Category: Light-hearted



 

Lucifer adjusts his robes as he perches himself on a stool.
Uriel glances at the celestial time and sighs, impatient to be about his business.

“Honestly, I did’t do anything THAT BAD”
“Udonmeanit…”
The sarcasm flies over Lucifer’s head.
“Serious o. I only said me too I want in on the good good na. You know what they say…”
“I don’t…”
Interrupts.
“What’s good for the goodse, is good for the gander! See what i did there? See?”
A big smile on L’s face.
“E for Effort”
Lucifer frowns and smacks his teeth. “Abeg abeg. Na wa you sef! Anyway! Back to my side of the story! Yes ooooo. Small tin like dis. Oga come dey vex! Allova sudden, I don turn Devil. Juslaidat!”
A raised eyebrow. “If HE was angry, then it was not a small thing
He eyes his companion. “So you been dey dere wit me wen e happen abi?”
His companion sighs. “Carry on”
“Ehen. So I say me I want my own throne. Me sef i want my own praise. Ahn ahn! I don dey shout Halleluyah since HE make me! E never do? Me sef why i no go siddon, dey drink cold water?”
A shocked look on Uriel’s face. “You said what?”
“Ear dey pain you!? I tell am say, Bros G, Me sef i want seat. E no need big like your own. Juss small ting wey i go take siddon beside you so we go share the praise. Not even 50-50. 80-20 na im i talk. Oga come vex”
Uriel’s mouth drops open.
“Hayyyyyy! You have no fear?? Are you mad???”
“Ahn ahn! Is it because I’m telling you something you are now insulting me anyhow? Take ya time o! Anyway! He sha was vexing for me and said i should get out. Ah. After all my loyal service. This life sha.”
Uriel shakes his head. “See, I have 12pm Hosanna duty and it’s almost time. What exactly do you want me to do for you? Beg HIM?”
Lucifer laughs, playfully slapping Uriel’s shoulder. “Beg ke! O ti o. No beg please. Why i go beg am. A whole me! Lucifer! Finest boy in H Town. Baby boy of Life! Ehhhhhnnnn”
He dusts his shoulder.
“So..what then?”
“Ehn. Mo nlo! I dey port! I’m porting outta here so i came to give you proposal, you know we are friends na. Egbon mi!!!!”
Uriel huffs, irritated. “Get to the point! Goodness!”
“Ahn caam daan na. No be Halleluyah you just wan go shout? E no dey tire you sef! Anyway Come and follow me o! I’m going to Earth to control everything! Controller general and tinz. Your boy is gonna blow! If you follow me, i fit make you Deputy Commander because we don be padi for long mehn…”
Uriel stands to his full height.
“Lucifer! Lucifer! Lucifer! How many times did i call you?”
“Ahn ahn na wetin!”
“E be like say you don crase finish abi! So you look me upandan finish, think say na me go follow you chop eternal punishment. You tink say i no know dat be your punishment?? Eez like ya a mad somebody. Belly don dey run you abi? So you look Daddy G.O throne finish and e dey do you WAWUUUUU, you come go challenge am”
“Eiiissss…”
Uriel interrupts. “Ehn! I no wan hear! Do me a favour please. GERRARAHIA! GERRARAHIA RIGHT NOW!”
“Whoolup nigga! Whoolup! Ahn ahn dem no dey follow you play again?”
“Abeg! Carry your play dey go! DEY GO!”
Lucifer angrily gets up.
“Oya dey here na! You too dull sef!  You don fall my hand, guyyyy. Ahn! You don forget na me and you dey hustle for Ojuelegba from day one”
Uriel sharpens his sword on the floor. “You still dey here???”
He lashes out with his sword at Lucifer and he flees, cursing.
Uriel chases after him.

Minutes later, Uriel comes back and sighs deeply and looks at you, the reader.
“E don be for una sha… That oloriburuku go frustrate una die. Ehyaaa…”

————————————–

In my head, the Devil is a disgruntled Nigerian civil servant.


Monsieur. Madame, bonjour! ( Opening line on one of my all-time favourite anime, Gankutsuou, of course, tweaked to suit the time of the day, but, I digress)
I have missed you.
Believe me? No? Good.
What i have missed is writing. Writing something that makes me chuckle as i think up ridiculous dialogues.
I have therefore decided, to help kick-start my flailing writing career, to start a weekly ‘column’ of sorts.
Satirical Saturday.
I love satires. I love humorous satires. I love my brand of humorous biblical satires. (Merely revealing the human side!)
(Why Saturday? What better day to have sit than the sabbath eh?)
Important disclaimer: This is in no way  mockery. I seek to write in new characters to familiar stories. Characters oft forgotten because we’re too focused on the biggies. They would be of different nationalities (mostly Nigerian, because, Nigerians are funny people).
I would not change ow the stories go and/or end, no fears.
I have actually done something similar here, (A Play)
Enough chitchat.
I do hope you enjoy the first of its kind!

 

Satirical Saturday: The King and The Psychologist

“So…Mr…Solomon?”
“Mr?”
Awkward silence and shuffling of feet. “Oh Pardon me! KING Solomon”
“Should I?”
“Eh…that was just an expression Sir.”
A raised eyebrow. “Sir?”
“Eh..King?”
Regal sigh. “O King, Mr Psychologist. O King”
Awkward shuffling of papers. “Alright, O King. So. You need my help. What might be the problem?”
“What isn’t?”
“Sir? I mean. O King?”
“Yes. What isn’t a problem? Look at the world today. From the state of its dire affairs to that colour of shirt you have on, my good man. Everything is a problem. Though I must add…your shirt really is a fat kid. It takes the cake.”
“Oh. Wow. What interesting…humour King”
Shuffling papers. “Fair enough. So, your notes say you have trouble sleeping?”
“What is sleep?”
“Er. Sleep is a restful period your bod…”
“Rhetorical, Psychologist. Rhetorical”
The King studies his nails.
Beginning to feel unsure of himself. “So…King?”
“You know, starting a sentence with ‘So’ is a sign of one’s intelligence or indeed, as portrayed by you, a lack of one. Such a plebeian thing to do. Tut tut”
“Pardon my ordinariness, Highness”
“Pardoned”
Pause. “That was sarcasm”
“So was my reply. Carry on”
A sigh. “So…I mean. Well. You have described feelings of emptiness? ‘Vanity upon Vanity? All is Vanity?’ I believe was how you put it?”
“Isn’t it?”
Pause. “Isn’t it what?”
“Vanity. Pay attention please. Poor as you are,  you can pretend to manage that yes?”
“Yes I ca…huh.”
A frown.
The King examines his nails.
“You know. I find it worrying that this speck of gold under my nail, inanimate as it is, is doing a better job at holding my attention compared to you, a man who wasted four years of his life in a place of learning. What school was that again? Covenant? Hah! What would a heathen know about Covenant?”
Mumbling under breath.
“Say something?”
Flushed. “Eh! No! Yes! You have gold under your nails??”
A long, calculated look.
“Insolence, dear man. Remember whose presence you sit before”
Whispers. “Apologies”
“Mm. To answer your question. Yes, gold. An ornately designed bedpost and a young dark maiden from a faraway land. Well…former maiden”
A shrug.
“Ah. Ok. Good thing you have mentioned that. Let’s talk about it”
Affronted, half-rising. “Talk about what, you filthy man! My nightly activities? You Philistine! Perversion! Guards!”
Two burly Nigerian touts troupe in.
“AH OMO WEREY! YOU DEY CRASE! YOU WAN DIE?”
“Mercy, King! Mercy!”
One breaks a bottle on his own head.
“IF I FIT NACK MYSELF YOU THINK SAY I NO GO NACK YOU!”
Psychologist falls in a dead faint.
King claps and his guards retreat.
He sits back, watching the prone form of the man on the floor.
Whispers. “O-ye-de-po”
Eyes flutter wide  open and he jumps up.
“Please. Take a seat.”
“In..interesting guards”
“Ah yes. Kamaru and Kasali. Came with one of the maidens. I forget which.”
“Ah” Clears throat. “Well, to carry on. I believe you have…698 wives?”
“700. Just 700. I have two alliances to seal with two warring kingdoms.”
“And you marry their daughters?”
“Indeed. It is part of the Peace treaty”
“I know this may be a top-secret information but permit me one question. How?”
A beatific smile. “Well, as you have gracefully admitted to your wholesome ignorance, I shall give an explanation to my actions. For people must admire my wisdom.”
“You have just insulted me. Sir. King”
A raised royal brow. “Problem?”
Pause. “Now, these two warring kingdoms are indeed so because both Kings have failed to produce male offspring. And because of a lingering distrust, one cannot marry off the daughter to another kingdom without the other feeling threatened. In I come, the wisest man to ever walk on earth. That is a fact by the way. God said so himself.”
“Ah..”
“Do not interrupt me. As I said, In I come. I provide a most suitable solution. I marry both dashing damsels and thus, no reason to fear a betrayal.”
“But, who then rules after the Kings die?”
Another beatific smile. “I would. Of course. Wisdom, my good man. Wisdom”
Clears throat. “Would you say your acquiring of maidens both legally and illegally…300 concubines it says here”
“And counting”
“Oh… Ok… Well would you say your predilection for women is an attempt to stifle your boredom that comes with having it all?””
“As alluring as women are, gentle creatures, they do not ‘stifle’ my boredom. They in fact play no part in relieving me of my, as you put it, ‘boredom that comes with having it all’. Quote. Unquote.”
“Don’t you think having 1000 women for yoursels if a bit..i don’t know… over the top?”
“It is?”
“Indeed! You essentially sleep with a whole village of women! How? Do you have a timetable? Some men are single out here. Don’t you think you’re stealing their future brides?”
A suspicious glare. “You do seem very interested in my women, Philistine. Are you married?”
“Eh. No Sir. I’m still young. I’m only 28”
Snort. “Young. How cute. I was already King then, leading God’s own nation.  I had the wealth of many nations. The gold, the onyx, prized horses of Egypt. Ah… good ole days. But we can’t all be successful people can we? I shall pretend to understand your…struggle life. Awks.”
*Sips tea*
“It can pain. One advice. Get a wife. I do not want to see you sniffing where my ladies are kept. Running to hold the horns of the tabernacle would not save you. Ask Joab. Didn’t save him. ”
Nervously clears throat. “I was planning no such thing Sir King”
“Good”
Silence. Shuffling paper.
An impatient sigh. The King arises.
“Er, we’re not done yet Sir. You paid for an hour’s session”
“I’m taking a walk in my garden to talk to the worms in the soil, Mr Psychologist. They most likely would do a better job at alleviating my burden than you have done.”
Mouth wide open.
King stops mid-stride. “Oh and Mr?”
A whisper. “Yes?”
“Kindly return my money to the treasury. I trust you have not soiled them with your fingerprints? I’d have to throw them into a furnace to have them purified of dirt if you have.”
Without waiting for a reply, King Solomon exits the room.
The psychologist is slumped in his seat, rubbing his face. “Man, I hate rich people. Need a fucking psychologist myself!”
A Nigerian servant nearby. “Oga, abeg dey go. Dem say make I sweep you and your dotti comot for this room”
The Psychologist stand angry. “How dare you! Do you know who I am! I graduated with a PhD! PhD!”
Nigerian servant, unfazed. “How dat wan take consign me? If I close my eye open am and you still dey here ehn! I go wipe you dis broom!”
Psychologist quickly exits the room.
Nigerian servant begins sweeping, whistling.

Random 01


And she died.

Ok, this is supposed to be a light hearted non-story post filled to the brim with encouraging words for the week.
But you see, I have a very bad (good) habit of killing things literally. Not literally like literally but literally like litera-really. You feel me? (She asked, sounding like a Yoruba JJC in Yankee)
My habit is so bad (good), it extends to everything I watch. I mean, after two episodes of an anime and no one dies, it’s obviously a sign you’re watching a shoujo not a shounen. In fact,  a shounen is a disgrace to shounens if no one dies in the first episode.
Where am I going with this?  Your guess is as good as mine.
I don’t guess.

I’ll start again.

Good morning, denizens of Earth.
I bring you greeting from a tiny city surrounded by mountains, greenery and sheep.
It’s a sunny day out here and I’m so happy because I know it’s going to be shit soon. (She put on her raincoat in anticipation)
For breakfast, I had  an overripe banana, a burnt half pizza and green tea.
The good, the bad and the ugly.
I leave you to decide which is which.

(Clears throat)

Hear ye!

(Shoots beams of encouragement erratically)

And she died.

Moral lesson: Never use nuclear material as ingredient for ANYTHING.

image

P.S.A + Rapunzel


So two years today, I was in front of my ragged Toshiba laptop finally registering for a blog after coming across stories from Terdoh and Toolsman’s blogs. A lot has changed since then; for one, I’m not using a Toshiba laptop anymore. Lol.
More importantly, I’ve improved immensely in my writing, If i might say so myself.
Most importantly, I’ve met a lot of interesting people that have all inspired, intrigued and also irritated me (Sometimes, all at once!) This is a thank you to everyone that has stuck with Phantompages; old and new comers. I’m grateful.

Readers, I thank you for the time you’ve spent reading my cravies and good and bad stories. For the constructive criticisms, I thank you. And for the love and adulation (Real and imaginary on my part), I thank you.

Writers, I thank you for the Messages and emails asking if I didn’t mind having your stories up here. I thank you for the help you’ve all rendered, keeping this blog alive.

Ah, as usual, special thanks to a couple of people (I could swear I gave these same set of people special thanks last year!): Eddie (For helping me handle the blog when I almost deleted and for being my close friend and Mother all rolled up in one!), Pemi, Ekwe, P.Mantis (Professional Asshole), and last but not the least, my Fire.

Blogging is a pain in the ass you know. And if there’s anything more painful than blogging, it’s being referred to as a Blogger.
I am a writer; I write. I will be an author one day, when my materials and good and ready to be published.

Umm.. run out of things to ‘say’. So, was running through my STORIES file and came across one I wrote for Achiva’s blog as part of a series. Made me chuckle so decided to brush it up more and put it up here.

Thank you once again for all the care and support.
Watashi wa minasan o aishite imasu!

RAPUNZEL

There lived a man and his greedy wife. They were very much in love but they had no child. The man did not leave her, despite the fact that his mother insisted he did so because his wife was a ‘useless woman who used abortion to scatter her womb’. He was in love and he would do anything for her. Of course, his mother didn’t approve and he could bet she has been ‘Casting and Binding’ sine they tied the knot as man and wife.

Beside them lived a Lagos big girl called ‘Aunty Dollars’. Aunty Dollars was notorious for her diabolical means of making money and bringing customers into her hair shop.
Aunty Dollars has this mango tree in her compound and her neighbors could see it. When Aunty Dollars went to Dubai for holiday, the man’s wife, greedy woman, decided she wanted the mango.
She cried and went to her husband.
“Honey I really want those mangoes at Aunty Dollars’ house”
The man was confused. “I can buy you any mango in the market my love. Must it be her own?”
“Yes! If you love me, you’ll get them for me”
The man was unsure of what to do.
His wife’s long throat increased the more time he wasted time. “I will die if I don’t eat Aunty Dollars’ mango o! I will just die here and you will bury me!” the woman wailed.
‘See me see wahala’ the man thought to himself. ‘On top mango again?’
The man tried to endure but the man eventually got tired of his wife’s nagging and deliberate bad cooking and decided to get her the mangoes.
With his heart in his mouth, he jumped fence into Aunty Dollars compound and got the mangoes.
He thought the matter had ended there with his wife.
For where!
The greed in the wife was something else. This woman started behaving like she was the Patroness Saint of Mangoes! She wanted more!
“Your mates are having children and you’re here looking for mangoes! Is it not thunder that will fire you Idiot!” he shouted one day in a rare display of anger.
He ate burnt, bottom-of-the-pot jollof rice and black dodo that night and with repentance in his heart and hunger in his stomach, he stole the mangoes.
Anything to keep his ‘darling’ wife happy; and keep his from purging his intestines out every night.

Until one day…
“Oho!” Aunty Dollars screamed at the base of the tree, cutlass in hand, catching her thieving neighbor unawares. He hadn’t known she had come back!
“Mr. Man! Aha! So you were the one stealing my mangoes ehn? You don die today!”
She sharpened the cutlass on the floor while the man, scared, stayed on the tree, mangoes in hand, pleading the blood of Jesus.
“Please” he begged. “It was the Devil! She sent me!”
“You will go and meet the Devil today. Ole!”
The man begged and begged, promising anything and everything.
Aunty Dollars, diabolical and crazy woman, thought about it and decided to take him up on his offer.
“Seeing as I haven’t been serviced in a while, I want you to sleep with me for a month” She smiled in satisfaction at the shock on the man’s face.
“B..but…But I am a married man!” he protested weakly.
“Oho! Now you remember you are married abi! A married man that steals mangoes abi! Oloshi! Do you want me to call the whole street to gather and burn you?”
The man begged for another bargain, anything but sleeping with her.
Truth is, it would have been easier if Aunty Dollarz was pretty but OH NO!
Aunty Dollars looked like the ugly twin sister of Eniola Badmus; a walking, breathing two bags of beans with legs.
How was he, a lean man, supposed to survive with such a heap of fat in bed? And what if she decided she wanted to ride him? Would cellotape glue his broken bones? Who would pay for his medical bills?
Oti o!
The man pleaded profusely but she was adamant.
“Neighbors o!!! Come o! Ole dey here! Bring tire!” she screeched, her fat buttocks quivering as she ran around her compound.
Fearing jungle justice, the man quickly apologized and agreed to her demands.
Without telling his wife, the man who climbed to steal mangoes, climbed to play his away matches in exchange for a month as was agreed. He would not admit to it but the sight of Aunty Dollarz’s ample mammary set his flag pole straight; compared to his wife’s lemon breasts.
Like a pulsing G, he scored (Proving his mother right that the problem wasn’t really from him). Before the month was over, Aunty Dollars became pregnant.
After nine months she gave birth to a beautiful girl with very light skin.
Thinking to give the girl an exotic name, she named her Rapunzel, after the fairy tale story. As the girl grew, Aunty Dollars noticed her hair was so long and black.
Aunty Dollars had an idea.

During this time, the prince of the land was going through hard times. He had spent his money on women in Saudi Arabia and his father had stopped his allowance permanently. As he was walking, contemplating on his life, he passed by Aunty Dollars’ house.
“Rapunzel! Open the door!” she shouted with impatience.
The Prince was amazed when he saw the beautiful girl that opened the door for the crazy woman everyone in Lagos knew. More so, he couldn’t believe how lovely and long her hair was. It was so long, it actually reached to her knees!
“Haaaaay! Asanwa baby! Obianuju!” he exclaimed to himself. “Erichaamichaaka!”
The Igbo blood in him sang and in his head, he devised a method to make himself rich.
After weeks of monitoring Aunty Dollars’ movement, he knew when she left the town and that was when he decided to strike.
He crept to the side of the house and knocked.
“Rapunzel. Beautiful egg of Life. Open the door please.”
Rapunzel, shocked to hear the voice of a man got curious and opened the door. When the prince entered, he viewed the beautiful Rapunzel and fell at her feet.
“My goddess! Is your name Maggi nne? Because you’re looking spicy!”
Rapunzel blushed.
“To tell you the truth, nne m, if i die now, I want to come back to this world as the dress you’re wearing just to feel your skin on mine AsweartoGod!”
He licked his index finger and touched the ground.
“Stawpeeeet” Rapunzel gushed, flicking her hair.
“Egovine! Tomato Jos! Omalicha! Rapun Rapun! You have stolen my heart, Please take it but give me the change of your love baby!”
Rapunzel, having never been washed like dirty boxers before blushed and fell in love with the prince.
“Am I really spicy?” she asked shyly.
“Yes baby m! You are o! You’re finger lickin’! So beautiful! Oh can I have a piece of your beautiful hair? To remind me of you every day!”
Rapunzel drank the zobo of Life and like a mumu she agreed and the prince chopped off her hair.
The next day, the prince sold it off as Brazilian hair to his vain sister. He smiled as he counted the money.
“Nna mehn! Lekwa correct business!”
And thus, the hairomance continued.

Rapunzel being a part-time mammy-water grew back the hair in no time and seeing this, the prince decided to open a saloon.
When Aunty Dollars came back from her trip, she was shocked to find out about how badly her business was faring. She enquired and found out that the Prince had opened his own hair salon.
Baffled, she went home to contemplate.
Rapunzel being a mumu in love couldn’t help telling her mother about the prince. She told her mother how they had planned their wedding already.
“Mummy he said he will give me the world!”
“The prince? That useless Emeka boy? That Igbo riff raff?”
“Mummy he is so great and romantic! He asks for a piece of my hair as a token of my affection. He’s sewing a shirt for himself made out of my hair. How cute!”
“So he cuts your hair! That explains it! Ori e o da!”
Rapunzel was confused and asked he mother what she meant.
“Idiot! He is just using you! He has opened a hair salon with your stupid hair!”
Rapunzel was shocked and hurt.
“It can’t be!”

She waited for the next time the Prince would come and she confronted him.
“Where’s the shirt of hair you’re sewing darling?”
“Ah My Akwa Ugo! My tailor is a mad man o! He hasn’t finished!”
Rapunzel smiled sweetly, her eyes hard. “Let’s go meet his now.”
“Now?” The Prince became nervous and Rapunzel knew her mother was right.
With anger, she threw the Prince out of her room window and the prince died.
Rapunzel also found out about how her mother was using her too to make money and she blamed her for the Prince’s death. Everyone knew Aunty Dollars’ reputation as a witch and she was arrested for murder.
Rapunzel decided to go into business for herself.

The neighbor, seeing the resemblance between him and Rapunzel one day added 2 and 2 to make 5. His Math was bad but he knew she was his daughter. His wife already had to children from him, both girls.
He told Rapunzel about her parentage and after DNA test proved him as her father, she moved in with him and handed over her business to him.

He later died, and somehow, along the line, her name changed from Rapunzel to Cinderella.

If you get what I just did there…

The End.

——————————————————————–

Have a lovely week people!


“You don’t belong here” he stuttered angrily, wisps of sparse white hair waning as he shook his bony index finger in my face. I could smell the lingering odour of his hotdog lunch on them and wrinkling my nose, I moved his offending finger away from, making sure he noticed me wiping my hand on my trousers.
I chortled in my head at the hue of anger on his pudgy face, his walrus nose visibly flaring as his thin lips quivered
I stepped back.
“Well Mr Smibly” I said calmly, “I belong here just as much as you do. And there is nothing you can do about it”
I smiled sweetly at him and walked away, sitting at a corner where I knew he would be able to see me. I wanted my black ass clearly in his sight.
The racist cunt.

———
He took a deep drag and blew puffs of cigarette smoke into her face. He knew she hated it whenever he did that, which was the main reason why he did it anyway.
She’d complain but would never leave.
That was the nature of their friendship.
“What is love?” he said, repeating her question.
“Love is that special moment spent in between the legs of a street tart at night in Camden. That is love.”
She huffed in irritation.
She always huffed but never went away.
“Seriously! Just talk!” she said in her whiny voice.
He quite liked her voice; even more so when she was moaning in pleasure. It always made him giggle but she never noticed, too caught up in her ecstasy.
Love. What was love?
“Look, let’s forget love ok?”
He blew another into her face and laughed wildly at his antics and her deepening frown.
“Oh come onnn” he cajoled and she smiled a little, her hand subconsciously rubbing her unobvious baby bump.
How was she supposed to get him to love anything but himself?

———-

She smiled at him.
“So… I am going to ask you out” he said rather ceremoniously.
“For breakfast?” A small smile played on her lips.
“Yes, breakfast. Then I’ll ask you out.”
“For lunch?”
“Yes, lunch. Then I’ll ask you out.”
“For dinner?”
She was clearly enjoying herself.
“Yes. dinner. Then I’ll ask you out.”
“For…”
“Stuck?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.
She laughed. “Indeed. I am!”
He grinned and held her hands
“I’ll ask you out to he my girlfriend”
She raised an eyebrow imperiously. “Why?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea”
She burst into a fit of laughter, shaking her head.
“My, aren’t you a charmer…”
“So…?”
She nodded. “Sure”
A sly look crept into his eyes. “Why?”
“Why?”
“Yes, why?”
Imitating him, she shrugged.
“I have no idea”

————–

So, decided to put this up instead of wait till Monday
Wrote these one day on the train and left somewhere in an obscure folder.
Writing it made me smile. Lol.
Oh and a private wink to whom it may concern. 😉

Have a lovely weekend… nah just kidding. 😛
Jana!

Mameh


Hey!
Today’s post is courtesy of yours truly and a deviation from the norm.
Enjoy!

MAMEH

I suddenly remember the little oval scar at my mum’s shoulder. I remember it dark, larvae-like, and memories of how fascinated I had been as a child, of that little oddity makes me smile. When Mameh tied her wrapper to her chest, I’d climb in her laps and sit down, my little hands straying to the scar. I would prod it, pinch it, even attempt to open it which made my mum laugh even though it hurt her. She’d prise my fingers away and tell me to stop touching.

I never could bring myself to ask her the question, intent on discovering for myself the secret of the atypical scar.
One day, I couldn’t hold it in any longer and with the seriousness only a six year old child could muster, I blurted out the question. “Mameh what happened here?”
I remember the small smile that tugged at the corner of her dark, full lips as she  removed my prying fingers for the umpteenth time.
“A nail entered into my back” she said simply and I remember how wide my eyes had gone. I didn’t ask the obvious questions of “How or When?” even though I was burning to.
I was that kind of child.
All I did was absorb this new piece of information in silence as my mind tried to picture the nail Papa had once shown me during one of his DIY repairs, doing the damage.

After minutes of ruminating, my little mind got tired.
“Did it hurt?” I asked finally.
“Of course!” she exclaimed, laughing at the memory as her fingers played with my tough black hair that seemed to tangle at the slightest opportunity.
“Very bad?” I asked again.
“Very bad. It bled a lot.”
Again, I absorbed this new piece of information. The idea of blood gushing out like a fountain I had seen at the amusement park Mameh took me to once made me smile. Again, I had been that kind of child; fascinated with the bizarre.
I inferred at that moment that my mum had cried when she had that injury. I suddenly giggled and my mum looked at me in askance.
I was wondering what her face must have been like when she cried. Did she have catarrh dripping down her nose like I did when I cried as I begged Papa to take me with him on his journey to Yola or when Mameh put vegetables in front of me and forced me to eat the vile greenies?
“You cried mummy!”

Note, this hadn’t been a question. Was it the excitement in my voice or the look of absolute triumph in my fce? She laughed long and hard! I remember her laugh now; unrestrained and full, as if coming from the very pits of her rotund stomach. Her breasts would jiggle against me with the force of exhalation like it did that day.
“No o! I did not cry! Big girls don’t cry!”
Now, I laughed too. She was obviously lying. I didn’t know how I knew this. I just did. It was the glint in her eyes; the glint she had whenever she wanted me to help her ask Papa for money. I was an astute child; Mameh always said I had an uncanny way of ‘knowing’ things. She’d later chide my ‘knowing’ as I got older. “Ask questions! Don’t assume!” Not that I ever see the need to; my assumptions are always right.

My fascination with her scar lessened as I got older. In fact, up until now, I hadn’t thought about that oval scar in years.

I stare at her impassive face now and suddenly, the urge to feel that little mark fills my head. I lick my lips, fighting for control of my fingers. I fight the urge to stretch my hand and push the starched white shirt they’ve put on her and feel her scar like a doctor feels for a tumour. It had been our bonding point.
I giggle as hysteria tries to take chunks out of my mind and I feel my elder brother’s worried stare beside me.
I smile at him. ‘I am fine’ my smile says even though my eyes tell a different story.
I stroke her cool face, marvelling at the mortician’s skills in making her look presentable. She looks almost…alive.
For a second, I thought I saw her lips twitch, the beginning of a smile. I blink quickly and it’s gone.
It is when I feel my brother’s arms around that I realise I had been in tears.
“Big girl don’t cry” I whisper to the woman I loved since the day I ‘knew’ her. “But I am not a big girl… I still want my mummy…”

I hold her hands for a second and feeling the insistent tug from my brother, I decide to move away from the casket, making space for other viewers.
A small song she used to sing comes unbidden to my head and I murmur softly.

“Good night. Good night.
Close your eyes, Keep them safe.
For soon will be morning…”

My voice threatens to break as emotions well up in me, clogging my throat.  I cannot complete the song.
“And you would need them healthy then…” my brother murmurs, finishing the song.
I smile up at him.
“ I’m fine” I tell him again, trembling smile in place.
He pulls me into his arms and hugs  me tight as sudden powerful sobs rack my body.
He murmurs the song over and over again to me, rocking me like a child; just like the way Mameh did when she sang the song to us as children.

Akuko Ilu


Hey!
Today, we’re doing something different (again!).
So PM brought two hilarious and interesting posts to my attention and they were stories made entirely with clichéd idioms.
Check out the stories http://thisismycorn.wordpress.com/2013/02/13/cliche-touche/ and http://thisismycorn.wordpress.com/2013/02/20/the-show-must-go-on-chapter-2/
We decided I could give it a Nigerian spin so I decided to try it out with Igbo proverbs.
You are permitted to read this in Pete Edochie’s voice. Lol
Enjoy!

AKUKO ILU

Okoro woke up that morning thinking all was well in the land of the living. What he did not know was that trouble had come to break kolanut with him early in the morning.
When he heard the voice of his troublesome wife Njideka screaming his name, he knew that Ekete had revealed its buttocks in the market place.

He jumped up, tying his wrapper hastily, getting ready to face his wife; after all, the tortoise said that it always travelled with its musical instrument in case it met other musicians.

She barged into the room and with one look at her face, Okoro knew he was going to eat headache for breakfast.

He made to carry his cutlass, in a bid to escape to the farm on the pretext that he had to look for the black goat in the day time before night came but his wife had decided that morning that it was the head that disturbed the wasp that the wasp would sting.

She held on to his wrapper and screamed at him but Okoro kept his peace, seeing as it took only a matchstick to start a bush fire.

She was asking for her usual; Ego this. Ego that.

He laughed and shook his head at her. His wife was like a chicken and the chicken he was carrying on his head did not know that the road was long. Didn’t she know that present situations have taken the form of a coconut?

Ah, but he could blame no one but himself. What a young man could not see standing on top a tall Iroko tree, the experienced aged man already observed squatting on the grass mat. He had been warned by his parents not to marry Njideka but he refused and true to form, the stubborn fly followed a corpse into the grave.

He sighed.
He had to try settling her with tact because the tsetse fly perched on the scrotum had to be chased away with extreme care. Although he was physically stronger than his wife, the man who woke in the morning and found himself being pursued by a chicken ran for his life for he didn’t know whether the chicken had grown teeth overnight.

His friends always mocked his inability to handle his  irascible wife; what they called his weakness but he never minded them. Only the man who ate palm kernel in the morning understood the language of famine. Moreover, Wisdom is like a goat skin bag, every man carries his own. This was the way he chose to carry his!

He gently told her to be patient because there was no road close at hand that led to Onitsha. He tried to complain about her manners and she reminded him that it was only when a young man lacked money that he complained his wife’s manners were not good.

He laughed at her blaming poverty for her manners. Would she be any better if it were different? If the bird who had not perched on a tree gives off twenty excretions, when it finally perches on a tree, how many excretions would it give off?

She claimed she was a good person and he laughed and told her it was impossible because Dinta had not reported the lack of excrement in the forest.

After her clamouring, she began to cry, throwing herself on the floor of their room. He sighed and sat down.

She and her impossible demands.

He drew nearer to her and held her close because an adult does not sit and watch while the she-goat suffers the pain of childbirth tied to a post. He wiped her tears and told her that he could be like the rich husbands of her friends who waste money. He was only trying to count his teeth with his tongue. If he wanted to swallow a mango seed, wouldn’t he first of all calculate the diameter of his anus? He could only do the best he could.

Things would get better soon, he assured her.

She grumbled in her usual fashion but nodded and he smiled at her but in his mind, he knew she would still repeat her tantrums the next day.

After all, isn’t the yam thief carving tools to dig for yam in his mind even when you are giving him advice?

She would try again tomorrow, he knew; but for now, he was free.

O’er the Hills


O’er the Hills

The bell tolled low at the hilltop and slowly, the voices of the monks rose to the heavens in rolling waves from the monastery. They echoed over the hill and down the valley, tumbling through the rushes. The wind sighed, playing an accompaniment with the blades of overgrown grasses beating against each other softly; a susurrus of murmured hallelujahs.
The skies wept softly, joining in the instrumental as the pitter-patter of raindrops tickled the aural senses.

She stood there at the foot of the hill, red hair matted on her pale face, dull grey cloths moulded to her lithe frame, drenched in the rain; listening. Her nostrils widened, taking in the smell of the rich, damp earth. Her hands crept to her throat, eyes wide with wonder and shiny as they quivered with unshed tears. She swallowed soundlessly as the melodic humming washed over her.
Unthinking, she pushed one foot in front of the other, walking. Her bare feet dug into the wet ground, wet clomps of soil finding refuge in the spaces between her toes and in her toenails.
She trekked up the hill; stumbling but kept going, not saying a word, as if any sound from her would break the lightly woven magic.
Like a mage, without no gifts; the voices, her guiding star to where her musical Messiah would lay.
She knew no fatigue, her body knew no weariness. The sweet sounding harmony nourishing her limbs with strength when she faltered.

Suddenly, she panicked.
The nearer she walked to the monastery, the fainter the music got.
Her heart knocked in her chest hard.
She ran; her hands flailing as if trying to urge the singers to carry on, urging the music to stay.

She finally got to the old monastery and stood in front of the old wooden door, breathing hard.
The music had stopped.
She choked on a sob, her lips trembling as she struggled to contain herself.  With shaking hands, she pushed at the wooden doors until they opened, a dark womb letting her in. She walked into the gloomy chapel, feet taking care to walk carefully, as if the slightest noise could…what?

It was empty.

Her vivid green eyes suddenly went wide.

Where…?

She let out a single gasp.
Her pale face turned sickly white and like a lone wilting rose, she swayed on her feet and ungracefully, fell, a crumpled heap of the dull and the damp.
Her ears picked up faint footsteps and she tried in vain to get up, to see them.
They came into her view, brown hooded figures, making a circle around her.
She stretched a hand weakly, help? a command to continue?
She stopped short.

Bones.
They had bones where flesh should be, peeking from beneath their robes.
Her thin mouth rounded in a feeble ‘O’.

Suddenly the singing began again.
She sighed and slowly, her eyes flickered to a close, eyelashes kissing each other.

One of the figures carried her gently and slowly, they all walked, disappearing like the early morning mist after the first rays of sunshine. Their music trembled faintly in the air after they had gone, like a whispered goodbye to a lover before it too, disappeared.

**************

Never go up the hill, the locals would caution their wide-eyed children.
‘Beware the music’, they would say in hushed tones. ‘Beware the hill, the snatcher of souls’.

The hill calls; the hill beckons.

Resist it…

Resist the music…

———————————————————————————————————————————————-

This was written under the influence of this ——> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FKtBpuLrI2s

Listen and be calmed.

Have a lovely day.

Day 26


I hope everyone had a good day yesterday- eating,drinking et alia. I am jealous. No. Really. I am hungry. (  ,_,)

As today is Boxing day, this is officially the day you get to open all the presents you receive yesterday. Or a day to get over your hangover if you’re Black. Negroes don’t do gifts. -_-.

Let us all take today to remember the little  gifts we have in our lives; the ones we often take for granted.

The gift of Life: You’re alive today. Someone didn’t live to see today. Someone almost didn’t live to see today. Take a little time out to thank God/Science/Voodoo/Whatever you believe in for the fact that you breathe.

The gift of Love: Not particularly Eros. Love for family. Love for friends. Love for the lovers. Love for spouses. Let us appreciate our ability to feel something. Being dead inside isn’t fun.

The gift of Internet: Lol. YES! Thank heavens for my internet provider without whom I’d have failed a lot of school work. 😀

The gift of sustenance: There is hunger and there is starvation. You are not starving (I hope). Be grateful for that.

The gift of Good friends: Good friends are good. Never neglect those people that are always ready to help when you’re in trouble. They might never talk to you often (like me) and they might even forget your birthday (like me) but you know if you call for help, they’ve got your back. Bless God for them.

The gift of a smile: Can’t explain this. Linked tohappiness.

There are so many gifts we can appreciate. Sight, Sound, Colour, Books! LORD BOOKS! THANK YOU!
We might not have gotten the latest iPhone or the latest fashion accessories but hey, material things don’t matter much when you think about the fact that some people have these things but are not alive to use them.

Anyway, I am done!
I will see you when I see you.
Leave your curtain open; Love watching you sleep. -.-

Day 19 – Sakura Blooms


Allo mes amies! Ça va?
Decided to take a leaf out of Mae Gregory’s book and do a time capsule for my memories of 2012. Do check out Mae’s blog on here -> http://stickyfingersxo.wordpress.com/

————————————————————————

SAKURA BLOOMS

12 months, each with their own troubles; with their own blessings.
I cannot remember the earlier months, of course. This is probably because nothing spectacular happened in them.
Actually, something did, Me. I remained alive.
I remember March; not because it is my birth month or because I remember my birthday, but because of the amount of stress I went through with course works.
April. May. June.
Relationship shook. New friends made. New discoveries about myself; about my capabilities as a human.
I use human as opposed to person because human denotes sides of the emotional.
Like a chemical reaction, old bonds broke and new bonds formed. Not an equilibrium reaction so there’s no going back.
LOL at my little scientific humour. Don’t worry if you don’t get it. Not about to teach you Le Chatelier’s Principle.
July to September.
Decisions to make bugged. To remain safe or to? To open up or not to? To take risks or not to?
I took it head on.
Not the easiest choices to make, but I have absolutely no regrets.
October to December.
The wait. The trickle of rejection. The waves of indecision and depression. I got over it.
Again, new bonds formed. Another chemistry in action.
God happened in my life. Strengthened me more. I know i’m a shit head on a good day but He hasn’t given up on my naughty self yet.
He gave me rain and I expect a bumper harvest soon.
He gave me fire to refine me like gold.
He gave me another Fire to complete my soul.
Spoke to my dad for the first time after six years of silence. In less than sixty seconds of conversation, I realized how much I had missed him. I realized how much I allowed myself channel this feeling through my hate. Through my hate, he remained with me. In less than sixty seconds, I realized how much I actually do still love him, annoying and irresponsible as his deeds were.
After some hours of turmoil, I decided it was actually OK to miss him and love him. I probably came to this decision late but better late than never.

The year isn’t over yet and I know many more good things would happen.
Decided to put like a ship in bottle, all my worries – my fears, my bitterness, my rage, my mood swings – into a bottle large enough to contain them.
I’ve decided to take that bottle with me to a beach and toss it into a sea; watch it float away.
That is what I’ve put in my time capsule. And I have sent it back in time where it would hurt me no more.

Sakura blooms, radiant with life and colour.
So will I…
So will I.

And you too!
Jana!

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