Hey guys...so it has been a VERY hot minute, but I didn't forget you o! lai lai!!! School is crazy, education is seriously not a joke mehn..but I'm working it, one step at a time..
In this new year, I'm thankful most especially for life, God's unconditional goodness (Thank you Daddy), and my awesomely ROCKING family!!!
Aside..
I really appreciate ALL the comments on the proses and poem..thanks guys..you all help me hone my skills
Digression..
Apparently, I NEED a boyfriend as voiced by various people, I too I'm beginning to seriously consider this notion and as such I have decided blogsville willl be the perfect spot.... All interested GENTLEMEN apply within (via comments).
CRITERIA
Minimum requirements
Passionate about JESUS = Jesus Freak
Bachelors degree in a lucrative field (a PHD may propel you to the front of the resume stack)
Exquisitely furnished face and of considerable height (by considerable we mean 5' 6" and above)
Excellent culinary and hair styling skills
Excellent sense of dress and color combination
Must possess character, integrity, and that IGBO swag! (*candidates do not have to be Nigerian/ Igbo to possess said Igbo swag).
Must be humble, attentive, driven, leading, compromising, and supporting (in all facets - career- wise, family etc)
Inquisitive palate
Must be a feminist (believer in equal rights for MEN and WOMEN, male chauvinists will be promptly kicked to the curb!!)
Additional Propellants (factors that are not requirements but may propel you to the top of the stack)
Willingness to have a trophy gf/wife
Willingness to sponsor trophy gf/wife on EXTRAVAGANT louboutin shoe shopping sprees
Willingness to take gf/wife AROUND THE ENTIRE WORLD (No, not in the confines of a bed, this is literal people!)
Willingness to cater to gf/wife's every whim and fancy
Willingness to be gf/wife's mule/ beast of burden (in a very SWEET WAY of course)
* This position is open to ONLY HETEROSEXUAL men. (No Bisexuals, Homosexuals, MSM, or transexuals)
**Transvestites may apply, but only those who engage in transvestism for cultural purposes.
*** Subsequent changes may be made to Criteria.
FAQ
Q:Why should I choose you?
A: Have you seen the profile picture/blogfile pic? Such Luscious hair....your fingers will never be cold again.
Q: It seems you want to be a trophy wife, how is that supposed to help me? I thought relationships were supposed to be about two people building and helping one another grow?
A: You are quite right, and this is what this relationship will involve...I shall be building and enhancing your travel experience and dossier, in addition to your reputation at Christian Louboutin. Moreover, I shall fill your ears with intellectual chatter....I shall be your Dostoevsky, Kant, however you like it sire... I can even be Dickens. You will not need the CNN female versions of Don Lemon or Anderson Cooper. I shall be IT bay-bay!!
And on that note, I leave with a HAPPY NEW YEAR GUYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Today, He let me in albeit safely
MY BIRTH
Today, I am five years of a quarter of a century shy
Today, on a Wednesday two decades ago, she pushed and wept
My crowning head, curly and bloody
I came in, when he kissed and let go, a wailing infant marked by his seal
Today, two decades ago, I brought pain and then effulgent joy
Today, two decades ago, He let me in
Today, I am five years of a quarter of a century shy
Today, on a Wednesday two decades ago, she pushed and wept
My crowning head, curly and bloody
I came in, when he kissed and let go, a wailing infant marked by his seal
Today, two decades ago, I brought pain and then effulgent joy
Today, two decades ago, He let me in
Thursday, November 19, 2009
ORION'S BELT IV
Chai!!! I've been so MIA!!! jeez!!
Myne has gone and started another story in my absence, but won't you finish Gladys' story Myne??? I feel so outta the loop!! I have to go and catch up on the blog entries I've missed!!
And here's the FINAL entry, enjoy guys and critique!!!
P.S - I'm not ignoring you Myne, I will get to your concern in a bit
@ Rethots, thank you for your comments..*I blush and yes, I will respond to them, soon.
ORION'S BELT IV
*****************************************
“Death for us all, but his own death to each – Albert Camus”
Lagos, Nigeria July 2007.
Uncle Festus’ expiring prophecy business blossomed into a thriving household name, our raffia mats soon became plastic chairs, his high stool an embellished throne-like high chair, and our clientele was fast expanding to include the upper crust of Lagos society. We had moved to a new house and a huge white banner outside it proclaimed “Holy Festus and Prophet Solomon” in bold red font. The banner was tied to two wooden poles erected in front of our new temple, a small room that was in the back of our newly built bungalow, a far cry from our former “holy” room. In a span of six months, our customer list had quadrupled and so had the gifts and cash offerings to Jah. The plastic bowl had become a red embroidered satin bag that only housed five hundred naira notes and higher denominations, as the almost inconspicuous thread on the side read, apparently a lot of people wanted their enemies dead and if Jah was doing the killing, who were they to argue?
My life as Prophet Solomon was good; I would touch a customer and get a glimpse or a vision of their adversary’s death, I was respected and business was booming. At first, seeing death and funerals had scared me, I refused to be a part of Uncle Festus’ hoax after I saw my first vision as Solomon but when my first customer came back with five thousand crisp naira notes and thanked me effusively for the death of her husband’s mistress I was enticed and then persuaded.
I convinced myself that I was only a tool in the hands of Almighty Jah as Uncle Festus had put it, I did not have a hand in these deaths and I was actually helping people, Amaka disagreed however.
*********************************************
“You call it madness, but I call it love – Don Byas”
Amaka, my heart, we had begun a whirlwind romance after my first few weeks in Lagos, It had started off with winks as we passed each other in the compound and then stolen kisses under the shade of the mango tree when night had come and only the spirits walked the earth. We would lay under the tree on Amaka’s old wrapper watching the stars but not really thinking about them. I would look at her as she watched the stars, thinking how plain but beautiful she looked, she would catch me staring and poke her elbow playfully into my side “We are supposed to be looking for Orion’s Belt” she would say. Amaka loved science and school and insects and she talked endlessly of her dream of owning a school. At first she was going to name it ‘Ekwensi Grammar School’ after her then favorite Nigerian author Cyprian Ekwensi and then she found Sidney Sheldon and decided ‘The Sheldon Nigerian School’ was more appropriate. She was like a pendulum on a string, oscillating and wavering and that was one of the many things that drew me to her.
She had gone off to continue boarding school after two months and we had written letters to each other, at first my letters were always sent back with red lines drawn across words and corrections written above them. She meant well I knew, it was the teacher in her, but it irritated me and so I got Obinna, my neighbor in secondary school to start writing the letters. She marveled out how my lexicon and subject-tense agreement had improved she said in the first letter she sent back after Obinna took up writing the letters, I smiled when Obinna told me what lexicon meant and told him to write “it was all for you babe” in response.
“We are lovers separated by space, but like the stars in Orion’s belt our hearts still beat as one” I had said in one of the letters Obinna had written. In response, she sent me a CD by Luther Vandross that contained only one song – Endless Love. My belly felt like I had just dropped from a high point on those amusement park rides every time I listened to the song. I imagined dancing with Amaka under the mango tree and kissing her until I could taste the pepper soup she had for dinner on my tongue. In June, she wrote that she was coming back to spend four whole months at home, I was exuberant and ecstatic. So ecstatic, that Uncle Festus asked me if I was dipping my fingers into his palm wine kegs, I shook my head and said I was just excited, he peered at me his eyes dancing above his reading glasses and nodded knowingly “I understand”
***********************************************
Lagos, Nigeria July 2007.
“Nigerian Hitler Uw Uw Uw” she screeched clapping her hand over her mouth in a mocking fashion as she pushed me roughly out of their living quarters. “You want to kill Amaka for me abi?” “Tufiakwa!” she said spitting into the sand, Amaka stood in front of the door watching helplessly as her mother shoved me further into the street, her eyes begging my forgiveness. I left their house with only one sandal on my foot, that night Amaka came to me “What a homecoming eh?” she said offering me my sandal “Yes, indeed” I replied. “I am sorry about Mama” she said “But do you really kill people Amadi?” I usually loved Amaka’s bluntness but tonight it was like a blow to the chest. “No, Amaka” I replied, hurt that she would think so low of me, “So, explain...I’m trying to understand here Amadi!” she said impatiently. I began to explain my visions and what Uncle Festus and I had been doing for the past four months that she had been away in school. She listened raptly, caught up in my story and when I finished and let go of my breath that I didn’t realize I had been holding, she kneaded my shoulders gently and said she still loved me but that she could not be with me if I continued killing people. I was astounded “I just explained to you” I said. “It’s me or Prophet Solomon” she said and left me speechless as she made her way into the night.
*************************************************
Lagos, Nigeria July 2007
I was a dead man walking; my eyes were sunken and bloodshot from weeks of sleep deprivation, my collar bone was starting to jut out at an increasingly odd angle and my skin had taken on the sickly shade of tangelos. “Biko, Eat something” Aunty Mary begged me, she was holding a tray that held a plate of jollof rice and she looked as if she was going to burst into tears at any moment. “I’m not really hungry Aunty” I said “And my mouth is dry, maybe water?” She promptly filled a tumbler with water for me watching me as I gulped it down. “Amadi, you have been like this now for two weeks, what is it?” “You can talk to me Amadi, you are like my own son” she said as tears pooled in her eyes, I wiped them with the back of my hand and looked at her intently. She was truly the mother I never had “It is my heart, Aunty” I said as my face fell, she held my hand in hers clinging to it for a long time and then she kissed it “Follow it” she said and she left my room leaving the food tray behind.
***********************************************
The darkness was comforting and reassuring, like a bulletproof vest only it was not made of Kevlar. I felt the brick wall, rough and gritty under my hands and then my hand bumped into the doorknob. Quietly, I turned it “Amaka” I whispered into the darkness, a torch flicked on “Who’s there?” came a raspy voice as the beam of light hit my face. “Amadi?” she asked surprised, the sleepiness had vanished and I put down my duffel bag. “Yes. I wanted to tell you that I miss you Amaka” “At this...” “I love you” I said cutting her off, “Prophet Solomon is gone! Run away with me?” I begged, she smiled and then ran into my arms “The appropriate term is elope, my dear” she laughed tickling my chin. “Can we dance?” I asked “Now?” “Yes, now my love” I said pulling her with me out of the room.
We danced under the mango tree as I hummed Luther Vandross’ Endless love, the night sounds of crickets and owls providing an orchestra and then we kissed as the moon smiled upon us and the taste of last night’s pepper soup lingered in my mouth. “Amadi, look!” she said pointing at the sky, I looked “It’s Orion’s Belt!” she said excitedly “It’s has three stars” I replied. “Yes, two hearts that beat as one and then there was a third” she said. She winked and I smiled, and then she laughed and I lost myself in her.
Myne has gone and started another story in my absence, but won't you finish Gladys' story Myne??? I feel so outta the loop!! I have to go and catch up on the blog entries I've missed!!
And here's the FINAL entry, enjoy guys and critique!!!
P.S - I'm not ignoring you Myne, I will get to your concern in a bit
@ Rethots, thank you for your comments..*I blush and yes, I will respond to them, soon.
ORION'S BELT IV
*****************************************
“Death for us all, but his own death to each – Albert Camus”
Lagos, Nigeria July 2007.
Uncle Festus’ expiring prophecy business blossomed into a thriving household name, our raffia mats soon became plastic chairs, his high stool an embellished throne-like high chair, and our clientele was fast expanding to include the upper crust of Lagos society. We had moved to a new house and a huge white banner outside it proclaimed “Holy Festus and Prophet Solomon” in bold red font. The banner was tied to two wooden poles erected in front of our new temple, a small room that was in the back of our newly built bungalow, a far cry from our former “holy” room. In a span of six months, our customer list had quadrupled and so had the gifts and cash offerings to Jah. The plastic bowl had become a red embroidered satin bag that only housed five hundred naira notes and higher denominations, as the almost inconspicuous thread on the side read, apparently a lot of people wanted their enemies dead and if Jah was doing the killing, who were they to argue?
My life as Prophet Solomon was good; I would touch a customer and get a glimpse or a vision of their adversary’s death, I was respected and business was booming. At first, seeing death and funerals had scared me, I refused to be a part of Uncle Festus’ hoax after I saw my first vision as Solomon but when my first customer came back with five thousand crisp naira notes and thanked me effusively for the death of her husband’s mistress I was enticed and then persuaded.
I convinced myself that I was only a tool in the hands of Almighty Jah as Uncle Festus had put it, I did not have a hand in these deaths and I was actually helping people, Amaka disagreed however.
*********************************************
“You call it madness, but I call it love – Don Byas”
Amaka, my heart, we had begun a whirlwind romance after my first few weeks in Lagos, It had started off with winks as we passed each other in the compound and then stolen kisses under the shade of the mango tree when night had come and only the spirits walked the earth. We would lay under the tree on Amaka’s old wrapper watching the stars but not really thinking about them. I would look at her as she watched the stars, thinking how plain but beautiful she looked, she would catch me staring and poke her elbow playfully into my side “We are supposed to be looking for Orion’s Belt” she would say. Amaka loved science and school and insects and she talked endlessly of her dream of owning a school. At first she was going to name it ‘Ekwensi Grammar School’ after her then favorite Nigerian author Cyprian Ekwensi and then she found Sidney Sheldon and decided ‘The Sheldon Nigerian School’ was more appropriate. She was like a pendulum on a string, oscillating and wavering and that was one of the many things that drew me to her.
She had gone off to continue boarding school after two months and we had written letters to each other, at first my letters were always sent back with red lines drawn across words and corrections written above them. She meant well I knew, it was the teacher in her, but it irritated me and so I got Obinna, my neighbor in secondary school to start writing the letters. She marveled out how my lexicon and subject-tense agreement had improved she said in the first letter she sent back after Obinna took up writing the letters, I smiled when Obinna told me what lexicon meant and told him to write “it was all for you babe” in response.
“We are lovers separated by space, but like the stars in Orion’s belt our hearts still beat as one” I had said in one of the letters Obinna had written. In response, she sent me a CD by Luther Vandross that contained only one song – Endless Love. My belly felt like I had just dropped from a high point on those amusement park rides every time I listened to the song. I imagined dancing with Amaka under the mango tree and kissing her until I could taste the pepper soup she had for dinner on my tongue. In June, she wrote that she was coming back to spend four whole months at home, I was exuberant and ecstatic. So ecstatic, that Uncle Festus asked me if I was dipping my fingers into his palm wine kegs, I shook my head and said I was just excited, he peered at me his eyes dancing above his reading glasses and nodded knowingly “I understand”
***********************************************
Lagos, Nigeria July 2007.
“Nigerian Hitler Uw Uw Uw” she screeched clapping her hand over her mouth in a mocking fashion as she pushed me roughly out of their living quarters. “You want to kill Amaka for me abi?” “Tufiakwa!” she said spitting into the sand, Amaka stood in front of the door watching helplessly as her mother shoved me further into the street, her eyes begging my forgiveness. I left their house with only one sandal on my foot, that night Amaka came to me “What a homecoming eh?” she said offering me my sandal “Yes, indeed” I replied. “I am sorry about Mama” she said “But do you really kill people Amadi?” I usually loved Amaka’s bluntness but tonight it was like a blow to the chest. “No, Amaka” I replied, hurt that she would think so low of me, “So, explain...I’m trying to understand here Amadi!” she said impatiently. I began to explain my visions and what Uncle Festus and I had been doing for the past four months that she had been away in school. She listened raptly, caught up in my story and when I finished and let go of my breath that I didn’t realize I had been holding, she kneaded my shoulders gently and said she still loved me but that she could not be with me if I continued killing people. I was astounded “I just explained to you” I said. “It’s me or Prophet Solomon” she said and left me speechless as she made her way into the night.
*************************************************
Lagos, Nigeria July 2007
I was a dead man walking; my eyes were sunken and bloodshot from weeks of sleep deprivation, my collar bone was starting to jut out at an increasingly odd angle and my skin had taken on the sickly shade of tangelos. “Biko, Eat something” Aunty Mary begged me, she was holding a tray that held a plate of jollof rice and she looked as if she was going to burst into tears at any moment. “I’m not really hungry Aunty” I said “And my mouth is dry, maybe water?” She promptly filled a tumbler with water for me watching me as I gulped it down. “Amadi, you have been like this now for two weeks, what is it?” “You can talk to me Amadi, you are like my own son” she said as tears pooled in her eyes, I wiped them with the back of my hand and looked at her intently. She was truly the mother I never had “It is my heart, Aunty” I said as my face fell, she held my hand in hers clinging to it for a long time and then she kissed it “Follow it” she said and she left my room leaving the food tray behind.
***********************************************
The darkness was comforting and reassuring, like a bulletproof vest only it was not made of Kevlar. I felt the brick wall, rough and gritty under my hands and then my hand bumped into the doorknob. Quietly, I turned it “Amaka” I whispered into the darkness, a torch flicked on “Who’s there?” came a raspy voice as the beam of light hit my face. “Amadi?” she asked surprised, the sleepiness had vanished and I put down my duffel bag. “Yes. I wanted to tell you that I miss you Amaka” “At this...” “I love you” I said cutting her off, “Prophet Solomon is gone! Run away with me?” I begged, she smiled and then ran into my arms “The appropriate term is elope, my dear” she laughed tickling my chin. “Can we dance?” I asked “Now?” “Yes, now my love” I said pulling her with me out of the room.
We danced under the mango tree as I hummed Luther Vandross’ Endless love, the night sounds of crickets and owls providing an orchestra and then we kissed as the moon smiled upon us and the taste of last night’s pepper soup lingered in my mouth. “Amadi, look!” she said pointing at the sky, I looked “It’s Orion’s Belt!” she said excitedly “It’s has three stars” I replied. “Yes, two hearts that beat as one and then there was a third” she said. She winked and I smiled, and then she laughed and I lost myself in her.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
ORION'S BELT III
Hey guys, here's Instalment three, Enjoy and Critique!
***********************************************
“There is a noble manner of being poor, and who does not know it will never be rich - Seneca”
Lagos, Nigeria January 2007.
Shouts of “Pure water tutu re” rang out distinctly amidst a mélange of the cries of other hawkers peddling their goods and roused me from my slumber. “Pure water pure water” the voice called again: it was a shrill voice, unmistakably feminine, fragile and delicate, like earthenware in a kiln and it sounded like it might break if it went a chord higher.
I found her in the crowd and watched, observing, she wore a plain dress with a flowery pattern, she looked to be about fifteen, and she had rolled her wrapper into a circle and placed it on her head as a cushion for the sweating bowl that contained nylon sachets of water nestled against blocks of ice. She looked back abruptly and caught me staring, then she winked and lifted the bowl in question, I shook my head and smiled back, I was in Lagos.
“Ah, you’re awake” Uncle Festus said slapping my thigh, “Are you hungry?” he asked and I nodded. He popped his head out of the bus window and yelled “Gala Gala”, a young man wearing a rumpled greased-stained singlet ran up to him and lifted a carton bearing the Gala logo with a cow outlined on its sides to the window. Uncle Festus picked two sausage rolls and cautiously inspected them for some malady or defect and then finally settled on one. He handed the man some money and as he turned to go Uncle Festus yelled as if he had already left the commerce window “Abeg help me call the Fanyogo man”, “yessir” the man answered and disappeared into the throng of people. The Fanyogo man appeared seconds later “Which one you want Sir? I get cho-ko-late, vanilla, and straw-berry” he asked, breathlessly running up to our bus that was now moving from the Yaba market traffic. “Amadi?” he asked “Chocolate” I replied. The man, still running vigorously, dipped his hand into the improvised cooler: rectangular cut carton with thick nylon swathed over it, filled with ice and stacked with packaged yogurts and frozen flavored ice, and handed Uncle Festus the yogurt. He dove for the paper floating to the ground and barely caught it as Uncle Festus threw the money out of the window and the bus launched into full speed.
I woke up to the sound of clanging bells and Uncle Festus chanting off key in a sing-song manner “Holy Michael, Holy Gabriel, Ho-lee Ho-lee” he cried. I rolled over on my mattress and onto the floor; my mattress was a thin flattened piece of foam not quite covered with its threadbare cloth and almost disappearing into the floor it sat on. The air smelled of my sweat, sewer debris, and the faint hint of fried fish wafted in through the window. Last night had been exhausting, I had met Aunty Mary - Uncle Festus’ wife, an animated plump woman who hugged me and pressed my head to her bosom cooing and aahing over how much I had grown. We finally sat down to a dinner of boiled black-eyed beans in a spicy palm oil stew on plastic chairs in the parlor, after Aunty Mary had tired of making observations about the shape of my ears, and how my nose was remarkably like Adaku’s and then Uncle Festus commenced his too long talk about his “job” and its entailments.
He had announced to me proudly that he was a prophet and that I would be joining him as an apprentice in his prophet business to earn my stay, since Adaku had told him I possessed the powers to augur the future. I immediately informed him that I possessed no such powers and that I had only had one very vivid dream where I saw my only friend die and days later he was gone. Uncle Festus had laughed and said it did not matter whether I possessed powers or not, once word got out that I had foretold Uzo’s death I would become a powerful prophet, and it would help if I was able to predict one or two more events correctly. Curious and perplexed, I had asked Uncle Festus “What, If I don’t dream anything?” in response he shook his head from side to side with a grin as wide as his face would allow and answered “You formulate!”. “Formulate?” I asked, “Ah, village boy...I forget, it means you make up a quack vision, anything you like!” Uncle Festus said, smiling triumphantly like he had just discovered the cure for AIDS. “Oh? Isn’t that criminal?” I asked my eyes as wide as Aunty Mary’s China saucers. The slap to the back of head came first and then Uncle Festus’ acerbity “Stupid boy! Are you calling me a common criminal in my own house?” I shook my head solemnly and fixed my eyes on my almost empty plate, “We shall change your name to Solomon, it is more Christian” Uncle Festus declared as his chair scraped the cement floor and he got up to leave.
I got up from my mattress, stretching and yawning, I smoothed my boxers that had ridden up in my sleep and then made my way to the communal bathroom outside, my towel slung across my neck. I entered into the tiny bathroom carefully twisting my body and the bucket of water to avoid rubbing my arms on the slimy algae covered cement walls. Fifteen minutes later I was out, my towel wrapped around my waist, my bucket and soap dish in hand, and then I saw her. She had a deep blue towel tied across her breasts with mounds of tan chocolate flesh peeking out and her towel skimmed her knees. She looked my naked torso over and winked again like she had done yesterday, I smiled “let me” I said, reaching for her bucket of water, she placed the bucket on the ground “Amaka” she said, her eyes smiling, “Amadi” I replied, lifting her bucket.
Despite my bath seconds ago, I now smelled like incense and woodsy smoke, I hurriedly donned the blood red garb of muslin and secured the free flowing garment with a white sash around my waist. “Hurry!” Uncle Festus snorted impatiently as I slid my feet into the worn leather sandals he had given me, “Customers will soon be arriving” he said and plopped a huge white chef-like hat onto my head, adjusting it till it was in place, looking me over he sighed satisfactorily “Finally! Oya follow my lead” he said as he threw upon the door to his “holy” room. Outside the door, two women sat on a raffia mat that was the waiting area, one had a baby tucked in the crook of her arm and the other held a small basket of ugwu leaves. “Prophet Festus” they bowed in greeting, hands clasped together as if in prayer Uncle Festus shut his eyes for a brief second and reopened them “My Children, Jah’s peace” he said placing his fore and middle fingers reverently on his lips and extending it back to them. “What brings you?” he asked as he rolled up his muslin and balanced his weight on his high stool, “It is her husband” the woman with the vegetables replied pointing to her friend who was rocking the sleeping child. “Let her speak!” Uncle Festus thundered. “One small girl is trying to steal him from me” she said sniffling and wiping her eyes with the edge of her wrapper. “J-ah! Jah! Jehovah!” Uncle Festus shrieked, he had gotten up abruptly from his stool and was now making circuitous rotations on the mat, his garment like a kite buoyed by the wind. He began a frenzied dance, his head swaying from side to side, the jigada beads on his ankles shaking furiously, and his arms resting on his hips as his buttocks moved to a rhythm only he could hear. He made an elaborate spin and plunked unto his high stool, “Your gift to Jah” he asked extending his hands to the woman with the vegetables, She handed him the leaves her head bowed in respect. “Jah! Angel Mikeluu! Angel Gabereli” he cried “You have done it” he said lifting the basket up to the heavens in one swift motion and handing it to me. “It is done, my child” Uncle Festus said to the woman carrying the baby and “This is what you will do” he began.
Uncle Festus informed the woman that Jah’s solution to her problem was to sleep naked in her husband’s room for three nights in a row; Jah had said that she was to perfume herself and everywhere that had hair on her body and present herself to her husband at ten o’ clock every night, and failure to adhere to these instructions would result in calamitous and disastrous consequences. The woman and her friend had nodded gravely and then they thanked Uncle Festus profusely as they put a wad of hundred naira notes in a bowl Uncle Festus placed in front of them. As they got up to leave, the woman’s arm brushed mine and all of a sudden I was plunged into a circling tornado of unending darkness and then I was in front of a house that had a large framed picture of a young woman propped up on a table with artificial flowers surrounding the frame and white candles burning on both sides of the table. There were women dressed in mourning clothes, wailing and shouting, “Chinwe o!” one cried and another woman sitting stiffly on a chair laughed bitterly “Cruel death, and she was so young”.
“Ama…Solomon” I heard Uncle Festus call, water was being sprinkled on my face and I was lying on the mat “I’m awake” I said cleaning my face with the back of my hand, the women were peering at me, unsure about what to make of the situation. “Who is Chinwe?” I asked the woman with the baby as I sat up, her eyes grew wide with amazement or fear, and I could not tell which one. “My husband’s mistress” she finally answered. “How did you…” she stuttered “I didn’t…” she began again, I waved away her questions “Chinwe is going to die” I said looking at the woman. She looked bewildered, and then her expression changed into a pained smile, “Thank you Prophet Solomon” she said bowing her head.
***********************************************
“There is a noble manner of being poor, and who does not know it will never be rich - Seneca”
Lagos, Nigeria January 2007.
Shouts of “Pure water tutu re” rang out distinctly amidst a mélange of the cries of other hawkers peddling their goods and roused me from my slumber. “Pure water pure water” the voice called again: it was a shrill voice, unmistakably feminine, fragile and delicate, like earthenware in a kiln and it sounded like it might break if it went a chord higher.
I found her in the crowd and watched, observing, she wore a plain dress with a flowery pattern, she looked to be about fifteen, and she had rolled her wrapper into a circle and placed it on her head as a cushion for the sweating bowl that contained nylon sachets of water nestled against blocks of ice. She looked back abruptly and caught me staring, then she winked and lifted the bowl in question, I shook my head and smiled back, I was in Lagos.
“Ah, you’re awake” Uncle Festus said slapping my thigh, “Are you hungry?” he asked and I nodded. He popped his head out of the bus window and yelled “Gala Gala”, a young man wearing a rumpled greased-stained singlet ran up to him and lifted a carton bearing the Gala logo with a cow outlined on its sides to the window. Uncle Festus picked two sausage rolls and cautiously inspected them for some malady or defect and then finally settled on one. He handed the man some money and as he turned to go Uncle Festus yelled as if he had already left the commerce window “Abeg help me call the Fanyogo man”, “yessir” the man answered and disappeared into the throng of people. The Fanyogo man appeared seconds later “Which one you want Sir? I get cho-ko-late, vanilla, and straw-berry” he asked, breathlessly running up to our bus that was now moving from the Yaba market traffic. “Amadi?” he asked “Chocolate” I replied. The man, still running vigorously, dipped his hand into the improvised cooler: rectangular cut carton with thick nylon swathed over it, filled with ice and stacked with packaged yogurts and frozen flavored ice, and handed Uncle Festus the yogurt. He dove for the paper floating to the ground and barely caught it as Uncle Festus threw the money out of the window and the bus launched into full speed.
I woke up to the sound of clanging bells and Uncle Festus chanting off key in a sing-song manner “Holy Michael, Holy Gabriel, Ho-lee Ho-lee” he cried. I rolled over on my mattress and onto the floor; my mattress was a thin flattened piece of foam not quite covered with its threadbare cloth and almost disappearing into the floor it sat on. The air smelled of my sweat, sewer debris, and the faint hint of fried fish wafted in through the window. Last night had been exhausting, I had met Aunty Mary - Uncle Festus’ wife, an animated plump woman who hugged me and pressed my head to her bosom cooing and aahing over how much I had grown. We finally sat down to a dinner of boiled black-eyed beans in a spicy palm oil stew on plastic chairs in the parlor, after Aunty Mary had tired of making observations about the shape of my ears, and how my nose was remarkably like Adaku’s and then Uncle Festus commenced his too long talk about his “job” and its entailments.
He had announced to me proudly that he was a prophet and that I would be joining him as an apprentice in his prophet business to earn my stay, since Adaku had told him I possessed the powers to augur the future. I immediately informed him that I possessed no such powers and that I had only had one very vivid dream where I saw my only friend die and days later he was gone. Uncle Festus had laughed and said it did not matter whether I possessed powers or not, once word got out that I had foretold Uzo’s death I would become a powerful prophet, and it would help if I was able to predict one or two more events correctly. Curious and perplexed, I had asked Uncle Festus “What, If I don’t dream anything?” in response he shook his head from side to side with a grin as wide as his face would allow and answered “You formulate!”. “Formulate?” I asked, “Ah, village boy...I forget, it means you make up a quack vision, anything you like!” Uncle Festus said, smiling triumphantly like he had just discovered the cure for AIDS. “Oh? Isn’t that criminal?” I asked my eyes as wide as Aunty Mary’s China saucers. The slap to the back of head came first and then Uncle Festus’ acerbity “Stupid boy! Are you calling me a common criminal in my own house?” I shook my head solemnly and fixed my eyes on my almost empty plate, “We shall change your name to Solomon, it is more Christian” Uncle Festus declared as his chair scraped the cement floor and he got up to leave.
I got up from my mattress, stretching and yawning, I smoothed my boxers that had ridden up in my sleep and then made my way to the communal bathroom outside, my towel slung across my neck. I entered into the tiny bathroom carefully twisting my body and the bucket of water to avoid rubbing my arms on the slimy algae covered cement walls. Fifteen minutes later I was out, my towel wrapped around my waist, my bucket and soap dish in hand, and then I saw her. She had a deep blue towel tied across her breasts with mounds of tan chocolate flesh peeking out and her towel skimmed her knees. She looked my naked torso over and winked again like she had done yesterday, I smiled “let me” I said, reaching for her bucket of water, she placed the bucket on the ground “Amaka” she said, her eyes smiling, “Amadi” I replied, lifting her bucket.
Despite my bath seconds ago, I now smelled like incense and woodsy smoke, I hurriedly donned the blood red garb of muslin and secured the free flowing garment with a white sash around my waist. “Hurry!” Uncle Festus snorted impatiently as I slid my feet into the worn leather sandals he had given me, “Customers will soon be arriving” he said and plopped a huge white chef-like hat onto my head, adjusting it till it was in place, looking me over he sighed satisfactorily “Finally! Oya follow my lead” he said as he threw upon the door to his “holy” room. Outside the door, two women sat on a raffia mat that was the waiting area, one had a baby tucked in the crook of her arm and the other held a small basket of ugwu leaves. “Prophet Festus” they bowed in greeting, hands clasped together as if in prayer Uncle Festus shut his eyes for a brief second and reopened them “My Children, Jah’s peace” he said placing his fore and middle fingers reverently on his lips and extending it back to them. “What brings you?” he asked as he rolled up his muslin and balanced his weight on his high stool, “It is her husband” the woman with the vegetables replied pointing to her friend who was rocking the sleeping child. “Let her speak!” Uncle Festus thundered. “One small girl is trying to steal him from me” she said sniffling and wiping her eyes with the edge of her wrapper. “J-ah! Jah! Jehovah!” Uncle Festus shrieked, he had gotten up abruptly from his stool and was now making circuitous rotations on the mat, his garment like a kite buoyed by the wind. He began a frenzied dance, his head swaying from side to side, the jigada beads on his ankles shaking furiously, and his arms resting on his hips as his buttocks moved to a rhythm only he could hear. He made an elaborate spin and plunked unto his high stool, “Your gift to Jah” he asked extending his hands to the woman with the vegetables, She handed him the leaves her head bowed in respect. “Jah! Angel Mikeluu! Angel Gabereli” he cried “You have done it” he said lifting the basket up to the heavens in one swift motion and handing it to me. “It is done, my child” Uncle Festus said to the woman carrying the baby and “This is what you will do” he began.
Uncle Festus informed the woman that Jah’s solution to her problem was to sleep naked in her husband’s room for three nights in a row; Jah had said that she was to perfume herself and everywhere that had hair on her body and present herself to her husband at ten o’ clock every night, and failure to adhere to these instructions would result in calamitous and disastrous consequences. The woman and her friend had nodded gravely and then they thanked Uncle Festus profusely as they put a wad of hundred naira notes in a bowl Uncle Festus placed in front of them. As they got up to leave, the woman’s arm brushed mine and all of a sudden I was plunged into a circling tornado of unending darkness and then I was in front of a house that had a large framed picture of a young woman propped up on a table with artificial flowers surrounding the frame and white candles burning on both sides of the table. There were women dressed in mourning clothes, wailing and shouting, “Chinwe o!” one cried and another woman sitting stiffly on a chair laughed bitterly “Cruel death, and she was so young”.
“Ama…Solomon” I heard Uncle Festus call, water was being sprinkled on my face and I was lying on the mat “I’m awake” I said cleaning my face with the back of my hand, the women were peering at me, unsure about what to make of the situation. “Who is Chinwe?” I asked the woman with the baby as I sat up, her eyes grew wide with amazement or fear, and I could not tell which one. “My husband’s mistress” she finally answered. “How did you…” she stuttered “I didn’t…” she began again, I waved away her questions “Chinwe is going to die” I said looking at the woman. She looked bewildered, and then her expression changed into a pained smile, “Thank you Prophet Solomon” she said bowing her head.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
ORION'S BELT II
So I finally did it, I messed around, went on the blogger link, changed encoding..a bunch of randomness that is even confusing me sef, but I DID IT! So YAY ME!! Here is second installment, enjoy guys! Thanks for your help Repressed One.
ORION'S BELT©
We began our walk home as I told him my dream, he throwing stones at imagined lizards in the far distance, me gesturing endlessly with my hands. I concluded my dream as we neared Mama Uzo’s backyard garden , Uzo broke his stride, gave me a quick hug and thumped me on the back “There is nothing to worry about Amadi, now that you have told me your dream, of course I will not run into the road for a ball!” he said.
I smiled uneasily, I was not entirely convinced, there was still the niggling feeling of uncertainty, like on days when it rained while the sun shone brightly and a sense of dread had settled upon me. But I nodded my head in agreement and answered “Yes, of course” with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “Mama cannot see you, go I will see you later” Uzo said, as he unlatched the kitchen door and waved goodbye. I walked home feeling very confused and afraid. My head was throbbing with questions and there was no one who could answer them, Adaku, my mother was a self-absorbed ex-beauty queen who still reveled in her pageant days and went through life like she was still the twenty year old who had won the Ogudu Market competition. I was the mistake that happened with the business man otherwise known as my father - the electronics dealer in Mammy market. The same mistake that destroyed her figure she had since been trying to reclaim. Adaku, the woman who would not bat an eyelid even if I set my head on fire (I had tried it, the patch-work pattern growth of my hair would always remind me of my foolishness). I laughed bitterly as I thought of having a conversation with her about my dream. The only time Adaku ever spoke to me was when she barked out orders, gave me food, or during the morning ritual. She called me every morning after she finished taking a shower, naked before her full length mirror, she would hold her love handles and say to me “Nwa Ekwensu! Devil Child! You see it?” She would look me up and down, from my head to the sole of my feet and eye me in a way only she could execute. After I singed my hair and wounded my scalp, I gave up trying to get her attention and establish a relationship with her, it was a hopeless cause.
I got home weary and mentally exhausted; I had detoured from my original route home in hopes of ridding my mind of the persistent feelings of doubt, to no avail. I walked into the kitchen tense and hungry, on the kitchen table sat an Eleganza cooler of yam porridge. I scooped spoons of bright yellow mush (the kind of yellow that comes only from rich palm oil), yams morsels replete with utazi slivers and spinach leaves into a ceramic bowl and wolfed it down hungrily, sated I fell into a deep sleep.
It was Saturday - chore day, and I generally danced to the beat of my own drum, I usually woke up at six and commenced with sweeping the yard and then all the rooms in the house. Adaku usually came in at noon, drunk and rambunctious. She had spent the night at the local palm wine joint, sitting on the laps of men who bought her drinks hoping to score a new boyfriend. Today was different though, she staggered into the house, her skintight mini-dress ripped and revealing her was-once-white lacy pant, her hair was in a disarray, and there was a huge stain of some liquid spread across her chest and breasts.
“Ekwensu, ebe ki no? Devil, where are you” she screamed, she was drunk. “Adaku, there is bath water for you” I said, holding my breath to avoid the reeking stench of stale sweat and fermented palm wine and pointing in the direction of the outhouse. She moved towards me as I wondered if she was too drunk to take a shower, and then she struck me in the face. My mouth fell open as my cheek tingled, my ears had taken on a new shade of red, and they were hot - I could feel the heat spreading down my neck. She had never hit me, despite her cold-heartedness and deficient maternal skills, Adaku had never once laid a finger on me. “Why?” I asked, my palm cool against my burning cheek, “Lo-ok at wha---t that wo-man did to…me” she stuttered. “Uzo is dead, and you talked to him se? You killed him Amadi.” “I am tired Amadi! I cannot continue to deal with your wahala, Festus is coming to take you” she talked fast and mumbled the words like she had hot yam in her mouth. “Uncle Festus?” I asked, “Yes, to Lagos” she said and walked past me, slamming her bedroom door as she entered into it.
***********************************************
‘Ukwa ruo oge ya o da – At the appropriate time, the breadfruit will fall”
We went to see Uzo’s mother – Adaku and I, in spite of her attack on Adaku, to pay our condolences and that was when she screamed at us and called me an ogbanje. Adaku said nothing as we left the mourning house, we could hear the women whispering and muttering under their breaths “Ashewo” one said, “Prostitute” another spat in agreement. But they would never say it to her face, because they liked their faces too much - if there was anything other than drinking Adaku could do: it was wrestling and winning.
“Uzo died in his sleep, I didn’t kill him” I said to Adaku as we walked home, “Festus is coming tomorrow, pack all your things” she replied, ignoring my self-exoneration. “Maybe, you can learn his trade and make something of yourself in Lagos” she continued. “What does he do?” I asked, “Am I Festus?” “You will find out when you get there” She answered mordantly. The short conversation had ended, and we silently made our way home.
ORION'S BELT©
We began our walk home as I told him my dream, he throwing stones at imagined lizards in the far distance, me gesturing endlessly with my hands. I concluded my dream as we neared Mama Uzo’s backyard garden , Uzo broke his stride, gave me a quick hug and thumped me on the back “There is nothing to worry about Amadi, now that you have told me your dream, of course I will not run into the road for a ball!” he said.
I smiled uneasily, I was not entirely convinced, there was still the niggling feeling of uncertainty, like on days when it rained while the sun shone brightly and a sense of dread had settled upon me. But I nodded my head in agreement and answered “Yes, of course” with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “Mama cannot see you, go I will see you later” Uzo said, as he unlatched the kitchen door and waved goodbye. I walked home feeling very confused and afraid. My head was throbbing with questions and there was no one who could answer them, Adaku, my mother was a self-absorbed ex-beauty queen who still reveled in her pageant days and went through life like she was still the twenty year old who had won the Ogudu Market competition. I was the mistake that happened with the business man otherwise known as my father - the electronics dealer in Mammy market. The same mistake that destroyed her figure she had since been trying to reclaim. Adaku, the woman who would not bat an eyelid even if I set my head on fire (I had tried it, the patch-work pattern growth of my hair would always remind me of my foolishness). I laughed bitterly as I thought of having a conversation with her about my dream. The only time Adaku ever spoke to me was when she barked out orders, gave me food, or during the morning ritual. She called me every morning after she finished taking a shower, naked before her full length mirror, she would hold her love handles and say to me “Nwa Ekwensu! Devil Child! You see it?” She would look me up and down, from my head to the sole of my feet and eye me in a way only she could execute. After I singed my hair and wounded my scalp, I gave up trying to get her attention and establish a relationship with her, it was a hopeless cause.
I got home weary and mentally exhausted; I had detoured from my original route home in hopes of ridding my mind of the persistent feelings of doubt, to no avail. I walked into the kitchen tense and hungry, on the kitchen table sat an Eleganza cooler of yam porridge. I scooped spoons of bright yellow mush (the kind of yellow that comes only from rich palm oil), yams morsels replete with utazi slivers and spinach leaves into a ceramic bowl and wolfed it down hungrily, sated I fell into a deep sleep.
It was Saturday - chore day, and I generally danced to the beat of my own drum, I usually woke up at six and commenced with sweeping the yard and then all the rooms in the house. Adaku usually came in at noon, drunk and rambunctious. She had spent the night at the local palm wine joint, sitting on the laps of men who bought her drinks hoping to score a new boyfriend. Today was different though, she staggered into the house, her skintight mini-dress ripped and revealing her was-once-white lacy pant, her hair was in a disarray, and there was a huge stain of some liquid spread across her chest and breasts.
“Ekwensu, ebe ki no? Devil, where are you” she screamed, she was drunk. “Adaku, there is bath water for you” I said, holding my breath to avoid the reeking stench of stale sweat and fermented palm wine and pointing in the direction of the outhouse. She moved towards me as I wondered if she was too drunk to take a shower, and then she struck me in the face. My mouth fell open as my cheek tingled, my ears had taken on a new shade of red, and they were hot - I could feel the heat spreading down my neck. She had never hit me, despite her cold-heartedness and deficient maternal skills, Adaku had never once laid a finger on me. “Why?” I asked, my palm cool against my burning cheek, “Lo-ok at wha---t that wo-man did to…me” she stuttered. “Uzo is dead, and you talked to him se? You killed him Amadi.” “I am tired Amadi! I cannot continue to deal with your wahala, Festus is coming to take you” she talked fast and mumbled the words like she had hot yam in her mouth. “Uncle Festus?” I asked, “Yes, to Lagos” she said and walked past me, slamming her bedroom door as she entered into it.
***********************************************
‘Ukwa ruo oge ya o da – At the appropriate time, the breadfruit will fall”
We went to see Uzo’s mother – Adaku and I, in spite of her attack on Adaku, to pay our condolences and that was when she screamed at us and called me an ogbanje. Adaku said nothing as we left the mourning house, we could hear the women whispering and muttering under their breaths “Ashewo” one said, “Prostitute” another spat in agreement. But they would never say it to her face, because they liked their faces too much - if there was anything other than drinking Adaku could do: it was wrestling and winning.
“Uzo died in his sleep, I didn’t kill him” I said to Adaku as we walked home, “Festus is coming tomorrow, pack all your things” she replied, ignoring my self-exoneration. “Maybe, you can learn his trade and make something of yourself in Lagos” she continued. “What does he do?” I asked, “Am I Festus?” “You will find out when you get there” She answered mordantly. The short conversation had ended, and we silently made our way home.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Apologies...
So I've been trying to copy and paste the story since friday from microsoft word to no avail....help someone? I even tried to cut and paste, I apologize to my few fans I will keep on trying though.
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On my life -
Can you fall in love with a mind (foremostly)?
I think I am falling in utmost LIKE with his mind.
**********************************
On my life -
Can you fall in love with a mind (foremostly)?
I think I am falling in utmost LIKE with his mind.
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