Today, the 16th of November, is the International Day of Tolerance.
Here is a link to my guestblog post on Write Paragraphs, a UN Volunteer initiative to observe the date.
Copy and paste link into a new browser window to read.
Thank you.
http://writeparagraphs.blogspot.com/2014/11/the-wall-between-us-guest-post-for.html?m=1
Please copy and paste the link into a browser to follow the article to SabiNews. We are unable to produce the entire article here...
Here is a sneak at it though:
“Pam one, chop two, kanta balance and chop all!”It is all a game to you all after all, isn’t it? APC today, PDP tomorrow, APGA the day after. The cross carpeting is beginning to induce nausea in the populace. Half the time, we do not know whether you are going or coming. Meanwhile in the middle of it all, you find time to sit together and share drinks, clink glasses and laugh at the useless masses, we, The Pipus, as we fight and scratch our eyes out, spitting fire and brimstone across the invisible divide we have built up..."
http://www.sabinews.com/all-news/letter-speaker-tambourine-politicians-viola-okolie/
http://www.sabinews.com/all-news/4-reasons-fayemi-bought-2-beds-n100m-viola-okolie/
Sometimes, her mirror lied.
She knew that much and even though she could prove it, she was forced to live with the lies the mirror told, but only for a few days.
It was as easy as ABC, you look in the mirror, it takes your image from you distorts it a little bit and flings its own concept of what you should look like back at you. Now, it was your choice to take it or leave it, and she chose most of the time, to leave it.
It didn't matter, the deep purple rings around her eyes - those could be hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, matter of fact, she had done so several times in the past before, the mirror could keep its opinion. The scar right across her forehead she masked with a generous layer of MAC and its companions. Loyal confidantes to the secrets that lay beneath, co conspirators in the plot to keep the tale hidden for as long as possible.
The lips were the easiest parts. When they blistered and flowered, it was easy to slap on some lipstick, her penchant for a deep ruby hue ensuring that her lips were always perfect.
Take that mirror!
See, it was easy to whip the mirror back in line whenever it took matters a little bit too far... make up is a girl's best friend.
She wanted to be free again, to walk out of the house with a face that was not hidden under a thick layer of make up. To pick up chocolates and her favorite bagel sandwich at the corner shop.
To sink her teeth into a decadently delicious triple chocolate chip muffin, no guilts. Her favorite used to be blueberry, but she soon weaned herself off them when they reminded her too much of the fading welts on her face.
Now, her friends avoided her and she was no longer invited to the intimate girls' nite out at the pub she had always cherished. Lots of cocktails and mocktails, ogling the pretty boys, gossiping, getting drunk and staggering back home in the dead of the night, attempting to get past the creaky step on the stairs, failing and having to stand, attempting a mortified look while the parental units scolded.
Soon as she could, she had moved out and into her own apartment, getting by. Cherishing her increased freedom and friday nights at the pub which could go on forever, but she had stopped getting invites. Well, maybe because she was the one doing the avoiding.
Her friends had become increasingly nosy in recent times, hiding under the facade of caring for her, they asked too many questions and offered too many solutions. She felt it was none of their business and found an easy way to stop them. She removed herself from their company.
There was so much "girls' nite out" a girl could do anyway, besides she considered herself a full grown woman now, not a girl.
Make up done, she dragged herself wearily to the window and stood there gazing out. She watched two women at the street corner walk up to each other, embrace and kiss before walking down the street arm in arm. As they passed underneath her window, she could see that though one looked younger with her hair down to her shoulder blades, and the other wore hers in a fashionable short bob, they could easily be mistaken for twins, excepting the fact that the one with the shorter hair had greying temples, and was a little bit pudgier than the other.
Mother and daughter... She missed her mommie!
The last time they had met, she had walked into her mommie's arms determined to spill it all out but when the overflow of concern rushed out at her, threatening to knock her over like a tidal wave and she had recoiled in horror. She had cringed and held back.
"What's wrong with your face?"
"I walked into the bus on my way home yesterday."
"You walked into...", her mother's voice trailed off in disbelief. "Come on honey, how does that even begin to happen?"
As her mum reached out to trace the faint bruises that had escaped her elaborate make up, she flinched and drew back and before she could restrain herself, all the resentment she felt came bubbling up, and out... They had had a shouting match and with fleeting ghosts of similar shouting matches in her childhood pursuing her, she had fled the house. Back to her sanctuary of sorts...
She let the curtains fall, walked over to the dining table and set herself gingerly on the edge.
Eyes on the clock.
Any minute now... She hoped today would be a good day.
She heard his key in the lock downstairs... She hoped she would not have a confrontation with her mirror tomorrow morning.
The heavy tread of his boots on the wooden floor rang through out the house.
She hated those boots.
So many times, she had had close encounters with the boots to not loathe and detest them like crazy.
His key in their apartment door, she stood up and nervously smoothed down the creases in her dress.
She was prettily made up the way he liked her to be, the house was neat and tidy, his meal was waiting on the table.
She looked around nervously as she heard the door handle click, her tongue slicking out and nervously licking her glossy lips.
She prayed tonight would be a night of love and not war.
"My legs are hairy"
"Well...", for once, she was shocked into total silence, then let out a sharp blast of laughter "whatever did you have to go and tell me that for?"
"Dunno. Seemed like you did not know what to ask, and I mean, this is useful trivia!"
"Useful triv..." She collapsed on her bed in laughter, hand held up to her face like she could push the roiling laughter back into her belly where it had crawled up from. The other hand held her phone tightly to her ear and as she laughed, she could hear him chuckling down the line at her.
"Gawd. How do you even work out the useful trivia bit? You are like different shades of cheeky."
"Yeah, I know, but look at it this way, politics is good for conversation, but how is that going to help you and I? What matters are my legs. They are hairy, you need to start getting used to the idea now!"
"Cheeky you".
Every time she thought back to that conversation as she prepared for her day, she would smile, sometimes burst into laughter. That was one thing she liked about him. He had an odd, quirky sense of humour and had the ability to make her laugh. She needed to laugh, sometimes she felt laughter was more important to her than food. Maybe slightly less important than air truth be told, but she knew she could live on air and laughter if it came to that.
She had had dark days and crazy experiences. Sometimes, she would step right back, take a look at her world and think to herself, "I deserve a medal. Really I do. I have been through so much, life has squeezed me and I have also squeezed a fair share of it but... I survive. I sound like I should be awarded a medal even if I have to give one to myself".
And so, one day, walking down Kensington High Street, she had ducked into the little shop there that sold artefacts, trophies and medallions and bought a gold trophy and medal. On both, she had a thumbs up sign and the word "SURVIVOR" engraved, then gave them both pride of place on the mantel.
Fully dressed, she walked out of her room in the flat she shared with her friend Ru, the crazy one who dressed all in black with heavy boots and metal chains hanging from every possible appendage on her clothes and body. Her auburn her was feathered and died black, with peacock highlights. Ru took one look at Jade's face, her eyes flitting cynically over the careful dressing and snorted...
"The queen is having some one over to dinner tonight, amirite?"
"Come on Ru, I told you, I will be meeting with Jake today, first date, he sounds like a nice enough guy, the least I could do is put my best foot forward."
Ru sat, steepled her fingers, and looking through them declared. "Jade, you are one hell of a survivor. I mean look at me, I am off men for life. Don't think women are my thing though, still trying to find a comfortable place, but you still sound soooo optimistic that somewhere out there is the perfect man for you."
"Well, a girl can hope Ru. A girl can hope. Wayne was a first grade yob but I also have seen beautiful and healthy relationships, I have memories of good relationships and know that he is the exception rather than the rule. I admire strong women who can afford to step back and dispense with relationships once and for all, but I am a nurturer. I have sooo much love in me and I know I will meet someone who will mesh into my life and I in his".
"Yeah right." Ru stood up, swung her black rucksack with different colored feathers attached on her back and ran a finger down her throat, mock retching. "Wake me up when the cheesy barf fest is over okay? Loads of luck but appreciate your freedom girl. Enjoy it while it lasts. Men are fecktards, don't want any of them".
She laughed as Ru let herself out of the house, that girl, must be one cuckoo short of the loony bin. She was crazy, but sometimes messed up relationships leave you that way, striving hard to run away from the situation that at a point, defined you. Ah well, she shrugged her shoulders and made ready to leave the house too.
She liked to sit on the top deck of the bus and observe London. Today was one of those days when traffic seemed a bit slow and the 7 minute bus ride seemed like it had doubled in time. She leaned back in her seat and thought back to Jake. They had met online, on one of the chatty forums not designed as a dating platform but somehow, while discussing issues like the just ended elections, whether to vote Labour or Conservative, they had clicked and had taken their relationship off the group forum and begun to chat along more personal lines. They had exchanged phone numbers shortly after and spent hours on phone chatting and generally just getting to know each other, having fun. It already felt like they had known each other for ages yet ever the careful one, she had purposely held back a little, just to adjust to the idea of having a relationship once again and to give this one time.
Three months after, here they were, arranging to meet for the first time. Fingers crossed, this ought to be good...
She stepped off the bus when it got to Hammersmith bus station and walked down the stairs, glancing at her watch, she had 30 minutes more to date time and she decided to browse the mall a bit, window shop while she waited, anything to calm down the butterflies in her stomach. She was at the accessories store window, looking in at the colorful baubles on display when she sensed rather than saw his presence.
He had put up these pictures of a buff, dark man in his late thirties, with a hint of a mustache and a 5 o'clock shadow. Open faced with a pleasant smile and piercing gaze, he fit every opinion she had of her dream guy.
She had not put up her picture, preferring to use an avatar she had created from a graphics site. She had also teased him mercilessly about falling in love with an online presence, and each time he had responded, "The heart is what matters. Our hearts have connected, our hearts know, and that is it for me".
Looking through his profile pictures, she had thought, chance would be a fine thing if she could land someone like him. And so, feeling his presence, she turned round scanning the mall and saw a smallish, hestitant looking figure in his early to mid 50s, desperately dressed to appear with the times and sadly missing the mark by a long range!
She ducked into the shop, standing where she could observe but not be seen, dialled his number and watched in dismay, as early to mid 50s picked. In measured tones, she explained how her bus was running late but should be there any minute, then waited for the little group of tourists at the counter to finish their purchases.
As they approached the door, she mingled in with them, walked back up to the bus stop and caught the next bus out.
I love Asa's "Fire on the Mountain", very poignant song that speaks to a whole spectrum of situations, but the one verse that resonates so much with me?
This one:
Tell me, who's responsible
For what we teach our children?
Is it the internet?
Or the stars on television?
Why o why o
Recently, there has been a lot of talk about Nicky Minaj, Beyonce, Tiwa Savage etc... They are a negative influence on our children. They way they dress could influence our children wrongly, blablabla
I honestly am beginning to think that no parent worth their weight in salt (or onions), should ever hold or voice that opinion.
What is the longest a music video starring perhaps Tiwa Savage in her latest, sheer, all but the modesty patches, net outfit, can run? Maximum of 5 minutes. So, do we assume that someone who carried a child in her womb for 9 months, after so many months of trying, suckled her child at breast for long enough (or maybe not), raised the child through the toddling stages, through elementary school et al suddenly exposes that child to 5 minutes of a music video and that is it?
Poof! All your years of careful raising gone. The child suddenly finds him/herself dressing in figure hugging and revealing outfits, sports tattoos all over their bodies and generally goes around being the exact opposite of whatever you raised him or her to be?
Come off it please. Tiwa Savage is not your babysitter. You cannot pay her enough to do that. Neither is Nikki Minaj or Beyonce. If you think these ladies are role models for your little ones then listen carefully to the following Public Service Announcement: No they are not! You are! You SHOULD be.
My nine year old follows me around the house and I see her trying sometimes, to do things the way I would do them. She wants to dress up like me sometimes, wants to cook the way she sees me do, likes to dog my footsteps. If I can not raise a child that looks up to me and says, "I want to be like mummy when I grow up, maybe even better", then I most definitely should not blame the stars on television if my child chooses an alternative lifestyle.
Perhaps Charly Boy's father is yet to find someone to blame for his son's flamboyant outlook on life.
You are the one your child was entrusted to. You should be your child's role model. Make out time to be with your children and instill in them the values you want them to have. While doing that, acknowledge the fact that once they are old enough, they will chart their course and go their own way and there might be absolutely nothing you can do to stop that.
Whatever you do, stop blaming the stars on television when YOU have so clearly abdicated your responsibilities as a parent.
Tenkiu!
Just a little tenderness
At the end of the day
Is all a woman needs,
to take her fears away
Just a little tenderness
With the lights down low,
When the world is just two people,
And love is all we need to know...
She hugged her knees close to her chest, rocking herself to the rhythm as Diana King's velvet tones with a hint of patois crooned out the lyrics. It enveloped her like a blanket, wrapping its warmth around her, drawing her in, holding her close. The chill slowly dissipating as the warm tendrils of hope filtered through. She cuddled deeper, losing herself in the lyrics, the rhythm, afraid to move lest a flinch from her sets off the downward spiral. Warmth.
She needed warmth... and fire.
Without warning, the chill started again, a slight tingling in her toe, spreading slowly, until she was caught in the jitters... trembling, shivering, teeth chattering, she looked over at the home stereo, but lacked the strength to stand up and turn it off. And so, it continued to churn out its offering, which had been on constant replay since she got in, and hunkered down in the corner, struggling to escape her reality.
Just a little tenderness
At the end of the day
Is all a woman needs,
to take her fears away
Just a little tenderness
At the end of the night
When the world is just two people,
And everything's gonna be alright....
"Gawd", she moaned as the sobs started.
From a place deep within her, it began to well up and spill out, it overflowed, it ran wild and loose... and free! She clutched her hair and yowled. She screamed and tore at her clothes, possessing a strength she knew not where from, she ripped the clothes off her body, sank her nails deep into her flesh and pulled. As the skin stung her, she scratched some more, feeling the deep welts begin to swell and raise like cornrows on a little girl's head. She felt the pain each new ridge left in her body and yet, she sought out the most painful spots and dug in with more determination. Perhaps, if she could scourge her body, her restless spirit, her weary soul would be purged... And still she yowled, and screamed.
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Emeka, arm around his wife as she snuggled up to him, stilled.
He held out the remote control and turned down the volume of the television. Nky looked up at him, worried, as they both listened to the sounds coming from the flat just beside them. Semi detached they called the houses, but they could easily be flatmates as it took a lot of willpower to pretend not to hear the sounds coming from there.
The yowls, the screams, decipherable in their nature, but muffled by the thin wall separating them could easily be coming from their room and could mean only one thing: she was walking THAT path again, fighting her demons.
"Honey", Nky started but was shushed by her husband.
"Baby, I have told you times without number, to ignore the sounds coming from that flat. You have seen the way that girl lives her life, flitting from man to man as if the thing wan expire. Leave her to do penance for her sins and stop trying to get involved".
"But Honey, here we are, we have lived beside her for almost a year now and we do not even know her name. Perhaps she needs company, is lonely, needs a shoulder to cry on. How can we profess to be christians when we live next door to such a tortured soul. Biko, baby m, let me go and..."
"If you move a step from here, please continue walking from there. Keep walking until you get to your parents' house. I have told you I do not want us to get involved but if you want to act like you own yourself, who am I to stop you"?
With a deep sigh, she laid her head back on his shoulder and listened as the howling continued. As a tear trickled down from her eye, Emeka lifted up her head and looked deep into her eyes. He planted a kiss on her forehead,
"Baby, I know how you feel, but some demons are best left to be fought personally. This could be her karma, her penance. We cannot, must not get involved. Don't worry, I have already commenced the search for another apartment. Soon as our rent expires, we will move. We can NOT continue to live like this". As he bent his head down and planted his lips on hers, she knew, deep inside she knew... she hated him.
He returned to his football match on the telly, she placed her head back on his chest and let her mind wander...
There but for the grace of God, would have been her. Emeka never knew the details of her past, the secrets she kept away from everybody, sometimes perhaps, even from herself. He believed that she had had only two longstanding relationships before he met her, because she had carefully edited out the days of longing and yearning. The days of compromise and ill thought out relationships, all in a bid to find love. She laughed a bit as she remembered involving herself in a threesome with her boyfriend of the day then, striving hard to please. To show him she could be all he ever needed in a woman and more. Little did she know that while she bent over backwards to please him, he was planning a wedding to a peri-virginal undergraduate and had in fact rented and was furnishing, a 2 bedroom flat elsewhere. The days of jumping from relationship to relationship. Seeking commitment where there was none to be found, until she had a chance encounter at a filling station, and met him.
Instinct had nudged her to clean up her act and she had, playing faithfully along until the validating proposal, 6 months into the relationship. The marriage and wedding formalities 3 months after, and five years and three kids down the line, she relived her unshared past, exhumed her unexorcised ghosts, retreated into her unwelcoming darkness, as she listened to her unknown neighbor do "penance".
===========================================================================================================================================
Cold, cold di world so cold
Mi waash someone to have and to hold
Ina di nite, when di feelings a bite
Hug mi up, squeeze mi up mek mi feel right
Forget di problems, everybody have dem
Tonight mi just naah feature dem
I, just wanna lay with you,
And be an island in this sea of confusion...
She stilled. The only sign that there was still a little life left in her, the shallow rise and fall of her chest. She had just ridden the storm, a wild whooping ride through the thickest jungle on the back of the fiercest tiger, yet she knew, her demons were unforgiving, they were relentless. From the deepest dungeons in hell, they sought out their victim, dug their claws in and rode like a breeding stallion.
She shivered. Tremors of exhaustion shook her frame as she lay face down. Before she left the house today, she had known today would be the day she would kill or be killed, eat or be eaten...
Three months... her relationships, her life could be defined by those two words... three months.
She had always struggled to push beyond the three month mark, but wanderlust always began to creep in, a yearn for treasures so deep buried, even she was unsure as she searched, that they could ever be found and unearthed. A longing, a craving to sate a hunger so primal, she was convinced the sating would leave an even worse emptiness. Here today, gone tomorrow. The fear of loneliness pushed her into relationships, the fear of rejection forced her out of them and at the end of each, she would struggle to exorcise her demons, promising herself that each one would be the last. Would be the one to last...
And she had exceeded the three month mark this time around, when her restless feet began to itch to move on, she had immersed herself in mundane activities which unknown to her, had endeared her even closer to him. She would wash and clean, fuss and fret, tidy and pick up. From coming home everyday to a lonely apartment, he would walk into a fresh and clean space, hot meals at the ready, her luscious body responding at a moment's notice, excellent conversation that could keep going for hours. She ran her own businesses, had people who worked for her and so, could take out time to care, and care she did.
Tim could not believe his luck at landing her. Built like a goddess, he had paid for her suya when they met at a crowded joint in Abuja. Well actually, he had mistakenly paid for hers, they still giggled at the quirky twist of fate that arranged their meeting. She had seemed a bit distracted, he had been watching her, but somehow, she seemed at the same time lost deep in a world of her own. His tally had been called and then hers. They walked up to the counter to pick up their orders and he had settled his bill without thinking.
As he stepped out, he heard someone call out "Excuse me please".
He turned and saw the goddess holding out a thousand naira note. "Sorry", she tinkled, "the silly boy at the counter thought we were together and had added my tab to yours".
He reached out, and enveloped her hand in his, squeezing the palm shut over the money. She had a cool, little palm, soft and welcoming. He wanted to hold on to her forever, he did not know why, but he felt at ease with this palm...
"Don't worry, I did not notice. It's nothing, I had already paid for it, so you can have it".
"Thank you". She turned and picked out a table in the attached sit-out, and settled down to unwrap her barbecue, pulling a bottle of coke out of her bag.
Immediately, he reversed the decision to make a meal out of his when he got home, suya sandwich had always been the lazy bachelor's go to food, and walked up to her. She had looked up, accepted his request to sit at the table with her and from there, they had stuck up a friendship that quickly, led to romance and a budding relationship.
Earlier on in the day, as she left her house, she knew the demons were winning. A relationship that had no issues whatsoever was about to be brought to a screeching halt.
She had made his favorite meal. Walking through the door, the aroma of fresh egusi soup picked his senses up and body slammed them against the floor. Her egusi was Olympic gold medal worthy and as he walked to the table and lifted the covers off the dishes, he could tell at a glance that this was not the floured pounded yam thingie, but the real deal. Still standing, he rinsed his finger tips in water, cut off a bit of pounded yam and ate it raw. Then cut off a lump and as he dipped it into the soup, snaring a piece of dried fish alongside, she walked out of the kitchen and playfully hit him with the dishcloth in her hand...
"Boo, na you get the food na. Why you dey rush am, dey sneak am like say e get who dey drag am with you"?
This was something else that popped his innards like popcorn. Her ability to switch from the most polished of Queen's English to ghetto waffi and back at a moment's notice, always had his stomach pay a brief visit to his knees and back again.
He grinned, swallowed the lump in his hand, licked off his fingers and walked up to her. He could feel her naked body underneath the tee shirt she wore as he gathered her into his arms. This was the life! This was what he had always wanted! These were his dreams come true...
He returned to the table and settled down to his meal, rushing slightly, not even looking up as she dropped a kiss on his forehead and sashayed off to the bedroom. He needed to get this feast over and done with and move on to the feast in the bedroom. She was like illicit drug in his veins, he could never get enough...
Hours later, sated and spent, he lay back exhausted and cuddled her close. He sensed a little tenseness in her, but knew she would relax and he stroked and patted her back as he began to slip into sleep. Somewhere in his subconscious was the strident warning to ask her, to talk, ease whatever was making her so tense, but sleep gripped him in its iron claws and did not let go until he succumbed.
She lay still and tense in his arms, listening to his ragged breathing slowly even out. As he found a rhythm, she carefully crept out of his arms, stood up and began to dress up. If she stayed over the night, she knew she would stay forever, but she did not want that. She craved stability and at the same time pushed back at it when it came calling. Yearned for a routine yet ran from any semblance of a settling in. She would keep running, she knew.... run Lola, run!
Returning back home, she had flung her car keys on the ground, hit play and set the stereo on repeat, walked around the sitting room in circles, pausing now to hit her palm against her head, struggling with the decision to go back or to remain in her house. When the decisions running around in her head suddenly turned to a stampede, she had thrown herself, hunched up into a corner, and wailed as Diana King crooned in the background.
===========================================================================================================================================
Mummy Tinu let the curtains she had held aside to try and peep into the flat across from hers fall. O to have xray vision, to be able to see through her windows, the curtain of darkness, past the windows across from her and the thick drapes, into the sitting room and perhaps pierce through to the very soul of the young lady in that flat.
"Abiku", she hissed. She must have escaped an early death and now plays regular host to the spirits she had long denied if not, why would such a beautiful, apparently succesful young lady have such devilish incidences? This one pass power o. She shrugged her shoulders, whirled her hands around her head and snapped her fingers in the direction of the flat. Moving was not an option. Left alone by her useless husband who had run after the nurse in the neighborhood hospital, abandoning her to take care of their three children, the flat was within a comfortable price range and near enough to the children's school, and the market where she sold provisions and foodstuff.
Since moving was not an option, she had retreated deep into the arms of her faith, to shield herself and her household from any marauding demons that could be unleashed from the legion that occupied that flat opposite hers. It was not her portion. She and her children would never fall victims to what they knew nothing about. In one corner of her sitting room was a mini altar, draped with a rosary and daily devotionals from as many Men of God as she could lay her hands on. Hidden under the cloth on the altar, was a bottle containing the murky waters washed off a slate by the neighborhood alfa and underneath the bed in her room, was the double protection her mother had brought from the village high priest the last time she had come visiting.
"Atinuke, Atinuuuuuuke",
"Yes Mummy", her 14 year old daughter had answered from the bedroom
"Call Sijibomi and Jomiloju, let us have our night prayers"
They knelt down and closed their ears to the storm raging in the apartment across from them as Mummy Tinu went into one of her long, windy and winded prayer sessions. Since tonight was an attack night for their neighbor, it was obvious that the gates of hell had been thrown open and the witches, wizards and blood sucking demons were on patrol. The only guard against them, was prayer... and pray she did.
Ignoring the fidgeting and fussing of her children, even when Sijibomi began to nod, his head repeatedly hitting the table in front of which they knelt, and then getting snatched back up again. When Atinuke's "Amens" reduced in fervency and began to come reluctantly and when Jomiloju's light snores began to vibrate and increase in intensity, still she prayed...
Where Atinuke knelt, her mind wandered into the flat opposite. Aunty was a nice lady who listened to her and talked to her like an adult. She helped her with her homework sometimes and was the only person she had turned to when she had encountered her young life's worst challenge. She did not know who had reported her closeness with Aunty to her mother but that day, her mother had called her into her room, locked the door behind her and threatened to kill her if she made a noise. She had then proceeded to pull out the horsewhip from underneath the bed and had lashed her furiously with it.
Forgetting that she had sworn her daughter to silence, she Mummy Tinu had screeched about how her daughter wanted to bring disgrace to the family name. Wanted to be possessed with demons, wanted to be a wayward girl... and this and that... and this and that.
For a few days after the scourging, she had avoided Aunty's flat until she had felt the darkness enveloping her and had sneaked in there when Maami had gone off to the shop. She could always find comfort and a listening ear in Aunty who, aside from the times when she was possessed, was a very gentle and understanding being.
She was the only one who believed her about Gbolahan.
Gbolahan was her uncle. Her maternal grandfather like her own father, had a thing for nurses in rural hospitals and so, had abandoned his first family to go start another family with the nurse that had recently been transferred from Umuahia Specialist. Gbolahan was the third irresponsible fruit of that union and had come to Abuja to sit his JAMB. Having written, and failed JAMB umpteen times in the past, this was an attempt to try the exam for the last time at another location and see if he would fare better this time around. His father had threatened that if he failed JAMB, he would apprentice him out to the village furniture maker.
And so, Gbolahan found himself in Abuja and was enrolled in extra murals. That fateful afternoon, Maami was away at the market as usual and Tinu had fed her younger ones. Homework done, they were already taking their afternoon nap when she heard Gbolahan's creaky voice squealing her name. "Tinu, Tinu", the voice had a measure of urgency and she had run into the boys' room.
In a flash, he had locked the door, grabbed her and wrestled her to the ground. Before she could contemplate screaming, still struggling to understand what was going on, he had forced her knees apart, positioned himself in between her thighs, pushing her panties aside with one hand. The first scream escaped her lips as he pierced her and then one hand holding her hands together above her head, the other clamped shut over her mouth, he humped himself out in her. The hand remained over her mouth, the body remained over hers as she screamed futilely and struggled. Eventually, when the strength began to leave her and her silent scream died out, her body weakening, he shifted a little and lifted his hand off her mouth.
She could not scream, only stared at him, eyes wide in terror as he pleaded with her, smoothed her hairline, forced his mouth on hers and his slimy tongue down her throat. She could not understand what was going on, but began to comprehend from his words that this was a secret, their secret. He would do a lot of good things for her. He would take her abroad when he passed his JAMB and got admission into a university in America. He would buy her lots of icecream and she could perm her hair. He would get her a nanny to take care of her every need. Look, he would buy her sweets and biscuits from the corner shop down the road, and ribbons to tie up her lovely hair. He talked and talked and talked and slowly, her child's mind, uncomprehending of the sacrilege that had just occured began to listen and the second time around, he took her like a woman.
Three days after, Gbolahan wrote his JAMB and disappeared from her life. Aunty had seen her moping at the tap one week later, the bucket of water she was fetching filled to overflowing, spilling over and pooling around her feet. Aunty had switched off the tap and touched her shoulder, a touch that had triggered off a flood of tears and when Aunty took her into her flat to calm her down, had managed to coax the story of what could be troubling this little girl so much out of her. Her story told, Aunty had calmed her down, offering her soft drinks and biscuits, then asked for the address of Maami's shop.
She would never know what happened that day but Maami had returned from the shop in a rage, dragged her into her bedroom, locked the door behind her and after the usual threats if she so much as uttered a peep, proceeded to thrash her, all the while screaming and screeching all sorts of invectives at the top of her voice... How she was a useless girl, wayward like her father. How she wanted to spoil the family name and bring shame on them. How she was associating with prostitutes and people of questionable character. How she was helping her by flogging her now so that she would not be a disgrace to herself in the future. How the bible said foolishness was in the heart of a child, but the rod and reproof would drive it far from her... and this and that ... and this and that.
Only Aunty had believed her.
And told her her own story.
Of how she was also wrongfully used as a little girl. For three months of her life, her own father "loved" her more than her siblings, until one morning, he stopped loving her and walked out on them, till date she had not set eyes on him.
"In Jeeeeeeeeezes name we have prayed", Maami rounded off the prayer session, the call jolting Tinu back to the present.
"Aaaaaaaamen". She stood up, rubbed her hands across her face, roused her siblings and walked them in that somnambulent state, to bed.
===========================================================================================================================================
Everybody´s got an idea
Of what's right, what's right for me
I'm just tryin' to survive and
Live my life positively
This one wants to educate me
That one wants to dominate me
The other one tryin' to wear me down
Talkin' outta both sides of the mouth, oh
I, just wanna lay with you, And be an island in this sea of confusion
She dragged herself off the floor and stood shakily up. Her feet wobbled and trembled from the force that had passed through her, but she was determined to stand and remain up now.
She walked shakily over to the stereo and stood in front of it... I, just wanna lay with you... and be an island in this sea of confusion.
"Timone", she groaned.... "Timone".
She had laughingly asked him that first day, "So, what should I call you"?
"Oh, Timothy, Tim, Ebi, worreva..."
"I think I prefer 'worreva'"
He had thrown his head back and laughed at her crazy sense of humour. Just thirty minutes sitting with her and it seemed like he had known her a life time.
"Don't even think about it".
"Okay, I kinda like Timone in the Lion King, so you will be Timone".
"Okay miLady".
And he had been Timone to her since then. An anchor. A rock. An oasis... an island.
She walked into her room and straight into the shower. The cold water stung as it hit her lacerated skin, stinging like the piercing of so many needles, yet she withstood it. She walked out of the bathroom, struggled into her underclothes and threw a slip of a dress over her head. She glanced at the clock beside the bed... it was 4 am.
She would go back.
She was at a crossroads and today would decide, if she would keep running, or if she would hang up her running shoes.
She would bare it all, try to find that Island, reach out for the anchor, hide under the rock, quench her thirst at the oasis...
Win or lose, today, she would fight her demons one last time.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=qIWMLuGsGYQ
As he slowly became conscious of his surroundings, he felt a dull ache in his joints. The kind of ache that came with sleeping in a curled up position, knees drawn up as far as they could go, arms entertwined around each other or a pillow, the kind of ache that could only be eased by stretching the limbs out to their full length and then some.
He tried to ease the limbs, to bring sweet climactic relief by stretching out his full 6 foot plus, but felt hindered. Almost physically shackled. As he struggled to bring his mind round and focus his consciousness on wherever it was that had such foreboding darkness, a rank feral odour, he slowly began to realise, that something was biting into his flesh. Like a band, it wound round and round about his wrists, and then his arms... then his torso, around his middle, he felt his legs bound and trussed, and felt the same bond around his neck.
His brain sluggishly began to process his surroundings as panic began to set in...
=======================================================================================================
Yemi stood up from his seat and stretched himself out to his full length. 6 foot plus of muscly, sinewy maleness, Ola had always laughingly called him a perfect male specimen. "V shape of Life", she would tinkle in her near perfect voice and he would respond, "Bestie of Life".
By chance, they had met on social media. A silent member of a faith based group, he had never noticed her presence or participation in that group, but had increasingly grown alarmed at how doctrine and manipulation had slowly begun to creep into a group that had sounded like a refreshing escape from the "hounds in white dog collars", life as a Nigerian "christian" had exposed him to.
Now, the group wanted to start taking offerings and tithes and it was causing an uproar among the members.
For some who had been properly indoctrinated, they felt the group answered to their spiritual cravings and as such, deserved to receive offerings and "tithes" in order to help them "propagate the gospel further", or as one of the cynical rabble rousers in the group put it, "move the ministry to the permanent site".
It was, in his opinion, a very mischievous suggestion, revealing the hidden intent of the group and just as he was about to activate the "Leave Group" button, his eye caught a comment that just popped up:
Omolola Aanuoluwapo: My people perish for lack of knowledge. This misguided attempt to fleece innocent Nigerians already groaning under the weight of an inept leadership is symptomatic of the various ills we have to endure in this society. We suffer and smile daily and recourse to our belief system for the palliative benefits, however ephemeral. It is therefore preposterous that even this system should fail us in such a blatantly, neo-imperialist manner. Until we are able to cast off the shackles that hold us so firmly, both in social, traditional, religious, ethno-political and intellectual terms, we will only progress as far as beyond the starting points of our journey. I suggest this misguided post is taken down and the administrators of this group apologise to all its members for this attempt to hoodwink them into circumventing the truths inherent in the Word. Perhaps if that is done, we may consider proceeding as if this unfortunate event never occured.
Involuntarily, he let out a chuckle, and found himself "liking" the comment. Perhaps, emboldened by her fortrightness, others began to concur to her position and before long, a full drawn out battle was raging. For almost 24 hours, she held her own and even when the previously prim and proper, holier than thou administrators of the group began to fling mud and insults, she held her grounds. Insisting that the thread must be pulled down and apologies tendered and such deceitful tactics avoided in future, for the benefit of the group.
After 24 hours, the thread was taken down and a half hearted apology, blaming the "devil" for "tempting" the group admin with the lure of "filthy lucre", was put up. He did not know which caused the greater mirth, reading the silly apology, or seeing the same name pop up directly underneath.
Omolola Aanuoluwapo: Better. You people should think twice before attempting to pull the wool over our eyes next time. Nigerians are no longer the "ignorant sheeple" you take us to be. Oh, this will also be my last post on this group as I will take my leave of the group today.
He actually roared out loud with laughter before he could help himself. What a dynamo. What passion. Yes, this was what he was talking about. He had just mentioned it to his friend Edu, over a chilled bottle of "Black is Better" the other day, that what this country needed to pull it out of the doldrums was passionate youth, who were not afraid to speak up for what they believed in AND follow it through to a logical conclusion. He was still laughing to himself as he reached out and tapped the "Leave Group" button, ending his own reluctant journey with the wolves in sheeps' clothing, in an internet instant.
That was that!
Somehow, the name stuck. He was in a relationship, it was so-so, the fire their passion had managed to ignite had begun to fizzle out, I mean, there were only so many positions in which to dance the "horizontal mambo", he began to yearn for a conversationalist. Someone with whom he could also rub minds on an intellectual bases. She had begun to press for mutual exclusivity. He had begun to yearn for outright closure. She did not know he was completely faithful to her. She was okay, but he wanted more.
"Hey honey, back from work? I made your favorite for dinner tonight".
"How do you want it tonight sweets, I want to blow your mind".
After that, what? It was pretty ho hum, he wanted more. His brain wanted more. He began to yearn for stimulation that had no sexual undertones. He was the world's biggest reader and longed to discuss passages from his recent readings with her. He began to tire of hearing how this "Brazilian" was better than that "Peruvian". He sincerely thought initially, she was referring to footballers, rude awakening happened thereafter. The religious near fanatical worship of war paint always fascinated him. Every time she "took down her face" before climbing into bed, he had to summon his entire will power not to run screaming into the bathroom, reaching for the toilet bowl to release the contents of whatever culinary masterpiece he had just chowed down. It was like going to bed with Denzel Washington, but stepping out of the house with Rihanna. Go figure!
She was an excellent cook though, skilled bedmatician..... he wanted more! Finis!
===========================================================================================================================================
Two months after, his relationship with Adiya was almost fully wound down now, he preferred an easier route to ending relationships. He had found out in the past that the clinical talk about how "our ways had grown apart" and we needed to "explore other options", always ended up stretching out the relationship for far longer than he intended. Because of his physical attractiveness, his financial generousity and his emotional attention, it was a task convincing them to let go and so, he would rather begin to withdraw his attention and affection, generally make himself as unavailable as possible until the girl decided to "end the relationship". Yes, it might be cruel in the final analyses, but at least, she could then brag to her friends about how she jilted that pompous Yemi Osunkiyesi. What could be better. Win-win as far as he was concerned.
He had recently joined a food group and would silently browse through the pictures and recipes they put up, once again, prefering to remain in the shadows and just appreciate the expertise and creativity than be in the centre when a picture popped up. It was an exquisitely arranged dish of fried rice, peppered chickens and cole slaw. Nothing extraordrinary about the meal, nice arrangement, same old same old, then he looked at the name - Omolola Aanuoluwapo. Same profile picture, same person apparently. He "liked" the post, and made a comment: Beauty, brains and a good cook to boot. Excuse my impertinence, but you are a rare find. Keep on being you. Thank you.
He waited.
An internet second later, an alert: Omolola Aanuoluwapo liked your comment on her post in FoodIsUs
He waited...
Five minutes later, he clicked on her picture and sent her a friend request. A minute later, she accepted the request, and just like that, he found himself in her world!
He spent the first week scanning through her old posts, looking at her pictures and marvelling that he had not bumped into her before now. Just as he was wondering how to approach her and try to find mutual grounds off LookPage, he stumbled upon an old post:
"Dear friends, LookPage is NOT a dating site, last I checked! I accept all friend requests because I discuss issues that I believe should be of interest to all. I sometimes receive opinions that for some reasons the brain behind might be reluctant to state on my wall. I acknowledge and respect that, but I consider it the height of infantile infamy, for anyone to attempt to patronise me inbox. Going forward, I would take such inane comments as "xup", "lovely eyes", "hey beauty", and ther ilk, as an attempt to patronise me, and block such people WITHOUT further notice".
He let out a guffaw and thanked the stars for drawing him to that post and immediately began to restrategise. He wanted her, and he wanted her for keeps.
Slowly, he began to involve himself in discussions on her wall, and oh, how varied the topics always were. There was no knowing what she would come up with from day to day. He instinctively knew that she would be open to fortrightness and honesty and never hid his opinions or attempted to tailor them to match in with hers. In a non-confrontational,interactive manner, he would state his opinions exactly as he felt them and like her, not caring whose ox would be gored in the process.
Initially, she would just like his comments as she would for every other commentor on her wall.
Then she would mention his comment and give a brief response to it..
Then she would actually engage him in rapid fire discourse...
He always left each session feeling physically, psychologically and yes, sexually drained. He could not understand this hold, this pull she had on him...
So, while she planned how to take over governance from the crop of recycled politicians, he planned how their wedding day would be. While she spoke rules of law and points of order, he thought of making homes and raising children. While she plotted and strategised on how to move Nigeria forward, he strategised on how to merge his silent activism with her fiery brand IF they eventually became one...
One day, when their discussion was beginning to get extra heated, he took a chance and went inbox
"I know we may never see eye to eye on this issue, but I am privy to certain information I would never feel free to discuss on your wall. However, the fact still remains that there is a need for bringing balance to every situation, irrespective of what our instinctive inclinations should be. I assure you, your passion for your country is raw and if you can ignite that fire in even half of your followers and get them to replicate that as they go, we would be halfway to fixing Nigeria. I respect your intellect and opinions, you stand out".
"Thank you Yemi. Since you are obviously privy to information that can not be shared, I will respect the fact that the government has to be circumspect with the release of information in order to protect itself and the citizens and end the engagement on my wall. I would however want you to note, that we would prefer sketchy information with a promise to fill us in with the details as soon as circumstances can allow, than these half truths and whole lies we are being fed on a daily bases. We are no longer as stupid as we used to be".
"Your point is taken, Ola. Thank you for giving me the opportunity".
":-)".
From that day, they began corresponding inbox, and he began slowly, to move the conversation into the realm of personal issues. The segue from friends to "friends" was so seamless that she found herself blurting out one day:
"Who ARE you? I mean, I know enough details from what you have told me and from what I can get off your completely open profile, but I usually do not allow anyone breach my personal space on social media. It seems like I have known you forever, I had to check back today to confirm i just added you as a friend less than 6 months ago. Who ARE you? And what exactly ARE you trying to do?"
He chuckled to himself as he replied:
"Hmm, well, I can give you an opportunity to find out if you are willing to take this friendship off LookPage. Like you already know, I am not an axe murderer, if you have a few minutes to spare, you might be more comfortable coming to my office, or inviting me to yours. Coming to my turf would however assure you that I am for real and the pictures etc on my wall are not trumped up so... your call"!
She mused over it briefly and replied:
"I will come to you".
Appointment set, she went to the bank, requested for him by name, and was pleasantly surprised when she was ushered into the office of the Branch Manager.
From that first off line encounter, they set more dates, began to tentatively explore a relationship and within three months were officially dating. The first day she put up a picture of the two of them seated together in a park, having a picnic, he sat back and watched amused at the influx of likes, comments, queries, insinuations. She never said a word in response, but some on the thread began to make insinuations, justifications, accusations, he enjoyed every moment of it, and the wisdom and maturity that instictively told her that a picture, was indeed worth a thousand words...
===========================================================================================================================================
She was not beautiful in the conventional sense of beauty, but he could not imagine a better specimen of woman hood and began unconsciously to align himself to the leagues of whatshisname, you know, the husband of Oby Ezekwesili and Dora Akunyili and Joe Odumakin and the rest of them. The world could have its' definition of beauty, he was in the class of men that had found beauty beyond compare, and had been graced with their acceptance and their heartfelt and genuine love and respect reciprocated.
He was always walking on air...
One year after their first offline encounter, wedding was held as planned. They had both agreed on a low key event filled with experience, memories and symbolism. He had planned a society event, he wanted the whole world to know he had made a catch, she had allowed him spend N500,000 out of the budgeted N5m and he had watched as she had carefully spent half of the "saved" amount on charities and causes after her heart. He had indeed hit the motherlode!
Exhilarating...
They had adjusted to life together, mild disagreements, passionate make ups, emotional encounters, hilarious fails,anything and everything possible experienced within the space of 6 months and the future filled with hope for more. No, they had not waited for the wedding night to explore their passions, things had followed a normal uninterrupted and uncoerced course. It had happened when it had happened but almost like as if the gods were also smiling benevolently and giving their silent nods to the union, she had taken in almost on their wedding night.
Perfectement!
But what was he doing lying in this dark room trussed up like a goat, feeling a sticky wetness all down the side of his body that was in contact with the floor. Why did he try to scream but no words were issuing forth? What was the meaning of the cottony fullness in his mouth, almost blocking his air supply? Why could he not move a limb? Why did he feel bound, no scratch that, why was he bound?
What was going on?
As he struggled to free himself from his bonds, he slid around on the floor until he made contact with another warm heaving mass and suddenly realised, he was not alone in this.
Why was he here?
He remembered standing up from his seat in the office yesterday? Was it even yesterday? His concept of time was totally blurred. He had stretched, and walked down to the car park to pick his car. It was way past 8 pm, in characteristic fashion, he was the last to leave the office. As he got to the parking lot, he had noticed a young man in blue jeans, his tri color "Hacket shirt" with turned up collar well pressed, close cut hair stylishly wavy and cool sneakers walk up to him. The man had asked for directions to go to somewhere and as he explained and noticed the growing confusion, he had walked the man up to the gate, stepped outside and turned the corner with him on foot to point out the directions. He had noticed a Hilux van parked just around the corner, but taken no notice of it. As he was pointing out the way to go and offering to get a cab, the young man had moved in closer to him and the last thing on his mind as he felt a thud at the nape of his neck, saw a bright, blinding flash of darkness and then the lights go out abruptly, was his 6 month old pregnant wife, her last status update demanding to be given information on the shoot out that had happened in and around the Nation's seat of power the previous day, and the whatsapp message informing him that dinner tonight would be beans porridge with fried yam - his favorite.
What would be going through her mind now?
He did not know if this had happened yesterday, today or many years ago, he was that confused. As he struggled to get a grip on his emotions, the door creaked open. In the dim light that filtered in, he saw that there were at least 6 other young men and 2 women in the room, all hog tied, with the exception that the women were completely naked. One of the men was in some sort of military attire, he could not decipher what. He swivelled his head back to the door, and saw four paurs of legs clad in mid calf length baggy cotton pants, feet in slip on sandals and his heart began to thunder.
No!
They were resident in the Nation's capital. Considered a safe haven from the extremist scourge currently rocking the Northern zone.
No!
There must be some other explanation for this.
As he watched in horror, he heard whispered consultations and watched two pairs of feet walk up to him. They released the cords around his ankles and knees and cut the rope connecting them to the one around his neck and roughly dragged him to his feet. He looked down into crazed eyes, wild and unkempt beards, decaying teeth. The men looked up into his face and laughed at the terror displayed there. The wild maniacal terror immediately reset his brain and he resolved, that however this would end, he would do Ola proud. His bestie of life would know, that her man, was a MAN! Slowly, pride and indifference pushed back the fear on his face. He knew there was no going back from this point.
Some one else was chosen from the other men, the man dressed in a military uniform, while both women were loosened from their shackles completely. All four walked out of the room, herded by the four maniacs, who were wielding sub-machine guns. Along the corridor of what looked like a dilapidated, ramshackle building, the women were roughly pushed into another room and the door shut. As he and his companion were dragged into a room opening out into the corridor and made to kneel before a pile of blocks arranged into slabs on the floor, he watched as another door along the corridor opened, and four unarmed men came out, walking into the room where the women had been thrown. The door shut behind them, and few seconds later, screams were heard, followed by slaps and blows, then silence. As they waited for, he knew not what, he watched the endless stream of unkempt men, going to and from the room.
His heart bled.
Suddenly, from behind him, he heard the whirring of cameras...
Watched as his fate appointed companion's neck was laid out on the chopping block in front of him...
As someone behind him began to speak, words he could not understand, into the whirring video camera, he watched in horror as another man stepped out of the shadows, slowly honing a wicked looking knife against a file.
Without any bidding, Yemi lay his head, neck out on the chopping block in front of him, shut down his senses to all going on around him...
... and waited...
Opium....
Flooding his brain like a tidal wave, overcome by the alexithymia of it all, he reached out and grabbed her hand. Pulling her closer in, he sank his head in her hair and took in a deep breath....
Opium....
Overwhelming his senses.
"Jaaneman", he breathed, over and over again, slowly, huskily... his voice caught at the ragged edges of his throat and he swallowed. A gulp that freed out his Adam's apple and she could feel it bob up and down against her skull.
"Jaaneman, you will not be the death of me". She tinkered that laugh of hers that always set his heart beating a thousand beats too fast and pulled back slightly. Their upper bodies, thus intertwined, was cordiformed. It seemed like their fate had been written in the stars and their destinies sealed long ago. How could he ever have enough of her? It seemed an impossible, wicked and foolish task. A curse on anyone who tried to separate him from this one. He had waited long and hard and when he first met her, almost missed the opportunity as he was focused on other things... The physical attributes.
It had not been a chance meeting, it was properly arranged by a friend of theirs. At first sight, he had hissed to himself. Which kain woman be this na? He had been told she was a potential hit and he had come to check her out to assure himself the hit would be worth his while. She was not model thin, not ebony skinned with fake tresses falling to just beneath her waist line. Sapiosexual that he was, he could see at a glance that she was not even the brightest penny in the drawer. He loved striking women. She was not striking! She was just....... attractive.
He would have been a master fabulist to deny that the pull he felt from her that day was stronger than that of absinthe to the experienced palate. Suddenly he felt his heart warm up. It was extremely apricious. The apricity was so overwhelming, he felt he was floating, walking on water, gliding through air, arms outstretched, reaching for the galaxy.
Nemesistically, he tried to shrug off the warmth in his heart. No, his heart had been painfully pierced in the past and he was not about to succumb. And then she reached out her hand, he clapsed it in his and sank into heaven, he released himself and permited the Orenda of her to enfold him in her ample bosom. This was heaven, this was bliss.
He likened being with her to having a shot of opium delivered directly to the brain. Whenever they spent time apart, the zweisamkeit of it all was almost gibellious. Zweisamkeit became a part of him, hollow longing and desire always by his side. He would not let this one go... ever!
She shrugged herself out of his grasp and playfully cuffed his chest. Gathering the sheets around her, she stood up off the bed and walked down to the dresser in that slow sensuous manner that she knew would set his blood aflame anew, she threw a glance over her shoulder and smiled at the realisation that his body had responded exactly how she knew it would.
She pushed back the sciamachy that briefly threatened to cloud her brow, sat down and began to expertly apply her make up. Within a manner of minutes, she was done, her eyebrows expertly arched, her eyelashes properly fluffed out and the cordiform of her lips exquisitely highlighted. She shrugged into her clothes and turned back to face him as he lay on the bed, gently carressing himself as he watched her, and held her arms out...
Alexithymia rose in him again as he rolled off the bed and walked towards her, enveloping her in his warm embrace and soaking himself deep within the intoxicating headiness of her. God, he was a fool. He was lost in her. Addicted! Woefully so.....
"Honey", she whispered against his chest, "I really have to go now, but you have promised me you would be home all through today haven't you?"
He swallowed down the nemesism that threatened to burst forth at the thought of this temporary separation and nodded his head.
"My love, I promise you I will be back and I promise you, you will not regret it"
It was with a great deal of sciamachy that he nodded his head, knowing that only an extreme fantasist would deny her her right to walk free. He was not as fabulist as others, he knew he had no hold on her yet, but he intended to remedy that as soon as time and circumstances would allow. For now, he would comfort himself with the brief encounters they had. She was like an orenda inside of him, he had grown used to gibelousity in her absence.
As she walked out and closed the door behind her softly, he let out a soft laugh. Here he was, the most wanted armed robber in the entire land, as fierce and dangerous as he was, turned to putty in the hands of a married mother of four, living only for the stolen moments in her company.....
