HIV positive, I feel I should tellAs I just got the result yesterday, And I feel we're getting pretty intimate.”

The rubber dropped as he went flaccid.

Titi smiled at him saying “Please come in.”

Lust fled his body with tremendous alacrity.

'Segun went on his knees, singing godly praises.

From that day, he started doing without it, At least until he get married.

Eventually, he found he could do without it, Given the right incentive.

17

EAVESDROP

by Abiodun Awodele

Ewa riro is a meal I would normally never choose to eat outside of the comfort of my house. It makes my tummy bloated and I fart continuously afterwards. If I'm terribly unlucky, I also get repeated trips to the 'throne' room to do some watery 'Number Twos'. For these reasons, I stay off ewa riro anytime I'm outside.

subsided. For a while I was content to believe it was a full retreat until the storm came back after the initial retreat. It was with a vengeance.

Usain Bolt had nothing on me as I raced for the toilets, propelled by the fear of an unscheduled premature arrival. God was merciful, all trunks were not busy and I was able to jump in and let it rip without any restraints. Brethren, the outpouring was totally glorious and the receptacle was filled almost to overflowing. The peace that came with 'delivery' was not of this world and in my mind I thought I had paid full penance for daring to break the golden rule.

On this particular day, the devil somehow got involved in my meal selection process. The original plan was to order for a plate of fufu and ogbono well laced with goat meat at my favorite spot - Street Sensation (that's what we call the place where we converge to have lunch near my office).Unfortunately for me though, by the time I was finally able to sneak out of the office for some food, almost everything on the menu had been exhausted. Lucifer made sure that the only thing that was still available was jollof beans (ewa riro in simple English). He also conveniently arranged it that the kind of hunger that was bombarding my stomach at that moment was the exact same kind of hunger that caused Isaac to willingly barter his birthright for a plate of porridge. I really had no options, it was either eat or die an untimely death. I chose to eat.

Soon, all thoughts of my transgressions were forgotten.

In a bid to catch up on some outstandings, I worked a bit late and only left my table at around 10:30 P.M when most of the other people in the office building had gone home. It was on my way to the car park that another episode of gastro-intestinal conflict erupted in my Middle East region. Again, I made a dash for the toilets which were pretty much deserted at that hour. Downloading took some time but it was finally done. So intense was the effort it took that for almost ten additional minutes after the last plop, I sat there quietly, just letting the cramps ease off and catching my breath.

According to Newton's Law of Motion (I can't remember the correct number now), actions and reactions are equal and opposite. Well, the action was in the consumption of ewa riro, the reaction was an orchestra that started playing a medley of scary songs in my stomach exactly two hours after I committed the 'offence'. I let loose a couple of silent gas bombs in a bid to equalize my internal pressure and for a few minutes after that, all seemed to be well as the rabble

The sound of the main toilet door opening startled me out of my reverie. Two distinct sets of footsteps followed each other in and stopped, after which the door 18

closed. Voices began to converse in low tones although they came clearly to me where I was seated.

“Check the place out to be sure we're alone” said the first voice.

That sounded weird and something immediately warned me to be totally silent. Why would anybody want to check out cubicles to see if they were occupied? I imagined the other one nodding because immediately after that command, I heard the sound of cubicle doors being opened and shut. There were twelve toilet cubicles in all, eleven before mine and it was just a matter of time before they got to me where I sat - pants down. Pulling my trouser up as noiselessly as I could manage, I looked round frantically at both cubicle walls, seeking for an improbable escape route. One partition was wooden and the other concrete, both felt hard and cold to touch and none looked penetrable. Tense and ready to defend myself, I fixed my eyes on the locked door in front of me, waiting.

When the searcher opened and closed the eighth door however, the other guy called him back. It was only then I noticed I'd been holding my breath.

proud.” ”Yes he will. I can't wait too. I miss home so much. I miss basking in the radioactive heat of our twin orbs and the glorious days of total submergence in those huge orgasmic pools of boiling magnolite. This place is just freezing, and the air is…blaaaaargh. I hope the mother ship comes in with enough durasol to thicken the atmosphere and make it much more suitable for breathing.”

Voice 1's reply was preceded by something that sounded like a low pitched whistle.

“Don't you worry Mulduzo, it will be. This is not the first planet conquest I've been on. Our teams are pros at coming in and recreating conditions to exactly mimic what we have on Oontba.

You won't recognize this place when we're done with it. That's a promise”

“That's alright, we're alone. I don't expect anyone to be here so late anyway, I was just taking precautions.” I heaved an inaudible sigh of relief.

“I believe you sir. But what happens to these humans after the occupation?” A short bark like laugh sound which I presume is laughter erupted. The disdain in Voice 1's reply was clearly audible.

“Some of them will end up as food, some as workers, and some will become surrogates for carrying our young. All of them will be under our control and we'll find use for them, the bugs.”

“Is everything set?” Voice 1 asked.

They both chorused the laughter this time.

“Yes boss, all the arrangements have been made. The landing site has been picked and the co-ordinates sent to mission control. We should have the first ship landing on Earth in exactly two weeks from now.”

“Perfect. That's just perfect. You've done an excellent job Mulduzo. I can't wait to make contact with our own kind again.

It's been quite a bore blending in with these humans, living on their filthy planet and pretending to be one of them. This fake skin irritates me so much. I can't wait till we start zinging around in our true form, showing these slow squirmy slugs how to really live. For all their claims to civilisation and technological advancement, we've been here for months now and not one of them even has a clue. By the time the mother ship arrives with the right equipment, we can really start reconditioning this puny planet to suit our needs. Commander Eyewizz will be so

The steady trickling sound of a stream of liquid hitting porcelain interrupted for a minute or two before another one that sounded as if someone was sucking fluid through a hose reached me. It stopped after a while. “…all your ammonide tanks loaded, Mulduzo?”

“Yes Sir. I have enough to last me another week.”

“Good.” Voice 1 sounded pleased. ”Keep a low profile and be very careful. We're close to achieving our objective now so we can't afford any slips. You know how to reach me in case of an emergency. If all goes well, we meet at the agreed rendezvous at exactly 12.30 hours two weeks from now. Understood?”

“Yes sir!”

“Under no circumstances except an emergency must you try to 19

It makes my tummy bloated and I fart continuously afterwards. If I'm terribly unlucky, I also get repeated trips to the 'throne' room to do some watery 'Number Twos'

contact me. Even if we meet within the confines of this building or anywhere else, you must not make eye contact or show any signs of recognition. Do you understand?”

The voice of Mulduzo affirmed that he understood.

“Good. Now walk outside and go home. I'll follow in a minute.”

The main door opened and closed and there was total silence.

Then out of nowhere.

“Good evening Chris, I know you're in there. I can smell you from a thousand miles away and your stink is atrociously distinct, like the rest of your species. I'm sure you clearly heard all we discussed, the volume and language were all for your benefit. It tickles me to know you're aware of what's coming but can't do anything to stop it. What's even more hilarious is that I know you very well but you don't have any clue as to which one of you I'm disguised as. I'll advise you to stay where you are for now or you might not make it to that party coming in a fortnight. And just so you know, you really should not eat ewa riro in the office again; at least not for the next two weeks.

Goodbye Chris, see you sooner than you think.” The laughter that came next turned my blood cold. A long slithering sound soon followed and then the door opened for a brief moment before it closed again.

Sweat rolled off my goose-bumped skin in rivulets despite the chill of the overhead air conditioning system. Gripping fear caused me to wait another twenty minutes in that cubicle just to be sure they weren't coming back, before I finally found the courage to venture out. The empty corridor was coldly comforting as I ran straight to my car while expecting to be jumped from the back. Luckily for me, nothing happened. I made it inside safely and zoomed off.

I still can't put a face to any of the voices I heard that night. I also haven't been able to share my story with anybody else.

Tomorrow will make it exactly two weeks since I overhead that conversation, and not once since then have I eaten ewa riro.

20

SILENCE By ‘Lola Ogunnupebi

Silence.

She breathes in. Out. Amidst strained bones And dizzy sights She still prepares For the day's journey

Everyday.

Keys dangling, engine revving She sets out for the daily routine Looking tired, drained, Nothing like a great morning.

She tows the route Her route, Landing in traffic as she knew it, Move, halt. Move, halt, Then halt.

Thud. Silence.

A

dedun Thomas was unknown and just another Third Mainland Bridge driver. Her car had laid there amidst the numerous honks that is the Lagos fashion. Several drivers had simply passed by, having thought she was napping, others just drove on because of time, even though their curiosity bugged them.

Thirty minutes later, Adedun had sparked more curiousity. The Federal Road Safety Corps (FRSC) officials around the bridge took interest in her car. They hadn't seen her step out which would have indicated a faulty car. They come close, seeing her head on the steering wheel and tappd her to wake up.

“Madam, wake up; you have to keep moving,” an official called to her.

back with a loud thud.

She was gone.

They searched her car for identidication and found her wallet in her bag. That quicly scanned through her details Adedunmola Thomas. Age: 32. Single. Works for a multinational company in Ajah. Stays at Berger.

Just then, her phone rang.

It was her boss.

************* CAUSE OF DEATH: STRESS, LEADING TO SEVERE HEART ATTACK TIME OF DEATH: 8:17AM.

Silence.

He taps her. “Madam?”

************* He felt for a pulse on her neck and there was none. He shifted her away from the steering wheel and she fell 21

Sister Shade

By Tobi Moronfolu

Francis …And now the moment I have been waiting for is finally here. As the choristers file out to the altar, I subconsciously lift myself a little from my seat in the second row at the front. Aha! There it is…the golden fleck of hair on her head that made me know that that was Sister Shade. I briefly chide myself for not arriving early enough to take a seat on the first row and get a better view. I grin sheepishly as our eyes meet for a nanosecond, resisting the stupid urge to wave at her. Lord God! Why would you create a mortal this beautiful?? As the harmonious voices of the choir starts to sing, I wander to the front and lift my hands in worship. As she takes the lead on the next verse of the song with so much gusto, I begin to think about what it would be like when Sister Shade eventually becomes mine to hold and to cherish, till death do us part. A smile fleetingly plays across my face at the thought.

Brother Jude From where I standd, I can see the outline of her derriere.

What in the world is the church turning into these days?? I need to pay Pastor Tunde a visit and have this discussion with him. Ministers should never be allowed to dress shabbily and mislead the flock. I shake my head in disgust as Sister Shade's bra becomes visible immediately her hands lift in worship to the heavens.

Tokunbo I can feel my wife's eyes on me. I don't know why this happens anytime Sister Shade mounts the altar. I can feel the nervousness oozing out of every pore in my skin. Hard as I try to break eye contact with her, this goddess just keeps

holding me captive with her eyes. I really should stop sitting beside my wife during these Sunday services. She just might get a whiff of what is happening and claw out my eyeballs before I can say Jack Robinson. I see in Sister Shade's eyes an invitation of some sort. I probably should just pay her a compliment after the service and maybe get her contact….or maybe not. I look to my left to catch my wife staring at something in my lower region. I follow her gaze and looking back at her, I can see the question in her eyes. Is that what I think it is? And then she gives me a final one that seems to say We'll settle this at home.

Sister Shade My make-up today is on fleek. To think Pastor Tunde could even waltz over to the choir stand a while ago to pay me a compliment. Before now, I never knew my voice could move people so much. To God be the glory sha. People seem to be moved under the anointing of my voice. God is really awesome. This Francis guy, or what-is-his-name-again, is kinda freaking me out though. He looks at me like we have something. Dude almost even made me forget my line.

Thank God for back-up. I'm sure he's here at the front because of me. Hold on…is that a hard-on I'm seeing???

JESUS. Brother Jude looks nice today in his three-piece suit.

Although he looks a bit pale like he's not feeling too well…shaking his head every now and then. I really don't understand why he didn't stay at home to fully recover from whatever his ailment is. But who knows…he just might find his healing in today's service. Mr Tokunbo is another case entirely. The way he gawks at me all through the service, undressing me with his gaze, one would think he was single and searching. I mean, he has a lovely wife and kids to go with the baggage. I need to pay his family a visit during the next evangelism outing. As we all sing the last line of the song together, my eyes locate Sister Becca. I hope she has been noticing the glances I've been stealing at her. The way she packs her hair in a ponytail to bring out her complexion and that orange skirt that accentuates her curves makes some sinful thoughts spring to my mind. I hope she doesn't see my nipples stand at attention beneath the thin fabric of my blouse as we smile at each other.

22

My first, His Last

I had two different experiences on the same day, and at the same moment. Both happening simultaneously gave me a kind of heady rush, a thrill that I had never before felt in the past and which would be difficult to beat in the future.

U

ncle Stephen has been sneaking into my room since I was thirteen years old. I'm fourteen and a half now, and I'm used to it. I call him uncle, but he's not really my uncle. He's just my father's friend who I was sent to stay with in Lagos. When I gained admission into Queens College, my father insisted I would attend only on the condition that I stayed with Uncle Stephen. You see, he didn't trust the hostel, and he didn't want his favorite daughter to become entangled in the madness of lesbianism that is said to be rampant in Q.C. Every time I remember his objections, I just chuckle sardonically to myself. Oh daddy! You never have to worry about me being a lesbian. I'm in a heterosexual relationship alright!

The first night he crept into my room, his wife, Aunty Caro had gone to night vigil with my 'cousin'. I had feigned a headache and I was allowed to stay behind. I'd been raised Catholic and all the clapping and shouting prayers up to the heavens in this 'Bible Church' were getting on my nerves. Good Tidings of The Lord's Word Bible Church; as if other churches were opon ifa churches and not bible churches too! At first, it was amusing to watch the worshippers clap till their palms were red, jerking this way and that. The way the pastor shouted, the way worshippers screamed too.

It was fun to watch. But not long after, I got bored and disinterested in the whole affair, my God isn't deaf, and I don't need to scream before He hears me That night, he knocked softly on my door and didn't enter until I had said “come in� in the most feeble voice I could manage. I was nursing a fake headache and I had 23

By Fatimah Adeiye

to act the part. He stepped inside and shut the door softly behind him. "How are you now? How's the head?" He placed a hand on my forehead to check my temperature. He moved the hand down the side of my face to my neck and checked again. I squeezed my eyes shut and silently prayed that my skin was at least warm to the touch. Just then it seemed that my prayer was suddenly answered because I felt warm. My breasts felt warm. My eyes flew open immediately and I sat up straight. Or at least I attempted to before the same hand that was on my chest slammed me back into the bed.

Before my brain could register what was going on, I found myself trapped underneath his big body. I opened my mouth to scream, but he clamped one palm over my mouth, wedged my legs apart with his knees and pulled my night wear up to my waist. I tried to trash and buck beneath him but it was useless. I had read enough Mills and Boon novels to know that this was not the way I wanted to lose my virginity. While I had no sentiments of waiting till my wedding night, I had always dreamt it would be in a nice and plush hotel room, with a very handsome guy, a sweet and gentle and tender affair, and not this oaf trying to make me disappear into the mattress. I cried hot tears as he yanked my panties off, because then I knew all hope was lost. Uncle Stephen was going to rape me, yet my father thought the girls in the hostel were the ones I needed to avoid. He lifted his palm off my mouth for one second and I let out an ear splitting scream which earned me a dirty back handed slap that made my head loll to one side in return. Then he angrily dragged off my panties and stuffed them in my mouth. He then cuffed my wrists in one of his hands and proceeded to force himself into my body. When he grunted like a pig and finally got off me, I was too numb to do anything. I watched him walk away from my bed, turning at the door to growl "you'll keep your mouth shut about this if you know what's good for you" just before he stepped out and shut it behind him.

The next morning when I woke up, I was well and truly sick.

I had a fever and my body was boiling hot, but I still managed to change the bed sheets before Aunty Caro could see them and ask me questions I never hoped to answer. At the hospital, the 'expert' doctor promptly diagnosed malaria and typhoid. I shook my head and wondered if the doctor

knew what a quack he was. Of course I didn't have malaria, what ailed me was a forcefully and brutally broken hymen.

But I took the medication religiously under the watchful eye of Aunty Caro. Like her husband had said, I knew what was good for me, so I kept my mouth shut - mostly because of Aunty Caro. Aunty Caro fiercely believes that every woman that her husband ogles is a descendant of Jezebel working against her marriage. Once in the car, we were driving behind a lady who had a very nicely shaped, hard-not-tostare-at ass. Uncle Stephen had almost let go of the steering wheel while pursuing her with his eyes. The next thing, Aunty Caro stuck her head out the window and yelled "Ashawo! Carry your familiar spirit far away" at the poor lady who had been oblivious to Uncle Stephen's silent appraisal of her. Another time, Uncle Stephen had been caught in the room of the corps members who lived in the next compound and Aunty Caro had beaten the girl half to death, claiming the girl had seduced her husband - as if her husband had magically found himself in the next compound, and in the girl's room. No one needed to tell me how things were going to turn out if I made any noise about the incident.

After that first time, and the several times after that, I began to dread his visits less. And I even began to enjoy the things he did to my body, but I refused to show it. No matter how good it felt, I taught myself to lie immobile beneath him while he heaved and pounded away into me. On those nights, my body shook and I felt like I was on the edge of some mind-shattering sensation, but I always came down from that height before I managed to topple over into the abyss of bliss.

Today is one of those days. Uncle Stephen is pounding into me as usual. We're in his room today because his wife has gone to night vigil again and the bed is more comfortable, but I don't feel anything close to comfort. Frustration has replaced the blood in my veins because yet again, I have managed to fall off the heights of pleasure without reaching the peak. I'm angry. I just want him to be done and take his dirty body off me so I can go and scrub his smell off my body but today he's taking longer than usual. I open my eyes and look around the room, bored half to death. My legs are already shaking from putting them up for so long. The 24

pig should finish and get off me, dammit! My eyes roam the room until my eyes rest on the wooden and metal plaque on the bedside table. I stretch my arm to pick it and place it in a position where I can read it. It is an award given to Uncle Stephen by the Local Government Chairman. He was accorded the title 'Father and Protector of the Girl Child' because he only donates money to only girls' schools.

Rage burns through my chest like wildfire. The same man whose body is fused into mine right now was being hailed by society as my protector. I turn the plaque around in my hand and feel the weight on my palm. I lift it up and bring it crashing down hard on Uncle Stephen's head. I wish I had a camera so I can capture the look on his face. It is priceless! His mouth hangs open in shock and his eyes bulge out. I whack him on the head again with the plaque and he starts to shake and vibrate like a battery operated toy. As he convulses on top of me, I feel pleasure spread through me like butter on hot bread. His body is still joined to mine and I find myself back at that familiar height of ectacy, and this time, I fall off it.

I had the first orgasm in my life as Uncle Stephen stiffened and died atop me, while his wife was in church, commanding her enemies to fall down and die.

Begging For Her Life

By Nneka Ezealor-Oladimeji She stopped and looked around. On each side of her were multicolored, multistoreyed buildings, all fenced and gated.

“Death ke? If you die, who go take care of this pikin you wan deliver so?” He quizzed pointing at her tummy as he spoke.

“Is death not better? At least I will not bring this child into this world to suffer.”

“Where is your husband?”

Raising her palm to her face to shield her eyes from the burning sun, she looked around once more. Almost immediately, her hand flew from her face to rub her midsection. A sharp pain flashed through her midsection, causing her to almost double over.

“Husband? Na construction worker o. He follows all these oyibo men who dey repair road. Ever since this pregnancy reach two months, I haven't seen him.

I've been selling this fruit to keep me alive. Now look, some touts down at the station took my money and destroyed some of the fruit. And I collected it on credit from the wholesaler. I am finished oooo!” She broke into another round of wailing.

She wore a faded, ill fitting dress whose frayed edges danced around her calves. Her dusty feet showed that she had been walking for a long time.

Balancing the tray of agbalumo on her head, she walked towards the nearest gate. She opened her mouth to advertise her wares but only a dry, rasping sound crackled forth from between her parched lips.

“Look here. Shhh. Stop crying. I have small money. I will give you. Have you eaten today?”

She sunk to the floor in front of the gate and almost immediately, began to cry.

“Who goes there?” he barked.

She shook her head vigorously indicating a 'no'. He offered her his bowl of garri which she wolfed down hungrily. When she was done, he gave her a crumpled N1000 note. A house guest had given him as a tip earlier in the day and he had planned to use it to buy new exercise books to take to his daughter this weekend. His daughter's books could wait, this woman needed the money more. He helped her to her feet and balancing her tray on the head, she hobbled off, walking like someone in great pain. Isa shook his head and watched her until she disappeared round the bend,

Her chin remained sunken in her chest as her wails increased and she began to lament in some dialect of Igbo which he didn't speak or understand.

Eyes darting furtively to be sure no one was coming, she removed a few crumpled notes tied in a knot at the edge of her scarf. She counted it.

Isa, the gateman, paused from his meal of cold garri ijebu and groundnuts. He wasn't sure where the whimpering was coming from. He had just fed the two guard dogs so it definitely wasn't them. Cocking his head to one side, he listened again. The crying was coming from just outside the gate.

He was about to shout at her again to leave immediately when he noticed her bulging tummy.

Three thousand four hundred.

She smiled, rubbing her tummy she said “Just N1600 more and then, I can get an abortion, and get my life back. “ Balancing the tray on her head again, she set out to find another victim.

“Ah, aunty. Wetin happen? Why you dey cry?”

“I'm not crying o. I'm praying for death to come and take me!” Her wailing rose an octave higher.

25

WHO AM I? Today I'm a mother, Tomorrow I'm a lover, Next I'm a murderer, And another time I'm a daughter.

Everyday Different scenes Every time…

Another role to play.

It's a job, I need to get a hold of it.

It pays the bill, I need to get used to it.

Until…

This day …

This time …

This moment …

All I can remember, Is what I can't remember.

Different people…

With different opinions Of a me that I can't remember.

By Linda Orajekwe 26

Some say I'm a top model…

Some say I'm a top actress….

Some say I'm a famous celeb…

But these don't sound like who I am.

They say I've been married…

And divorced…

Twice…

Not once.

Who is this person they describe?

‘Cos all I see now, Is who I am.

I couldn't have lived such a rollercoaster life.

I craved a simple life…

But I lived a complicated oneWith too many personalities,Personalities that drowned my personality, Leaving with shreds of who I was Did I really live my life?

Or did Hollywood do it for me?

IF FLOWERS COULD TALK ''Alone, one is unhappy...'' Ife mused at her own reflections as she moved in closer to get a better view of herself in the mirror. She squinted, as the rings around her contrasted with the surrounding skin, while her puffy cheeks, rounder than usual, blazed a darker misnomer shade.

She sighed sadly as she gingerly felt the skin over her left eye, which seemed in tandem with the limber that was her lips. She felt as if she was watching herself from another's eyes, and frowned as her thought caught up with itself ''...yet, at the convergence with another lonely heart, struggle ensues, motioning into a power struggle of almost epic proportions.'’

yet demanded youth of the old. A city of contradictions, like Tony who lived in it.

She met Tony, her boyfriend, on the bus too. He later said he knew they were meant to be together the instant their eyes collided. She had felt otherwise then. She had no reason to. Nothing about him sparked her curiosity, except his audacity to ask for her number even though she was a row behind, and mocking eyes sparkled around them.

Love came to her, always, in form of a process - like digging a well, in which, little by little, through efforts, layers of the other's self are uncovered, until, like finding water when digging a well, the essence is revealed.

*** EARLIER It was a chilly Saturday, and as the sky beamed with emotions, humanity, cramped in the city of Lagos, rushed like wisp of a conductor's hands - oscillating with fervent purpose. Ife wished she was anywhere but the bus stop, where the gnawing wind blew sand into her eyes, and men pushed themselves against her rear, all in the name of jostling for a bus.

And when another bus finally arrived, she pushed, and hassled her way into it. Seated finally, she noticed an old man beside her, whose bulbous nose released heavy breaths as he tried to burnish his jutted veins. He looked as if the effort of getting into the bus would expire him anytime.

Lagos is a city that took the boy, and returned him a man,

Love should be the unearthing of small wonders, and the little accumulation of joys, but not of quick lightening, she always believed. She would later fall for him, especially the coming together of his imperfections into a wondrous piece of perfection.

She was on her way to see him currently. He was the instigator of her smiles, and frowns at the same time. He was not perfect, but then, who was? She grew more apprehensive with each grunt of the bus engine as it maneuvered the busy Lagos traffic.

And as much as a chill of tenderness grew in her belly, it did so on a tense backdrop.

27

By Olanrewaju Odesomi

It had been more than an hour now since she had been sitting in front of her mirror. Her face, in patches, looked like the work of an overzealous make-up artist in a poor Yoruba movie. The multi coloring would have been funny if not for the contours that punctuated them and threatened to reveal everything. Or they actually did. And not to mention the woes that greeted every action. She stood up in front of the mirror, and walked to the bed and sat down, wincing in pain.

Maybe it was just her, Ife thought, or was loving someone actually destructive? The more you loved someone, the less it seemed you love yourself.

"Aunty." A voice interrupted her. Ife turned slowly, until she met the gaze of her kid sister, who stood transfixed at the door, and starred back at her. "You have a visitor.

Brother Tony." There was silence. Ife felt lost, and caged as time stood still. But even that notion was playing strings with her emotions as she knew time really doesn't stand still, at least not for her. She knew the sun was passing on its brutality to the moon, and she feared the memory would oblige too. Her sister stood there, door in hand, waiting for a reply. Instead, Ife saw a hand stretch forth, slowly reaching for her, its fisted head in black and white montage.

She shook herself off the image, and whimpered.

"What should I tell him?" Her sister asked impatiently, as she sneaked behind the door, and almost out of sight. More silence mocked her question, before finally, her sister quietly receded. Ife looked out of the window, myriads of actions reconstructing in her head. She hoped the day never rose again.

Why was he here? To check his work of art? Or to finish his masterpiece? The nerve of him after what happened earlier today. The door creaked open. "Tell him I am not around, or that I don't want to see him." Ife shouted, not bothering to check who it was. “Really?" Tony asked. Ife raised her arms, and dropped them futilely as she turned. He bridged the distance between the door, and the bed in three long strides, and folded himself beside her. He was holding something. She

stared at the floor and hoped it would open up to another world, and she could somehow ease herself into its abyss.

His presence in her room evoked a replay of what happened earlier. A larger than life reminder that waltzed from his house, through the dark night, stifled against brown corrugated roofs, and finally, crept through the crevices of her door. The memory demanded stillness of them, and muted every other external force.

Ife looked around at her room, running her gaze over the mirror, and carpet, then over the wardrobe overburdened with clothes, and lots of gifts, many unopened; and then the reading table with its neatly stacked books. Tony crossed his leg, and straightened up beside her. Ife wanted to punch him for trying for finesse.

"Why do you love me?" Ife's mouth finally worked. He leaned away from her, probably shaken by the question.

"I... I can't really...say." He stammered. Ife recounted her question, this time accosting him with the fullness of his day's work. He averted his gaze.

"Saying how much I love you is unattainable - like describing the perfect sunset." He moved closer, and knelt in front of her "Ifemi, I'm sorry. I mean it. It won't happen again. I swear to you. I don't know what came over me, seriously. The whole debacle seems unbelievable to me.�

"Unbelievable to you? You did it, Tony. You were not some outsider looking in, you were the spectacle, and dangerously so." She stood up, as her body instinctively shook from being close to him. "And it is not your first time either..." She didn't mean it to come out as a whisper, but her heavy lips trailed off. "You're not only hell bent on changing me, but also on moulding me. And when you don't have your way..." She stared at her face in the mirror, as Tony's defeated posture bedecked the background. He was still kneeling, with his back to her.

Tony finally unfolded himself, and faced her. "If I act stupid at times, I believe it's the untamed nature of my love for you, and the potency of my fears that simulates as 28

She stood up in front of the mirror, and walked to the bed and sat down, wincing in pain.

something else. I'm not perfect, but I care, and I know I shouldn't have done what I did, but the deed is done, and here I am, humbly asking, as a person whose existence revolves around yours, to be forgiven. Another chance is what I ask for.�

Ife knew he loved her. She also knew his fears and insecurities were great ones, possibly greater than his love for her. "I sincerely don't want to see you now." She stood her ground, and tried not to recoil from his solemn gaze.

"That is for you." He pointed at the paper bag on her bed.

"Never forget, or doubt how much I love you. And I'm hurting too, you know." He took a step towards the door.

"Seeing you still gives me butterflies in my stomach." He took another step.

bring a vase, and water.

She smelled it again, but this time, her senses registered no sentiments. Was the rose dying already? If this flower could talk, what would it say? Ife closed her eyes. Her sister came back with the vase, and water, and left her alone. She put it into the water, her brows furrowed together in thought.

Would it say if you love me, let me live? Would it reveal it was born to be wild, not tamed? It would probably say if you care for me, don't destroy me. Please, don't kill me for being beautiful, or because you love me, it would say. She gingerly picked it out of the vase, and watched it drip with tears. With the other hand, she picked her phone, and called Tony.

"Yet, all you could give me were stars in my eyes, and this..." Again, she trailed off. He turned as he heard her. His eyes were puffy now, and his shoulders bent, as if crouching for something.

"Maybe it was too early for me to come here. Call me please." He was a man of extremes. His highs flew with the eagles, and his lows were usually excruciatingly depressive.

He silently exited, barely making any noise.

Ife loved him, and then hated him. She loved him for who he was, and could be, and hated him for his weakness, and fears. Used to getting gifts from him, she absentmindedly dipped her hands into the paper bag. There was a piece of rose flower in it. It was a dark red rose - to show regret.

She brought the petals to her nose, and inhaled. She ignored the thorns that dipped into her skin, as the petal scented flower opened up the channel to all her senses. He brought me a rose, she said to the rose. The delicately woven petals stared back, mocking. She called her sister, asking her to 29

Games People Play

T

he Saturday sun was darting in and out of clouds, playing hide and seek with it as Muna made her way to Ernest's apartment. Her furious pace and set-faced countenance belied the weight of the nylon bag filled with cooked food and purchased fruits. She had uncharacteristically gotten off without any protest when the bus driver stopped at the penultimate bus-stop insisting all passengers should come down as he was turning back to the park.

She mumbled out a reply to the gateman's greetings, not breaking stride as she marched to Ernest's apartment. She pressed the bell as if it was the cause of the sweat creeping down her forehead and palpitations massaging her chest.

“Who is it?” Ernest's voice came from within the house after a short while.

“It is me” replied Muna, swallowing her spit as she spoke.

Sound of the door latch hit her like strokes of cane back in secondary school, landing on the buttocks of her classmates as she waited her turn. The downcast face of Ernest when the door opened did not aid her emotional state.

“What is the problem?” she blurted out, despite her earlier promise to herself to be calm.

“Come in first na. At least, we will eat before any serious talk.”

“Is it that bad that you want me to eat first?” she asked as she strode into the kitchen.

“Is it mummy?” she continued. “I thought you said she won't oppose our marriage. She seemed genuine about her…”

“It is not anything like that.” Ernest cut her off gently as

By Yemi Ajala 30

he helped her remove the food flask and fruits from the nylon bag.

“There is really no reason for you not to eat first.”

“Just tell me what it is straight.

What is the problem?”

Ernest heaved a heavy sigh and walked into the sitting room. He sat on the rug and motioned for Muna, who was hot on his heels to sit beside him. He grew misty-eyed as the first words came out of his mouth.

“I am epileptic. In fact, everyone in my family is, except mummy. We all have epileptic seizures at least once a year. This is why none of us studied engineering.”

With tears flowing freely, Ernest spoke of the battles the family had fought against the condition and how much it had cost them over the years. His face looked pained as he spoke of how he had been jilted by ladies he wanted to marry.

“Promise me, Muna” he beseeched, as he turned to look into her tear-fogged eyes.

“Promise me you won't be number three. Please, don't leave me.

Never leave me please” “Shhh” cooed Muna as she dragged his head to her bosom and petted him. “Don't worry my dear. All will be well. We will all be alright.”

After a while, Muna dished the food as brought, teasing Ernest that he was such a sissy for behaving like he had terminal leukaemia or something equally grave. They ate and played for a while till she left.

A week later, Ernest strolled to his regular hangout after resting from a hectic day at the church. As he entered, his friends who were already there started hailing him. He responded playfully, shaking hands, bumping fists and giving dummy punches until one hailed him as 'Muna's husband'.

“Ehn Ehn. Muna is past tense biko” he replied as he sat down at the table.

Shouts of “The Joker!”, “Joker of life!” and similar adulations rent the air with some of his friends patting him on the back.

When the shouts died down, one of his friends, Tunde Moore asked, “How did you eventually do it? We thought you had finally met your match na. Imagine a whole Ernest Ibifubara, the Joker, settling down. Oya teach us how you did it.”

Ernest dropped the glass cup he was using to take his cold malt from his lips in a melodramatic manner and cleared his throat.

“That girl stubborn o. Nothing wey I no try. All the hints no work at all. Na hin I think am well well. Since the time she forced my hand and we went for family introduction, I knew I had to tell a very surgical lie. A lie that will make her and her family and friends run from me if they heard. So last weekend, I invited her over and told her I have epilepsy.

Come and see acting. Come and see crying. Since that day, she has not picked my call. She even probably blocked my number as her number no dey go again. So guys, this time around na epilepsy o.”

Another round of hailing and adulation by his friends greeted this revelation.

“This one tops the one you used for Wunmi back in school o” said Ade Alashela.

“Which one was that?” asked Tunde.

“Oh that one. I even saw her the other day at Ikeja City Mall with her boyfriend. She was one girl I dated when we were in school. She became pushy and stifling when I was going

for NYSC and she was just in year 3. I'm AA and she is AS blood group and she was very particular about that of the start of the relationship. So, I asked a friend to forge a backdated blood test which showed I was of AS blood type and conveniently forgot it inside a novel I was going to lend her. No name under the sun this girl did not call me but we triumph still,” Ernest finished with laughter from his friends.

“Chai! Chai! Mr Ernest Ifeanyichukwu Ibifubara, There is God o” Tunde exclaimed mockingly.

A month later...

While waiting at a client's office and comparing the alluring receptionist's body parts and gestures to Muna's, it suddenly dawned on Ernest that he had been comparing every girl he had seen for the past month to Muna and found them somewhat wanting. He had not wooed any girl since Muna disappeared, and he had a small panic attack at the realization that he really didn't have the urge to woo any others. Not since muna. He asked for a cup of water and was duly obliged by the nubile receptionist who was subtly throwing suggestive body language at him. He forcefully cast the epiphany away, as he stood up to greet the manager of the firm, who walked into the reception.

Two months later, he had a near death experience on Eko Bridge as robbers smashed his car window in traffic and pulled a gun to his face, demanding all his valuables. As he handed over his phones, tablet and wallet, all the thoughts that ran through his head was if Muna would feel anything if she heard he had been shot for being too slow in handing over his belongings. When the robbers ran into the night, admission followed the first breath he dared to take of the cool Friday evening breeze, wrapping itself around his heart.

He knew he needed to act fast. After depositing the car at the repairer's, he took public transport to Muna's house with his heart in his mouth, hoping his plan of using reversepsychology on her by accusing her of failing his simple test and he being magnanimous enough to have forgiven her would work.

Muna's mother started crying when she set her eyes on him and after wailing for a while, quietened down and asked why he was just coming three weeks after his fiancée died 31

in a car accident. Ernest lost his homeostasis for a long time as he sat there dazed, sweating from every pore of his body and piss sipping out a little from him. He was asked why he was shaking like that by Muna's younger brother and he sounded disembodied to himself when he said he was recovering from malaria and had not heard from Muna for a while which was why he came that day. He used the toilet twice before listening to the story of how she left for Abuja to attend a job interview – a trip that resulted to her demise. They said she had told them he signed off on her pursuing a career chance in Abuja, despite the plans between her and Ernest to get married in six months' time.

When he eventually left the house, he went straight to his regular hangout and ordered his first ever bottle of beer, which he drank in no time. He drank the second bottle, the second bottle drank the third bottle and the third bottle drank and drowned Ernest.

A text message sent from the barman arrived on a phone in Ibadan. The recipient, a lady, smiled and said aloud “Game set.

I'll let him suffer for two weeks”.

With a smile, she dialled her friend who knew a jeweller in Surulere to help book an appointment for a wedding ring.

_In 140 Characters.

She looked left. She

He was to make a turn

He collected the

She heard them all.

almost looked right

here. The brake was ill.

orange & sucked on

Death.

but felt herself fall

He turned wrong & saw

it. Sweet taste. He felt

Jail.

hugely, her heart

men in uniforms. He'd

himself in the air. He

Kidnap.

stopped and the lights

hit another badly.

tried to scream, but

All in one.

went off.

There was blood. A lot

fell asleep. He felt

They lived. Now they

of it. He wept.

alive, but dead.

weren't living much.

Sighing really hard, She slumped.

By ‘Lola Ogunnupebi 32

tami

By Nneka Ezealor-Oladimeji

Tami was not in the mood.

She was even angry with herself for being in this mood.

Tonight, his favourite team would be playing.

And she knew he'd be too engrossed to notice that the glass of insanely cold zobo drink she would be serving alongside his amala and ewedu tasted slightly different.

She was tired of always being in this mood.

Can't he see how much he disgusts me?

She looked at the clock hanging above the doorway.

“He died in his sleep." The neighbours whispered, during their condolence visit.

"Poor woman, she must be in shock. She hasn't said a word.�

8:47pm.

Tami lowered her lashes over her eyes, so they wouldn't see her rueful smile.

Breathe, girl. Breathe.

She exhaled.

In exactly thirteen minutes, he would walk through the door, with that silly smirk on his face. He would sit on the worn out sofa facing the television and rant and curse at the football players running around the TV screen.

And later, in the humid,dense darkness of the bedroom, his sweaty palms groping her all over would make her skin crawl as she fought back nausea.

33

Love’s Never Ending Dream

By Abiodun Awodele

PROLOGUE

ONE

The lights are dim. Slow, sensual music is playing on the Sony surround speakers - a fitting soundtrack.

Rose petals lie scattered all over the living room floor and a bunch sits in its vase right in the middle of the dining table. The whole room smells like a fragrant garden.

The speaker was a bit too fast with his delivery and his closing statement had somehow eluded me. I didn't want to look stupid in front of my boss when I returned to the office with an incomplete report so I looked around, hoping to see if someone around me had gotten all he said. The lady on my immediate right was seriously scribbling on her notepad.

You infected me with your love for red velvet cake, so I'm sure you'll be purring with delight when you taste this confectioned magic sitting here on a platter, with a gleaming silver knife stuck in its heart, ready to be fed to your sweetly colored lips. I also got a bottle of your favorite Chianti; and it's on ice, waiting for that moment when it flows down both our throats. I can almost hear the satisfied exclamation of pleasure that is bound to follow. A gourmet meal cooked to perfection patiently awaits serving.

Remember the giant white teddy bear from The Game? You didn't think I noticed the way you eyed it that last time we went shopping? You should know by now, that I notice every little detail about you, every action. Where you're concerned, I miss nothing; not a single detail. Well, i went back to the store yesterday and got it just for you. Your gift - a box of fabulous jewelry, is beautifully wrapped and sits on another chair beside your teddy bear. By the way, I think we should call him 'Mr Jimmy'.

I recollect how totally unromantic I was before I met you, always ready with my 'naija men don't do romance' mantra. Look at me now, all fussy like a mother hen, trying to arrange the perfect anniversary dinner for my baby girl. I'm glad I learned. I'm proud of myself if I may say, for having picked up so much from someone ever-so-willing to teach. Now I live and breathe romance, floating through every second of the fairy tale.

The stage is set; all that is left is for you my princess, to grace it with your irresistible presence.And then come the tears.

34

“Excuse me; seems you were able to take down everything. Can I see your notes when you're done?”

“Yeah, sure” she said, while her hand flitted over the page. “Let me just quickly round it up and it's all yours.” It was another minute before she stopped, looked up and handed her notebook over. “Here you go”, she said with a smile.

Five minutes later, I was done copying.

“Thanks for your time ma'am. I know you mentioned your name during the introduction session this morning, but it seems to have escaped me. Mine is…” “…James”, she finished for me.

“Not all of us are as forgetful as you are”.

We both laughed at that. ”I'm Ndidi, pleased to meet you again, even though we've been neighbors all day.”

“Don't mind me, I'm terrible with names, it's one of my many flaws. How did the whole training go?”

Her eyes, which were barely visible behind the nerdy glasses lit up as she exclaimed “totally awesome.” Then she went ahead to list all the things she had managed to pick up within those few hours we had been in the hall. I was impressed. Call me sexist, but I saw

having a woman who was that well-versed in a field as male-dominated as architecture was refreshing.

We stayed talking while we packed our course materials and walked out towards the car park together. The time was a few minutes to six.

“So where are you headed, maybe we could share a taxi or something.”

“Thanks James, but I drove down. My car is just over there” she said, pointing in the direction of a cute silver-colored Volkswagen Polo.

“Hmmm, lucky you. And nice car too. I see you're doing great at this design thing. Maybe I should come borrow a few leaves from your book. How about that, huh?”

Her laugh had a musical ring to it, like someone running fingers along the keys of a piano.

“Don't believe everything you see on T.V man, it is usually make-belief. Who knows how lined your own nest is, for all we know you might just be one of those hotshot designers who have a thing for modesty.”

“I wish that was true. If I was so much of a hot shot, I would be heading home for a shower and some dinner now, not going back to the office to grind out another few hours of work.” At the mention of work, she reacted as if she just got stung by a bee. “Jesus!

I totally forgot. I have something pending on my table which I'm supposed to turn in first thing tomorrow morning. I have to go now; it's been fun talking to you. I hope if we happen to meet again you'll remember my name.” Her laughter rang loud again.

“I'll surely keep that in mind.”

Inwardly I smiled at her statement. I wasn't particularly interested in relationships at the time and even if I was, she didn't fit my ideal specifications.

Career girls were a no-no, especially one that actually was in my field. Plus, her car also looked expensive, probably a gift from a rich Romeo somewhere in the background. Architecture didn't pay that well in this

town and the big jobs were all shared by an old boys' cabal.

I watched her walk to her car and waited while she got in and pulled out of the lot. With a small wave, she turned onto the major road and disappeared into the evening traffic.

TWO The only thing I hated more than going out during the day in Lagos was being stranded at the bus stop under the hot sun when I had somewhere else I wanted to be in a hurry. Standing at Stadium bus stop for almost an hour anxiously waiting for a BRT bus to CMS wasn't fun. I had a design pitch on the Island with one of the major construction companies who had just been awarded a multibillion naira contract to construct a new Children's Wing for the General Hospital. The session was scheduled for 1.30pm and it was already 12.45. I couldn't afford to be late and the ban on okadas wasn't helping my situation. *** A yellow Chevrolet Camaro purred up to the pavement where I anxiously stood and the windows came down.

“Going somewhere, are we?” cooed a feminine voice from the car's interior.

Something about the car made me look at it again.

I'd overlooked it at first, since I didn't know anyone who drove that kind of machine.

“Don't tell me you forgot my face this time James.”

The voice struck a note so I moved closer and bent down to see its owner. “Err…Ndidi? She nodded.

I pumped my fist in mock celebration. “Yes!!! See, I didn't forget. How are you?”

“I'm good, and you?”

“We're hanging in there, trying to make ends meet.”

A loud honk from an articulated vehicle trying to join the main road interrupted our conversation.

35

“Hop in, wherever you're headed. Let me at least take you away from here.”

Needing no second invitation, I yanked the door open and sank into the cool leather upholstery as she maneuvered away smoothly. The change was immediate; the air conditioner was on full blast, a blessing to my slightly sweaty body while Sade Adu's lover's rock flowed from the car's entertainment system.

She drove with an air of quiet competence while I just sat there marveling at the car's plush interior.

“Again, nice car. Now I'd really love to be like you when I grow up. A machine like this doesn't come cheap at all.”

She just smiled and smartly overtook a commercial vehicle before she replied.

“You're already grown sir. As for the car, just one of those things that gets one from point A to B.” The casual way she dismissed it wasn't lost on me.

“So where are you off to in this hot sun?”

“I should also be asking what brought you to this part of town. Me, I'm on my way to the Island. I have a design pitch on Sinari Daranijo and all the commercial buses to CMS chose today of all days to be uncooperative.” *** “Are you in luck or what? I'm headed in the same direction, so you can ride with me. What I'm doing around here? A colleague's wife put to bed and I had to go see the baby in the hospital somewhere around Idi–Oro. But wait o, what if I lived around here?

Would that be a sin?”

“Of course not. One can't just reconcile a machine like this sharing a garage with a danfo bus somewhere around Masha, dazzall.”

“Na you sabi”, and she laughed again.

In no time at all we were on Ahmadu Bello Way as there was almost no traffic to hinder our progress.

While she expertly handled the muscle car. I just

silently calculated how much fuel the powerful engine sucked per kilometer of travel. Everything spelt currency with this chick, the ideal 'keep off' sign for the guys. Glancing out of the window as we passed, I saw the new open space that used to be the Lagos Bar Beach and mentally imagined some of the buildings I would put there if given the opportunity. She must have noticed the wishful look on my face.

“An architect's dream right, all that space and a license to fill it with exotic buildings.”

“Yes o. All that work and the pay that comes with it.

Meanwhile you can drop me anywhere around Eko Hotel Roundabout; I'll get a keke from there to GreenPeace on Sinari.”

“Roger that Captain. I assume GreenPeace is the company where you have your pitch then?”

“Yes it is, and thanks to you, I'm just in time.”

The digital clock on the dashboard showed 13.20.

“Wait! You just drove past the roundabout….”

“Yes, I noticed. I just figured I should kukuma go all the way and finish the job”, she said as she approached Zenith Towers and trafficated to negotiate the turn beside it.

Rather than pull up in front of the massive gates of the GreenPeace Building, she drove right in, past a couple of neatly dressed guards who flashed salutes at the car. Now I was very curious, something was definitely not jelling. Then she parked under an awning and stepped out of the car while a young lady appeared out of nowhere to help her with her briefcase. I also stepped down from the car, a bit bewildered.

“Sorry James, you have to pass through reception and protocols but I'll meet you upstairs in a bit. All the best with your pitch.” With a coy smile, she whirled and walked straight through a glass door held open by the same lady who had earlier taken her briefcase.

Seeing Ndidi take her seat with two other members of the pitch committee almost disrupted my rhythm.

She only acknowledged me with a smile as the moderator introduced me and the two other guys representing competition. It took some deep breaths for me to focus, but I did and went ahead to deliver a master class. The applause from the appraisal committee after I had finished was very comforting.

After the whole process, Ndidi came out later to offer her congratulations to all of us and informed us that the firm will give a feed back soon. She also privately apologized for blindsiding me, promising to explain everything when time permitted. Then she handed me her card and took mine, asking if we could share a drink sometime.

That drink led to more, a whole lot more. At first, I was very reluctant to get involved emotionally but she steadily grew on me. Against my will, I fell headlong, totally and hopelessly in love. Surprisingly, I liked it. Who would have thought avowed nonromantic ole' me would become entwined in a love story.

I learnt her father owned GreenPeace, amongst many other firms. Despite that though, I saw in her the determination to be something other than a 'daddy's girl'. The only child of her parents, she pushed herself, working extremely hard to scale heights and break stereotypes. That was why she chose a male-dominated field like architecture and excelled in it. All the cars she had were either those she bought with her own cash, or rewards from Dad for excelling at something.

She also had a heart of gold and would do random acts of kindness almost on an hourly basis. There was this day we were out on a date and she saw a small boy selling oranges. She gave him a thousand naira note to go look for change and when she saw he was close by, she dropped ten thousand naira in his tray and drove off, both of us laughing like crazy.

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Another time she put a roll of money in the folds of a homeless woman's clothes while the woman begged for money along the main road. She was crazy in a good way and totally selfless.

There was only one minus.

Ndidi suffered from sickle cell anaemia.

Never one to gain unfair advantage or perpetrate falsehood, she told me herself on our first official date. She said she didn't want me finding out later and using that as an excuse to ditch her. I was a bit bothered at first, who wouldn't. But looking at her lively self and her exuberance for life, I decided it really wasn't anything. She looked far better than people who didn't have the anomaly, and one could tell by merely looking at her. And she was twenty two. Most people agreed that once a sickler got older than eighteen, their chances of survival were significantly higher.

Her mom had passed away when she was ten, so she was super close to her dad and immediately we started getting serious, she introduced me to him.

The old man accepted me like a son and embraced me into the family. Having raised Ndidi singlehandedly since her mom died, he was usually more friend than parent. We even went out together a couple of times. A trained engineer, he took me under his wing and became my mentor both in business and life issues. Seeing the very strong bond Ndidi and I shared, he must have been unconsciously planning for me and her to take over from him when he eventually got tired of calling the shots.

We dated for two lovely years and each day was like a dream, filled with her. I went places I'd never dreamed, met so many people and generally had the time of my life. She made me so happy and we had so many plans for the future.

I proposed on the day she turned twenty four, right

in front of everyone at her birthday party. Of course she said yes and I was over the moon. Planning for the wedding began almost immediately. Money was not an obstacle and her dad was ready to foot all expenses although I also had a nice pile of my own; accumulated by putting all the advice I got from him to work. It was going to be the wedding of the decade.

THREE I was just getting warm with my presentation when I felt my phone vibrate. Stylishly checking to see who it was without breaking my flow, it came as a surprise when I saw Chief's name on the screen. Why would Ndidi's dad be calling me at this time? I quickly excused myself and stepped outside to pick the call.

“Hello Sir, good afternoon.”

He didn't even reply my greeting, “James, drop whatever you're doing and come right this minute.” The line went dead.

I stood still, perplexed. What was going on? Chief's voice had been raised and tense, was there any problem? He said come right away, come where? Was I supposed to go to the house or the office? The thoughts just kept popping up in my head.

First I tried calling him back a couple of times but he didn't pick up, then I tried Ndidi's line and she too didn't pick up. Now if there is anything that should scare someone, it's Ndidi not picking up her phone. She almost never goes anywhere without it. It was a common joke between us whom she loved more, me or whichever phone she happened to be using at that moment in time.

I took the elevator downstairs and rushed into the car park. It was there I remembered I'd not even said anything to the people waiting for me in the board room. I also remembered that my car keys and the rest of my stuff were still upstairs. Since there was no time to waste, I rushed out of the gates on foot and jumped on the next available okada, to the bewilderment of the security guards.

FOUR The beeping sound of the life support machine woke me up from my troubled sleep. It had been two straight days of sleeplessness and my brain must have involuntarily shut down while I was in a seating position; my neck ached from being in an uncomfortable position for too long. In that instant, I hoped all the events of the past couple of days were mere dreams that would vanish in the reality of daylight.

Alas, there she lay unmoving, the love of my life.

Eyes closed, chest gently moving in synch with the wavelike indicator on the machine's monitor. She slept, at peace in another realm, while my entire world lay in turmoil.

According to reports, Ndidi had collapsed in the staff canteen during lunch and had been rushed to the hospital unconscious. One of the people who brought her in had called Chief to inform him of her situation. He had called me and both of us have been here since then. Chief must have gone home to change while I slept. I was still in the same clothes and my face itched from not shaving.

The specialist who examined her when she was brought in confirmed she was carrying a six week old pregnancy. That was news to Chief and I. All the other tests he ran on her did not turn up anything conclusive. Chief had suggested flying her abroad for expert care but the specialist had warned against subjecting her to the rigors of air travel at this stage. So we stayed with her, hoping to see her eyelids flutter open again, hoping to see her effervescent smile light up the room again.

Sadly, she never did.

Twenty five days to my twenty-fifth birthday, the light in my world went out forever. ***

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Tonight is the fifth anniversary of our very first date and I'm celebrating your life. In celebration of what we shared, I'm going to cut this cake and pour a glass of wine. I'm going to eat heartily just like you would have, while I listen to your favorite Sade Adu album. When I'm done, Mr Jimmy will take his place on your side of the bed, while I sleep and relive all our golden moments together, in the dimension of dreams.

hose three minutes I'm supposed to wait for seem like three years, regardless of what happens in this toilet stall, I know, with all certainty, that they would be the longest three minutes of my life. I close my eyes tightly while I wait for two pink lines, or their absence, that are to determine how, and if my life as I know it is going to continue. There is only one thing to do while I wait- pray. Think about my irresponsible behaviour, admit I have sinned, confess my sins to God and repent of them; perhaps in those three minutes He'd forgive me, a miracle would happen, and the lines would be favourable for me.

T

I couldn't sleep, it was too hot! I couldn't read either; it was just too damned hot! What was I doing in school if I could neither study nor relax? It seemed like I was just here to suffer. I wanted to weep; I was close to dissolving into tears of frustration when my phone rang.

Great! I thought, Just great. The universe wouldn't even let me be miserable in peace.

You see, this whole thing is the fault of those horrible NEPA people, they started it. I'm hunched over a toilet seat, hoping the lines fall for me in favourable places because of NEPA.

But when I glanced at the phone and saw who was calling, I blinked back my tears actually and managed a weak smile. Having a cute, caring guy who was trying his damnedest to break down your defenses could do that to you, I'd recently learnt, especially when you're 'feeling the boy', then yes, your brain cells could occasionally dissolve into mush, along with that whole bugs in your stomach thing.

I snatched the phone up, hit the green button and answered with the fakest enthusiasm I could muster.

"Hiiiiii" "Hey baby. How are you, are you okay" I chuckled inwardly. I always did when he called me baby. (I told you my brain cells sometimes turn to mush) “Nothing much joor”, I finally replied with a pout (again, brain cells= mush. You get the picture.)

“Well you don't sound too good, talk to papi” At that, my face involuntarily split into a grin that threatened to tear my jaw apart.

It was the eight day of NEPA induced hellfire- there hadn't been electricity a week and my small room, originally meant for four occupants, but inhabited by nine, was a sauna whose control depended on the vengeful heat of the scorching sun by day, and the combined heat of nine bodies in the tiny confinement by night. It was an oven on low heat, and we were being slowly but thoroughly cooked through and through, I already had a smattering of heat rashes across my chest and back, and it didn't look like it was going to slow down in spite of the dusting powder I'd unleashed in a counter attack. The lucky students who lived in Lagos had gone home for the weekend, which for some of us began on Thursdays since we didn't have classes on Fridays, escaping the hellish conditions for the comfort of their homes while those of us who were suddenly unfortunate by not being Lagos residents had to endure the heat and be cooked some more. I wanted to take a shower to cool off but the thought of lugging a pail of water up three flights of stairs after scooping it out of the algae infested reservoir in the hostel quadrangle was more unappealing than the heat at that moment. My scrawny arms ached from vigorously swishing a plastic hand fan back and forth in an attempt to 'fan' myself, but all I got was tiny, reluctant gusts of hot air. I hissed loudly, flung the hand fan to a far corner of the room and rolled over on the bed which had already been drenched in sweat.

38

Nepa Wahala

By Fatimah Adeiye

“Well, if you've been living in this hell fire they call a hostel this past week, you wouldn't sound good either.”

He laughed indulgently, a beautiful, bubbly sound that was music to my ears. “I'm downstairs, let's go get dinner as usual. But maybe you should listen to me this night and pack a night bag. There's light, even if generator-generated, at mine.” He chuckled at his own clever pun, which I found clever too, of course, and continued “what are you doing in the hostel?” he paused for effect, “nothing!” answering his own rhetorical question with a dramatic flourish. “By now you ought to know you can trust me, I wouldn't do anything you don't want me to do, and I can always sleep in the living room if that'd make you feel better” he pressed on. “You don't even have classes tomorrow and even if you did, you know I'd drop you off right in time for your class.”

I thought about it, there was really no point in stubbornly returning to the hostel to endure another sleepless night spent alternating between warding off mosquitoes and swishing my trusty hand fan back and forth. If I couldn't escape to my boyfriend's house, where could I go? (actually, I hadn't officially said 'yes' to him. I told him I would be 'thinking about it', but now we're sort of boyfriend and girlfriend). I'd been to his place before; it was a very cozy mini flat which was very well kept. I also trusted him not to do anything I didn't want, because he waited until the day I finally nodded yes before he put his hand under my blouse.

And he always, always brought me back to school before 12 midnight when the school gates were locked. I honestly didn't have a reason not to pack a night bag and spend one night of comfort, away from my hostel of Hades.

Four hours later when my phone and laptop were fully charged I had watched E! to my fill, I sighed in contentment and gratitude as I clutched the duvet tighter to my body, shielding myself from the deliciously cold gusts of air wafting out of the AC's vents. I was finally ready to call it a night, my benefactor cum boyfriend was already fast asleep on the living room couch as promised. He looked so angelic with his face relaxed in sleep. I felt bad for putting him out, we could actually share the bed, after all it was three times the size of mine at school. How much space did I really need anyway? I shook him awake and told him to come share the bed.

“Are you sure” he mumbled sleepily as he rubbed the sleep off his eyes.

In that moment he was the cutest thing on earth, like a giant teddy bear, soft and sweet and I just wanted to hug him to death. “Yes I'm sure joor. You don't look comfy at all.”

So we shared the bed (each of us on opposite ends), said goodnight and slept.

The AC was deliciously cold, especially after all the abuse my skin had suffered, so I kept hugging the duvet tighter and gathering it around myself until I found myself flush against a warm human wall. The wall felt as good as the cool air so I moved myself closer to it and slept more soundly.

When my sleep addled brain felt hands under my nightshirt, it was pure heaven, considering that I'd been in hell just hours before. And so I let them take me through several heights of heavenly bliss, and when he finally asked me, like he always does, I couldn't lie to myself, let alone to him that I didn't want him to, and so I told him he could, and so he did.

The first time is the hardest and toughest. Once you cross a hurdle once, it's easier to cross it again and again, even devise different ways, patterns and styles crossing it. The first time you mount a horse is also the trickiest. Once you mount a steed and ride it properly, you get the hang of it.

We were both horse and rider, and we each took turns riding one another - sometimes, bareback- no saddle.

After two weeks, electricity returned to normal in the hostel, but every once in a while, when I wanted to feel the coolness of AC blowing on my skin, I packed a night bag.

The boyfriend and girlfriend business wasn't a bad one at all. Even as a first timer, I could tell, and I wondered why girls in the hostel always had nothing but complaints about their boyfriends because mine never gave me cause to.

Sigh. That was how it all started, and it's all NEPA's fault that I'm here in the toilet, waiting with bated breath. I 39

exhale again, more than three minutes have passed, I'm certain, the lines would be out, or not, now.

Slowly, slowly, I crank my eyes open, tiny slit, by wider slit, till I have them fully open, and slowly, slowly raise the trembling hand holding the test strip to my eyes, confronting the ghost of my future.

e c a l p t tha nd the u o r a r e n cor

stroll ; and g in n e v e Adeola e in the ting at No. 1, im t d e t a desir xing se clock to t entirely rela r u o y bu Set . eat serene , Lagos with gr e r u into this treet, Ilupeju it n r eS table fu lays Adeley comfor ole it p r d n h a ic l h u if w t r u e a ond h be set wit s you w Simply is place make aurant. notch th est down a the space, a bar and a r o g t o n n in ill betwee etish w ywhere ur TV f ents from an ably o y , g icin ev ort watch e comf e as an To serv n comfortably is sitting mad ca re as you verywhere he E sistible room – nd irre a t a e . r those ag possible elf for od with s o r g rkey u o s y e e do s his tu pare t h e u r c h p O , d . n a man s 5pm roasts ou can Toward m the turkey ell. He ions just so y w e o r it f u aroma econd. amps q epper and on e in a s p and rev r o s h it ie m b w r a b ed k fo garnish nd come bac ilent so big, a h s ome “s ated. If u c r e b a le in finish -ordin f peop kinds o t calm and co ll a e r e u b wh CLAVE. bubbly a spot This is as it is rather st ask BAR EN Ju s” familie wish to visit, u o isits. ever y ening v v e r u o s love y l alway ...You'l

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